Author: maddieisoutoftheoffice

The weather is somewhat of a big deal in sailing.

And I’ve just spent a week on a yacht quite literally going nowhere because of it. No exaggeration. I got a plane back to where I started, and left the boat exactly where I found it, because the weather meant we couldn’t even leave the river…..

In seven days the only time we slipped lines was to motor to an anchorage along the river, where two of those on board scrubbed her bottom; then we took her right back again and parked her in the same berth we departed four hours earlier. All experienced sailors on board, so you can guarantee the same lines were tied with the same knots to the same cleats with the same fenders in the same spots…. you get the gist.

Before I arrived I knew our departure would be delayed due to a storm (or two) in the Atlantic, so there was already some trepidation when it came to provisioning; plenty of fruit, veg and staples, but no perishables. We planned a menu, trying to be as inventive as possible, whilst also being prepared for precarious preparation; I was most excited for a red lentil chilli which I knew I could cook even in a rock and roll washing machine esque scenario, although I always prefer a leisurely downwind sail, especially when boiling water.

Then we found out for sure we weren’t going anywhere for the next 48hrs… or the next.

Days passed.

Us Brits (and friends) spend many hours discussing the weather, so it isn’t a huge step to analysing weather apps and websites. It is almost fortunate that the weather is something we are trained from youth to enjoy to converse in great detail, repeatedly and eagerly, given that most of the time the forecast is telling you precisely what you don’t want to hear.

On the last night before I couldn’t delay any further, and had to abandon the yacht and fellow crew, we had my favourite en route meal on board; by this point we had reached the stage of having to eat the rapidly deteriorating mushrooms…. plus, since the impending storm meant we were still on land, we could even have wine!

When you bring it back to the basics, it’s all about food, and weather.

There were so many of these that I thought I’d do a second part! So, more words with different implications on land and at sea.

Quarter
– land: we celebrate a quarter century of marriage with gifts of silver
– sea: Calamity prefers the starboard quarter (rear cabin on the right)

Fix
– land: I had to fix my bicycle before I could go to the post office
– sea: we take a fix to ascertain our position using known points of reference, lights or mountain peaks for instance

Boom
– land: the boom of the fireworks signalled the end of the year
– sea: we describe the boom as one of the two most dangerous things on a yacht; if you loosen the topping lift make sure you have it under control, dropping the boom on someone’s head is a very bad thing

Shrouds
– land: the three letter agencies work under shrouds of secrecy
– sea: each side of the mast is under tension by these thick metal cords, the shrouds, which are also very useful for crew to hold on to when stepping on or off the side to a pontoon

Slip
– land: running in the rain is refreshing, but I never run too fast in case I slip and graze myself
– sea: in order to leave a marina we prepare to slip the lines, running them from the yacht to a cleat and back on board, so no assistance is required from land, ergo all crew are aboard

Sweat
– land: at school we were informed; as a lady you don’t sweat, you perspire
– sea: to help pull on a heavy line someone goes forward to sweat it; they haul the line towards themself, release, and let someone in the cockpit take up the slack

Beam
– land: a sun beam over the horizon means it is the start of a lovely day
– sea: it is imperative to know the beam, or widest breadth, of your yacht for purposes of parking

Port
– land: a glass of port makes a good accompaniment to cheese
– sea: the port, ie left hand side of your yacht, passes the red markers on entrance to a marina or down a marked channel

Of course, port and cheese is very nice at anchor too.

Although English is officially the language used in maritime communication, there’s a whole other vocabulary you have to pick up to be effective in the sailing world. And, just to make it all the more confusing to the newcomer, whilst there is a swathe of new words and phrases to learn – which sometimes makes the sailing language just sound like jargon to an outsider – they’ve also repurposed a lot of common words…

So, here are a few of the words with different implications on land and at sea.

Boarded
– land: I weekly boarded at school and loved it
– sea: they were boarded by customs; it was very scary

Tack
– land: I used a thumb tack to hang my painting
– sea: we put in a tack to change course by 120 to 180 degrees, for instance to avoid hitting the shallows

Mouse
– land: the cat left a dead mouse on my doorstep
– sea: we mouse the end of lines (ropes) with cord to stop them fraying

Heads
– land: they bowed their heads in respect
– sea: no toilet paper down the heads, please

Reef
– land: there is apparently an amazing reef off Australia
– sea: a reef, or three, reduces the amount of sail you have up and increases control of your yacht under heavy winds

Knots
– land: we brush our hair before it knots
– sea: nautical miles per hour are knots, seven to ten knots for instance is a very respectable speed for a yacht, thirty five knots is common for a fast ferry

Clutch
– land: one tends to take a nice clutch bag to a wedding
– sea: a clutch (sometimes jammer) is used to take the weight of a line

Wobble
– land: after one too many wines I felt a wobble as I stood
– sea: we carry out a wobble every morning before starting the engine, ie we check the water, oil, belt, bilge, look around, and ensure we have water coming out the exhaust

Because no-one wants engine failure, at land or sea.

No toilet paper in the heads please….. sounds simple. No?

We are asked what is the worst moment we have had at sea, if we have been caught in storms, what do we fear the most, etc. To which every skipper answers in her/his own way, depending on each one’s story and experience.

In these conversations most of us tend to forget about the heads (for the non-sailors amongst you, these are the toilets), however, if these are blocked we all remember that this is one of our greatest nightmares.

When new people come aboard we need to orient them to living on a boat; we take them through using the gas, safety procedures, which way it is most suitable to lie to sleep in their bunk (yes, sometimes you need to specify this), and how to use the heads.

Once we have explained how the heads work, always, invariably, we say “and please no toilet paper down the heads!” or “only whatever comes out of your body should go down the heads!”, or whichever colourful way we think of saying this. The message is simple: no toilet paper or similar down the loo. We always get a “yes, no problem!” in response. I tend to add that if it gets blocked it is a very messy job, and it will be extremely horrible for me to unblock it; sometimes I wonder if I should threaten them that they would have to unblock it themselves….

Anyhow, every now and again we get the occasion when someone sheepishly comes to tell us something is wrong with the heads. By now we do not even go and see what is wrong, we just grab the tools and get ready for this very messy and horrible job; something has blocked the heads. (I must say, without going into gory details as I wish to spare the readers of any imagery that may come to mind, one time it was not toilet paper, but just the result of someone who had indulged a little – understatement – bit too much in food).

Unblocking the heads is indeed a nightmare. If you are at sea you also need to negotiate the waves, and make sure that you keep your balance while you are unscrewing the pump.

A good skipper has the wellbeing of his/her crew in mind, hence you cannot have anyone worrying that the heads may be out of order until you get to shore. The job needs to be done immediately. This is also the same reason why, even with experienced sailors on board, it is the skipper’s job to handle this mess, you wouldn’t want any of your crew go through the agony of….. you can imagine what.

As a pair we both tend to share this horrible job on our boats; Gareth dismantles and unblocks, Anna cleans after the work is done. Fair enough, burden shared. The joys of boating we remind each other. Social media generally shows the glamorous parts of our passion, sailing. But as with every passion there is some hardship, and blocked heads fall in the list of things any skipper hates to deal with.

Please, please, please do not believe the myth that one little square of toilet paper will not block the heads. IT DOES, not immediately, but IT WILL. It just settles at the bottom of the holding tank until it becomes a solid and hard mass, like papier-mâché, blocks the holding tank…. and makes an even messier job.

So remember no toilet paper in the heads please…. it is very simple.

Ah, then there is peeing sitting down when at sea (applicable for men), but this is another story.

~ Gareth and Anna Maria

There is an immediacy we expect nowadays.

A response within hours, minutes or seconds. Without which we get anxious, frustrated, cross; we “lose our mind” waiting for the answer. Without a reply we start to question ourselves: Were we unclear? Did we, by gosh, suggest a reply wasn’t warranted?

The idea that we might need to wait for a response is so unusual in the immediate satisfaction world of today, and yet it exists within what is mostly now traditions of yesteryear.

The postcard. The notecard. The thank you card. The birthday card. The Christmas card. The Easter card. The wedding card. The life milestone card. The sympathy card. The card to simply say I was thinking of you. A letter.

Whilst I fully appreciate the place of email, text, messenger and the like, there is an intimacy to pen and paper which cannot be replicated.

A simple piece of paper in a plain envelope can carry the most emotional and emphatic of words. A beautiful card on heavy stock can have no words, and yet communicate everything.

We no longer dip a quill in an ink pot. We no longer blot our print before we fold the page. We no longer seal the envelope with dripped wax. But that doesn’t mean we don’t enclose a piece of ourselves within the folds of paper we send out into the world. Something to be treasured by the recipient, both in the moment and in their memory of receipt.

As the generations ahead of us pass away, much is lost; whilst we treasure the letters sent by those before us, let’s send more.

Thoughts from afar. Apologies. Love letters. Last words.

So important.

There have been several ups and downs since I left the City, some predicted but most unavoidable, thus I’ve just had to make the most of what this adventure has thrown at me. Whilst 99% of the time being a single girl abroad is no bad thing, it has has indeed been such a free and fun experience, there are occasions where I rue not having a plus one.

The obvious? Weddings and other formal events are that bit more fabulous when there’s someone to share the day with. Less obvious, but more frequent; have you ever tried to double up a leaky binbag on your own? Nightmare.

As is the fact that there’s no-one to hold a spare key for me. Hence I found myself locked out the other night, until I managed to follow someone into the building annex – corporate security would not have liked that breach! – and then broke into my apartment through the bedroom window.

This isn’t the first minor drama in recent times exacerbated by the fact I’m here alone; I have twice now attempted to leave the country, and had to ask the taxi bus to turn back because I forgot something. There was the time I worked myself into paranoia over the fact that my cat might get herself stuck in the dishwasher, fully aware of the bizarrety of the request I proceeded to ask my letting agent to go in and close it. Then, who can forget the occasion my dress was busted at a friend’s wedding, in the church, and a stranger had to rip me out of it in the charity shop…..

I am an awkward blend of someone who likes to be invisible, and a creature of habit. I go to the same Irish pub and order the same dinner most days: the reason I favour it is because they smile and ask if I’d like the usual, then leave me be. Yet they also let me stay with them until 2am when I was locked out.

Being a single lady abroad does have one slightly scary aspect; if I went missing, how long until I’d be missed? It does occur to me on occasion, especially when I’m out of my regular space; plane hopping or staying in Spanish pensions….. perhaps that’s why I keep up with this blog, and the frequent facebook cat updates. I hope someone would notice if I went a bit too quiet.

But it’s not all bad!

I stay up late watching trash on Netflix; I listen to Shania in the lounge; no-one questions me for eating the same thing every day for a month; and I sleep like a happy starfish amongst my oversize throw pillows.

I can’t sketch. I can’t paint or sculpt. I don’t consider myself creative, I definitely fell into the Maths and Science rather than Arts boxes at school, but I love to write.

Whether it’s to tell a story, to update a friend on the ridiculousness of my life, or to complete the business aspects of a technical requirements document; I adore the process of taking something from inside my head and putting it down on paper. It isn’t immediate, I tend to muse, often subconsciously, the concept flirting with my minds eye whilst I carry on otherwise, for many hours, days or even weeks before it is time for me to make a start; and when I do I may not myself know quite what I am going to say, but I know I’m ready to pick up the metaphorical pen.

I remember writing when I was ten or twelve; I wrote a whole series of short stories about an elf called Slippery who found himself in all sorts of pickles, he never made the right choice at first, but learned his lesson in the end. Magic Faraway Tree inspiration here. Then I wrote a novel, Narnia esque, which I printed, bound and at my Grandma’s insistence gave to a couple of her friends to read and review; he had run a school abroad and she was a headmistress. I received their feedback on a post it note posted back on the front of my novel, I recall it was appropriately encouraging for a girl of twelve who had written about giants and secret doors in oak trees. I hope I have the book and the note in storage somewhere for posterity.

There were a half dozen others ideas started and abandoned on floppy discs, including one which haunts me to this day; it was Matrix style, and I can still see the world paralleling the one I am in. Then there was a play at school about crossed telephone lines, full of appalling puns (address? a dress? you get the gist), but we acted it out at end of year and the audience laughed when they were supposed to.

I didn’t write again until my Philosophy degree, which I loved, but will admit I didn’t excel at. Tumbling into investment banking didn’t give me much excuse to pick up a pen to write more than trade details on a blotter, until I found myself involved with Change. As an SME, then in Change myself, and then later on in a department responsible for completing RFPs; these documents can be 100 pages in length and have to be perfect; appealing to both my love of writing also pristine punctuation and alignment.

During my time in the City I was known to compose many a TripAdvisor review, even received the occasional glass of wine for my effort, and for years now I’ve emailed my dreams to myself. It has been suggested that maybe a newspaper would serialise them, I’ve never dared to ask; a decade ago I sent a draft book to a publisher. The feedback, “Your story is very engaging and […] fascinating, however, ….” didn’t mark me as completely defeated, just highlighted that the publishing world is very competitive, and I’ve held off from sending it again, or indeed anything else out into the world. This blog aside.

I started another book three years ago, and bought research materials for two more over the most recent twelve months; but they are mere whims and personal distraction, no pen will be put to paper until I’ve done all the background research, reason enough for me to have written nothing as yet.

However, a couple of weeks ago I started writing a novel; in the first week I wrote 38,000 words. It isn’t one of the books I’ve been musing and researching, it came to me as I woke one Tuesday, I was inspired and had to do more than just email the basic premise to myself. I had to write again. I’ve since started to build out the characters and construct the world around them, and I feel like it’s taking on a life of it’s own, something to be proud of.

Maybe.

I never forget how lucky I am.

I grew up in a safe home, I went to good schools, I was even given the choice of sixth form by my parents who respected me enough to enter into an agreement with me whereby I would work hard and get the grades they wanted of me if I went to the school of my choice rather than theirs. So I did.

I always worked hard, yet do not deny there have been hiccups and tears along the way; I’m divorced and renting again, neither of which I foresaw when engaged and buying the anticipated “dream flat” a few years ago. But I worked harder still and walked out of that situation unscathed, with the debts paid off, and put myself to work hard at a new endeavour and start afresh.

And what a fresh start this is. What a world view this life gives me!

I’ve mentioned it before, yet I can’t repeat enough, how incredible it was to see the night sky slowly but awesomely filled with stars and planets on a night watch a few weeks ago. How mind boggling, spine tingling and all those other ways to describe the feeling that you are seeing something materialise in front of your eyes, which you knew, somehow never really appreciated before.

We are so miniscule. Our issues, our personal problems, our dilemmas which we feel are so unique and so pivotal are in fact minute. Our world is one of an unimaginable number, we are each one tiny part of a planet which makes a tiny piece of a percent of this universe.

But sadly for so many of us the world is constrained to the mundane; the commute, the bills, the chores, the debts.

The fact that I now have the ability and opportunity to sit 60 miles offshore, in the depths of night, on a yacht sailing across the ocean. That I can take the time to stare up, and beyond, to think and appreciate, makes me even luckier still.

Approximately six nautical miles from land your phone goes dark.

That rectangular weight, your every minute of the day companion, the so called black mirror, is effectively dead. It is now just a digital camera with an alarm clock feature. Both useful on a yacht, I do not deny, but as a communication device? Nada.

There’s a process you go through, one I am sure most of you have experienced the start of, when – for instance – you’ve left your phone at home for the day. Namely the impulse to check it, and the realisation you can’t, every ten minutes.

After 24 hours the self correction is immediate, but by then you have a list of stuff you are frustrated about. Texts you forgot to send – especially if you were only briefly on land and you’ve been meaning to send said text for over a week now. Googles you meant to do, e.g. fur cape six letters T—– we had been doing a crossword for the previous four days at sea, and someone for blinking sake should have at least looked that clue solution up when we had signal!

Then there are emails you ought to have read in case a reply was needed, shuttles you’re definitely going to need at the other end; what if they’re fully booked by now? You have no way of knowing and worse no way of fixing it, or even playing a useless female card and asking for help, because out here you’re all alone.

The feeling of helplessness and being stranded in the middle of the ocean is hard to resist – until you realise that actually, it is not that bad. The cats (or children) are being cared for, you’re safe and quite content, and realistically no-one back home is worried about you – although vessel stalker lost you a week ago – a quick sat phone lat/long message to your father is enough to confirm you’re alive; he probably wouldn’t have assumed pirates had captured the yacht for at least another week anyway.

So, it’s time to enjoy the quiet. The freedom. Being alone on watch on a yacht at night is one of the most incredible things I have ever experienced; not having that impulse to try to share it with someone else via your phone just means you have to be even more selfish and relish the moment for yourself.

It is not quite that simple though. I find myself thinking about last conversations with family and close friends, recent good byes for now and final conversations with those I’ve lost. I worry that enough wasn’t said, and now it can’t be.

I think of the podcasts I’ve listened to about astronauts on the ISS when the twin towers were taken. When a Frenchman was locked in a year long experiment and the Paris attacks took place. How I am sure nothing equivalent would or has happened, but it scares me that we wouldn’t know, for four days we would know nothing except that the sun and moon had risen, the stars and the rest of our universe were still out there, and that the wind and sea were propelling us further North.

Approximately six nautical miles from land the phones start to reconnect.

On our most recent delivery I was on watch at the time, no-one said anything to each other for the next two hours. There were no emergencies, no final conversations had happened, and there was still time to say those words we had all had to hold captive in our minds for the last days until they could be transmitted either by message or vocally to the recipient.

I confess I was equally as relieved when I checked my phone and my world was as I had left it. No-one had missed me, but also no-one had fulfilled my worst worries of leaving me with the wrong words. It is scary to realise that this is so important, the last thing you say, and the relief of being able to say more when you have the chance. In a lot of ways it is completely out of your hands to effectively realise this before it is too late and the window for communication is closed, but I hope to do better, say more, make sure people know what I want to say before I lose my chance.

Please forgive me if I become more effusive or even tell you that I love you.

We never did look up the crossword clue.