It has at last begun. I caught the train down to Fareham by way of Hereford and Newport. The journey seemed to last forever and my baggage now wears the scars of 100 000 km of air travel. The poor bag is on its last legs and has worn through due to baggage handling conveyor belt abuse. The walk to Auriol’s was amusing and I was lost a couple of times but friendly bus passengers kept me on track. Had the taxis taken credit cards I’d have used them instead.
Yesterday morning Auriol showed me the vagaries of public transport as far a buses are concerned. They have leather seats and are really kitted out for prams and bicycles. They kneel of course and have wifi and charge points. We bought me transport for a week at the terminus and made good use of the information kiosk. Turning left after a short walk we came upon my first sighting of a Clipper 70. She had already been film wrapped by her sponsor and namesake, she was Qingdao. Suspended within a mobile gantry she was having work done and looked enormous. A woman was interested in her and it turns out she knew Maja from America who had offered me help with my blogging software.
The next surprise was chancing upon the Clipper crew watering hole, the Castle Tavern. I left Auriol seated within while I hunted down the training school which turns out to be virtually next door. In a neat row all lined up on the pontoon were nine including Zhuhai at the far end, the only other already wrapped and named. They gleamed white waiting like greyhounds in a starting gate. I of course tried the door but it was locked and I was quickly defeated. Friday would be the day I’d first be able to caress one of these fine thoroughbreds, I would just have to wait.
I returned to the pub and downed my favourite cider brand. It was a joyous reunion not having had one in nearly two years. The barmaid suggested I return on Wednesday evening to meet with crew currently undergoing training. Upbeat we walked up the pedestrian avenue, stopped awhile to hear a wheelchair busker play his guitar before finding a pharmacist to stock up on some nicotine replacement. Greg’s won my attention for a cheese and onion pie as I’d had an early start at 5am without thought of breakfast and was ravenous. We returned home and I had time to recce the local pub which I found simply enough along the creek and through a narrow alley. The return trip was rather more challenging as I took a wrong turning within the housing estate but was soon corrected from an upstairs window by a young lady.
This morning dawned bright and cold under a cloudless sky and another trip to Gosport was made, this time on my own. Took the Gosport ferry over to Portsmouth this time and wondered around Gunwharf Quays and Southsea. I’d got there too early with everything closed and the place almost empty. Luckily a coffee vendor was open and a cappuccino and oat cake were soon sliding comfortingly down my throat as I sat down in the watery sun watching the harbour activity. Idly walked the mall’s giddy array of designer stores, all way out of my league onwards to Southsea via the Isle of Wight ferry terminal. Through a fishing port with trawlers spinning radar antennae their sides all rust stained by the chain rakes they drag up their beams and onwards to the stone tower guarding the entrance to the harbour. En route the only other people encountered were a couple on holiday from South Africa and daughter now living in the USA. Their accents gave them away and we chatted until our paths diverged.
At around ten I headed back and took a ride up the Spinnaker Tower not wishing to waste the good visibility. The view from the three observation platforms was well worth the visit. I declined to remove my shoes and walk across the glass floor but snapped a few pictures and experimented with the new Blackmagic. I was soon back down in the lift and headed to the Musto Lighthouse store to see about sailing boots and gloves. Left with only gloves and socks as these were the two items that fitted proverbially. With base and mid-layers I had some doubt or they hadn’t the sizes in stock for me to make better judgment. I did however try on a dry suit in small with choking rubber sleeves and neck which need to be trimmed with a knife to fit correctly. The reflection in the mirror made me look like a yellow yeti in size nine sea boots two sizes up to make room for thick woollen socks and built in waterproof feet like a baby romper. The suit has a rubber tube by which to inflate it in the water, internal braces, an awkward method of head twisting to get inside the diagonal zip. Apparently we live in them in the Southern Ocean. Madeline was awfully helpful and as with all my favorite stores served coffee to this addict.
Mangled Neuron 