Monday Monday - MAY 2010
- Monday Monday
- Not Windsurfing - But a Good Story
- Stuff the End
MONDAY MONDAY
Do you know, the saddest thing about calling this story Monday Monday is that most of you are well old enough to immediately singing the song and reminiscing about the Momas and the Papas. Now we're talking 1966 here (yes - you are that old) and to make it worse Michelle Philips (that's the blonde pretty one) is now a grand mother. Oh well...
Anyway, having depressed you all, there is some relevance to the Monday bit. Because today was the only decent windsurfing day out of a largely forgettable bank holiday weekend. In fact it was such a bad weekend that it looks like Chelsea will win the Premiere League. Mondays are of course normally very windy as those of us cursing in work can testify. But no-one told the wind gods that today was a bank holiday and so they thought they were taunting us, when in reality we could go out and play.
And play we did. There were 2 lots, split by the Belfast Marathon. Pat Panty Lyner led the mucky bunch who assembled at the dot of 2pm at Ballyturd because Pat's favourite weather forecast said the wind would come then. And it did! So Pat, Ronnie Lough and assorted others waded through whatever the good residents of North Down had flushed down their toilets and had a good solid sail. Or at least a sail on solids. 7m was the order of the day and the water state was waveless - but at least the sun shone and the elderly sitting in their cars were rewarded with the odd buttock flash when towels dropped.
Actually poor old Ronnie turned out to be bit of a wind scud. He ploughed around for an hour on 6.2 m doing a passible impersonation of Andy/Titanic before derigging in a huff. As soon as he did, the wind came up and everyone had a ball. Wookie was one of the first to get flying and apparently flying he was - in training for the next slalom event. On 7.5m he flew and indeed (as he told everyone) he sailed brilliantly. Now we believe this - but history must also record that when he did make his one mistake it was a spectacular wipe out. The good burgers of Bangor thought it was a thunderclap...
Hern Dog put in an appearance - but don't tell his wife as she thinks he was at work. Oops. But nature, or at least the incontinent of North Down, got their revenge as he reached for the boom and got a very squishy, brown hand. It appears he is an expert in these matters as he proclaimed this to be of human origin, rather than canine. Clearly he's studied these matters in depth...
Casper provided two great surprises. Firstly he turned up in good time - and then he blasted around in an excellent fashion. Jaws dropped apparently, although not too much in case some of that brown water got in.
Tesco Tim also appeared, but couldn't get parked. Something that would never happen in his favourite supermarket. So he gave up and left - no doubt to go shopping.
As the afternoon wore on, the wind continued to rise and there were some very fast and some very long runs. Wookie headed off for Helen's Bay, but he came back. Everyone had a great time and Pat apparently even got some gybes.
A quite different team however assembled at Oxford Island ready to brave the dead cows of Lough Neagh. Once again the sun shone, the elderly drooled and it was windy. However this time it was 6m weather and quite a lot of chop. Some waves were even discovered on the rocks of a nearby island and a selected few made good use of them. Leading this charge was the blonde locks of Finn Mullen, bother of Timo - who declared Oxford Island as being the only place in the north which works in a northerly. Kieren sailed with him - both in bare feet which meant they had to throw their boards off the pier and then jump on them. Annoyingly they both did this and sailed away as if they'd meant to do it. Lough Neagh, in case you haven't sailed it, has a lot of rocks and isn't always as deep as you think. If you hear a crunch and a lot of swearing, you can be sure some hapless windsurfer has hit a rock at speed in the middle somewhere.
Incidentally, Finn was wearing what looked like full armoured battle dress - like something out of an SAS movie. He claimed he was getting used to sailing in it so it wouldn't affect his windsurfing. Does anyone know if there's going to be a PWA event in Afghanistan?
The chop is different as of course is the water since it's not salt water - I would hesitate to call it fresh water. So it's a different sailing experience which might account for why it took me about 30 minutes to get my first carving tack.
Ross Traylen was first out, 6m 105 ltrs and was steaming along rightly. A number of other I didn't know also dodged the odd jet ski while assorted wives drank 20 cups of tea and muttered darkly in the restaurant. 'How about a nice trip to the wild life reserve dear' had clearly being deployed.
So Momma Cass may be fat (and dead) but Monday Monday was a big hit today.
NOT WINDSURFING - BUT A GOOD STORY
OK - so this has nothing to do with windsurfing - but for all of your who saw me on TV recently - firstly my apologies and I hope you didn't hurl over the carpet. And now here's how it happened -
So, I’m at the European Business Angel conference Wed – Friday in Istanbul, with a flight booked home via London Friday afternoon 16th April. Then the ash falls and the fun starts. Mid Friday morning I decide to abandon ship as it looks like my Friday PM flight home isn't going to run - leaving the smug Irish lot who'd brought spouses and were going to 'do' Istanbul. Surely, they said, their Sunday fights would be fine. Looked at transferring my flight to then - £1500 but probably no seats available until following Wednesday. Last I heard for my Irish equivalent she was heading for Spain – a long road to Ireland….She made it home a week later. Others at that stage were still in Istanbul.
Found a group of girls/professional women booking and scrounged in on their plans. 4 up to fill a car. Desperate rugby scrum with phones, hotel agents etc and finally got one of the few flights hopefully leaving Turkey for anywhere. There are advantages in having a young and attractive female riding point for your team.
Anywhere turned out to be Turin (Italy) and we landed to find Italian airspace was closed just as we landed. That was close.
Another rugby scrum procured a car that they were willing to let us drive to Calais. Don’t even ask what it cost. Then drove to N France - I did most of the driving (while listening to 3 women incessantly talk), round about 1000 miles in 24 hours. God my buttocks were numb. Few hours sleep at a cheap motorway hotel which fortunately had 2 rooms - otherwise I'd have got no sleep.
En-route to Calais, found out (mobiles and internet dongles are wonderful) it was not taking new bookings until Wed. Diverted to Caen. Arrive 15 minutes after the ferry left. Drove to Cherbourg. It was like Dunkirk all over again – but we fought and scrambled and we got on the ferry! Arrived Portsmouth midnight Saturday - chaos. Said goodbye to my 3 lovelies who were clearly gutted to be losing me. Friendly woman on bus recommended what sounded like a seaman's hostel - turned out to be naval officers' club where I got an excellent room for £29 because she put in a good word for me. There is a God. Officer in the room beside me turned out to be a bad snorer - maybe there isn't a God after all. 5 hours sleep.
Got what used to be called the milk train to Waterloo. Can’t believe I got up at 5am. Across London while doing frantic Internet work to figure out the rest of the journey. All UK flights still off. Why are there no buses in Scotland on a Sunday. Finally got on a Virgin (train) going to Stranraer - sadly via Glasgow since Dr Beeching killed the direct line in the 60s. The train looked like something out of India with people camped all over it. I forgot to check if there were any on the roof. However a £15 upgrade to first class at least provided seats and kept the smelly surfs at bay.
Another frantic dash through Glasgow Central got us on the only train to Stranraer – only for us to have a bus substitution from Ayr – but we still managed to make the ferry.
So there I am sitting on the ferry, smelling of course and looking like I’ve had a couple of rough nights. So naturally I get interviewed by Bill Turnbull for the BBC who are also on the ferry desperately trying to get to Belfast to do a section on BBC breakfast (TV) on Monday. I looked rough and I swear it was the smell that attracted him or at least his very attractive pa. Actually they were quite clever, they got access to the baggage area and looked for suitcases with far away tags on them. Istanbul seemed to get them excited. Maybe they'd heard about the belly dancer...
And yes, it was TV cameras and all that. So by the time I manage to wake up on Monday, there I am talking away on national TV. And then the longer version on local BBC that evening. I actually recorded 3 pieces for them, but I don't know if they used the other one at lunch. I was at work, or at least my body was.
Back to the ferry where a £15 upgrade got us away from the great unwashed and were served food and free drink. Another scrum at Belfast to get baggage and then they had 60 taxis lined up and a Japanese train-style packer who was shoving people into taxis to ensure all were full. City airport was deserted - and I was ready for a huge parking bill since my car had been there forever. But, and this will never happen again, they'd left the barriers up so you could leave free.
Finally made the house by 11:30 and, as I said on national TV, I was totally ....... shattered. Left Istanbul Friday morning, arrived Lisburn very late Sunday.
When we asked for all our money back from Iceland, do you think they misheard us when we asked for payment in cash?
Yours, b****ed, beaten and bereft of sleep
Alan