EME
Active member
The Outleg
Leaving the port of Golfe Juan behind us it’s time to head for the telepathic rendezvous with the Mother-in-Law. Well I might wish it was telepathic but reality is that this is very much a physical here and now activity. The in-laws live on the side of a hill with a full view of Golfe Juan, the bay and its marinas. My father in law owns a telescope; given that he has no interest in astronomy or any maritime activity it has always been a cause of concern that he owns such a powerful piece of magnification. The presence of local beaches however may conceal (as it were) the true object of his need for such instrument.
Nevertheless, precedent dictates that we head towards the ‘Perrier Bottle’ aka known as a lighthouse which in true French fashion is treated to a different colour exterior each spring. When within vicinity, I am then required to circle at high speed thereby indicating our presence to M-I-L who has been warned of pending arrival by mobile phone. Now to anyone else in the vicinity, it would be forgivable to think that any boat circling for 8 minutes in ever decreasing circles at high speed had a stuck throttle and jammed outdrive. However if you ever see this on the Cote d’Azur please provide ample room as TB is communicating with M-I-L.
Well that is what she was trying to do; despite creating waves of Tukinami proportions it transpires that M-I-L cannot see us. Understanding her inability to use anything mechanical I respectfully suggest that TB informs M-I-L to use the other end of the telescope. A vengeful sneer is accompanied by a request to circle in the opposite direction as this may help the old girl. Thinking that this will at least relieve the boredom and increasing giddiness I slip the boat gracefully into port-hand circles, admiring my own graceful manoeuvre but fearing I may next be asked to do a Triple Salko to climax our graceful pirouettes. Thankfully it transpires she’s seen us after removing the lens cap, and TB engages in much frantic signalling which should come in useful when we signal the RAF helicopter.
Duty Done. Oh No. Did I hear her invite the M-I-L to lunch? While pondering potential escape routes from this scenario, I am delighted to watch a saily boat approaching from starboard display excellent seamanship, as he passes no more than 5 metres astern of us.
In turning to acknowledge his vigorous waving, TB comments on how unstable those boats are. This one appears to be heeling from side-to-side which proves that it has nothing to do with the wind and is just something these raggies do for fun.
Having avoided doing a Priddy on the local fish farm, I feel that I am definitely getting the hang of this boat, and it’s time to be a little more adventurous. Time for some wave-skipping… So I open her up and let her go. Now, a 5-inch swell may not seem a lot to you guys who venture out in the UK but when you are on your annual high it feels like you are a king. TB is doing her Isadora Duncan impression – scarf flowing behind her in the wind. Visions of the scarf rapping itself around a Volvo outdrive flash through my mind but I soon realise that it could never reach from ‘her’ seat. Reminder to self – TB’s Xmas present this year is a longer scarf.
Cutting the speed right back to go between the Islands off Cannes, I look across at TB and appreciate how lucky I am to be in the South of France on a speedboat sat next to such a Bardot-esque being. Readers will of course now appreciate that we are not talking about Brigitte here, rather Bernard Bardot the burly beef butcher from Bonn. Nothing is going to spoil my day.
Home Port
Next stop is La Rague to practice entering my berth. Now this is of course a journey of aspiration as my berth is actually occupied by another boat. But given the opportunity I readily pull into the marina( having called up the Capitainerie ) and do a quick stern-to manoeuvre, glaring lovingly at where my dream boat should be.
Alas it is at this stage that TB decides to investigate the onboard toilet arrangements. ‘ Someone has left a kid’s potty here and there’s no loo’ she proclaims. ‘ You are going to have to let me go to the restaurant. Oh woe is me, it’s 1045 am and we KNOW the peeps in the restaurant. Indeed I’ve kind of let them know that I’m a very important part-owner of this marina. My first sea-bound encounter with their little ‘berth’ is to be so that Dearheart can get a leak and all aboard a Cranchi… woe is me. Perhaps they won’t notice.
No such luck , my first attempt at coming alongside sees me nearly take out a Sunseeker Mexico, the second results in a high-powered crash reverse as the bow decides it would prefer dry land to this kind of treatment. Of course , by now the entire staff of the restaurant are on the quayside and proffer a variety of ropes . I switch off and ignominiously we are dragged alongside. Dearheart clambers ashore and I am left to ‘entertain’ the staff in franglais while she seeks solace with the owners. She eventually returns, takes her ‘seat. We’re off . I vow never to return again .... Next stop La Garoupe.
Non-eventful really until we are about a mile from Cap d’Antibes and I look behind us. SHEEEETTTTT. There is a bleeding great cloud behind us ; in fact it is quite clearly following us. No!! this cloud is emanating from us , let’s face it this cloud is so big and thick I expect to get a call from Nice air Traffic Control any minute informing me that they have had to suspend flights into the airport. Push the bleeding choke in you idiot!! Well do something!!
To Be Continued
<hr width=100% size=1><font color=blue>I am WHAT I say I am</font color=blue>
Leaving the port of Golfe Juan behind us it’s time to head for the telepathic rendezvous with the Mother-in-Law. Well I might wish it was telepathic but reality is that this is very much a physical here and now activity. The in-laws live on the side of a hill with a full view of Golfe Juan, the bay and its marinas. My father in law owns a telescope; given that he has no interest in astronomy or any maritime activity it has always been a cause of concern that he owns such a powerful piece of magnification. The presence of local beaches however may conceal (as it were) the true object of his need for such instrument.
Nevertheless, precedent dictates that we head towards the ‘Perrier Bottle’ aka known as a lighthouse which in true French fashion is treated to a different colour exterior each spring. When within vicinity, I am then required to circle at high speed thereby indicating our presence to M-I-L who has been warned of pending arrival by mobile phone. Now to anyone else in the vicinity, it would be forgivable to think that any boat circling for 8 minutes in ever decreasing circles at high speed had a stuck throttle and jammed outdrive. However if you ever see this on the Cote d’Azur please provide ample room as TB is communicating with M-I-L.
Well that is what she was trying to do; despite creating waves of Tukinami proportions it transpires that M-I-L cannot see us. Understanding her inability to use anything mechanical I respectfully suggest that TB informs M-I-L to use the other end of the telescope. A vengeful sneer is accompanied by a request to circle in the opposite direction as this may help the old girl. Thinking that this will at least relieve the boredom and increasing giddiness I slip the boat gracefully into port-hand circles, admiring my own graceful manoeuvre but fearing I may next be asked to do a Triple Salko to climax our graceful pirouettes. Thankfully it transpires she’s seen us after removing the lens cap, and TB engages in much frantic signalling which should come in useful when we signal the RAF helicopter.
Duty Done. Oh No. Did I hear her invite the M-I-L to lunch? While pondering potential escape routes from this scenario, I am delighted to watch a saily boat approaching from starboard display excellent seamanship, as he passes no more than 5 metres astern of us.
In turning to acknowledge his vigorous waving, TB comments on how unstable those boats are. This one appears to be heeling from side-to-side which proves that it has nothing to do with the wind and is just something these raggies do for fun.
Having avoided doing a Priddy on the local fish farm, I feel that I am definitely getting the hang of this boat, and it’s time to be a little more adventurous. Time for some wave-skipping… So I open her up and let her go. Now, a 5-inch swell may not seem a lot to you guys who venture out in the UK but when you are on your annual high it feels like you are a king. TB is doing her Isadora Duncan impression – scarf flowing behind her in the wind. Visions of the scarf rapping itself around a Volvo outdrive flash through my mind but I soon realise that it could never reach from ‘her’ seat. Reminder to self – TB’s Xmas present this year is a longer scarf.
Cutting the speed right back to go between the Islands off Cannes, I look across at TB and appreciate how lucky I am to be in the South of France on a speedboat sat next to such a Bardot-esque being. Readers will of course now appreciate that we are not talking about Brigitte here, rather Bernard Bardot the burly beef butcher from Bonn. Nothing is going to spoil my day.
Home Port
Next stop is La Rague to practice entering my berth. Now this is of course a journey of aspiration as my berth is actually occupied by another boat. But given the opportunity I readily pull into the marina( having called up the Capitainerie ) and do a quick stern-to manoeuvre, glaring lovingly at where my dream boat should be.
Alas it is at this stage that TB decides to investigate the onboard toilet arrangements. ‘ Someone has left a kid’s potty here and there’s no loo’ she proclaims. ‘ You are going to have to let me go to the restaurant. Oh woe is me, it’s 1045 am and we KNOW the peeps in the restaurant. Indeed I’ve kind of let them know that I’m a very important part-owner of this marina. My first sea-bound encounter with their little ‘berth’ is to be so that Dearheart can get a leak and all aboard a Cranchi… woe is me. Perhaps they won’t notice.
No such luck , my first attempt at coming alongside sees me nearly take out a Sunseeker Mexico, the second results in a high-powered crash reverse as the bow decides it would prefer dry land to this kind of treatment. Of course , by now the entire staff of the restaurant are on the quayside and proffer a variety of ropes . I switch off and ignominiously we are dragged alongside. Dearheart clambers ashore and I am left to ‘entertain’ the staff in franglais while she seeks solace with the owners. She eventually returns, takes her ‘seat. We’re off . I vow never to return again .... Next stop La Garoupe.
Non-eventful really until we are about a mile from Cap d’Antibes and I look behind us. SHEEEETTTTT. There is a bleeding great cloud behind us ; in fact it is quite clearly following us. No!! this cloud is emanating from us , let’s face it this cloud is so big and thick I expect to get a call from Nice air Traffic Control any minute informing me that they have had to suspend flights into the airport. Push the bleeding choke in you idiot!! Well do something!!
To Be Continued
<hr width=100% size=1><font color=blue>I am WHAT I say I am</font color=blue>
