Time Bandit

Whiling away Covid lockdowns cruising slowly towards South Africa for November ‘21.

18 September 2021
09 September 2021 | Peely Wally Pins Oot For A Walk.
24 August 2021
14 August 2021
02 August 2021
26 July 2021 | Covid safe, full body condom by Gucci
17 July 2021
09 July 2021 | Celebrating our permission to stay
03 July 2021 | Can’t get between a girl and her GS1200
26 June 2021
26 June 2021
12 June 2021
04 June 2021 | Sunset in Beau Vallon
29 May 2021
27 May 2021
14 May 2021
30 April 2021
23 April 2021

Traumatised in Baggy Pants

24 April 2018 | Loch Longs pre-start. 63 owned my m'uncle Jimmy
"What the heck is that?", or indeed, ......Cluuunkk....."What the **** was that" is sometimes what I hear when, as in Triabunna our over size 66lb Spade protrudes over the marina pontoon, nutting (a Glaswegian expression) small children as they pass and near disembowelling pursuing adults.

Over sized? Well, actually is the right size. I bought 66lb and it is. By oversized I mean 45lb is what the Spade website says is correct for Time Bandit. However, the guys that wrote the Spade specs didn't have a traumatic upbringing like wot I did.

When I were a lad, you know, back when a bacon butty cost just a ha'penny, during the summer, usually the second weekend in July, for a special treat, my dear old dad used to take the family out on "the yacht" on a Sunday. The yacht was Whisper, his twenty one foot racing day boat, which in these days, and certainly to my young eyes, was a yacht.

I was probably about five or six at the time and as we sailed on our fantastic offshore voyage around the top of the island of Great Cumbrae, (as opposed to Wee Cumbrae), I used to tow my model boat behind 'the yacht". Unfortunately, for some inexplicable function of hydrodynamics, my wee boat would reach a critical hull speed, submerge and disappear underwater while the tow string cut into my baby soft wee palms reducing me to tears. Dad to the rescue. He would dump the main, slow the boat, haul in my toy, empty it out and we'd start again. I probably got a kiss on the palm from my mum to make it better.

Man, those were the days. Now it's just, "MAN UP!"

Anyway, after an hour or two we'd reach Nirvana, aka Fintry Bay where there was a fab beach, rocks, pools with crabs and other creepy crawlies and an ice cream shop. As we approached the beach, Dad would wriggle under the cuddy to retrieve the yacht's anchor and warp. Now, as we were on a racing yacht, the ground tackle was optimised to meet the rules, as opposed to achieving its primary goal.

We would pitch up at the sandy beach and dad would pitch the anchor off the bow, chuck us all in the dinghy and row us ashore.

Us nippers would immediately change into our fetching and rather fashionable seersucker knitted swimming trunks and plunge into the briny. Not far away, grown men, being transported to work offshore were being squeezed into neoprene survival suits in the remote chance they fell into the same water. We were well 'ard us nippers.

While fashionable, the knitted dookers were just fine on the way in. However, on the way out you looked like you had been out trawling and coming ashore with the net half out. On occasion, you might be lucky enough to find a mackerel in the crotch.

And so, as I lay awake the other night listening to the howling wind swish us around at anchor back in Jervis Bay, (probably named after a posh Englishman, as in, "I say Jervis, coming aboard for Tiffin?"), I was thinking, "Is the giant Spade going to hold or is this a Fred at Fintry night?

And that's the problem. As that impressionable child in the knitted knickers I was traumatised at the sight of "the yacht", our only way home, drifting off over the horizon and dad sprinting down the beach like Roger Bannister on yet another rescue mission. Consequently, despite the fact we have NEVER dragged, there's always that nagging image burned into the back of my mind, troubling me on dark windy nights of dad leaping to his feet with a curse - we were always learning new words from dad - and sprinting away, chasing down the beach after the boat, flailing his arms as if its going to say, "sorry" and turn around and re-anchor.

It's a memory almost as troubling as the knitted knickers. Why would you do that to a child?
Comments
Vessel Name: Time Bandit
Vessel Make/Model: Outremer 51
Hailing Port: Largs, Scotland
Crew: Anne and Stuart Letton
About: ex dinghy and keelboat racers now tooled up with a super sleek cat and still cruising around aimlessly, destination Nirvana...
Extra: May’21. Now in Seychelles, either ‘till October when we head for South Africa or maybe we do an early side trip to Tanzania. Who knows.
Home Page: http://www.sailblogs.com/member/timebandit/profile
Social:
Time Bandit's Photos - Main
6 Photos
Created 2 April 2021
No Photos
Created 1 April 2021
A few pics of Maldives so far.....
No Photos
Created 29 March 2021
15 Photos
Created 22 September 2020
Our escape the the wild mountain thyme
21 Photos
Created 23 June 2020
21 Photos
Created 2 October 2019
Selayar
18 Photos
Created 6 September 2019
16 Photos
Created 1 September 2019
Some pics from Debut and the Kei Islands
24 Photos
Created 30 July 2019
From the north of Australia to Debut Indonesia
8 Photos
Created 23 July 2019
No Photos
Created 19 October 2018
1 Photo
Created 20 October 2017
7 Photos
Created 23 June 2017
An interesting perspective on evolution in the Galapagos.
23 Photos
Created 7 March 2016
18 Photos
Created 30 September 2014
Mediterranean Spain to the Arctic Circle
67 Photos
Created 12 August 2013
Scraping and sanding hull back to gel coat for epoxy and Coppercoat treatments.
6 Photos
Created 3 February 2013