'Arry Driftwood

One can love more than one woman and one boat


Damn! Damn and blast! I do that too often … make a blooming pot of tea and get distracted and forget until it is half cold. Hmm? Half full or half empty … half hot, half cold. Not the same is it.
Been to the Boat Show twice. The first time dank and cold and parking too far away and my spirit jaded and bitter. Bitter ’Arry? You? Yes, I feel like a shareholder in Telstra … as I have been investing in Lotto for many, many decades and the dividends have been sparse and meagre. Why should I not have more. I need more more. I deserve more. Born with a champagne taste and a beer income and I have really gone off beer. I, of all people, deserve more.
The second time I felt a bit more chuffed and the skies were limitless blue leavened by a few pure white and happy clouds looking down on the throng at Darling Harbour. My dear friends at the Maritime Museum let me in to a spare disabled person’s parking space, so with a more buoyant step and my cheap and nasty walking stick, which I carry to hit little boys and parry savage dogs, I squared me shoulders, head up and adopting my jaunty boulevardier pose, I sauntered down to the boats.
So that was tres gay until my sauntering did take me to a largish motorboat and I doffed my Blunnies and had a look at the Phoebe, where I suffered an epiphany and realised I was aught but a poseur and fine stinkboats do have worth. I used to mentally sneer at olde shipmates and sailors who split from the True Worth and acquired motorboats.
As I shuffled through the 17 metre Fleming Phoebe and felt the calm comfort of such a craft … the galley … the saloon … the berths … the airy view from broad windows … the showers and dunnies … the practical thought and the convenience and comfort I was forced, forced I say, to rethink and I decided I wanted one of them please Missuz God. Cruise at 10 knots from a 1,000KW and 6,000(!) litres of diesel, two Cummins; and I say categorically that 10 knots should be the mandatory speed limit (even for those stupid ski boats). So there was my epiphany.
Only two million! Orright where are you going to score waterfront property for two mill in Sydney? And $10,000 to fill the tanks! But you don’t burn it all off in mad rushing to nowhere. Throttle back with an occasional burst of revs and bravado. Whadaya bloody want outa life?
As I stumbled dreamy-eyed and sober from the Phoebe my shitty walking stick broke in half which I saw as an omen to throw off false faiths and embrace the artifactual evidence of class disparity and join the upper class … but this mood soon foundered on penury. Congenital penury. And I wondered about the ancient Phoebe, which is from the Greek and means bright. Phoebe’s consort was her brother Coeus, with whom she had a daughter, Leto, who bore Artemis and Apollo.
Have you noticed how most accept fate’s kindness as our due and add it to our own kudos. I bet Phoebe’s owner don’t feel lucky, just simply deserving … as I would have if only Missuz God would ‘do the right thing’ by me also.
Fat chance. What’s that olde saying? “If wishes were fishes we’d eat til we … whatever”. Mustn’t grumble.
The Boat Show; like being married I have become fond of her despite half-hearted sneers at sameness and plastic fantastics, it is after all a ‘Show’ ain’t it? And the bustle and the faces and the noise gives one a lift; and I always see behind at the stress and work of the minions of the BIA who do the hard yakka and I thank them for that.
The ratio of power to sail is overwhelming towards powerboats, but there is some goodo stuff there with big sticks and say what you like big sticks are better. Hee, hee!
The Moody looked worthy but with a very long cockpit; meant I suppose for many sheet gorillas. On the Catalina 14 metre I went below, as they are supposed to be good factory boats and skite of lead ballast – where many factory boats have only iron (to keep the price down?).
A goodly layout below on the Catalina 47/14m but like many factory craft deficient in fresh water and fuel capacity for extended cruising. The term ‘sail away’ means very basic equipment you know.
Some of the malarkey finally gone. I notice there is less of that pseudo-exclusivity of “boarding by invitation only” in an effort to generate Posh. And qualify the mugs’ doshness.
While I write this she is gusting over 40 and a big Airbus 380 majestically barrels down the flight path for Kingsford Smith Aerodrome and reminds me again about why ain’t I one of the jetset boulevardiers? Am I not worthy?
The Catalpa, a Seawind 11.6 of Alain’s from the Show making easy work of the weather reminds me that one can love more than one woman and one boat too … and I do covet a cat. Watching Catalpa reminded me of the basic stability and levelosity of ’em.