The Accidental Sailor.

The Accidental Sailor.

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Summary

This is the true story about myself, just a not so ordinary working class man. Who, disillusioned with life in the UK, sets out on a single handed voyage to Australia, after accidentally, while drunk and under the influence of cocaine, buying a small yacht off ebay. Up until the point when the voyage begins I had virtually no experience sailing a boat. This story is a primarily a story of adult adventure with tales of peril at sea, some of the very interesting times I have spent ashore, the jobs I have had along the way and the people I have met. I don't intend to complete the story with just one book. With all the experiences I have had there just wouldn't be room. At the moment I am in Gran Canaria, but I have actually sailed close to 5000 miles. I sailed from Liverpool to Cornwall, across to France, down the west coast until the river Geronde. Through the Canal du Midi, that runs north of the pyranese to the Mediterranean. I then sailed down to Spain then across to Sardinia. From there I went to Stromboli, the most active volcano in the world. I then went to Sicily and through the Straights of Messina to Italy. I then sailed across to Zakyinthos in Greece. I arrived there in January 2009 and stayed there until the end of July. My original intentions were then to go through the Suez Canal and to cross the Indian Ocean, but I was running short of money. My friend Phil who I had set off with had only made it as far as Gibraltar, but he told me there was a chance of work there. I then changed my mind on the route I would take so I decided to head back to Gibraltar to find work. This route then took me to Malta, Tunisia, back to Sardinia, to Minorca, Majorca and Ibiza, from there I sailed to southern Spain and down the Spanish coast to Gibraltar I stayed there for the winter and then sailed up the Algarve as far as the River Guadiana on the Portuguese border. I then sailed to Gran Canaria. And I am going to sail across the Atlantic in a couple of days time. This I where I am now. The next book would continue from here. It would be the story about sailing across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, central and south America, through the Panama Canal. And then depending on whether I had enough content, either continue with the second book or start a third book and continue across the Pacific Ocean, visiting some of the thousands of islands that lie between Panama and Australia. My final destination. Then, who knows. If the books are a success, I could sail around Oz, or just keep on going. The first parts of the story are there to give a background to the type of person I am and this includes many references to drugs and alcohol. The alcohol continues throughout the story but once I set sail, the drugs play a very minor part, in fact one of my main reasons for leaving was because of cocaine. The book will be broken down into chapters that would consist of either, legs of the voyage or times ashore. Once I leave the UK the legs of the voyage are more country to country and less day hopping from town to town, therefore getting me around Europe at a faster pace. Whilst at sea I encounter some very bad weather especially in the Mediterranean at times facing winds up-to 80 mph, along with this I have had many problems with the boat, usually when I am in storms or gales. Some of my problems at sea occur because I am drunk, for example I set sail from Malta late at night really drunk and within 20 minutes I fell asleep and woke up in the morning just 10 miles away from Sicily. I was actually sailing to Tunisia. Another time when I fell asleep going around the southern tip of Majorca and I was woken by a group of lads in a dingy, my boat was on the rocks just 1meter away from a cliff face. As-well as my adventures at sea, some my experiences ashore are even more bizarre. I had a friend join me for the trip up the River Geronde. I got so drunk that I passed out unconscious in a pool of vomit, my friend, never having been on a boat before radioed the police for assistance. The police came and somehow he managed to tie the boat to a pontoon at the side of the river. When the police boarded the boat and couldn't wake me, my friend showed them the empty bottle of whiskey I had drunk and they just laughed. That night we met some French people and ended up having a party on my boat and after most of them left my friend and I ended up having sex with the ugliest girl in France. While I was in Greece I was offered work running drugs from Athens to Cyprus at €25.000 a trip. I had a job on a tour boat owned by an ex Mafia bodyguard who had done time for murder. I was one of a crew of 3, the Captain was an alcoholic who slept throughout the trips and the bloke that drove the boat, (the boss’s son) which by the way carried 100 passengers was stoned all day. I eventually had a big row with these and had to leave Greece. Along with the things that has happened to me which also include me being arrested on two occasions, once in Greece and once in Gibraltar, there are also accounts of some of the sights I have seen and the wildlife that I have encountered along the way. There are many more tales that I could tell here but I am trying to keep the synopsis as brief as possible, but whatever I write will be both amusing and interesting, from start to finish.

Summary

This is the true story about myself, just a not so ordinary working class man. Who, disillusioned with life in the UK, sets out on a single handed voyage to Australia, after accidentally, while drunk and under the influence of cocaine, buying a small yacht off ebay. Up until the point when the voyage begins I had virtually no experience sailing a boat. This story is a primarily a story of adult adventure with tales of peril at sea, some of the very interesting times I have spent ashore, the jobs I have had along the way and the people I have met.
I don't intend to complete the story with just one book. With all the experiences I have had there just wouldn't be room. At the moment I am in Gran Canaria, but I have actually sailed close to 5000 miles. I sailed from Liverpool to Cornwall, across to France, down the west coast until the river Geronde. Through the Canal du Midi, that runs north of the pyranese to the Mediterranean. I then sailed down to Spain then across to Sardinia. From there I went to Stromboli, the most active volcano in the world. I then went to Sicily and through the Straights of Messina to Italy. I then sailed across to Zakyinthos in Greece. I arrived there in January 2009 and stayed there until the end of July. My original intentions were then to go through the Suez Canal and to cross the Indian Ocean, but I was running short of money. My friend Phil who I had set off with had only made it as far as Gibraltar, but he told me there was a chance of work there. I then changed my mind on the route I would take so I decided to head back to Gibraltar to find work. This route then took me to Malta, Tunisia, back to Sardinia, to Minorca, Majorca and Ibiza, from there I sailed to southern Spain and down the Spanish coast to Gibraltar I stayed there for the winter and then sailed up the Algarve as far as the River Guadiana on the Portuguese border. I then sailed to Gran Canaria. And I am going to sail across the Atlantic in a couple of days time. This I where I am now. The next book would continue from here. It would be the story about sailing across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, central and south America, through the Panama Canal. And then depending on whether I had enough content, either continue with the second book or start a third book and continue across the Pacific Ocean, visiting some of the thousands of islands that lie between Panama and Australia. My final destination. Then, who knows. If the books are a success, I could sail around Oz, or just keep on going.
The first parts of the story are there to give a background to the type of person I am and this includes many references to drugs and alcohol. The alcohol continues throughout the story but once I set sail, the drugs play a very minor part, in fact one of my main reasons for leaving was because of cocaine. The book will be broken down into chapters that would consist of either, legs of the voyage or times ashore. Once I leave the UK the legs of the voyage are more country to country and less day hopping from town to town, therefore getting me around Europe at a faster pace. Whilst at sea I encounter some very bad weather especially in the Mediterranean at times facing winds up-to 80 mph, along with this I have had many problems with the boat, usually when I am in storms or gales. Some of my problems at sea occur because I am drunk, for example I set sail from Malta late at night really drunk and within 20 minutes I fell asleep and woke up in the morning just 10 miles away from Sicily. I was actually sailing to Tunisia. Another time when I fell asleep going around the southern tip of Majorca and I was woken by a group of lads in a dingy, my boat was on the rocks just 1meter away from a cliff face. As-well as my adventures at sea, some my experiences ashore are even more bizarre. I had a friend join me for the trip up the River Geronde. I got so drunk that I passed out unconscious in a pool of vomit, my friend, never having been on a boat before radioed the police for assistance. The police came and somehow he managed to tie the boat to a pontoon at the side of the river. When the police boarded the boat and couldn't wake me, my friend showed them the empty bottle of whiskey I had drunk and they just laughed. That night we met some French people and ended up having a party on my boat and after most of them left my friend and I ended up having sex with the ugliest girl in France. While I was in Greece I was offered work running drugs from Athens to Cyprus at €25.000 a trip. I had a job on a tour boat owned by an ex Mafia bodyguard who had done time for murder. I was one of a crew of 3, the Captain was an alcoholic who slept throughout the trips and the bloke that drove the boat, (the boss’s son) which by the way carried 100 passengers was stoned all day. I eventually had a big row with these and had to leave Greece. Along with the things that has happened to me which also include me being arrested on two occasions, once in Greece and once in Gibraltar, there are also accounts of some of the sights I have seen and the wildlife that I have encountered along the way. There are many more tales that I could tell here but I am trying to keep the synopsis as brief as possible, but whatever I write will be both amusing and interesting, from start to finish.

Chapter1 (v.1) - The Accidental Sailor.

Author Chapter Note

This is the true story about myself, just a not so ordinary working class man. Who, disillusioned with life in the UK, sets out on a single handed voyage to Australia, after accidentally, while drunk and under the influence of cocaine, buying a small yacht off ebay. Up until the point when the voyage begins I had virtually no experience sailing a boat. This story is a primarily a story of adult adventure with tales of peril at sea, some of the very interesting times I have spent ashore, the jobs I have had along the way and the people I have met. I don't intend to complete the story with just one book. With all the experiences I have had there just wouldn't be room. At the moment I am in Gran Canaria, but I have actually sailed close to 5000 miles. I sailed from Liverpool to Cornwall, across to France, down the west coast until the river Geronde. Through the Canal du Midi, that runs north of the pyranese to the Mediterranean. I then sailed down to Spain then across to Sardinia. From there I went to Stromboli, the most active volcano in the world. I then went to Sicily and through the Straights of Messina to Italy. I then sailed across to Zakyinthos in Greece. I arrived there in January 2009 and stayed there until the end of July. My original intentions were then to go through the Suez Canal and to cross the Indian Ocean, but I was running short of money. My friend Phil who I had set off with had only made it as far as Gibraltar, but he told me there was a chance of work there. I then changed my mind on the route I would take so I decided to head back to Gibraltar to find work. This route then took me to Malta, Tunisia, back to Sardinia, to Minorca, Majorca and Ibiza, from there I sailed to southern Spain and down the Spanish coast to Gibraltar I stayed there for the winter and then sailed up the Algarve as far as the River Guadiana on the Portuguese border. I then sailed to Gran Canaria. And I am going to sail across the Atlantic in a couple of days time. This I where I am now. The next book would continue from here. It would be the story about sailing across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, central and south America, through the Panama Canal. And then depending on whether I had enough content, either continue with the second book or start a third book and continue across the Pacific Ocean, visiting some of the thousands of islands that lie between Panama and Australia. My final destination. Then, who knows. If the books are a success, I could sail around Oz, or just keep on going. The first parts of the story are there to give a background to the type of person I am and this includes many references to drugs and alcohol. The alcohol continues throughout the story but once I set sail, the drugs play a very minor part, in fact one of my main reasons for leaving was because of cocaine. The book will be broken down into chapters that would consist of either, legs of the voyage or times ashore. Once I leave the UK the legs of the voyage are more country to country and less day hopping from town to town, therefore getting me around Europe at a faster pace. Whilst at sea I encounter some very bad weather especially in the Mediterranean at times facing winds up-to 80 mph, along with this I have had many problems with the boat, usually when I am in storms or gales. Some of my problems at sea occur because I am drunk, for example I set sail from Malta late at night really drunk and within 20 minutes I fell asleep and woke up in the morning just 10 miles away from Sicily. I was actually sailing to Tunisia. Another time when I fell asleep going around the southern tip of Majorca and I was woken by a group of lads in a dingy, my boat was on the rocks just 1meter away from a cliff face. As-well as my adventures at sea, some my experiences ashore are even more bizarre. I had a friend join me for the trip up the River Geronde. I got so drunk that I passed out unconscious in a pool of vomit, my friend, never having been on a boat before radioed the police for assistance. The police came and somehow he managed to tie the boat to a pontoon at the side of the river. When the police boarded the boat and couldn't wake me, my friend showed them the empty bottle of whiskey I had drunk and they just laughed. That night we met some French people and ended up having a party on my boat and after most of them left my friend and I ended up having sex with the ugliest girl in France. While I was in Greece I was offered work running drugs from Athens to Cyprus at €25.000 a trip. I had a job on a tour boat owned by an ex Mafia bodyguard who had done time for murder. I was one of a crew of 3, the Captain was an alcoholic who slept throughout the trips and the bloke that drove the boat, (the boss’s son) which by the way carried 100 passengers was stoned all day. I eventually had a big row with these and had to leave Greece. Along with the things that has happened to me which also include me being arrested on two occasions, once in Greece and once in Gibraltar, there are also accounts of some of the sights I have seen and the wildlife that I have encountered along the way. There are many more tales that I could tell here but I am trying to keep the synopsis as brief as possible, but whatever I write will be both amusing and interesting, from start to finish.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 07, 2011

Reads: 657

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 07, 2011

A A A

A A A

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Accidental Sailor
 
Part 1
An ebay Adventure.
 
Word count. 31.000
Estimated word count on completion. 150.000 to 200.000
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 1
 
 
It was Saturday the 2nd of August 2008. I was in Liverpool marina lock, readying myself for sailing single-handed to Australia.
Now, when you tend to think about people that sail on voyages like this, you might think about people like Ellen McArthur, Chay Blithe, Dee Caffery or Sir Robin Knox Johnson. Hero's one and all, experienced sports men (and women) fit, knowledgeable, brave and as a rule, rich!
Myself on the other hand. Mmm, I'm not really like that. My name is Mark Hughes I'm 40 years young, 5' 6", 15 stone, bald, fat bastard, my mates call me Huggy. I come from a land locked village near Warrington called Winwick, I'm a welder by day, piss head by night and quite partial to a bit of the old nose candy by the gram.
As for my sailing experience.... Well, about 3 years earlier, I accidentally bought an 18' trailer sailor off e bay when I was pissed and coked out of my brain. It cost £800 and I used the "buy it now" option. Seeing as I had already paid for the fucking thing I had no choice but to go and pick it up from Whitchurch. So, after a 3 hour wank I decided I was probably sober enough to find my van. Four hours and one puncture later I rolled into our Derek’s farm, sparks flying off one of the trailer’s rim's. obviously, I didn’t have a spare. As I pulled up next to the barn, I was warmly greeted by my cousin Tricia shouting " get that off my fucking yard " and her husband Derek just shaking his head. So after a quick brew and me promising I would help with spud picking (I never helped) they let me keep it on the farm, until I cleared enough space behind my hovel so I could park it there.
Now, having bought this old tub I quickly realised that there’s a lot more to yachts than meets the eye. first of all, being a trailer sailor the mast was lying flat along the roof and my first job was to
put it up. easier said than done. anybody that knows anything about yachts will know there’s a lot of dangly stringy type things that hold the mast up and control the sails, and these things all have a correct home to go to. I didn’t know anything about yachts. So its off to W.H. Smiths for a copy of Yachting Monthly. I then looked at the pictures of other yachts and I copied where each dangly bit went. Lo and behold I got it up, and all without the need of chemical assistance. A first for me. Next stop, Anglesey.
It was a bank holiday weekend, the long one with Friday and Monday off work. So I decided to take "Mistral" my Alacrity 18 foot trailer sailor out for her (and my) maiden voyage. I had already bought a hand held radio and a chart covering Anglesey and adjoining waters. (I couldn’t even read an A to Z) All I needed now was booze, weed, a bit of Columbia’s finest and a few mates to enjoy a weekend on the water.
the first person to enlist was our kid, Sean, he's mad as a box of frogs, fearless and he has a life jacket. which for some strange reason his mum (my aunty pat) bought him from the car boot sale, just because he was going for a weekend in the lake district. next there was Keith. he was only coming cos it was a good excuse to get away from his bird. Next was south African Jeff he also is a sandwich short of a picnic and will do anything as long as it involves a near death experience. Last of the motley crew to join was John. Now John likes the finer things in life, fit birds, nice cars, he drives a Merc, lives at the gym, nice tan in fact he owns several sun bed shops and he joined without seeing my boat. I think when I said I had a yacht he was thinking maybe a Sunseeker, snorting coke off a whores tits and then a ride on one of the jet ski's. Boy, was he in for a shock. I didn’t even have a fucking rubber dingy and the coke was on the back of an old CD box.
It was Friday morning and four of us made our way to Amlwch on the north coast of Anglesey.
John was joining us later as he had to find somewhere to dump the kids. We got there around lunchtime and proceeded to launch the boat. no major dramas there, this sailings a piece off piss. So we tied the boat up and then remembered we left the food and booze on the camp site we stopped at a few miles down the road. We left the boat tied up and made our way back. We got our gear and went to the pub for a bite to eat and a few beers. after a few hours merrymaking we headed back to the boat. Now, let me tell you. At this stage all I knew about tides were that they left a dirty mark around the top of the bath. When we left the boat we stepped off it straight onto the harbour wall. When we returned we thought the boat had been nicked. It was nowhere to be seen. On closer inspection the tide had gone out and the boat had dropped about 10 meters and the mast was below the wall. When we looked down we were surprised to see a car driving past the boat on what was the sea bed and the boat was hanging by the ropes that we had tied it up with. As these tides take quite a while to go in and out, it was going to be a few hours before the boat would be buoyant again.
So with no chance of getting out onto old briny that day, we were forced back into the local watering hole for some more beer and a few liveners off the back of the pubs toilet. After we'd had a skin full all that was left now, was a visit to the chippy next door. I’m sure my kebab and chips was very nice, but after all the crap I’d put up my nose that day, which probably included, vim, rat, poison, anthrax and topped off with with some dirty fisherman’s piss. I wasn’t very hungry, so my food went to the dog. Oh, I never mentioned my dog.
Well, her name is Sheila and she is the love of my life. She is an Australian cattle dog or Blue Heeler and I never go anywhere without her. So, when I said I was sailing single handed to Oz, that wasn’t exactly true. She is very friendly, in a dingo type of way, and will eat anything, including, stones, plastic bottles, fag butts and even the odd baby if the news papers are to be believed. (I still blame the mother) So my kebab and chips with hot chilli sauce was no problem.
On returning to the boat we were happy to see that it was floating again. All that was left to do was sort out sleeping arrangements. As you can imagine, on an 18' boat this was never going to be the Ritz. It had 3 berths. Me being the skipper had to have one, our kid, being the 1st mate and having the one and only life jacket had to be close to me so he had the next. Jeff was faster than Keith to the last one so Keith was left outside in the cold. After a shitty nights sleep we woke up to find Keith had gone home. I guess he just wasn’t cut out for a life on the ocean waves. Sheila on the other hand, made herself at home and had shit in one of Jeff’s shoes. How we laughed. Well, Jeff didn’t. Sean soon cheered him up with a full English, cooked on a one burner camping stove, followed with a breakfast line and a can of Carling. Re nourished and fully charged we were finally ready to cast off.
We motored out of the harbour and managed to put up the sails. There was a good breeze blowing from the west that suited us perfectly because we were heading for a place called Moelfree, about eight miles to the east of us. The sea wasn’t too bumpy, that is until we passed this lighthouse that was on a rocky headland jutting out into the sea. The waves were coming from behind us and for some reason they all of a sudden became quite big, but once we got used to the fact that the boat went over them and not the other way around it wasn’t too bad. After about half an hour, as quick as these waves appeared they died away. We continued to sail on the inside of this island which we didn’t have a name for, so, due to the fact that that it's only discernible feature was what appeared to be either an ancient light house or single tower from an old monastery, we decided, much to our amusement to call it Dildo Island. A couple of hours and a few beers later we motored into the little bay of Meolfree, where we were to pick up John.
He was waiting for us on some rocks, but not having a dingy we were going to have a problem getting him aboard. fortunately somebody had kindly left a rowing boat tied to a mooring buoy in the bay. We tied up to the buoy and it was decided that Jeff and Sean go and get John, some petrol and a cheep rubber dingy and I wait with the boat. This wasn’t the Oxford rowing team, the boat
was never overloaded with excessive braincells so after about twenty minuets of going around in circles, going backwards and going in completely the wrong direction, they finally made it the 30 meters to the beach. A great achievement going by the state they were in.
They piled into Johns Merc and off they went, leaving me all alone with my boat and and a pile
of nose bag the size of Mont Blanc. So I proceeded to rack up a line the length of the M6 motorway. Just about the time I was snorting past Hilton Park services at 90 miles an hour
I heard a noise on the hard shoulder. I sort of came to my senses and realised it was actually a fishing boat next to me with a very rude fisherman shouting "get off my buoy, and where’s my fucking dinghy?" Without once looking him in the eye, I said, "sorry mate I hope you don’t mind, it was an emergency. One of my crew had an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, I don’t think its too serious they shouldn’t be long." He said, "sorry to hear that mate, I hope he will be OK No problem, you just wait there then and ill sort out my net while I'm waiting." "Cheers mate," I said, and went back inside to finish my line and crack open another can of Carling. This was my first encounter with fishermen. Over the coming month's and years I will grow to hate them with a passion. The sort of hatred I normally reserve for Liverpool football club. I myself am an armchair Man U fan and everybody loves us.
About an hour later I saw them coming down the beach carrying a new twenty quid kids dinghy, already inflated, a can of petrol and a crate of Carling. Sean and Jeff jumped in the rowing boat with the supplies and John got in the dingy and they slowly made there way back to the yacht. By now I was quite fucked and I greeted John with a chorus of the Ace of Base classic." All that she wants, is a rubber dingy" and shouting " Look! Its a fucking rubber johnny." On hearing the commotion, the fisherman returned and on seeing my crew, he said " whoever it was that got hurt, seams to have made a good recovery" I said "it wasn’t one of these it was Nigel and they’ve kept him in for observation" He said "Bollocks, you've had a laugh, now give me my dingy back and fuck off!
I untied the boat and we headed out for a sail to Dildo Island. Unfortunately there was no wind so we had to motor. Which didn’t seem to bother us cos we were more interested in getting pissed and wrecked. When we got there we decided to go ashore in pairs as the dingy wasn’t big enough for us all, so I went first because Sheila was looking at Jeff’s shoes so she must have needed a shit
I got in the Dingy and Sheila jumped in after me and instantly popped it with her claws. Brilliant! That was a waist of twenty quid. We got back on the boat and headed back to Moelfree. Luckily when we got there the fisherman had gone. Its a good job because we were all pissed and we would have probably ended up fighting. We found another empty buoy, tied the boat up and got out the fishing gear. I promised that if we caught anything, that we would eat it. A couple of hours went by without a bite, we'd finished the ale and Mont Blanc was now the size of four very small lines. Then Bang! the rod bent. We got a bite. I grabbed the rod and started to reel it in. I'm not a very good fisherman as you will later learn. The way I was reeling it in you would have thought I had a two hundred pound marlin. when I eventually got it on-board it was about a foot long and weighed less than a pound. It fell off the hook and a promise is a promise, so I grabbed an adjustable spanner and proceeded to cave its head in. Everyone went quiet, there was blood everywhere. and our kid then said "you tight bastard. There was no need for that. It probably has kids at home." "fuck off" I said "it was a fucking kid" at this everyone started laughing. Our kid said "right, what you going to do with it?" I replied "Fuck knows, I'm not hungry after all that beak" So over the side it went. We polished off what was left of the sniff then we all settled down for a good nights talking shit.
Morning eventually came and John and Jeff decided to get off. Once again we were without a decent dingy to get them ashore, so we got out the first aid kit and temporarily fixed it with a few plasters. Off they went and and dumped the dingy on the beach. It was knackered anyway. Our kid cooked up another cracking breakfast so we were all-right for food but we had no beer left and the dingy was on the beach. So I decided we were going to beach the yacht. Mistral, is what is known a a bilge keeler, that means it has 2 keels (the heavy fin's under the boat) one on each side, so the boat should be able to sit on the beach without falling over. the problem was that Moelfree has a very steep beach so we decided to go to red wharf bay which was just a couple of miles away. On with the engine again and off we went. Half an our later we slowly approached the beach, waiting for the boat to bottom out. when it did I put out the anchor and we waited for the tide to go out. All was going well until the front of the boat started to point up into the air. We moved ourselves and anything heavy to the front to try and balance her out but it didn’t work. Next thing the rudder fell off and the front of the boat ended up pointing nearly forty five degrees into the air. The problem was, I had forgot to put the locking pins into the rudder. If I did the boat would have rested on its keels and the rudder and it would have stayed perfectly level. Well, you live and learn.
While waiting for the water to go out far enough for us to jump off the boat without getting our feet wet, our kid went down below to make a brew. While he was down there we had a few visitors. First of all a bunch of Japanese tourist's came over laughing and taking photo's. next, this bloke comes running towards the boat and asks if we are OK and do I want him to ring the coast guard I thanked him for his concern and I told him that we were OK and didn’t need the emergency services as I had deliberately "parked" it there. I don’t think he believed me but he walked off anyway and no helicopters came to save the day. our kid came up with the brews and I told him about the good Samaritan We finished our coffee and went off to get some more beer.
We walked into town and by now the pubs were open, so we went in for a quick hair of the dog. After a couple of pints we left to continue our resupply mission. We got some Booze, fags and a packet of skins and made our way back to the boat. Unfortunately when we got there the tide had turned and the boat was about hundred meters out to sea. Non of us are good swimmers so we had to leave it and wait for the tide to come in then go out and then come in a bit again so we could sail it away. At this point I made a mental note to learn just what the crack is with these fucking tides.
by the time we were finally able to get back on the boat and then wait for it to float again it was pitch black and we were pissed and stoned. We didn’t fancy staying on this beach overnight because the waves could pick-up and it could be a bit dangerous. So we decided that we would be safer back at Moelfree. Back on with the motor and away we went, the trouble was we couldn’t see Moelfree because a rocky headland sticks out into the sea. We really didn’t want to hit the rocks but it was so dark we couldn’t see them so we just headed straight out to sea, shitting ourselves. After a while
Moelfree started coming into view and we were able to see the outline of the rocks against the glow from the street lights. We altered course and headed back to the moorings. As we approached I told Sean to stand on the front of the boat and keep a lookout for mooring buoys and other boats as it was very hard to see anything. I slowed the boat down and headed in. All of a sudden this big yacht appeared just in-front of us. I pushed the tiller hard over to the left and just missed it. I shouted "I told you to keep a lookout for other boats." Sean said, " its OK I saw it" I said. "I fucking didn’t You could have told me." "Sorry." He said. Brilliant!
We found a buoy, tied up the boat and settled down for a bit of fishing and a few spliff's. To be honest, we might of got a bite but we never noticed. We just chilled out, smoking and playing with the VHF radio. We couldn’t find any music or anything for that matter, that is until we stumbled across the coastguard giving a weather report for the following day. It wasn’t good. They were giving a gale warning for our area coming from the west. Exactly the way we were heading. You would never believe it but I wasn’t prepared for that. Although, I have had no practical sailing at this point I had read a few books and magazines, and I knew that the boat has to be set-up differently for handling strong winds. Its what is called reefing. Basically you have to change the front sail for a smaller one and reduce the size of the mainsail. on this boat it has what is called slab reefing which has three different adjustments. it is adjusted by lowering the sail a bit and the tying down the back of the sail. It was dark I was stoned and it was way to complicated to get my head around that night, I would have to learn how to do it in the morning.
We woke up-to howling winds and it was pissing down, the great British summertime. After a quick bite to eat and a brew it was time to go. I really didn’t want to do this but we really didn’t
have much of a choice as we both had work the next day. I put on my council waterproofs and went to play with the sail. I didn’t want to do it at sea in-case I got it wrong, so I got it ready while we were moored. I don’t mind telling you I was a little bit worried about sailing back with the weather like it was, but the sea wasn’t that bumpy where we were, so it was off with the mooring buoy and
away we went. we motored out into the bay, put up the reefed sails and started to head back the eight miles to Amlwch.
At first it wasn’t too bad, this was due to the fact we were behind Dildo Island and this was giving us some shelter from the waves. This was good because having never sailed against the wind it was good to experience what it felt like. Those of you that have never sailed on a yacht
might not realise that as well as bobbing up and down on the waves, when sailing into the wind they also lean over to one side, this is called "heeling" and if you have never experienced it before it is quite worrying to say the least.
When I say sailing into the wind, you don’t actually sail directly into the wind but at an angle to it, about forty five degrees. As you can't sail directly into the wind, you have to sail so far in one direction (called a tack) then turn through about ninety degrees. ( The turn is called tacking) And then continue on that tack. You continue doing this until you reach you desired destination, basically doing a load of zig zags. I'm not a yachting instructor and lets face it, would you really want to be taught by someone like me? As you may have gathered, this is not a sailing manual. in-fact if you do decide to copy many of the things I have done, you would either end up in prison, rehab or dead. So,just for the land lubbers amongst you, from time to time throughout this book I will try to explain how things work and some of the stupid names for all things nautical. For example, port and starboard. What's wrong with left and right? I still to this day have a P and an S painted on each side of my boat.
On passing Dildo Island the sea got noticeably rougher and the wind was blowing a hoolie as us nautical folk like to say. The boat was heeled right over with the side of the deck in the water it really felt like we were flying along and to be honest I was shitting myself. Our kid on the other hand really didn’t look too bothered, in-fact he was in and out the boat making coffee every half an hour. He was loving it. I don’t know if he is any braver then myself, I just don’t think he realised just how dangerous this was. The wind must have been blowing 30 to 40 mph the waves were 3 to
4 meters and in a little boat like this it felt like we were in the perfect storm. Worse was to come, after about three or four hours of this we were coming about level with the headland with the lighthouse on the top of it. For some reason the waves got even bigger and by now the boat was flying out of the top of one wave and crashing into the next not only were waves pouring over the front of the boat but the front of the boat was actually ploughing straight through them. I was petrified. the only consolation I could think of was that maybe somebody in the lighthouse would see us and call the coastguard ( I later learned that all of Britain’s lighthouses are unmanned) I was pissed wet through, cold and scared shitless, but I was trying not to show it because I didn’t want to worry our kid. Not bloody likely, regular as clockwork every half an hour, up he would come with a hot cup of coffee and one time a bacon and egg butty. The most amazing thing was the cups were filled to the brim and he never spilled a drop.
I don’t know how long we were in these extra rough seas but it felt like forever, but as quick as they came they died away again. We continued to sail on the same tack as we had started on, but not having done much tacking I decided to do it with just one turn. The trouble was, we were now about six miles out to sea, so just to be on the safe side I decided to go well past Amlwch before tacking. This didn’t help because, not having taken into account of the strength of the tide. ( Surprise, surprise) eight hours after setting off, by the time we got close to the shore, guess where we were. Fucking Moelfree!
I was cold, tired and I really didn’t want to go through all that again, but the wind had died a little, the tide had started to turn and we saw a motor boat coming the opposite direction but he was keeping well inshore. So I decided to take down the front sail and keeping well inshore I put on the
engine and went straight into the wind, using the mainsail mainly for stability. This worked a treat. It was still rough, especially near the lighthouse but nowhere near like it was and after about three hours we motored into Amlwch harbour, cold and wet, but alive. We just cleared the outer wall and we run out of petrol. After all that we had just been through, this didn’t faze me I just pulled up
a couple of boards off the cabin floor and we rowed the last fifty meters to the safety of the harbour wall.
I returned to work the day after and was just putting the finishing touches to a set of gates when the phone rang. It was our kid. He said, " you’ll never guess what. I got into work this morning and my mate tells me he went to Anglesey for the weekend and saw two dick heads crash there boat into a beach. He asked one of them if he needed help but he declined, as he reckoned he did it on purpose." It's a small world.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER2
 
 
That was my first sailing experience It wasn’t exactly my first experience at sea. That came when I joined the Royal Navy back in 1988, I was 18 years old. I joined as a Marine Engineering Mechanic I know you must think that this put me in good stead for a life on the ocean waves, but not really. I was what is known as a stoker. In the old days my job was to shovel coal into the ships boilers. The navy has come on a bit since then and although my first ship, H.M.S. Jupiter was actually a steam ship, it was fired with diesel boilers and steam turbines. you wont find many of them on yachts, and the only knot we learned, was the stokers dhoby hitch, which was used in the boiler room to tie our laundry bucket down. Unfortunately I joined this ship in the late eighties, just around the time people were meeting late at night on the motorway services, to go to illegal warehouse parties in the hills around Blackburn It was the time of Acid House.
Then, as now, drugs and the armed forces do not make good bed fellows. I was doomed from the start. All my mates were going these raves and I just couldn’t resist. Every weekend I wasn’t on duty, which was three out of four, I was back up the M6 for a weekend of madness. Dropping acid, necking E's and bombing speed. If it wasn’t an Illegal warehouse rave it was normally my local club called Legends, to this day the best night out in the world. Then after it finished it would be off to one of my mates flats for bong and a load more drugs. I wouldn’t get any sleep all weekend and then Sunday night I had to drive back down to Portsmouth. As you can imagine I was in a bit of a mess for the drive back. One night I stopped at Knutsford services and rolled a couple of joints for the drive back. It had been snowing and the embankments were covered in snow. I sparked up a joint and set off down the motorway. I instantly started tripping. It was like I was driving down a big white tunnel. The next thing I knew I had to slow down because I came up behind a truck with
flashing lights and a sign that said speeding. Shit! I thought, its the pigs. It started hale stoning and they had slowed right down, to about 20mph. I was behind them in the hale for about 20 minuets but they didn’t pull me. I thought they knew I was wrecked and they were deliberately doing my head in. Finally I thought, fuck it, and put my foot down to overtake them. As I past, trying not to look at them, I couldn’t help but notice the sign on the back. It didn’t say speeding at all. It said spreading. for twenty minuets I'd been stuck behind a fucking gritter. And for some strange reason as I passed them, it magically stopped hale stoning.
All this fun couldn’t last forever, after all, I was in the Royal Navy. It was 1990 and Saddam Hussain decided he was going to invade Kuwait. It was decided that my ship, H.M.S. Jupiter was one of the ships that was going to sort this little scallywag out. I was really pissed off because I was well into the raves and it would be no fun out there with no decent tunes and a few class A’s. The solution to this problem came from my mate Bobby. He used to send me tapes with chunks of weed and trips inside. Amazing! The only problem was, at this time as far as I knew I was the only person on the ship that took drugs. So, I had to be really careful with them. I used to go to back of the ship late at night and have a shady spliff, but the acid was a big no no. Can you imagine tripping on a boat with 250 Officers and Ratings? well I was about to find out. The ship gets allocated a certain number of missiles and had Exocet and Sea Wolf. If it doesn’t fire them off, (normally at targets towed behind a plane) it receives less the year after. So if there not fired they throw them over the side. So in 1989 these cost about £80.000 each. it's a bit of a waist really. I'm glad I don’t pay tax any more. Anyway the next day we were due to fire a Sea Wolf missile at ten o’clock. and at the time, I was dining hall party, washing dishes and cleaning. I used to volunteer for this job because I didn’t keep watches and got a full night sleep every night. I woke up at six, I
had a shower and necked a trip, just so I could watch a Sea Wolf missile leave its launcher at Mach 2. This wasn’t the best idea I have ever had. The word paranoid is often banded about when talking about drugs. Let me tell you. Unless you have taken an acid on a Royal Navy warship you have no
idea. The worst bit was when I was washing the dishes and Paddy Macmillan, the Chief Artificer came with his plate and said, "wots up with you?" I said. "What do you mean?" He said "your face is covered in big red blotches" I just shit myself, run off and hid in the toilet. I stayed there until it was time for the missile to be launched. I never did find out what the red blotches were, obviously something to do with the gear. Up-to the upper deck I went, not speaking or making eye contact with anyone. I found a good place to watch it, when I say good, I mean that nobody else was near me. I waited five minuets and off it went. You may think you have seen some good fireworks in your time but until you've seen a Sea Wolf missile going off at Mach 2 on acid you ain’t seen nothing.
My time in the navy wasn’t a particularly happy one I was more interested in clubbing at the weekend than anything the navy had to offer me. My next ship was an aircraft carrier H.M.S Illustrious. This was in "mothballs" in a dry dock, apparently they couldn’t afford to run it. well, if they stop throwing fucking missiles over the side they might have been able to. I was only on Illustrious for a few months while waiting for my third and final ship.
H.M.S. Brazen was gas turbine anti submarine frigate, based in Plymouth. The trouble was, at the time Plymouth had a really good rave scene, and a cracking club called The Academy. this club was to be my downfall. Now, not having to drive 300 miles back to Warrington, I was able to go raving right on my doorstep. on joining my new ship I quickly found like minded souls that liked to party into the small hours. One weekend when we weren’t on duty, four of us went into Plymouth for a night at The Academy. We had a great night, fuelled on E's, speed and poppers. After the club closed we decided to finish the night off with a smoke, so we went into these gardens that go through the middle of Plymouth’s main shopping centre. We sat down on this wall and I proceeded to skin up. After rolling the joint I looked up and noticed a CCTV camera pointing straight at us. I said " Shit! a camera, hide your gear and leg it." Just then a police car came screaming past the shops. I got on my toes and I was off like greased weasel shit, hiding my gear as I ran. I stuffed a wrap of wizz and a bag of bush down my boxers and an eighth of resin under the back of my belt. We would have got away but one of the lads stopped running and gave himself up. On seeing this we knew that being in the navy he would have had no choice but to give our names. So we all stopped and went back up to the police. We reluctantly agreed to be searched. They frisked us but all that they found was a bottle of poppers in one of the lads pockets. This stuff was legal but they confiscated it anyway. They were just about to let us go when the camera operator came over the radio and said that one of us had hidden something down the back of his pants. On searching us again they found a wrap of speed on one of the other lads and then they found the resin I tucked under my belt. This was the end of my navy career. I managed to hide the speed in the police car but a strip search at the station revealed the bag of weed. The police didn’t charge us but in the morning we were handed over to the navy’s Special Investigation Branch. After a 6 hours and a 260 page interview. We were finally charged and sent back to the ship. I received 60 days in navy Detention Quarters, jail to you and me, and they kicked me out just 10 days before I was due to leave anyway. On leaving D. Q’s the Chief behind the desk said " By the way, this come for you" and he threw my Gulf War Medal across the desk onto the floor. This now lives on my boats toilet door. I knew I had done wrong and deserved the time, but I still think I should have been allowed to do the last few days of my service. This I am still very bitter about and would like to get my own back in some small way. Oh did I not mention that the day we left for the gulf, we had a very high powered laser fitted to the ship. This was used to blind enemy pilots, but all that the operators seemed to use it for was to blind the odd dolphin. Please don’t tell anyone I told you, but this weapon was against the Geneva Convention. Naughty, naughty.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 3
 
 
Fast forward to the summer of 2007. I'm still doing drugs, not so much the acid, E's and speed but my drug of "choice" was cocaine I say choice because that’s what it is at first. I used to use it just for going out at the weekends but this progressed to the odd gram midweek, and having it alone at home. I wanted to quit, but most of my friends were taking it, and whenever I went to the pub somebody would always have a gram. It was really easy to get and you just couldn’t get away from the stuff. Don’t get me wrong, it was never pushed up my nose and to be honest I was probably worse than my mates. I needed to get away from it but couldn’t think of how. At this time I had a girl friend called Lynne. We had been going out for a few years but things weren’t going great. We never argued and we loved each other but we didn’t see much of each other. Mainly because I would rather be coked up, at home or at the pub with my mates.I knew thing weren’t going well between us so I decided to pay for us to go on holiday to Turkey. Not having sailed since Anglesey I thought it would be a good idea to go on a cruise. Not just any cruise but on a traditional Turkish sailing boat called a Gullet. I decided on this after reading an article in a sailing magazine. In this article they said what a wonderful experience it was but they also said that you had to make sure the Gullet you were booked on actually sailed and just didn’t go around with it's engine on all day. So after finding a company on the internet, I called the number and after checking that the boat we were to be on really sailed, I booked the holiday.
On arriving in Turkey, we were met at the airport by a very friendly bloke with a tash called Saddam. That's a good start. He drove us into Marmaris and took us to our boat. On arrival we were greeted by the crew and we dumped our bags. The next thing, I went for a walk around the boat. The first thing I noticed was that the sail's were not fitted. Never mind, I thought, they were
probably in the sail locker. On closer inspection I realised that there wasn’t even any fittings on the masts to attach sails to. Right, that’s it! I stormed to the back of the boat where the crew, and by now, most of the other guests were, and much to Lynne’s embarrassment, I proceeded to kick off with them, shouting that I wanted my money back or they could get me another fucking boat. One with sail's. Non of the crew understood a word of English but I didn’t care and was giving it them with both barrels. Then, one of the guests, an ex Royal Marine built like a brick shithouse came and grabbed me and said that I should calm down, as they couldn’t understand me and probably couldn’t do anything anyway, and he suggested that I take it up with Saddam. So, not wanting to incur the wrath of the green death, ( the navy's nick name for the Royal Marines) I promptly shut my mouth. By now Saddam was on the boat next door giving a welcome speech to the guests. I went over to the other boat and interrupted his speech and asked him why, after we had specified a boat with sail's, had we been given one with non fitted? He said that there was nothing he could do about it and we would have to take it up with the company when we got home. I returned to our boat with a face like a slapped arse, I wasn’t very happy. I realised that there was nothing I could do about it so I just had to carry on and try to enjoy the holiday. I sulked for the first couple of days, secretly enjoying myself but trying my best not to show it.
We became friendly with Brian the big marine, and his wife Julie. He was sound but his wife had a right fucking gob on her, and she insisted on walking around all day with her tits out. Now this I usually enjoy, but she was a right dog and they were swinging around her knees, it was enough to put anyone off there cous cous and grilled cat. I would have told her to put um away, but I think Brian was itching to give me a crack after ruining the start to his holiday. Anyway, I put up with her saggy tits and they put up with my sulking and the four of us got on really well. I was never going to ask them to be god parents to my first born, but as everyone else on the boat was from some eastern European shit hole, these would have to do for our new holiday friends.
On the morning of the third day, after we had eaten breakfast, we upped anchor and set off for a
town who's name I don’t even want to try to remember. It was here that we were going to spend our one and only night ashore. It was around lunch time and I was flushing the toilet for about the tenth time. We had been told not to put paper down the loo as it blocks very easily. Now I don’t know about you but I don’t like the idea of putting my shitty bog roll into a bin for all the world to see, its just not civilised. I tried my best, but it was blocked. I had already been told off twice for putting paper down but I just ignored them, so this time I just left it. I started to make my way on deck when I heard the engine cut out. Great! I thought. That's all we need, adrift in a sailing boat with no fucking sail's. After my two days of sulking, this now meant I could be as smug as you like and piss people off even more. But this was not to be. On reaching the upper deck to my complete surprise the crew had managed to find a sail, and as I approached they were all smiling at me. I thought, ten out of ten for trying boys but what fucking use is that? It was the size of a dish cloth, there was no wind and the boat was designed for four. I smiled and thanked them and walked over to Lynne. She said, "Happy now?" I said "am I fuck! That's no fucking good, they might as well put the engine back on. She said "There's just no fucking pleasing you. Cheer up you miserable bastard, your spoiling everyone holiday." Now, Lynne is normally so cheerful and hardly ever swears, so it was obvious she'd had enough, and after all, the whole point of this holiday was to try and make thing better between us. It was time for me to put my dummy back in, stop behaving like a spoiled kid and enjoy the rest of the holiday.
I cheered up and we continued on our journey. After about twenty minuets the crew started the engine and took down the sail, this didn’t bother me as I wasn’t going to let it spoil the rest of of our time on-board and I was looking forward to an evening meal and a drink ashore with the rest of the guests.
It all started off so well. We had a lovely meal, lamb done some Turkish way. It was very nice but you cant beat gravy and a bit of mint sauce. After the meal we were treated to a show by a couple of belly dancers and everything was very civilised. OK we'd had a few but we were on
holiday, just soaking up the middle eastern ambiance. After a while everyone started to make there way back to the boat and the only people left were the Brits. Lynne, myself and or new found friends. The girls were getting on really well and were having a good time and I was talking with Brian. He was telling me how Julie can't handle her booze and gets really violent and hits him when she's pissed. You wouldn’t believe this because he was over 6 foot tall and must have weighed about 18 stone. and she was about 5 foot and weighed about 8 stone wet through. He kept telling me not to buy her any more drinks but I could see her getting louder and louder and swearing like a trooper, so I continued to buy her more and more. He then said to Julie that she'd had enough and it was time to get back. She replied "fuck off!.who the fuck are you to tell me how much I can fucking drink?." I think I might have bought her one too many. He said to me, "I told you. Happy now?" I then got on Brian side and said to her that Lynne and I were going to head off back, so they might as well come with us. She said, "Don’t you fucking start you miserable twat or I'll throw you both in the fucking drink." I shut up. Brian explained to her that we had an early start the day after and we would need some sleep. She replied, " OK I'm coming but you've fucking had it when we get back." At this, we got the bill and the girls decided they wanted to use the toilet. As they walked off , not wanting to be left alone with Brian, after turning his wife into the she devil and causing him a night of hell. I too went for a piss.
The toilets were a porta cabin, the gents on one side the ladies on the other and the walls were like paper. On entering I could hear the girls talking, Lynne was telling Julie about the reason we had come on this holiday and how things hadn’t been going to well between us back home. She then told her that she intended to finish with me when we got home. I was shocked and back through the wall I shouted. "Were finished now bitch!" I thought that’s just great. Fancy telling a complete stranger about all our problems (why doesn’t she just write a book?) and then to tell her she was going to dump me when we got home. She could have told me before I had just shelled out a grand for the fucking holiday. I went outside just as Lynne was leaving the ladies. She was crying
saying that she was sorry and she never really meant it. I said " it's too fucking late now, you've got what you wanted, were finished." I stormed off, heading back to the boat, Lynne trailing behind me crying her eyes out, all the time telling me that she was sorry and she didn’t really want to split up. I just ignored her and continued back.
When I got there the crew were asleep on the back of the boat. I made my way past them and went down to our cabin. I got out my bag and started to pack, Lynne came in and still crying ask me what I was doing. I said, "What does it look like I'm fucking doing." In the drunken rage I was in I thought I would leave the boat, find a hotel for the night and then get a flight home in the morning. I told her this and she replied that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea as I didn’t have a clue where we were and the airport could be hundreds of miles away. But, stubborn as I am I completely ignored her and continued packing.
I started the long walk into town, all the time thinking why is it me that’s going? I should have booted her out, she caused it all. After about 15 minuets I started to think of an excuse to go back. Lynne was right, I didn’t know where I was and besides it would cost me a fortune. I turned around and went back. When I got there the lights were on and all the crew were awake. Lynne was sat at the back of the boat still crying. As I walked past her she said, Good, you've come back." I said, "No I haven’t I just forgot my phone." secretly I had come back but didn’t want to lose face, as it was a stupid idea.
Those were the last words I said to her for three days. Each morning after after I woke up,I would grab my book, go up-to the upper deck and sit and read all day, Lynne would try to talk to me but I never once replied. It was obvious to everyone on the boat that me and Lynne weren’t talking. I wanted to talk to her but I was very angry at what she had said to a complete stranger and my pride got in the way. I actually felt very sorry for her, because I know she was drunk and didn’t really mean it but I sort of had to make her pay.
On the last day she came up-to me and once again apologised. She had suffered enough, so had I
come to think about it. We kissed and made up just in-time for the flight home. What a holiday that was, not only had it not helped Lynne and I to sort things out, it had made things a lot worse. On top of that I didn’t get to do any sailing.
 
CHAPTER 4
 
My life back in 2007 was pretty crap to be honest. I had my own small business, I had lots of good friends, I lived alone in my own house and I had a steady girlfriend. Financially I didn't feel like I was doing too bad, I always had money in my pocket, although I never seemed to have very much saved. To some people this could be viewed as the pretty good life. Not for me though. I've always been a little bit different from all my friends. A bit wilder maybe, I could never really imagine myself settling down with a wife and kids. I get bored doing the same thing week in week out. I was in the navy for four and a half years. I was in the army for four months after leaving school, I only left because I got a stress fracture in my left shin during training. I went backpacking around Australia in 1995 and I worked in France for six months back in 1996. Up until this point I had all sorts of crap jobs, from working twelve hours a day breaking concrete with a jack hammer, loft insulation to bagging sand. It was after I came back from France that I decided I wanted to settle down a bit and get myself a decent steady job.
I know I got booted out of the navy but I had done my training and I was a qualified Marine Engineering Mechanic. The problem was though, my travelling days were over and there weren’t many ships in Warrington which I could put my skills to good use . I had an engineering background which would be a shame to waist, so I decided to go to night school and learn welding.
Of the many that enrolled for the course I was one of the few that completed it, but unfortunately we were unable to do the exam because we hadn't been trained to do certain types of weld, because the collage didn't have the welding sets for us to use. After a year of night school I came away with no qualifications but I now had some experience welding. I was now in a position where I could approach welding and fabrication companies for work and after an interview and
welding test on a type of welding set I had never used, I blagged my way into a company that made tipper bodies on the back of trucks.
At first I was very pleased with myself and soon mastered the art of MIG welding but I quickly came to realise that this company would take on just about anyone that could stick two pieces of metal together, and because of this they ended up with all the local welding rejects. It was very cliquey, and to be honest I thought most of them were a bunch of wankers. I didn’t have to put up with them for long though. I'd been there about four months and used to go into town for my lunch, and one day when I was returning, I walked into the building past the the lads and I saw two of them talking, looking at me then laughing. I walked up to them and asked what was so funny. I can't remember the reply but it resulted in me smacking one of them in the face, unfortunately the boss was right behind me and sacked me on the spot.
I was now unemployed again, but I wasn't bothered as had at least gained some more experience in my chosen profession. For the next four years I worked for a exhaust manufacturing company called Wasey Exhausts, but eventually I was made redundant. On the dole again, I decided to take my future into my own hands and I became self employed. I rented a workshop at a company called Craft Metal Spinning. Most of my work came from this company and I was kept busy most of the time but there were also times when I had no work at all so I needed more contract work to keep me going.
I had a builder friend that sub contracted to a company that did fire safety research and he told me there might be a chance of sub contracting to them. I went to see them and I was offered the work. I was given a rent free on-site work shop, the work was easy and almost never ending, as all I had to do was make something, they would burn it in a furnace and I would have to make it again. It was very good money and they were a good company to work for, that is until they got took over by a company that was really into health and safety. I had to have a certificate for that a certificate for this, most of my equipment was condemned and if I put a spanner down for more
than five minuets there would be a yellow box painted around it and a warning sign stuck to it. I spent half my day cleaning my workshop, brushing up listening to talk radio, getting pissed off with everything, Muslims, immigrants, health and safety, old ladies getting mugged, kids getting shot, one tax after another, don’t do this you'll get fined, do do this or you'll get fined, speed cameras, CCTV, were watching you, your neighbours watching you. I'd had enough, I hated England, I wanted out!
A few years earlier I had tried the points test to emigrate to Australia and failed. I was 5 points short of the required number. This was due to the fact my trade as a Marine Engineering Mechanic wasn't on the skills in demand list. Now, thanks to health and safety, you needed a certificate to scratch your arse, I had done a welding test known as a code. In fact I had done two and I was now quite a highly qualified welder. The only problem now was that I was too old. Then one day I was talking to one of the lads at Warrington Fire Research and he told me that one of his mates had just emigrated to Oz, and he said he was forty years old. I said that he must be mistaken but he told me that the Ozzy government has upped the age limit to forty five, because they are short of skilled workers. On hearing this I packed in for the day and went home to try the online points test. I passed!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 5
 
 
On the flight back from Turkey I did a lot of thinking, my braincell was working overtime. I came away on this holiday so that I could magically make things perfect between Lynne and I. This didn't work. The problem really came about because I was taking coke and not devoting enough time into our relationship. By the way, Lynne didn't have a clue I was doing drugs. She didn't take them and being a little older than I was, and having three grown up kids she missed the old acid house and rave scene. Whenever we went out I was sneaking off to the bog to have a shady line, and going hand in hand with coke, at least in my experience, the sexual urge was there but there was never very much lead in the old pencil. So I was necking kamagra (the cheap non patented version of Viagra) like it was going out of fashion. Whatever name it was called, it did give me a rod of iron and I could shag all night but unless I had it when I was at least a little bit sober I could never shoot my load. So not really meaning to be selfish, most of the time I wasn't really bothered about sex. This really pissed Lynne off cos she loved it, and to be honest I think I’m a great fuck, when I put my mind to it. ( fit birds take note. If your reading this, I’m probably rich by now, and I would be more than willing to give you a sample of the old Hugster.)
On top of this I was bored with work, I hated what the labour party had done to my once beloved country, I was probably addicted to cocaine, and the only way out I could see was to buy a yacht, sail the world and live by my own rules and regulations. OK, I could have gone and pitched a tent half way up Mount Snowdon or something, and lived off rabbits and stolen chickens, but sooner or later some jobsworth from the national trust would come along and tell me to take it down.
We landed at Liverpool airport and shared a taxi back home. Lynn’s house was before mine,
so I dropped her off and finished the rest of the ride alone. I arrived home about 1 o’clock in the morning, and although I was really tired, I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about what happened on holiday and all of the other reasons that was keeping me part of the system. Paying a mortgage, paying my credit card bills, worrying about when I get old and will a state pension buy me a couple of gram's a week without eating into my food and heating allowance. I thought not.
Once again I put myself into the hands of the god we call e-bay. By six in the morning I had spent two and half grand and bought a 30 foot steel yacht called Whiskey Chaser.
I know I had a bird, but to all intents and purposes I was single. I lived alone in my own house, I could wank without the worry of being caught, and all my money was my own. I had all the toys that a single bloke might have, a paraglider, wakeboard, power kite, skate board, BMX, radio controlled helicopters and planes, which by the way I could fly but I never actually landed without smashing them to pieces. I also had a YZF 750 Yamaha superbike that would do 170 MPH.
I donned my leathers and mounted my steed and in less than three hours after pressing the Buy It Now button, I pulled in to a boat yard somewhere near Brighton. I rode around the yard to a boat ramp. In the photo's I had seen on ebay my new boat was pictured leaning on a wall at the top of the ramp. It wasn't there, so I got o


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