Sailing close hauled ...

I'd never imagined that I would sail a yacht - for many years I avoided all forms of physical activity - at school I hid in the Science Prep rooms whenever PE loomed - the kindly Biology teacher covered for me - I happily cleaned out the tanks in which frogs and toads were kept - I grew very fond of these undemanding, luckless, creatures -

The idea of sailing a yacht, or, indeed, being on a yacht, was simply one that never entered my head - Anne once took me to Itchenor, where her dad sailed - yachts with ripe spinnakers leapt across the waves - but all I cared about was the scent and feel of Anne's skin -

Years later, Anne and I flew to Corsica, with Sophie and Tessa - Jane and Ken had invited us to stay upon their yacht - it was a beautiful vessel, with teak decks and two masts - one night, when we were anchored off the coast, south of Ajaccio, we saw shooting stars - a warm resinous wind blew across the bay - dark pine trees covered the steeply sloping shore -

But it was Anne who got me sailing, for real - my delight now is to sail close hauled, the yacht heeling over, with perhaps the main sail reefed, the genoa taut - every sense alert - no longer a pale apparatchik, but someone alive, sun burnt, full of joy -

I wish I could steal back in time, to meet my younger self - I would do my best to shake up that pale, frightened, creature -