Dave Selby is the proud owner of a 5.48m (18ft)
Sailfish, which he keeps on a swinging mooring
Mad about the boat on the picturesque Blackwater estuary in Essex“Never mind the high spec nav gear,
has she got snore-proof bulkheads?”
M
e, Mark and quiet Dave
have absolutely nothing at
all in common, apart from
the fact that for reasons of
principle, being
accidentally separated at birth from
parents with a castle and a hyphen, and
not concentrating enough at school we
all love sailing on a budget. We’ve
made a virtue of necessity, and I’m the
best at it.
In short, fate has thrown us together, and
for five years we’ve floundered and
bickered around the coast in joyful
acrimony aboard Kioni, the Jaguar 24 they
co-own, along the way becoming the ideal
dysfunctional boating family. But my days
of carefree freeloading valet sailing are
over. They’ve put Kioni up for sale, and
they didn’t even consult me. I’m hurt.
It all started when I opened my big gob.
As usual, at the end of a day’s sailing, we
sat in silence – even quiet Dave – as far
apart in the cockpit as possible,
contemplating the sunset, nature and stuff
and who’s fault everything was.
It prompted what in nautical terms is
known as a musing, as I pondered withdreamy introspection: “Life is like
antifouling. Nothing lasts for ever.”
“And you didn’t even help with that,”
Mark snorted.
“Ooh,” I said, then returned to musing:
“If you think about it, there’s an irony in
the fact that the ocean is mostly full of
people sponsored to sail round the world
in new plastic boats
to draw our attention
to the plight of the
world’s oceans
caused by plastic.”
“Talking of which,”
Mark harrumphed, “there’s a certain irony
in the fact that you’ve got a boat of your
own, yet you’re always sailing on ours.”
“That’s because I’m an environmentalist,”
I reasoned opaquely, in other words
clutching at straws, but not plastic ones,
which are bad for marine life.
“Talking of which,” Mark retorted,
planting his thumbs in the pockets of the
waistcoat he wasn’t wearing, “Where is
your Sailfish?”
“Ooh,” I said, as Mark jabbed at his tablet
and blurted: “I think I’ve just found it on
Google Earth. Here it is in Bristol. It’s beenTurning the tide and reusing old plastic boats
painted pink by Extinction Rebellion and
they’ve written ‘Osmosis Rules’ on the side.”
“Ooh,” I said, “I’m not sure about pink.”
“Right, that’s it,” blurted Mark. “I’ve
made a unanimous decision. I snore and
I’m 6ft 3, quiet Dave only talks in his sleep,
and you’ve got loads of antisocial habits
which we won’t go into.”
It’s true. When he’s asleep quiet Dave is
extraordinarily eloquent. His views on
Brexit, impellers and the history of western
civilisation have informed my world view
and made me a better person.
“I talked it through last night with quiet
Dave while he was asleep, and we’re
buying a Westerly Centaur.” That
explained why I’d slept so well, but awoke
no better informed about Brexit.
I couldn’t believe Mark and quiet Dave
had decided to buy me a Centaur, as
Mark explained their reasoning: “We can
be even further apart in separate cabins, I
can stand and lie down, and Centaurs are
fabulous value.”
They made over 2,400 26ft bilge-keel
Centaurs from 1969 to 1980. They’re
roomy, tough and seakindly and come in
three different layouts. All winter we
bickered around east and south coast
boatyards debating the merits of each
boat and the different layouts.
Thing is there are so many on the
market you can buy one in the layout,
spec, condition and price point that suits.
More importantly, they allow for maximum
separation, with an enclosed forepeak
with sound-muffling bulkhead where 6ft
3in Mark can recline and snore in peace,
while I can benefit from Dave’s insights on
Brexit in separate quarterberths at the
other end of the boat.
Escapade cost Mark and quiet Dave
seven grand and she’s fabulous, with new
standing rigging, all
the nav gizmos,
recent Yanmar 2GM
20, and even a
flat-screen TV.
She was built
around 1975. My Sailfish 18, which isn’t
pink, it turns out, was built in 1978, and
their outgoing Jaguar 24 was the 1990
Southampton Boat Show display boat.
This, in a way, is our very own extinction
rebellion. It’s sustainable sailing. None of
us could ever afford new boats, but there
are thousands of good old GRP boats out
there. That’s what allows us to be on the
water and will sustain our ideal
dysfunctional boating family for years to
come. Quiet Dave didn’t say as much, but
Mark and I are both sure he agrees. In
fact, for once, we all agree.‘You’ve got a boat of your
own, yet you’re always
sailing on ours’