Last weekend, Anne and I went to Port Solent - we were learning all about flotilla sailing - the marina was straight out of JG Ballard, with its yachts and waterside apartments -
There were six of us on the yacht, all with varying degrees of sailing experience - Roy, our teacher, worked us hard - we practised parking the boat, springing off pontoons, carrying out power turns, picking up mooring buoys, gybing, tacking -
The harbour was full of vessels - there were power boats, ferries, dinghies, yachts, police boats and warships - there were even sea going kayaks - young men drove their jet skis like Somali pirates -
At one point, we each, in turn, spun the yacht around between moth balled cruisers and frigates - the high sides of the ships towered above us - you could see stilled radar antennae, enormous anchors - the silent hulls still radiated a sense of menace -
Anne turned the wheel as though she was a slender operative in Metropolis - I half expected to see steam wreathing her arms -
Roy asked me to bear away - as I did so, I looked up, to see the white sail, taut and shapely in the wind - I was alert and joyous - I felt alive, every nerve tingling -
I thought - I must always stay awake, like this - every part of me is awake -
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