by Keith Evans
The last of the cruise passengers who 'do' Cornwall in twelve hours have disappeared over the horizon. The most memorable couple were a young man and his mouse-like wife on their first cruise. They were very anxious about sea-sickness. Shall I tell them about my remedy, I thought. It's porridge. Well, it doesn't actually cure it but tastes the same coming up as it did going down. Better not, I thought. It will demoralise them still further. I tried to reassure them. 'Don't worry,' I said 'they have stabilisers.' To which she replied 'Oh, I'm not taking drugs.' I gave up.
Talking of liners, reminds me of George, my old sailing partner who sadly died last year. He and I have the dubious honour of making the old Queen Elizabeth change course. One summer's day we decided to plane across Spithead in a fresh breeze leaving our wives sunning themselves on the beach. After an icecream at Bembridge we started back. A mile off shore the wind dropped and the sails hung limp. There was nothing for it but to lay back and enjoy the sunshine. I glanced to the south.
'George' I said 'there's a liner rounding the Nab Tower'. George grunted and dozed off, wriggling to get comfortable. Albacores aren't the most comfortable boats to sleep in. A few minutes later I looked again. 'George, that damn thing is coming straight for us.' Within seconds we were paddling but getting nowhere. Then it seemed to change course slightly and slow down. It passed a couple of hundred yards ahead of us. After weathering its wash we breathed a sigh of relief. That was too close for comfort. A few minutes later the breeze piped up and we arrived back at East Head over an hour later than planned with the irate wives standing on the beach.
'Where have have you two been? Did you see the Q.E?' I said 'See it? We almost had to fend her off.' They didn't believe us.
