More of the cruise - 14th July onwards

Mum's coming over tomorrow or the day after for a few days so we're going to hire a car and see the island. I don't think there's much point in staying actually in St Helier; Skegness with Porsches and banks everywhere. They even have a guest house called the Linger Longer - must be a chain - God forbid. (Welcome to the Linga Longa - Skegness, St Helier and Blackpool (probably)).

I realise, the whole atmosphere is different. See it from a different angle. Their towns don't seem to have that "kiss me quick" feel which St Helier most certainly does. I don't remember seeing rubbish and empty, squashed beer cans swirling in shop doorways or people bragging about being "'alf bevvied already" at mid-day. Pain au raisin. Fresh baguettes. No huge bouncers on every pub/bar doorway (what's it come to where we have to have those). There's not the same feeling of "threat".

I'm thinking of rating places by their shower and toilet facilities - I could award "toilets". One toilet bad and five toilets excellent etc (it could be useful). St Helier merina would definitely get a five toilet rating. Clean, warm, loads of showers and toilets, hooks, hot water all the time, a dry area - luxury. I'm trying to remember a 1 toilet establishment but can't. On the whole their all pretty good but perhaps need a bit more space and hooks (do the French shower with their clothes actually on I wonder).

On another topic, I'm a bit miffed off with my autopilot. It definitely helms Magicienne better than me in almost all conditions. It was quite strange yesterday. We both went up on the foredeck and left Charlie to it with no qualms at all. In fact, it consequently allows you to keep a better lookout. He never complains when he's experiencing weather helm (which is not always good).

Elizabeth Castle, just at the entrance to the Harbour, on a very hot day along a drying causeway (Mum had to paddle part of the way as it hadn't quite dried). This was pretty good. Although it was built around 1560, it was of course built of granite so it is little changed apart from where the Germans added gun platforms etc. Any, so it doesn't look that old.

Plemont Bay, a beautiful cove down a steep cliff side (I went there when I was about 8 I think) where Mum again had a paddle. The first time we went there it was full of water at high tide which I should have known; call myself a sailor - huh!

The Maritime Museum. The Pilot book said this was an excellent "hands on" exhibition. It was boring. "Hands on", I've decided, really means "for Kids" which of course in this day and age is also "excellent" to be politically correct.

The forecast was for a S or SW wind force 3 to 4 occasionally 5 so a stinking sail was anticipated as our course was largely NNW after turning around the bottom left hand corner of Jersey (de de de…..de de de deeeeh). The sail over was quite rough at first as we motor-sailed with the wind on the nose (it was more Westerly!) through fairly lumpy overfalls. Then turning NNW the sea evened out but the wind became a bit vague and eventually in the last couple of hours freshened to about F5 WxN so we were close hauled and well heeled! But, much more interesting. In the first wallowy bit Pauline felt pretty sea sick, so this livened her up a bit.

Guernsey is a different kettle of fish. St Peter Port has a charming harbour frontage and they (whose they?) have managed to keep a lot of character in the town. Everything looks better. Last night, we went for a walk to Fermain Bay (about 3 - 4 miles round trip) and again, the impression was much better than Jersey (de de de.. but no). I think people have got some serious spondoolicks here. Whilst we were walking on the cliff path, a women came out of the gate at the bottom of her garden to walk her dog (in the same direction as us). I say bottom of her garden - no house was actually visible as we looked back up through the acres of woodland, across the cultivated lawn and beyond - it wasn't like "T't back yard" in Corrie St. As she walked, £10 notes floated in the air. Apparently she works for her husband, "doing his secretarial work you know". Oh yeah. I jest slightly; a delightful walk which left us sharp set for our dinner. Afterwards, had a chat to a few people and went on their boat for a nightcap - they were very pleasant (Colin and Margaret) but why can't we seem to meet anyone of our own age or maybe even less?

It has been suggested in some quarters that I may be a bit anti French and that I think that they have it in for me personally and the British in general. If I have given that impression, it was not intended. Nothing could be further from the truth. They are very pleasant people (away from positions of the slightest authority (including serving on deli counters)) and do not display the slightest "side" whatsoever (despite the Gulf War). Brilliant countryside, food, people etc. It is their "system" that I'm so frustrated with, and so are they I might add, as it (the system) applies itself to them as well. I have also of course included my own pathetic attempts at humour as I'm sure you'll agree.

When you've been ignored at the deli counter for the 5th time whilst they have a chat to their mate, wrap up a bit of sausage, write on a bit of paper, answer the 'phone or just look vacant; you begin to get a bit peeved. So, no more apologies from me; that's the way it is!

We've not been walking so much of late so we're going to get back in the groove a little on that score as waistlines are expanding. A walk is planned for today but don't know where yet. Roger is just off "getting his legs done" and thence some washing - then off we go. So I'm taking the opportunity of quiet and no interruptions to write this lot.

As I mentioned, Guernsey is a very much nicer place than Jersey although it has to be said that the prettier part, the coastal walks, woodland etc all lies in the South East Corner. We took a bus ride around the island but the Northern and Eastern sides are all a bit wind blown which is not surprising, as it's next stop America.

Had a good look around St Peter Port and visited the writer Victor Hugo's house where he was in residence when an exile from that nasty old Napoleon. He was a weird bloke. And the house is very dark and theatrical but none the less interesting for all that. Whilst in the Marina we met a nice couple called Bob and Margaret. They had a 40'(ish) steel yacht called Brassic which the built themselves from a bare hull. It took six years in the garden (Bob, whose very down to earth, owned a small steel fabrication factory which helped but I can't help but admire people like that who can stick to what must be a very taxing and expensive project. Still they ended up with exactly the boat they wanted at a fraction of the cost.

Although Guernsey was a big improvement it still had it's share of modern faults. Every day on the quayside near our boat a group of "winos" gathered with the police being called on one occasion. Sometimes at in the evening, or at night, young men would be roaring and swearing at the tops of their voices and young women screeching at one another as they left the pubs tottering on high heels in pelmets; both top and bottom - despite a distinct chill and sometimes heavy rain.

OK, so we had a corker of a sail up to Cherbourg. Our passage took us back through the dreaded Race of Alderney; where streams can reach 10 knots. To do so with some modicum of comfort, it is necessary to enter the Race just as the tide turns in your favour (NE going) - and to do that, you need to leave St Peter Port about 3 hours earlier, therefore plugging a foul (SW going) tide for that period. I was a bit concerned as we were on Springs and getting there late would mean the possibility of very heavy overfalls.

However, the weather was superb and we had a stiff Westerly which had us creaming along at over five knots; more than enough to overcome the tide and reach the entrance to the Race on time. Once in we were able to pick our way in between the worst areas at one point doing over 11 knots over the ground. However, just West and North of Cap de la Hague we found ourselves in quite heavy, uncomfortable and confused seas so we simply had to motor for half an hour to get out of it.

I don't know how anyone could sail in it as the boat's motion is all over the place and hence the sails cannot be filled all the time and she would just stop. This was even more dangerous with the Westerly we were in as the possibility of a gybe becomes and absolute certainty and the wind (although not too high) was strong enough to cause serious damage to person or worse still, Magicienne!

So, that's where we've got to. Yesterday, I connected the boat up properly to shore power - so we've got mains throughout and I intend to fit a battery charger (we ran out of electric on the sail over here and the instruments all went off).

In France they have a sailing school called "Glenans" which is ubiquitous. A bit like Sun Sail at home but even more of 'em. By and large I admire this school as they seem to teach sailing "by the seat of the pants" in many ways. Boats often don't have engines and they go out whatever the weather. Glenans produces a sailing manual which I have seen although not digested in any detail so the following is what I assume their section on berthing in a marina must look like as safe to say, most French "plaisancers" seem to use this technique:

Despite the fact that your yacht probably has a keel which will help you to manoeuvre at relatively low speeds, approach your selected berth at a sufficiently high speed to guarantee that you will hit the main pontoon with a resounding thump. This will allow you to constantly test the structural integrity of not only your vessel but also the pontoon materials. If you are lucky, you can also provide this service to you neighbour who is enjoying an early evening glass of wine in the warm sunshine for which the author is sure you will receive that somnolent skippers undying gratitude.

Berth width is not a matter for consideration. Approach the berth at 45 degrees to the finger pontoon so as to aim you bow at the right angle between the finger and the main pontoon. If you can make your boat pass within microns of the boat next to you, so much the better as this will warn the skipper of that vessel of your approach causing him to choke and splutter as the Hermitage goes down the wrong way thus rousing him fully from his slumbers and preparing him to fend your vessel off his.

You should already have briefed your crew on this method of arrival and they will be standing along the side of the boat, all calling back to you differing estimates of you distance from the pontoon at the same time. This does not matter. When you are about 2m away they will all jump off any way and run/trip up round to the front of the boat to grab your pulpit in a vain attempt to stop 10 tonnes of boat hitting the pontoon. This part of the manoeuvre will however reap yet another benefit, that is; the skipper of the boat on the other side of the finger you are about to hit will also be enjoying a pleasant meal in the sunshine and will probably have his cockpit table laid out with bottles, glasses, maybe a small vase of flowers. Now, as your hefty crew hit the light and wobbly pontoon finger to which your neighbour is firmly attached, in unison, (NB probably the only time they will achieve this temporal feat) so his boat will shake and rock uncontrollably and if you're lucky, upset the wine waiting to be imbibed.

Top tip number 1 - if you are sailing short handed, your crew should leap over the guard rail whilst still clapped on to it and wrestle the boat to a standstill in the style of a rodeo cowboy. This can be difficult to achieve if your crew is a lightly built, fair maiden but the look of concern on her face as she vaults the safety rail and endeavours not to slip in between the pontoon and your 10 tonne vessel thus crushing her legs to a bloody pulp will be a sight to behold. In any case, it will again guarantee you hitting the pontoon for stress testing purposes.

Now with all your crew holding the bow and yelling different directions to you…..do nothing. Allow the stern of your vessel to drift out side ways, away from the finger so that it comes into sharp contact with the vessel next door to you. Do not worry. Despite the fact that you personally have set no fenders your neighbour almost certainly has for he will be English and he will be expecting your arrival at some point. Besides which, this method has yet another useful side effect. As yet, the skippers Wife will be unaware of you imminent arrival and will at that moment be emptying scalding water from some container. A sharp crack alongside will raise her from this reverie as the water burns its way down her midriff and legs (it is emphatically not your fault if it is hot and she is wearing a bikini and is thus not dressed sufficiently for the job in hand). The skippers Wife can now come on deck and help fend you off; she will be pleased to do so.

Ignore the look of horror and disbelief that you will see on all the faces of those skippers and crew of nearby yachts. They will be English and therefore will not have used this type of approach before. The author is sure that having witnessed it, they will see the many benefits it can bring.

OK, visited the Liberation Museum (you may remember, months back, that we climbed all the way to the top of the hill to gain entry, only to find it was closing as we arrived). Anyway, it was OK but probably not worth the effort had we not got a taxi up! Apparently it was the Americans.

Buses. Having moaned a bit about them in the past I must say that those provided for moving within the immediate environs of Cherbourg are excellent. Frequent (every 15/20 mins). Clean and modern. On time and cheap (1 Euro flat rate). Can't be bad.

Weather perked up somewhat (as I believe it did at home), and Victoria and Alex arrived 1800 on Saturday evening. We dumped their stuff on the boat and went for a nice birthday meal for Victoria (early) at Café de Paris. Sunday morning we went to a market and got a few bits and pieces. Victoria wore her best walking shoes and a light calf length denim skirt about 3 inches thick and never complained once about her feet hurting or the heat. Hmmmm. Sunday afternoon we mooched and then put them back on the ferry which quite unmanned me don't you know. Spent Sunday evening miserable but perked up by Monday morning.

Victoria brought over the battery charging unit for the boat (I say Victoria, she made Alex carry everything on account of him "being the bloke" mind you she did have to struggle with a small handbag she desperately needed to purchase on the ferry). I fitted the unit on Monday morning and now we have proper power aboard the boat; sheer luxury. A constantly working fridge and no worries about using the autopilot or having lots of lights on even! Eee, by 'eck.

Hung about for the wind until yesterday (Wednesday) and sailed down to St Vaast. It was excellent. The weather which on Tuesday had been so hot, relented a little and we woke up on Wednesday morning to a fair amount of mist and haze. Left at 1235 with a fair WNW F3 and virtually sailed off the berth. The wind stayed fair most of the way and we romped round the Pointe de Barfleur with a perfect wind/tide situation (no "big wave things") with about 4.5Kn of tide underneath us. Around 1500, the sun came out with a vengeance again making the sea turn from it's austere grey to bright sparkling blue (it was so good I rang me Mum!). About 3 miles out of St Vaast the wind veered round to the East and then died completely so we motored for the last half-hour.

St Vaast really is a great place. It lies in a bay about 2 miles across which has the Ile de Tatihou in the centre, just offshore. On Ile Tatihou there is a castle. Just to the South is another Castle on a spit called La Hogue so you enter through a very pleasant channel and then once ashore look out to see (as we did last night) over blue see with the island just becoming misty; very pleasant. Within the bay the locals have a truly vast mussel and oyster bed (is that why it's called St Vaast?) and within the small town there are a number of very good establishments dedicated to their consumption. So we helped out. Moules frites for two, wine, 2 beers, coffee and an ice cream - 20 quid, can't be bad.

The marina, which is part of the fishing harbour (which adds to the attraction 'cause you feel like a real sailor!) is great although fairly crowded at this time of the year. It costs £10 per night including free electricity (as with all French marinas) as opposed to say Bucklers hard which is £28 and electricity is extra at about £2.50ish. The local authority does subsidise the marina but of course it's worth it overall due to the greatly increased trade in the town. Why can't we see that at home in our self-funding obsessed culture due to that awful woman Thatcher. She's got a lot to answer for I can tell you.

The finger pontoons here are very wobbly and don't float so well. Next to us we have an older couple whom I have nick named Mr and Mrs Cholmondley-Warner (which I note shares the same capital letters CW with Chinless-Wonder). No, they're very pleasant but it would appear a bit awkward. Whilst tying up yesterday evening I was kneeling ('cause of the wobble) on the end of the finger doing me round turn and two half hitches. I was working with my hands in the water ('cause of the lack of floatation) when Mr C-W decides to jump down onto the finger from his (quite high) boat. Now, he's a big lad and I ended up with the water half way up my thighs but I told him with a cheery grin that I needed a good bath anyway. Ho hum.

In Cherbourg we saw an inordinate amount of vessels towed in by the Societe Nationale de Sauvetage en Mer (lifeboat). Perhaps eight or nine at least, all of which had no power. Assuming we are suddenly entering a pocket of the universe where combustion engines don't work, I suspect they mostly had stuff around the propeller caused by the epic quantities of lobster pot buoys everywhere. We have been lucky enough to avoid this so far but Mr and Mrs Cholmondley-Warner didn't and this morning had to get a diver to go under the boat and get rid of the offending rope (even though they had a rope cutter fitted to the prop shaft). Out of interest the tope cutter did cut the rope so that the shaft would turn (so it worked) but it left a bit around the shaft which gave a very loud clonking noise as it whipped against the hull; and could of course have provide further problems. Still, worth thinking about.

On a family note, for those that don't know, Alex and Kelly moved into their first house last Wednesday with no particular hitches apart from the inept performance of their solicitor. Toya has mowed the front lawn twice since we've been away and herds of Wildebeest have been seen grazing betwixt times.