Chickens at sea

I am now the sort of person who spends the weekend on a yacht apparently.  I know this because I just did it.  My best friend from school is getting married, and her sister is in the army, and so we hired an army boat which is pretty cheap, relatively speaking, and sailed to Cowes.  We were a party of seven girls and a random skipper chap called Olly who seemed rather pleased to be on a hen party, although we were disappointingly sedate, according to him anyway.  There was lots of chatting, laughing, sunning (with sun screen on obviously), a steady flow of good food and drink and a luxuriously relaxing weekend passed by pretty happily.

One of the girls with us on the boat is about to sail across the Atlantic ocean, and much as I enjoyed my two days on board, I have to say I don’t envy her.  If there was more than a breath of wind I would start thinking I was going to die, and I can’t get my head round all those ropes and sails and degrees and knotts and tides.  Also, they have to sleep in shifts of three hours to keep the thing going, and even if every other bit of the trip appealed, that would be a deal breaker for me.

What I could get used to is sipping champagne in the sunset while moored to a nice and steady pontoon.  That is a challenge I could definitely rise to.

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