Day 2 of the Antigua Superyacht Challenge and the carnage continues. Today we have managed to damage two sails. One being the big spinnaker on the front, a huge huge sail, tore in half on race 1 this morning, then on race 2, the mizzen stay sail got tangled on the drop and we managed to put one of the VHF aerials through it. To make matters worse, as we were trying to recover the sail, the skipper started a turn too early and we caught it again on the main rig – so up went Zayn with his knife to cut it free. So one torn in half, the other holed in two different places, and of course, it’s bloody hot here.
At a party the other night, I realised something obvious that I wish I knew years ago. Chicks like dancing, everyone knows that, and chicks like to dance with their men, and there lies the problem. Men don’t like to dance unless of course, they are good at it and very few are, especially the straight ones. It dawned on me while watching the oldies having a good time on the dance floor that when men get to a certain age, they forget their inhibitions about their dancing skills and just have a go anyway, and they have a good time – better still, the chicks don’t give a toss what their men dance like anyway and have an even better time still.
Far from it for me not to have a good time so I slipped into what I lovingly refer to as ‘fuckabout mode’ and rocked the night away coaxing as many of the crew and guests to join me, I even tried the Dirty Dancing lift at one point but couldn’t lift her above my head – and she was far from big too.
I do sorely miss the live music culture that was England, and more specifically Cornwall. Live bands in venues like Blue Bar -Porthtowan, The Driftwood in St Agnes or even Tricky Dickies so it was good to have a live band here in Nelsons Dockyard. They weren’t too bad either. As a final song, I heard the intro chords and thought ‘Florence’ – and I wasn’t wrong. There is something strangely charming about windmilling or aero-planing your way around the dance floor with a dozen other crazy English fools.
To finish on a pleasant note – I treated myself to a rather spiffing Range Rover Sport last week. Not that I was after a Sport but when I saw the photos, I loved it. Steve-o checked it out for me and the transfer was made. It is now sitting on the drive in England waiting for my return in March where it will stay for a couple of weeks before being whisked off to Belgium for a month and then road tripped to Mallorca for the rest of the year.
Expect more carnage tomorrow – the last day of racing