Pendennis Cup

I was lucky enough to be invited on the spectator launch for the Pendennis Cup, yesterday. This is an event where classic super yachts race round Falmouth Bay and they are just awe inspiring in their beauty. The event is held every two years and the yachts - and their crew - come from all over the world to take part. The above picture is of Adix, one of the bigger yachts.

It was a day I will never forget. And I’m wearing my free Pendennis Cup t shirt as I write.

Meanwhile I am preparing a talk for the Penzance Literary Festival and tomorrow I go to interview a boat designer in Lostwithiel. On Saturday I am out on the water on a friend’s boat watching the Red Arrows as they fly over for the last day of the Pendennis Cup. At least - we hope so - last year they cancelled due to low cloud.

Next week I will need a rest…..

A spot of summer

As you can see, this lot were becalmed....

Summer came to Cornwall for about four glorious days last week and we made the most of it. It was actually too hot for Moll to walk in the daytime - she crawled behind the sofa at home and when we went out, panted and lay down in the shade.

But on Thursday I wore my favourite skirt to singing - “Summer’s arrived,” remarked Mr B, and we went out on Echo that afternoon which was fabulous. There was little breeze and we motored out near St Anthony’s Lighthouse where we cut the engines and drifted for a while, savouring the peace of the afternoon. Later we had a picnic at Restronguet Creek and it really was a wonderful day - Cornwall at its best.

Then on Saturday I was lucky enough to go out for the day on the lone sailor’s boat, Brigus, for the first time. I was a bit apprehensive about getting on and off it, and also how Moll would cope but both were achieved with no hassle and there was plenty of shade on board for Moll, which was a relief. We sailed over to Helford and had lunch there, then took Madam for a walk through the woods before sailing out towards the Manacles and back home to Falmouth where I was dropped off around 9pm. Another really fabulous day.

I sincerely hope it’s possible to have more of these trips - Echo has become very dear to me over the years, and when you don’t have children, dogs and boats become even more special. As do their owners, of course.

Afloat

This is the publicity shot I'm going to use for the Penzance Literary Festival - me on Gypsy Moth IV last year.

I’ve just been asked to give a talk at the Penzance Literary Festival in July which has thrown me somewhat. I’m busily writing some words and trying to think how to incorporate pictures into it. There aren’t that many of me sailing so I will have to have a good think about this. Still, it’s great to be asked, and I’m delighted that the Penzance Literary Festival has grown year on year - I have been part of it since the first one so it’s wonderful to see it thriving.

As I write, the sun is blazing outside and I am getting excited. All being well I’m hoping for a trip on Echo in the next few days, and the lone sailor is taking his boat out and has asked me if I’d like to go for a sail on Saturday. Moll is coming too, and I’m not sure how she’ll take to it, but I can take her for a walk before and after, and you never know - she might take to it.

Getting on and off the boat could be a problem but I talked to my specialist nurse who said as long as I’m careful, and don’t pull anything when I’m on board, it will doubtless do me good.

The prospect of one, if not two boat trips in as many days has got me so excited I can’t sleep. I feel just like a child on Christmas Eve. And there’s a high over us so the weather looks set fair till Sunday.

If I was a glass half empty person I’d say that something’s bound to go wrong. As I’m not, I’ll hope for the best and just enjoy begin on the water again.

Coincidences

Went to Constantine Woods with the lone sailor - and the bluebells are out!

Publishers don’t like coincidences in novels. Which is strange, given how often they occur in real life.

When I was in hospital, all the staff were fascinated by the fact that I’m a sailing correspondent. I daresay it sounds very glamorous, which it isn’t, but it does mean I get to write about what I love doing, and who wouldn’t want to do that?

The question they all asked was, “have you got your own boat?” The answer is sort of, but I’m promiscuous when it comes to loving boats. I own half a dinghy (Piran) with Mr B. He has a small motor boat called Echo that he calls mine because of the time I’ve spent looking after her while he’s been away.

Last summer we were walking through Mylor harbour car park when we saw someone working on a beautiful wooden boat on a trailer. I said, “we were just admiring your lovely boat”. It turns out it’s a Dragon classic boat called Snap, which he’s kept at Mylor in the summer months for many years but never sailed much as he lives in Derby and doesn’t have crew here. Mr B’s arm shot up. “I’ll crew,” he said. I gulped (we’d only just done our course, but I wasn’t going to be outdone.) “And me,” I said.

I gave Alan my card and he laughed. “Kittow,” he said. “Another Cornish name. I’m Alan Dale. From Redruth. The boat’s going in the water Monday, then I’ll rig her Tuesday. How about a sail on Wednesday?”

We said yes, jumped up and down a bit then went back to the car. “I wonder if he’ll ring,” said Mr B. But the following morning, when I was out with MollieDog, he did. We met Alan on the Wednesday, had the most fabulous day sailing and from then on we became his official crew, and raced with him in Falmouth Week. We met his wife, and they have become dear friends. And we hope to race with Al in Falmouth Week this year.

As if they weren't enough boats, a few months ago I met the lone sailor and we’re going sailing on his 35’ cruiser. Unfortunately we can only go out on spring tides, and I have to wait a few more weeks until I’m fit, but that’s something else to look forward to.

Last year I stopped writing the walks for Cornwall Today, but became sailing correspondent which has opened up all kinds of amazing opportunities.

I don’t know why publishers don’t like coincidences for they happen all the time. Or perhaps I just attract more of them than most.

This time last year, we had booked a sailing course, but I hadn’t been sailing for many years. This year, I can’t wait to get back on the water. Several people have asked me what I hope to do this year, and I say, “get to be a better sailor. And write about it.”

And I can't WAIT to get on the water again.....

Comings and goings

The above picture was taken at Constantine woods where we went to see the bluebells - they weren't quite out, but hope they will be soon.

For the first time in nearly two months, I’m beginning to feel more myself, in more ways than one - or more than I’m prepared to write about in public….

My energy levels are better, but that’s not just it. I feel more me, which is hard to define. I know this experience has changed me, but it’s too early to work out in what ways. I feel at once stronger and more vulnerable, that’s all I know. But I guess life’s like that. We hopefully learn from all our experiences, and they make us wiser people. Shame that by the time we’ve accumulated all this knowledge, we snuff it, but such is life.

I’m reading a book called The Bookshop That Floated Away, about a bookshop on a barge. In her book she talks about people who have walk on roles but she doesnt see again because she moved on - literally speaking, in the boat.

Someone who came into my life unexpectedly, and at precisely the right time, was Emma McCurrach, who runs a wonderful dog walking service called K9 Social. She took to Moll immediately and sent me texts when I was in hospital of pictures of Moll at the farm, and updates of how she was, which meant so much to me. She’s turned into a wonderful friend - at least, I hope she continues to be so - and is coming round for a curry soon.

That got me thinking though about people I’ve known in the past who have been very important for a while, then I haven’t seen them again. One is a friend called Sandra who I would love to meet up with, as we were very close for years.

Some people burst into our lives like shining stars, as if they’ve been dropped there by a fairy godmother. Some leave deep emotional footprints; some very faint ones. Some stay and some go but I don’t think that matters so much. It’s what happens while they’re there that’s important.

And I leave you with a quote from a film I saw recently. “When happiness shows up, always give it a comfortable seat.”

Six weeks on...

Here's Moll down at Mylor the other day, having been seeing to Echo...

Today I had my six week check up - all was well, though I have been incredibly tired recently, and it doesn't seem to be getting better. "Been doing too much too soon?" said my surgeon cheerfully. I explained that being freelance, I had rush of work when I least needed it, which probably slowed down the recovery period. (The lone sailor doesnt call me Speedy for nothing.)

The surgeon assured me that the fatigue will get better, but I have to pace myself - which I have been doing. And actually, it takes 3-6 months to start feeling better.

I said to the lone sailor later, "Thank god he didn't tell me that before i had the op. I would have completely freaked out." Now I'm slightly more realistic about it all as I realise I can't hurry it. I will be better when I'm better. And if I can't race at Falmouth Week (oh god I hope I can), at least I'll be able to sail.

In the meantime, I have to have some blood tests in a few weeks and another check up in three months, and after that follow up is by phone call. Job done.

My surgeon is one of those people that inspires confidence. He also has a great sense of humour, very black twinkly eyes and is constantly assessing me (us) to see how much we're taking in. He's extremely modest and, unlike some extremely intelligent people, particularly in the medical profession, doesn't talk down to you, but explains things clearly. He likes being asked questions (he knows I'm a journalist and expects me to ask questions). And he's always cheerful. Which, if you consider he's an oncologist, is amazing.

So here's to my Moll and my surgeon. Two sources of humour, intelligence and inspiration.

Missed chances and blubometers

Here's a picture of a ploughed field just beyond Mylor Harbour. I loved the furrows in contrast to the skyline and the trees..... and it's to cheer up one of my dearest friends who is having a really terrible time at the moment.

After the tumultuous last few weeks, my flat is quiet all of a sudden. Last night was the first I’d spent alone for five weeks. The lone sailor is on his boat in St Mawes, as we speak, testing the autopilot. And after the roaring adrenaline of last week, I am exhausted so it's good to have time and peace to myself.

While it would have been lovely to have gone as well, my stomach is not up to getting in and out of dinghies, let alone climbing ladders or hauling sheets (ropes) or being tossed around (it’s very lumpy out there today). I had thought that as the six week period approaches I would feel magically better. While I am much more mobile and able to get around more, I’m still wary about driving (in case I have to do an emergency stop), my stitches tug a lot of the time, and I'm still having to wear baggy clothes which makes me feel somewhat androgynous, which is not me at all.

I was to have gone on a press jolly today, on a ferry welcoming the Tres Hombres tall ship into Falmouth. Sadly the PR rang me - they’ll be going two miles out into the Bay and she was worried in case it might be a bit rough for me (ie my stitches). I consulted with weather forecast, lone sailor and others and decided, reluctantly, to err on the side of caution. Not like me, but I so want to get better as soon as I can and I daren’t risk anything that might set me back. And on the bright side, it means I don't have to cancel our singing rehearsal.

Still, I’m meeting the ship’s cook on Thursday for an interview, so hopefully I will be able to get on board without mishap and have a good snoop which will be just as interesting, and without the fear of being seasick. (Though I can't wait to get on the water.)

I went to singing for the last 15 minutes last week and we sang The Lower Lights which always tends to make me a bit misty eyed. I’d had a very busy week work wise and was coming to the end of four deadlines so I was stressed and over emotional, and the words made me think of losing Pip, as they always do. Of the special men in my life. Of how we just never know what’s going to happen (which can be a blessing). Soon I was gulping hard - not easy when you’re trying to sing. In fact, impossible.

When we finished, by which time I was a blotchy eyed mess, our musical director looked over at me and said fondly, “Oh Sue. You’re my blubometer. If you don’t cry when we sing that number, I know we’ve done something wrong.”

And lastly, here's a sun drenched bank of primroses down at Helford Village on Sunday,with Cornwall looking at its very best.