Photo 1... I didn't wanna get too cocky by taking photos of Custom officers with guns, so here is the blue flashing light!!
Photo 2... My office. Photo 3... Finisterre Headland, European mainlands most westerly point. . . Triffic......! A lump of rock with a lighthouse on it!! No problem guys, It's a pleasure.
Howdy, I hear it's raining on you guys in Blighty too, good, , , sincerely, , , good, very selfish of me I know, however 4 sunny days I've had since leaving, It's grinding a bit thin now, getting to The Doc too which ain't good.
Normally we would carry on sailing but we are holed up in the beautiful but boring Portosin. The reasons for being stranded here I will explain in due time. One saving grace is that the Club Nautico (the marina clubhouse) is very comfortable and hospitable, providing free wi-fi which to you or I, living in a 21st century western, modern culture, wouldn't seem too remarkable. But in Spain,,,,, VERY PRECIOUS commodity these radiobytes, This is the first place since the Wi-fi bar in La Coruna that I have been able to be Multimedia Texas Pete. I fear that I have lost the Multimedia way whilst at sea.. I will endevour to persevere... TELL US A STORY PETE!!!! I hear you cry,,,, Roight on, are you sitting comfortably? I will begin,
A long long time ago last Friday, The Doc and I were sailing from Finisterre to Portosin, an easy days sailing to explore another 'Ria' of Galicia.
After watching John Terry fall over and start crying (for the loss of his substantial bonus I presume) we spent Thursday a little hungover and set sail Friday morn.
The wind was blowing a steady 20 knots for the majority of the day from the North so it was a good opportunity to experiment with new sail configurations. I have found that sailing can be rather tedious if one's life isn't at risk through strong seas so the stimulation of messing with sails definately stimulates the addling mind of a sailor. Dolphins came to play again, Spanish Dolphins, it's lucky that my Spanish is improving.
So with a spinnaker pole attached to the genoa we were making a good 6 knots, yep! 6, that's SIX miles an hour more or less, and that's quite respectably quick! Life in the Fast Lane.
By the time we reched the last leg of the journey, the wind had dropped considerably, we came around the headland into the Ria Muros, which is home to our destined village of Portosin and decided to perform an M.O.B. (Man Over Board) procedure, which involves throwing a fender (one of those inflatable bumper things) overboard and then retrieving it as quickly as possible to prevent the poor fender from becoming hyperthermic, obviously in pretence that the fender substituting a fallen comrade. You get the picture.
Half an hour previously, a Spanish Coastal Patrol Ship ( like the Californian Highway Patrol- C.H.I.P.S - but S.P.I.C.S- nearly) had passed us in the opposite direction.
We were just about to commence M.O.B. practice number two, when the S.P.I.C.S steamed up to us Full Power, Large Fast Shark like Vessel, lights flashing, six guys with guns and Ray-Ban Aviators stood on the rails awaiting to board us and potentially, if they fancy, rip The Lady Fisher and all Her contents to pieces. Being as Sharp as I can possibly muster I had of course ingested The Docs prescribed medicine, because I could of course forsee the medicine cabinet being investigated. It's fortunate that I am skint or there would of been more medicine than I would of been comfortable with.
With the confidence of cleanliness on The Lady Fisher we obligingly 'Pulled Over' for the Boys in Blue. What happened next is not what the S.P.I.C.S were planning.
Obviously to 'Pull Alongside' something that is moving (i.e. Us) the vehicle that is approaching has to match BOTH SPEED AND DIRECTION- simple enough yeah! Ironically enough the Customs boat had A WOMAN BEHIND THE WHEEL (sorry girls- FACT) and she managed to get BOTH SPEED AND DIRECTION wrong approaching at an angle of 30 Degrees whilst accelerating,, the result Boys is of course,,,,,, She Fuckin Rammed Us!!! Nearly taking out MultiMedia Pete's Six-pack with Her 30 Tonne pointy end! Fortunately a stancion came to my rescue by takin the majority of the impact. So she tries again, nope! third time lucky! nope!!! This was all occuring in flat, calm conditions, and by this time Myself and The Doc are shouting "WTF" at the Rozzers and they're shouting back "Shut the Fk Up, We're the Rozzers with Guns Remember" so we stopped shouting!! Next up the S.P.I.C.S had to back off and get into their little inflatable 2-man boat and approach in a less violent manner.
All of the mayhem served us well as the dynamic had somewhat turned, Instead of half a dozen monkeys stomping all over us we had the Senior Officer and One Junior checking our passports and having a small search whilst I quizzed them about what they're gonna do about our broken stancion (The Doc doesn't speak Spanish).
At least the Monkeys- sorry-Authorities didn't rip The Good Lady Fisher and Her contents to pieces unprofitably looking for a bust. The incompetence of the Captain (yes, She was the Captain, 25ish 5'7" tight transom, hot really, just a shit driver) saved my Guitar from a full body search.
That is why we are holed up in Beautiful,Boring Portosin, awaiting the Customs Insurance Company to assess and fix The Docs' broken stantion. which has obviously pissed him off no end, They ram Us but we gotta sit around a shit town paying mooring fees somewhere we don't wanna be waiting for them to be predictably slow and beurocratic about it. I'm fine waiting and bloggin and fixing other things on the boat (rain permitting, it's horizontal at the mo so I'm bloggin) but I'm afraid The Docs' coolness is a tad frayed.
If anyone can send me a morale to this story I'd like to hear from you, cause I'm damned if I can think of anything to be learned from it excluding that ingestion of The Docs Medicine can lead to a well chilled Multimedia Texas Pete, but Hey, tell your Granny to suck an egg.
Dickheads!
"And Now, Back to the Studio for the Weather."
"It's Spitting"
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