

Bradwell.
The season was in full
swing by now. A blustery start with a short detour to the end of the trot as
Levanter was blown onto the end of the pontoons, but we were away. Shortly
afterwards, first blood was drawn as John Lennard’s head butted my anchor locker
lid (luckily, no dents). John’s self sacrifice continued throughout the
weekend, enduring countless hours on a hard, splintery bench just to ensure that
the ladies could enjoy a leisurely preparation for dinner, safe in the knowledge
that their table was secure. Luckily, he did have reinforcements to hand, so he
wasn’t totally alone in hostile Green Man territory.
Winds of force 5 at the
outset eased down over the weekend but a total of 52 miles were covered, mostly
under sail.