Chapter 26
My next big adventure came three weeks later when Carol, sorry Captain Carter took me to Dubai for its International Boat Show; apparently I needed a tender. My ankle was still tender, would that do? Apparently not, so we arrived in Dubai amid a blaze of sunshine and wall to wall luxury, and found that the boats came in every conceivable shape and size - in and out of the water. It had been bad enough trying to climb out of my bed that morning; I should really have had a Sherpa guide, and now I was expected to navigate the show, but all was not lost; Carol of course had a short list. We toured the stands and embarked and disembarked on untold craft of various shapes and sizes but nothing seemed to ‘rock my boat’, until over lunch in the VIP tent I read my palm. It wasn’t exactly ‘my’ palm, it was the publicity blurb on a Palm Marine boat, a Palm Sports 540, not the largest boat in the show by a long chalk, but it seemed to hit a spot, so off we went to find the relevant stand, which was the easy part, the hard part was actually getting to speak to a sales person. They all eyed me up and down suspiciously, noting, I suppose, that I was fairly respectably dressed, but only had an entourage of eight (upgraded security post Bertha), but finally one of them deemed me worthy of a few moments of her time.
‘I am looking for a tender’ I said.
That wiped the artificial smile off her face, ‘those types of boats are on the ‘other’ side of the showground’ she retorted.
‘I was thinking more on the lines of that one’ I said, nodding at the 540. That got the smile back,
‘How large is your yacht?’ she asked in amazement.
‘Oh about 152 metres, give or take’. After that I had a new friend for life, well at least until the sales were completed.
Fortunately for her I didn’t just buy a Sport 540, by the end of the day in the bag with it went a Palm Islander 600, all sixty-three feet (19.3 metres) of European styling (apparently), that could do over thirty knots. It would be ideal for those shorter trips when it just couldn’t be bothered to get the Lady S out.
A Palm Islander 420 also went in, forty-two feet (13.4 metres) of sophisticated luxury (I must stop reading all those brochures), but that could only do twenty-nine knots: I suppose it would be OK for pottering about in; perhaps for a quick (ish) trip to a local beach, and I wouldn’t even worry too much if the family used it occasionally.
The next day into the now rather crowded bag went two work boats for use around the Marina, runabouts that I wouldn’t mind too much if they got splattered with the odd paint spot or two. Two RIB’s (inflatable’s with rigid hulls and two huge outboard engines on their sterns) went in the side pockets, great boats for tearing around the Mediterranean at fantastic speeds in, or more importantly to act as safety boats whilst my family and friends were learning to sail in the dinghies. ‘What dinghies?’ I hear you ask. Half a dozen Ian Proctor Wayfarer dinghies went into their own bag (one cannot mix motor with sail now can one), in my youth I had been taught to sail in one of these, so why shouldn’t the rest of my family suffer now, along with a Dufour eleven metre 365 sailing yacht, for either when the price of fuel went up, or more importantly, when I wanted to serenely commune with nature. The price tag for this Marina load of boats?, don’t even go there; mind you I did collect a container load of ‘freebies’, and Carol was a very happy little bunny, she now had lots of new toys to play with; after me of course, and Bob could now start earning his pay.
One of Carol’s first acquisitions on joining me was Bob Stokoe; he had been the Bosun on the Sea Sprite until he had retired eighteen months ago ‘to go and spend some quality time with his family’, at his wife’s repeated request, and Carol knew from what area he hailed from, so it only took her a few minutes to find his phone number and give him a ring. At her first attempt she got his wife, who wasn’t best pleased at hearing from one of Bob’s former colleagues, especially a female one – it could only mean trouble? She had hated him being away for long periods of time (although since his return she had changed her mind on that subject), although she had enjoyed the money, so perhaps this wasn’t trouble, so she told Carol to ring back ‘after six’ and hung up.
Carol rang back ‘after six’ and Bob didn’t seem like his old self at all; his voice sounded sort of flat as he answered the phone, although it did pick up an octave when she identified herself, and so she quickly came to the point. ‘Would you be interested in a position in Spain pottering about with boats?’
She then got his recent life history, in graphic detail. Apparently after he had left the Borne Line he went to work for a local ship yard doing repairs on private yachts, until the yard went bust. He then got a job selling maritime insurance, until that company also went bust, and now he was a bloody traffic warden, ‘what the frigging hell do you think my answer will be?’ Twenty minutes later his wife came onto the phone, apologised most profusely for her previous telephone manner and then went to pack Bob’s overnight bag, he was going off for an interview, but fortunately he was on a ‘short list’ of one.
‘Bob the Bosun’ only had a small wooden hut as an office at the moment, but he didn’t mind that one little bit, he was looking out of the window at his new offices and workshops that were being constructed to his own specifications as he watched, but he was dragged from his daydreams (he didn’t have a lot to do as he was the Bosun of a boatless Marina) by his new ‘all singing, all dancing’ mobile telephone. The caller I.D. informed him that it was his new boss calling, ‘good afternoon Ma’am, Bosun speaking, how can I help?’
‘Bad news Bosun’ she said, and his stomach churned, at least the insurance job had lasted almost six months, and then Captain Carter continued, ‘you will now have to work for a living. A dozen boats of varying sizes will be arriving within the next month or so, and how are the pontoons coming along?’
Earlier that morning he had just finished testing the lights, water and electricity supplies on the new pontoons on behalf of Mr Michaels. Apart from a few fancy fenders that needed splicing on, they were all complete.
‘Cooking on gas Ma’am, they are all hot to trot’, he liked his metaphors.
‘I presume that means that they are ready for use? Carol chuckled; he was way too long in the tooth to try and change.
The pontoons were indeed ready, as was the slipway. The renovations to the sea wall and jetty were also complete, along with their associated security systems, and the new jetty for the Lady S (Mr Michaels had gone ahead with the purchase) was well under way, as was his workshops, offices and the boat house, and as he hung up he had a thought, with all these boats Captain Carter would soon have to be made a Commodore.
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