So a week was spent down in The Hamble. Tayo kindly came down on Monday, which was a bank holiday, and helped me sail the boat over from Gosport to Port Hamble Marina, where I had done a berthing deal with the guy who was fitting the Hydrovane. We had a feisty sail over there, passing Carol and Ali going in the opposite direction. We had sails up, going up wind, and they were "Just Chillin'" (the name of their boat) going off the wind. I think Tayo has had too much mellow sailing, as she was getting nervous when we had to reef. Neil, Anna and Juliet came down for lunch and we went to a pub that some sailing friend of Tayo's boyfriend had recommended. It is The King and Queen in Hamble-le-Rice. We had such a good lunch, that when Tayo headed back to London that night, I went back for supper. It was pizza evening, not good for non-carb eaters but I relented. The vivacious bar person kept asking me where I was sitting and gave me a flag to plant. I was not keen on planting my flag too early. She was from Florida, although, unusual for me, I had got the accent totally wrong, I had thought that she was Irish. Anyway, she asked me if I would like to join the owner at their table. This I did, immediately falling among thieves and a quiet, early to bed evening took a different turn. The owner, Janet, was of 1820 Settler stock but left South Africa 18 years ago. She went to Stellenbosch and UCT, so during the next few days, the evenings, after trying to solve electronic problems and fitting a Hydrovane, where spiced up with some amazing company and hospitality. It is an incredibly well-run pub where all of the staff are like a big family, thanks to Janet. Highly recommended! Erica, the girl from Florida, worked as a singer on cruise ships and on the Monday night treated us to some free top class entertainment. Sorry to hear she fell down a rabbit hole and broke a leg the day before we left Hamble.

After lots of fault tracing on the Simrad system the conclusion was a new VHF radio (NEEMA chip blown, so no position data), one OP40 controller 'in its moer' and after a process of elimination a failed wind strut. On the positive side I learned quite a lot about the system and how to do diagnostics. OP40 and wind strut still on order and to follow us down the south coast. It will mean a trip up the mast for me to replace the strut. The Hydrovane was also successfully installed. After some consultation with the owners of Hydrovane I made some final adjustments myself but Andy Brock, a New Zealander, was a pleasure to work with. We have yet to get an opportunity to test it properly.

After a weekend in London, Aidan kindly offered to give us a lift down to the boat on Sunday evening and, guess what, we ended up at The King and Queen, talking and drinking Surf African, fantastic. The next morning, I put the final touches to the new cupboard installation and lowered the Hydrovane as per Will and John Curry's recommendation. We set out for Poole at noon and had an absolutely cracking sail with the favourable near spring tide arriving in Poole harbour at about 17h30. We went to our magical little anchorage in South Deep. It was spring low and we were seriously scraping for water. Anchoring just did not work for some reason, with wind against tide, and no swinging room exacerbated by a low tide. We nearly decided to chicken out and go to another marina at £40 plus. But on the way out of South Deep, we followed another boat into a pool in the lee of Brownsea island. They took up all of the swing room in the puddle marked on the chart, however on going further, although we touched as we turned, we were at the bottom of the tide, and had found a fantastic tranquil night at anchor, and free! We spared a thought for Baden Powell, who is said to have established the Boy Scouts movement on Brownsea Island, although I think the original idea was formulated during the siege of Mafeking in South Africa.

The next day we were up at just gone six, I guess it is what happens when you are in a fantastic place and just want to soak it up. The plan for the day was unambitious, potter over to Studland Bay, under the guard of the Old Harry sea stacks. We picked up a visitors' buoy. Many have been installed to protect the seahorses that lurk in the sea grass that would otherwise be pummelled by anchoring activity. We went ashore and visited the characterful Pig Hotel, an architectural masterpiece that has Tolkien overprints. After a summer lunch time drink in an exceptionally characterful bar with a clueless French waitress (no offence to the French en general), we headed into the village, bundu-bashing along an overgrown bridle path. There was one shop, the post office, where we bought some basics including some delicious farm-made pork sausages.

We got back to the boat and started studying GRIB files and tidal current charts. A sudden dawning of the fact that we had to leave super early in the morning (like 3am) or now (or tomorrow) in the afternoon. The fact that the wind was better now, clinched the deal, so contrary to the original planning, at 3pm we headed for Weymouth, with the tide.

We arrived in Weymouth just in time for the 8pm opening bridge. It is a vibey place with the waterfront all along the old river and through the middle of town. The beachfront, has real sand, a rarity in the Blighty and a sure sign that we are getting closer to Devon and Cornwall. The waterfront was not tacky, as some are in Pommieland. As the pilot guide said, if you closed your eyes for a moment you could see striped blazers, boater hats and girls in flowing Victorian dresses twirling parasols. That would have been wonderful but unfortunately it had become slightly but not terminally corrupted by amusement arcades, Londis stores and a few paint-flaking hotels. Probably the most marinating impression of Weymouth was the number of pubs and bars. There were hundreds and it is a mystery to me how they all survive but they do and most were looking quite healthy. We spent 2 nights in Weymouth, and got out the bikes and planned to head along the old railway track to Portland. Halfway along, I got a call from a physio. Seen as I had been trying for half the morning to get hold of one, we felt that we had to divert, excuse the pun but lets just call it finger trouble. The encouraging news was that the physio thinks the finger will make a full recovery and I am doing all the right things but need to be patient, which everyone knows is not my long suite.

The next day looked interesting. Weymouth to Torquay, being the plan. The challenge was rounding Portland Bill. The Shell Channel pilot guide compiled by Tom Cunliffe, who is not prone to exaggeration but who has a wonderful turn of phrase, has some interesting things to say about The Bill of Portland. Quote," The Portland Race is the most extended piece of dangerous water in England. Quite substantial vessels have been known to be drawn into it and disappear." and of the inner channel, "Numerous lobster pots lie in wait, with buoys that can be pulled under in the strong stream. To be anchored by the propeller with the race creeping inwards is an unthinkable nightmare". Ok, Mr. Cunliffe, we are sitting up and paying attention! Much planning and consultation was entered into. We consulted the harbour master and despite having formulated our own plan, we abandoned it in favour of the harbour master's advice, in which timing was critical. Take the inner channel, be there at slack tide at 15:00 BST, stay less than 2 cables off the cliff. That is virtually touching it. So, we thought, here is to missing the lobster pots and not getting drawn into England's biggest plug hole.

We left Weymouth treading water on the waiting pontoon outside the lifting bridge to time the slack tide. On the trip down the east side of the peninsula we had to slow ourselves down, such was the sweep of the tide, we arrived, dead on time and had an uneventful albeit slightly nail-biting rounding. We were sailing doing over nine knots 200m off a lee shore and the lighthouse flew by in a blur as we dodged lobster pots. It all felt a bit like skiing downhill slalom. We were spat out into the slack tide pool on the west of the peninsula and steered the required 300 deg for long enough, a perfect goose wing run, to clear the clutches of where the plughole would migrate to, as the tide advanced. As is sailing, when we needed the wind the most, for the 40NM crossing of Lyme Bay, it did not show as predicted. We motored, I hate having to motor, the consolation was that we had a visit in the form of an escort by a pod of dolphins and we could happily prepare and eat dinner prepared in the latest cooking toy. The thermal pot, a modern day hay box: heat it once and then leave it for several hours, and have cooked food.

We arrived Torquay at about 21h30 with the steaming lights on. It is a beautiful entrance, with a few sea stacks and a submerged rock called Morris' Rogue, which we were careful to avoid for fear of reinforcing and rechristening its name. We then had a bit of a scare, Veronica was on the bow, lobster pot spotting in the fading light and I turned off the autopilot for the final approach. The helm was incredibly stiff, we turned off the autopilot completely at the main board tried to work the helm from side to side. I had Veronica down with her head in the rudder compartment. Eventually when I slowed the boat to an almost stand still the steering suddenly freed up. The only explanation is that we must have had something wrapped on a rudder and when we slowed down it dropped off. Lucky we did not have to swim in the dark and I wonder how long it had been there and how long the auto pilot motor had been fighting it. Scary stuff........beware the dreaded lobster pot.

So we are now in Torquay, which is living up to its reputation as the Riveria of England in both positive and negative ways. We have walked long along the wooded cliff tops with majestic properties, reminiscent of Clifton or Knysna Heads. We went to the yacht club, which is a welcoming place, grandiose with sweeping views or Torbay. We visited the Kent Caverns, one of the most important Palaeolithic caves in Northern Europe and the oldest recognisable human dwelling in England. Those are the positives, the negative is that we just paid £55 a night for a berth. That is the most we have ever paid anywhere in the world. We contemplated the council quay at £26 but that was fully rafted up.

There is an air show here all weekend and we were treated to a practice run this morning with a Typhoon doing mega G, full afterburner stuff but we are headed for Dartmouth tomorrow so we will miss the main event. I am getting the feeling we have found the beautiful part of England but we have to aim for buoys and anchorages to keep the costs in check. Adious, for now.