It’s been a while, too long by far, since I’ve sat down and just written something. I’m probably a bit rusty by now, but I was inspired to a bit of finger work, and so I begin…
I haven’t been on Kudu for a while now, I was graciously lent an entire house for a few weeks, and before that I seemed to be couch surfing a little too much. I’ve been missing Kudu though. I’m not sure what specifically, just a collective of things. The tiny bed, the smell of boat, the movement, and the peace and quiet, so I decided I was going to stay on her tonight. She’s probably in need of some company anyway.
The drive to the marina was fun. As I am sure most people in England are currently aware, there’s a decent amount of snow making its way earthward tonight, along with an expected chill in the air.
I arrived to a sleeping boat sat still in the marina, and dusted with snow. I opened the lock, slid the hatch back, removed the washboards and stepped into the pitch black cabin, clunking a bag of shopping against the bulkhead as I went. Even in darkness I know where everything is, so with a sharp click the cabin light was on. Yikes, I can see my breath. I glanced at the weather station and saw a balmy 0.7 degrees (Celsius).
There was soon the sound of another click as the dormant fan heater whirled in to life. “Aah, home”.
I promised my client (sharemyplaylists.com) that I’d finish off some work, so the first job was to set up the laptop on my old desk, the chart table. Something was amiss though, it was too quiet. I took the radio to my parents the last time I did a stores drop, so I’m missing radio 4 this evening. Oh, how I need a fix of radio 4. My car doesn’t have an aerial so it’s been far too long since I’ve heard any sense on the airwaves.
With the work out of the way, I set about dinner.
The Origo stove was dry, so I popped back out in to the bitter cold to fetch the meths from the stern locker. A couple of glugs into this fantastic Swedish machine and we’re off.
A splash of olive oil, and only a splash since it had mostly solidified in the cold, and then some sliced garlic. Fry that in a pan for a little while, and then add some jumbo prawns. I would have got normal prawns, but these were on special offer at the supermarket. Give them a few minutes, and in true single burner cooking fashion, stick them on a plate somewhere while I cook the next bit.
In with the water, and bring to the boil. Open the gnocci and throw it in. As soon as it begins to float, kill the heat and drain the pan down the sink under the companionway steps. Ah, I remember doing this in Brightlingsea creek. Just. Utter bliss, and I feel that is an understatement. Sailing your self contained home into a remote water channel, cooking your own meal, and then falling asleep to the sound of lapping water and and whispering wildlife is…. well, you’ll just have to do it.
Add a couple of teaspoons of green pesto into the pan, then tip the jumbo prawns back in. Slice up a bit of blue cheese and throw that in for good measure. Eat a bit off the knife while you’re at it, go on, nobody’s looking. Turn the heat back on gently and warm it all up. No need to bother with a plate, just eat it out of the pan. Delicious!
I miss this. The freedom a boat gives you. I can’t go anywhere of course, I have to work, and Kudu is currently lacking a rig, but if the proverbial really hit the fan and I needed to escape from it, then 1 day of rigging the boat is all it would take me. I find that comforting. I get depressed when I don’t have a car because I can’t travel anywhere. Even though I may not intend to go anywhere, it’s just comforting to know that I can, and at the drop of a hat.
Talking of going places, I shall be in London quite a lot in January. I’m extraordinarily excited, but damn well nervous at the same time.
On the 13th January, at the London Boat Show, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston will be presenting me with a cup on behalf of the Little Ship Club (of which I am a member) , in recognition for my suicidal spirit. They’re branding it as adventurous, but that’s because they didn’t see Fife Ness… yet, because on Tuesday the 19th January, I’m presenting a 45 minute talk at the LSC open evening with questions and perhaps answers at the end.
I’m not used to public speaking. I’ve never done it before. I’m quite happy sat here telling a story in text, but acting it out on stage is another matter entirely. Like sailing, I suppose there’s only one way I’ll find out if I can do it, and that’s to try. As the rotten tomatoes start flying, I’ll be trying to work out how to reef the heckling, and my queue cards will be GPS waypoints. I’ll be fine, what’s the worst that can happen? Gulp!
I do hope it goes well, because on the 30th and 31st January I’m on stage again at the adventuretravellive.com expo in Victoria, London. Two more 45 minute session on the National Geographic stage in front of an audience that probably has no interest in sailing, although I’m hoping they have a thirst for adventure otherwise I’ll have to resort to humour, and that’s where it’ll certainly go wrong.
Still, I’m going to get to meet Sir Robin, and I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that. He is my absolute hero, not just because of the awesome things he has done, but because of the way he did them; a boat full of booze and a relentless distaste for letting the French win! What better way to do one of the greatest things man has ever done.
Kudu, out.
