It occurs to me that as we near our interim landfall of Cape Verde the crew of Falcon have not yet been formally introduced.
Before we get to the human elements, Falcon (a boy boat by all accounts) has a compliment of mechanical and woven functional friends. We have ‘Vinnie’ the (hydro) vane, autopilot ‘Brittany Steers’, ‘Jennie’ the generator, and ‘Willy’ the water-maker (I’ve been banned from making any smutty innuendos about Ade’s Willy leaking this morning, but suffice to say he’s just spent an hour mopping up a leaking filter). The sails have also been christened; Minnie the main, Ginny the genoa, and Bluey the blue water runner.
To the living, breathing crew. Skipper is Ade; a cantankerous old salt with the empathy of Atilla the Hun, physical presence of Quasimodo (on one of his better days), and the good humour of Mad Vlad Putin. He likes to think he’s in charge however the real Admiral of the yacht is, of course, Bev ‘brains of the boat’ Leppard. Autopilot tamer, chef, winch-meister, pursor, and quartermaster all rolled into one, Bev is the hidden powerhouse of Falcon. And hot totty toboot. Finally we have guest crewman and mercenary mariner James. An impossibly handsome Adonis-like stud muffin of a man, he brings athleticism, wit, guile and strategic cunning to the vessel; a legend in his own lunchtime, his sailing skill is matched only by his ability to twist the truth into a good story.
So there we have it. A ramshackle lot of brigands if ever there was. My money is on mutiny setting in somewhere about mid-Atlantic… place your bets!
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