Articles
This is the only article I’ve sent in and was lucky enough to have it published in Yachting Monthly in 2003
Maud, Teddy and I on the beach
Women and Water: Can they Ever Mix?
(Or How to Avoid Putting your Wife off Sailing for Life)
I know you’ll be tempted to skip this because men hate to be nagged, but please listen and I’ll try to be pleasant: which is pretty much what this whole article is about…
Richard and I sailed together amicably for over 10 years. He was my instructor on an RYA course, with Sunsail. We even got married, possibly because he would kindly blame my mistakes on his own teaching! Then, in 2002, we set off from Portsmouth to sail into the Mediterranean for six months each year. That’s when the fun began. I don’t want to sound like Mr Smug and Mrs Smarmy Sailor (how could I, when I am that woman who threw a boat hook at her husband like Ahab at Moby Dick? Rather proud of the throw, actually, but clearly time to take stock on a marital level) but we have learned a lot from experience and observation – and we’re not divorced yet.
If you’ve found a woman who sailed before she could walk, there will be other issues. These tips are aimed at retaining companionship with the hundreds of ‘sailing wives’ who have loathed every weekend and dread the prospect of your retirement, or for those of you looking for more than just ‘rail fluff’ in the future.
A woman hates feeling out of control, especially if there’s also extreme noise. Sails flapping, you shouting, boat bucking about, is a recipe for eternal hatred. A heave-to is bliss, so don’t save it for storms. No adult likes to admit they are afraid, so we blame something else and avoid the situation.
This will be appreciated, even after years of sailing. She can do it herself by then but you may be tempted to let the sails fly while you hang over the side doing that job that will only take a minute. Don’t. Women have vivid imaginations of the 999 sort. Whatever she says, she doesn’t want to be a widow. At least, not if she has to get the boat back by herself.
Judge success by enjoyment, not speed. Occasionally just pootle, or anchor earlier than planned. What you do next is, of course, up to you both…
But be prepared to motor-sail if progress is very slow and weather unkind. ‘Authenticity’ doesn’t cut much ice when the experience is grim.
Reef early, not when it’s already hectic. (This means hectic by her standards, not yours.)
So don’t let the gunwales dip. She’ll hate this degree of heel and won’t be impressed with water roaring past the portholes while she’s trying to warm some soup. Nor do we like being sick, especially in public, especially into a bucket smelling of diesel.
An interesting meal makes life a pleasure rather than an endurance test. Best not to exceed 4 knots while the cook’s trying to prepare it. Then eat your meal in this calm and relaxed atmosphere. You could even heave-to. I know this is like asking a driver to stop on a motorway for a loo break, but be imaginative here…Don’t save all the fun for when the sailing stops.
Try any of the dodges to avoid rolling downwind. Tell her what you’re doing so you’ll still get the credit even if they don’t work. Next time she can control her own environment better, too.
Listen to her worries. Don’t push her until she gets a psychosomatic illness in an attempt to avoid a difficult passage. If you think it’s necessary to leave, explain your reasons. Talk about the passage, weather, what to expect. This will also reveal any gaps in your planning, so is doubly useful.
Don’t think the questions she asks are undermining your authority: she’s showing her involvement or allaying her fears. In fact, if she stops asking you’re beginning to lose her.
Use her skills for more than the boat chores. Weather information is a brilliant scheme. Women tend to have a good eye for detail and can be diligent researchers, especially when we think our lives are at stake!
This should give her access to the laptop and/or SSB, so that she doesn’t have to ask your permission or prise you off it in order to contact whoever is important to her at home.
NEVER SHOUT AT HER!! See how awful those capital letters look? She’ll never forgive you if you show her up in public, even if she did make the mistake. (And she’ll soon know when it was actually yours and will lose all respect – a killer.)
But own up to your mistakes and she’ll probably cuddle you. Who cares if this is in public? Better still, cuddle her for no reason at all.
Explain all procedures, even if you think they’re blindingly obvious. We’re not born understanding the inner logic but can follow the process well if given the detail. You don’t have to keep repeating the same instructions.
Try to live as well as you can on what you can afford, rather than trying to live as cheaply as possible. When Sailing always equals Sacrifice, most women go home.
Sometimes hire a car. It will give you something to talk about properly over your next meal out and properly talking is vital. Often the least spoilt part of the country is away from the coast: the wonders of Ronda are only a drive away from the ghastliness of the Costa del Sol.
So LISTEN INVOLVE EXPLAIN
and look forward to many years of fulfilling and successful partnership.
This review was on the Chichester festival Theatre website:
Office Suite Review by Suzie Wilde
Office Suite By Alan Bennett
Squat on my life?
Philip Larkin
I was lucky enough to go twice to see Office Suite, by Alan Bennett. The actors were gesture-perfect on both occasions but last night the irreverent atmosphere was charged with affection and contagious laughter. It again demonstrated that the audience is not a passive but essential component of theatre.
Patricia Routledge is superb as Miss Prothero. She comes and squats, the toad of work made flesh, stolid and inexorable in the living room of her victim, Arthur Dodsworth. (The same quality of brooding malevolence disguised as utilitarian simplicity is evident in the ’50s furniture: he is as caged as his budgerigar.) She makes, ‘I pay if I wear crimplene,’ her father and Mrs Teesdale’s one kidney sinisterly comical.
Edward Petherbridge, as the plucky widower, breathes the ache of losing Winnie into, ‘Well, she was very nice.’ Arthur’s inadequacy is epitomized by his Pottery Class ashtray that would tip up if ever used. He plays the Mike Sammes Singers dooby-dooing the theme to Un Homme et Une Femme, exposing the tragi-comedy of his life. He doesn’t know he is at its tipping-point.
So too are Doreen and Doris in the second piece. Patricia Routledge is pinkly girlish, while Janet Dale shows in Doris all the despair of someone whose deferment of gratification has become permanent. Newport Pagnell and its computer centre is like Planet Skaro and its daleks: Dorothy Binns will exterminate.
Both plays were written in the Seventies, on a knife’s edge of change. A situation not unknown to us today.
Suzie Wilde
