boat owner

Dave Selby is the proud owner of a 5.48m (18ft) Sailfish, which he keeps

on a swinging mooring on the picturesque Blackwater estuary in Essex

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Hear Dave Selby’s

podcasts on the PBO

website http://www.pbo.co.uk

Dave Selby

Mad about the boat

M

aldon has
become
Tinseltown,
the go-to
destination
for nautical
big-screen dramas. In fact, if
we had a hill in Essex, we’d
probably put up a ‘Maldonwood’
sign. The latest movie epic to
be fi lmed here is the tragic story
of Donald Crowhurst’s ill-fated
effort to win the Golden Globe
trophy for the fi rst sailor to sail
non-stop single-handed around
the world, directed by James
Marsh who made The Theory
Of Everything. But celebrity
hasn’t gone to our heads; it’s
gone to our lips! And that
really is pretty weird.
The star of the movie is the
historic Downs Road Boatyard,
which carried out the fi rst
refi t on Noah’s Ark, and
where owner Jim Dines and
his crew have just created a
fully-functioning full-size

replica of Crowhurst’s trimaran,

Teignmouth Electron, which by

all accounts is far better built

and more seaworthy than the

original. For the movie the

boatyard was also transformed

into the 1960s, which required

considerable modernisation.

Apparently even some of the

Grade 2-listed cobwebs had

to go as they were considered

a bit too Disney, and not at

all authentic.

Now, I’m not starstruck, but

my dog is. And every day the

fi lm crew were here, Bart forced

me to dress up in my old man’s

1960s clobber and parade up

and down Downs Road, on the

off-chance he might get a gig as

an extra. I have to say Bart let

himself down yet again, not

least because he’s the most

untrained, most high-pitched

and vocal Jack Russell in the

world. If they were making a

silent movie featuring a dog in

a straitjacket he might have

stood a chance, but as it was

they passed on the opportunity

and asked if I could walk Bart

elsewhere, Kent for example,

as he was blowing fuses on the

sound equipment. Next, Bart

made me putt-putt by in my

pork-pie helmet and dad’s

old anorak on my 1960s moped

with Bart in the basket on the

front. This time they suggested

Norfolk. I went to the Queen’s

Head instead, and that’s where

I came across the oddest

spectacle I’d ever seen.

The bar was heaving with

a rare sub-species known as

women. In fact, I never knew

Maldon had so many of

them. What’s more, the few

I recognised had antifouled

their lips with scarlet boot-

topping – I think the correct

nautical term is lipstick. They

also had something wrong

with their necks, probably

caused by the precarious

high-heeled splatchers which

gave them the posture of

meerkats as they craned to look

over my shoulders out of the

steamed-up windows.

When I asked one what was

going on, she mentioned there

was a rumour that Colin Firth

might be popping into the

Queen’s Head. Now, I don’t

know who Colin Firth is as he

doesn’t own a Sailfi sh 18, but

from what I gather he’s an actor

who made his name in a TV

series about a frilly wet white

shirt. Further research revealed

that his character’s name

was Darcy, so in the spirit of

willingness I started asking the

men if they were Colin Firth.

This was no easy task, for as

in all pukka historic and honest

waterfront towns, most men in

Maldon wear grey beards, partly

to preserve their modesty, as

well as a host of other practical,

personal, fi nancial and legal

reasons. Beards strain lumps out

of beer, while also concealing

identity from husbands, the

authorities and the King’s

Revenue men, all of whom

spend most of their time

hunting down a bloke with

a beard as a result of tip-offs

from helpful citizens.

Needless to say, my fi rst foray

for Firth drew a blank. Next

I tried asking if anyone was

Darcy, but in the hubbub

of the pub it seems the ‘D’

wasn’t always heard, which

involved me being invited

outside by some and having

to buy others several pints to

calm the situation.

Turns out Darcy Firth never

made an appearance, but the

Queen’s Head did very well that

night. But if some elements of

Crowhurst’s sad story remain

a mystery, there was another

one that remains unsolved.

Why had men who normally

wear fi sh-splattered smocks

for a night on the town chosen

to wear white shirts on a day

when none of them were in

court? Some people really

are desperate!

The Firth dimension

When the movie circus rolls into town, Darcy-fanciers vainly search

for Colin Firth – although Dave and Bart are the real stars-in-waiting

‘Can’t say I noticed a Sailfi sh in the

last James Bond movie, but we’ll

bear you in mind...’