Practical Boat Owner — January 2018

16 Practical Boat Owner t http://www.pbo.co.uk

Sam Llewellyn writes sea thrillers and edits

the Marine Quarterly. He is currently patching

up a thirty-foot ketch.

Flotsam and jetsam

Sam Llewellyn

Y

ou know how it is. The
Festive Season approaches.
Your nearest and dearest
says, ‘Darling?’
‘Yes, darling?’ you reply
obsequiously, fearing the worst.
‘Darling, what do you want for Christmas?’
An agonized pause ensues. The true
answer to this is 1) about 200 metres of
10mm pre-stretched polyester, because if
I do not put new halyards on the project
boat the sails are going to fall down. Or 2)
(should the budget not extend to this
mileage of string) something, anything, to
clear the scale out of the Terrible Pipe that
takes the contents of the lav away.
Neither of these things, however, really
qualifi es as a Christmas gift, in case 1)
because too technical and in case 2)
because, well, if you can't work it out for
yourself never mind.
So I have been wandering round in a
state of some baffl ement, debating the
ideal gift. Earlier in 2017 I was considering
investing in a charming powerboat
designed by Mr Porsche, with accessories
in designer pigskin. Since then I have been
considering a parallel object knocked up

by Aston Martin, made irresistible by its

dedicated Gran Turismo champagne

cooler fi nished in Baltic Blue carbon fi bre

• a worthy substitute for the project boat’s
  Brown Ale bucket, fi nished in Battleship
  Grey zinc with seeping rust accents.
  But as I scratched at the ancient
  Burgess Woodseal on the companionway
  of the project boat
  I was swept away
  by a new object
  of desire.
  As you will
  probably have
  guessed by now, I refer to the Aston
  Martin Submarine. Say goodbye to
  slopping around on top of the water. Say
  hello instead to the cool depths with their
  charming conger eels winding in and out
  of supermarket trolleys.
  The sub, which bears a passing
  resemblance to a suppository from Hell,
  will seat three people and travel at a
  maximum speed of three knots, thereby
  leaving several of my current boats for
  dead. It comes in at a bargain 4 million
  quid, and will therefore give the world a
  convincing hint as to your net worth, i.e.

All I want for

Christmas...

It’s that special time of year, so don’t ruin it by

saying what you really want for Christmas

nil once you’ve paid for it. One sees

oneself lifting a bottle from the Graphite

Beige granite vodka cooler and toasting

the dogfi sh as they writhe across the oozy

plain. Mayhap Q will have left some

fascinating weapons systems for our

attention. And the upholstery will at the

touch of a button transform itself into a

double bed on which we can recline while

‘M’ is trying to get hold of us and we are

telling M we are up Tuno Goode, the

beauteous heroine...

The mind sure can wander while you are

scraping Woodseal. Get real. Submarines,

as well as being ridiculously expensive,

make your ears pop. What you need for

Christmas are presents for the project

boat. All right, the halyard string and the

bog pipe cleaner are perhaps not

romantic enough to fi t the bill. On the

other hand, specimen vases for

fascinating samples of seaweed and

crystal stemware from which to swig the

evening rum are perhaps a bit too

designer for the pile of leprous 1970s

fi breglass currently occupying the centre

of the restorer's heart.

Scratch head. Dinghy? Boring. In-mast

furling? Saints preserve us from such

abominations. Tin opener? Got one

somewhere. Bottle opener? We have worn

out three already, so now you're talking,

but it is possible that the donor may get

the impression she is encouraging habits

not altogether benefi cial.

Scratch head again, and inspiration

strikes. Down there on the fi ne mahogany

shelves of the saloon there are absolutely

no books. Invest in culture. Demand The

Ashley Book of Knots, which contains 3,

(count ‘em) things to do with string. And

most of the Collins New Naturalists series,

so you can work

out what those

birds and whales

are while you are

on passage. And a

tidal atlas or two,

because they are too dashed expensive to

buy yourself. And a bunch of thrillers, and

some extremely long Victorian stuff to

read during gales. Bleak House, perhaps,

good old Charles Dickens. Or for East

Coast sailors The Moonstone, poor old

Wilkie Collins, personal habits not at all

the thing, but long, very long. And for

Cornish folk Poldark, 12 fat books of them,

smuggling, tin mining, ripped bodices,

crooked bankers, infi nitely better in print

than on the telly...

Oh, you shouldn’t have. Thank you,

darling. Just what I always wanted.

Surely the ideal Christmas gift –

a submarine by Aston Martin

I have been wandering round

in a state of some baffl ement,

debating the ideal gift