If you have never heard about the Kef 104/2 (104-2) loud speakers, you have missed a life-time treat. I am lucky enough to have the gold plated, bi-wired version. In fact, I had the factory make these for me in the mid-90s, nearly three years after production ended since I missed mine so much. They really are the last pair of 104/2s ever made. Kef upgraded all the components for me and made me brand new Rosewood shells from new veneer. Fabulous looking.

Now. There was originally a weak point with these speakers which was the tweeter. It wasn’t the speakers fault, but the user. I used to blow the tweeters on my first pair of 104/2s too regularly, however replacements were about £15 each so I just used to order a new set and start again. Blown tweeters normally happened when the amp would clip over a long period of time and gradually heat up the tweeter coil. Two things might happen. The cylinder would either warp or the coil would melt. This was not a speaker issue but the user. Basically, turn the volume down. Easier to say than do since mid-party in the heat of the moment, it’s easy to over drive stuff (hence why I now run a 3kW rig, just for party nights – it’s true).

Anyway, let’s correct a couple of worries out there on the internet to do with the replacement tweeter issue. Last year, I thought I had lost a tweeter and called the factory. Contrary to popular opinion, Kef have sourced a fabulous replacement tweeter and they sell them in pairs very ecconomically for 104/2 speaker systems for about £30 a pair. I ordered them up and fitted them. It transpired that I hadn’t lost a tweeter, it was my graphic that had gone AWOL, however the new tweeter is better for a number of reason – not only do they sound great but apparently have better resistance to warping and coil metdown. These days, I just tickle mine with a Crown K1 and they sound marvelous. I ran them as a spare pair at a party last month in the conservatory at half-volume and a couple of people remarked how enormous they sounded.

If you want a speaker to sound four times the size that it really is, buy a pair of these, massive sound stage, big presence and even vertical sound balance. I have no idea how this happens but it does. Stunning. Did I mention massive low frequency response? Amazing for films and rock. Amazing for anything actually! You can pick up non-bi-wired versions from as little as £300 on eBay. The bi-wired versions were essentially upgraded versions with a bi-wire system which I call the Mk2s. These retailed for £2,000. Massive price back then! Starting price for used versions of the Mk2s will be around the £450 mark, perhaps up to £800 for top condition Rosewoods. Always check for matching serial numbers.

POST SCRIPT

I sold these speakers a few months ago and it appears that the foam that held the bass cones to the basket had deteriorated completely and essentially fell off. He sent me the pictures. He discovered a man who rebuilt these at a cost of £85 each (x 4). I paid for them to be refurbished, otherwise the speakers would have been scrapped. They are now (apparently) as good as new. Now then, it appears that almost every 104/2 in the world will have the problem. What a disaster! Same with 105/3 and 107s too. A complete mess.

This trip was all about discovering the North Oxford canal via Braunston. Family rules dictate that we were to turn around when we get bored – which we did pretty quickly because there’s nothing to see up the North Oxford! We did a U turn on the morning of Day 2 and spent a pleasant 6 hours cruising back to Braunston, booking a table for 4 at the Old Plough.

During the trip, a couple of interesting moments are worth mentioning.  We stopped just after Hillmorton Locks (I’ll have to check this name but I don’t have the navigation book to hand) to fill with water and just as I was leaving, a hire boat came bombing past. Most hire boats are in a rush so it didn’t bother me. I’ve rarely been held up by one. However this one was different, he kept crashing into the banks! Had it not been dangerous, it would have been very funny! Luckily, narrowboats are made of steel that bounce rather well but it just amazed me that this guy kept getting his lefts and rights wrong. This is quite possible to do of course, but most people’s brains switch pretty rapidly so that their tiller arm becomes second nature. He was sharing the responsibility of getting this right with his teenage son and they both kept getting it wrong. His son would drive towards the bank and his Dad would intervene and make it worse! In the end, I made my excuses and asked in a loud voice if he would allow me to pass. He politely smiled in a way only an embarrased chap could and I skirted around him.

We run a walkie-talkie system on the a boat. I have the TS2000 permanently plumbed in at the helm and I leave a number of rechargeable PMR446 hand-helds lying about the place inside. Yesterday after giving a running commentary to the crew inside the boat I waited on a response and got nothing. I gave another shout and then another. I was asking them for my gloves that I had left on the well-deck (bow) when we filled up with water but I soon realised that someone had switched the radios off so I started using the air-horns. Beep Beep. Nothing. Normally, I get a head out the bow doors looking back at me asking what I want. Ziltch.

Then I had a brain wave. I had recently taught Emily her radio exam (which she passed) so I thought I’d put some morse code into the horns, she’d know that! Bip Bip Bip – Beeep Beeep Beeep – Bip Bip Bip. Yes, I was transmitting SOS on the horns. After the even louder set of blasts, I was worried that some old 2nd world war veteran from the Royal Signals would hear me and call the police so I snapped into reverse and stopped the boat in the middle of the channel and made my way inside. Wendy and Lochlan both had headphones on either watching TV or playing computer games so they didn’t hear but Emily was up and about. I asked her why she didn’t come and see me after hearing SOS on the horns? She said that she just thought I had a lot of boats that I was having problems with. Agh!

Later, we met a boat in the middle of the channel. I kept to the right and finally he kept to his right too. As we crossed paths, he asked me, “am I correct in thinking that we keep to the right – I’m new to this”? Cor blimey, a bit late to discover that!

In the afternoon of day 3, Emily and I were on the stern happily driving along chatting away. We turned a corner and spotted a small 20 foot fibreglass cabin cruiser coming towards us with a little outboard aiming for the centre of a bridge driven by woman who was visibly puffing and straining. She had right of way since she would have been first to the bridge. I dropped to dead slow, my 23 tons to her few hundred pounds. Eventually I was just sitting there at a stop as she came through the single-pass bridge and then aimed at a nasty low tree on my port side – even though there was space for her to come much closer to me, by about six feet. She preferred to aim her cabin cruiser (with brand-new immaculate pram-top roof) into the horthorn tree which nicely scratched her new roof. Swearing and blowing, as she scratched past, she scowled at me in a way only a pretty woman with a damaged ego could, “you could have f*cking moved over a bit!”

Her little husband kept his mouth shut and averted his eyes as I did one of my special anger management situation demonstrations – but failed to cope this time and gave her the war that she wanted. I would have preferred to put a couple of shotgun shells at the waterline to give her something to scream at! Can you imagine?

One experiment this trip was taking the three kittens with us. They’re not kittens anymore of course, but more like small tigers. Two of the three are extremely docile and follow Wendy about like a dog (really!) but the third is a throw-back to the wilder side of cats and longs for freedom even though all our (five!) cats are neutered. We have decided next time to only take the two docile ones and leave the third at home with his two older sisters. We are confident that once they understand, we’ll be able to let them wander off for a few minutes at a time which is what they do at home.

On our last night, we went for dinner at the Folly, bottom of the Oxford flight of locks. If you know that area, I turned around at the winding point (turning place) and reversed 300 yards down the canal using the bow thrusters as a kind of rudder. This is way cool since narrowboats don’t have any steering at all in reverse. See http://tinyurl.com/cfjnpe to see where we turned – and as a guide to our size, our 70 foot boat only just clears this turn by a few feet. The chef at the Folly is very funny. She’s got a nick-name of Tick-Tock. I’m not kidding. Her flat-mate in the village is a little Philipino girl and they call her Tic-Tac. Crazy girls.

A couple of issues this trip. First one was condensation on the stainless water tank. I’ve never noticed before but sticking my head inside the well deck, I saw a little bit too much water lying around and dripping off the tank. I confided in the Narrowboats Yahoo Group and David came up with the idea of sticking cork tiles or similar over the surface. The trouble is I can only get to around 30% of the surface area of the tank because it’s supposed to be maintenance free and you just can’t squeeze inside to do these things. So although it’ll probably work, it’s impractical. He’s since thought that I could use spray-foam. This is a permanent solution and if I get it wrong will be a bloody nightmare to remove, if not impossible without cutting the bow off! However, done properly – this would be an amazing solution and would cure the worry of having a frozen tank for good. Allan suggested shoving loads and loads of Rockwool insulation into all the gaps. Builders use this for attic insulation and cavity wall insulation. I believe this might be a superb solution and I’ll look into it, thanks Allan. I’ll report on this another day.

Lastly, I managed to temporarily block the toilet at the same time as everyone else needed to go. Typical. There’s too much detail to go into here so I’ll leave much of this to your your own imagination. The toilet is one of those propeller chopper-upper toilets with the sucker noise. Sounds like an aircraft loo. I don’t know the name of this damned expensive thing but too much debris in one flush seems to cause it all sorts of issues and it stops working. It still makes all the fabulous sucking and spinning noises, and you still get all the water but nothing happens, it just fills up with more water (and debris!). I found a plastic drinking glass (tumbler) and used it like an old fashioned plunger whilst at the same time hitting the flush button. This eventually cleared the issue but I had a heck of a lot of lumpy water that wouldn’t go down the toilet each flush, growing each time. I hit on the idea of taking a glass window out of the port-hole next to me and chucking pints of trashy water out the window. I laughed out loud at one point, considering visions of some poor chap on an old boat getting a lump of sh*t on his head! It was a seriously nasty morning. Anyway, it’s fixed now and seems to flush everytime at the expense of emptying my water tank and filling my toilet tank!

Callum.

I like to keep my eye on my old host, Milamba IV, since renamed to Lady Andrea.

Yachtspotter.com have a page for this little ship that is periodically updated, depending on who sees the old girl.

The page is here:

http://www.yachtspotter.com/ysp2_ycard.php?foo=20090628

I notice at the end of last year, she’s moved across to Fort Lauderdale. I wonder when she’ll be seen again?

If you do see this girl, please drop me a mail and a few pictures, thanks.

Callum.

Tonight, my Cubs are doing the “Astronomer” badge. I thought it might be rather nice to give them an idea of the local solar system before moving on to the Big and Little dippers – and of course, how they can find the north star, Polaris.

For reference, I thought I would stick a British 2p coin on the wall as the Earth, and work out towards the sun via the moon.

It turns out (and I didn’t know this) that:

• The Earth is about 8,000 miles in diameter
• The moon is around 2,000 in diameter
• The Sun is about 850,000 miles in diameter

The long and short of it is this: If I stuck a 2p on the wall, the moon would be 78cms away away (about 2’6″) and the size of a pea. The sun would be 310 meters away, and 2.6 meters in diameter (7 feet or so).

Good, eh?

It was a good night. If you fancy doing this badge with your cubs, let me know. I have some flips you can have. If you are local, I also have an overhead projector which is great for displaying “real” stars on the wall 🙂

Callum.

This weekend, we took the boat out for the first time as a family since the summer. Each time we have previously tried to take the boat out, we seem to have hit various mechanical snags and had to return home. This time it was the weather that nearly pushed us home. However my long lost genetics of the Outer Hebrides encouraged me to continue.

On Friday afternoon, we motored Wherethehell-Rwe out the marina via half-inch thick ice and up the three locks outside the marina. Luckily the ice finished at the canal. We stopped discretely opposite the tow path between Calcutts and Wigrams turn conveniently between two trees.

I have recently done some fault-finding with our marine TV antenna. This is the flying-saucer style one from Shakespeare Marine. I have raised it up 14 inches from the deck with their smallest custom extension mast and it’s made a fantastic improvement. I’ve also got a 4 foot extension mast too. It only takes a few minutes to add the large one when we’re moored up for even better signal quality. I’m extremely pleased. It means that in the main, each TV can now receive the big digital channels as well as Sky. Last summer, we only had Sky which was pretty annoying as we all had to watch the one Sky channel across all the TVs. Experiencing proper TV now on each telly has made a terrific improvement for all on board – and it even possible to receive TV whilst on the go! We can’t have Sky whilst moving though. I did look at it but it’s pointless for narrowboats because of the bridges, cuttings and trees etc. It would be forever losing signal.

I digress. By 6:00pm, we had the wood-burner flat out, the central heating on and a 500 watt electric heater in the back bedroom. We could only just keep the temperature up as the ice formed around the boat and dumped the overnight temperature to nearly minus 10 degrees centigrade. Not good for live-aboards I fancy. I have a cool electronic weather station at home that I have never put up, I might use it on the boat instead since it’s got a computer interface etc. It could be an interesting addition. I’ll let you know.

Nearly an inch of ice had formed on the canal surface during the night which surprised me. I didn’t think it could form that fast. It certainly made a bloody racket though. Everytime you moved, it would scrape and groan on the hull.

We had a laugh as I zoomed blocks of ice up the canal for hundreds of yards, listening to the tinkling of the blocks skittering across the surface. We waited and waited for someone to be bold enough to come down our bit of the Grand Union canal but nobody did. Finally I asked a dog walker what the conditions were up at the Oxford junction (600 yards ahead) and he confirmed that boats had already broken the ice ahead. Wendy encouraged me to make a run for it, so at midday, we gingerly set off, my first ice-breaking adventure.

Getting out of the overnight berth was a problem and it took a bit of diesel to get the momentum and turning correct to actually leave the overnight berth and get the boat into the middle of the channel. I certainly left half a pint of paint on some of the ice plates. Wendy and the kids were quickly up in the bow watching splinters of ice flying out in all directions as we crunched along, virgin ice-breakers. Finally, we reached Wigrams turn and we could followed the tracks of previous boats.

It’s three or four lock-free hours to Braunston from Wigrams – probably less. In the main, it was an uneventful journey other than the tight bridge turns where the stern would catch on thick plate-ice and restrict my turning ability accompanied with a horrible paint-stripping sound as the stern dug deeply into the plates, shuddering against the boat.

By 2:30pm we were at Braunston and after turning around by pushing our nose into Braunston Marina, we stole the visitors mooring directly outside the Millhouse where we received a great Satellite signal but no Digital TV (the pub is right in the way). Once moored up and the fire re-fuelled, we popped into the pub for a coffee (I mean Carling!) and watched the kids mucking about in the play area. I squared it with the barman for us to moor up but it turned out that they had a kitchen problem and advised us of a 45 minute wait for a plate of chips so we bailed out and strolled up to the village to check out the pubs and get a spot of shopping. We found the Old Plough in the High Street and promised to check it out later that night. It opens at 6:00pm.

That afternoon, Wendy and I crashed out – completely knackered because the previous night’s strange noises that had kept us awake as the ice froze all around the hull, however we soon had a second wind and took in the delights of the Old Plough. This is a pleasant pub but remind me to book next time, they’d had a rush on the place and we had to start our meal in the public bar where a skittles match was about to take place. Luckily, a table by the fire became free in the restaurant and they invited us to move back.

Once settled, Wendy started scribbling on Emily’s notebook. After a minute or two, she showed me what she had written. It went along these lines: “The woman right behind you rolled her eyes at her friend when she saw you come in to the bar. I caught her eye and she knew that I had seen her. She went scarlet red with embarrasment“! I immediately turned around to see for myself but the lady kept her head down very low all night in fear of what I might say. Ah-ha! The fun of having a leopard-skin print Mohican hair-cut!

Sunday morning was again very cold. This time without sun and it remained below freezing all day. It took me longer than usual to get some heat back into the boat. I switched on the 500 watt electric fire, sucking the batteries dry for an hour. Eventually at 10:30am, the mains tripped off as the Victron inverter shut down due to lack of DC available. Our four 110Ah batteries were almost out of real juice. This was my signal to start the engine and get the 5kW generator running. It’s also a reminder to get four additional batteries installed!

Luckily for me, a boat called Xenia came past as as I was preparing to cast off. They shouted over that the Oxford had already been ice-broken by someone else. Great! We needed to get back as the kids started back at school in the morning.

Wrapped up with two pairs of socks and a couple of heat jells on standby for heating up my hands periodially, we left the mooring at about 11:00am with a freezing wind on my cheeks. Wendy came to join me on the stern as we turned at the Oxford, west-bound for Calcutts. Nothing to report on the return journey other than the continuing amazing sights of the large sheets of ice up to an inch and a half think that would move out the way -or get snapped as we motored past. I kept the throttle a hundred RPM less than normal at around 900 so we made marginally slower time. I stopped for lunch at about 2:00pm which helped as the cold was starting to drill into me, however it turned out that we were only fifteen minutes from Wigrams Turn and the three-lock flight back to our marina.

As a coincidence, we shared the first lock with our marina neighbours, Muchgiggling who happened to be about 5 minutes behind us. They had been out since Boxing day and had had 12 boaters on board for New Years eve. Bet you they got plastered! They stopped for a pump out but warned me of a possible icy time in the marina. You bet.

Little prepared me for what I found in the marina. The outer marina was navigable like normal and just under the bridge to the new marina was also navigable. But clearly we were the last boat to have motored on this since Friday. I could just see our tracks in the ice from our departure. Nothing had moved since then. The ice was between an inch and maybe two inches in places and half-way across the new marina, it stopped us in our tracks. I reversed and applied full power and made efforts to keep the boat pointing approximately in the right direction. At full power and already going maybe four knots, the ice brought us to a stop – even with our 50hp Beta at nearly 2,000 revs. A single sheet of ice, thousands of tons in weight had us by the short and curlies. As a concerned skipper, I could only continue repeated attempts at the ice breaking to get us closer and closer to the pontoon, 2 meters at a time – and had it not been for a chap called Steve from a boat moored near our friends Graham and Jo, I don’t know how I would have managed to get moored up. Tony missed the fun, they arrived 15 minutes later not realising the seriousness of my predicament.

Anyway, a successful and enjoyable trip. I look forward to some more sunshine next time along with an early blacking!

Callum.

Dear Mum and Dad,
Ted, the Scout Leader told us to email you now from the village in case you saw the flood on the TV and were worried. We are okay! Only one of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Adam when it happened.

Ted asks you to call Adam’s mother to tell her he is okay. He can’t use a computer because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search and rescue jeeps. It was great! We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn’t been for the lightning. Ted was really mad at Adam for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was when Ted was dancing around the fire with his beer so he probably didn’t hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up? It’s amazing. Ted showed us after we tried his malt drink. He calls it fire-water. We discovered that wet wood doesn’t burn, but the tents do and also some of our clothes! I can tell you, Matthew is going to look really funny until his hair grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Ted gets the minibus fixed. It wasn’t his fault about the crash, the brakes worked okay when we left. Ted said that with a bus that old, you have to expect something to break down. We think it’s a cool bus though and he doesn’t care if we get it dirty either. When it’s hot, he lets us ride on the bonnet! And it’s pretty hot with 24 people in a bus made for 18. He did let us take turns riding in the trailer until the traffic policeman stopped us and talked to Ted.

This morning we were all diving off rocks into the pool by the trees near the rapids. Ted wouldn’t let me because I can’t swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast (it’s concrete because we didn’t have any plaster), so he let us take the canoe out instead… It was great fun. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood. Ted isn’t fussy like some of the Beaver Leaders we used to have. He didn’t even get mad about the life jackets. He spends most of his time clearing up the bottles and lying in the bus.

Guess what? We have all passed our first aid badges. When Andrew dived into the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works! Steven and I threw up, but Ted said it probably was just food poisoning from the left-over chicken. He said they got sick that way with food they ate in prison. I’m so glad he got out and became our Scout Leader. By the way, what is a pedal-file?

I have to go now since we’re going to buy some more beer, rizzlas and air pellets then head back to camp!

Love,

Jimmy xx

I posted this here: http://www.yachtforums.com/forums/yacht-crews/10048-my-life-monaco.html#post65529

I have memories of my time based in Monte Carlo as a Steward on board Milamba IV, a 108 foot steel displacement Feadship with a very British (Campers and Nicholson refit) style and British crew.

In 1979 I had hitch-hiked to the South of France after dreaming of someday working on a luxury yacht. I was 18 at the time and the 6 months I was there has since become quite a fantasia of memories, from serving Robert Mitchum dinner (he really was very tall) to having the smart Italian men on board for lunch off the Islands on Cannes. Most of the visitors were extremely secretive, some I recognise now as heavy-weight industrialists on the TV, in those days they just flexing their young muscles.

John Ryan was my Boss, he was the last Chief Steward of Queen Mary (yes, the first Queen Mary!). We had a Canadian Capt and his younger brother John, our engineer. Gary, a former Royal Navy diver was our deckhand with Peter dropping in as a Chauffeur / spare deckhand. A Glaswegian, Grant was our chef. All in all, for an ex Public School preppie like me, it was completely normal. Crew quarters were cramped with three small twin cabins and tiny mess; U shaped dinette and combined lounge facing a massive row of freezers huddled up in the bow. We had enough food to last most people a lifetime. The Captain had his own cabin near the bridge.

When we were at port, my job started at about 6:30 in the morning with a cup of coffee and a Marlboro whilst hanging out the side door of the galley bathing in the morning sun. Once dressed in smart white trousers and yacht-branded T-Shirt, I would start the brass polishing, dusting and vacuum cleaning. We had a lot of brass, particularly the banister rail from the owner’s cabin to the saloon. On a number of occasions, I would put the Brasso on and forget to polish it off! The Boss wasn’t happy.

During breakfast, I dashed into the cabins and made the beds and cleaned the bathrooms. This could be a busy day if we had guests and I would sometimes negotiate with them as to the best time to do their cleaning. The best answer was of course, “don’t bother”!

After breakfast, Ryan and I would clear away and I’d wash up. If we were in Monaco (our home port), at around 10:30 fresh flowers would arrive. I would spend time with “Madam” to put them out. I had a bit of a crush on her. She was quite young and really nice and pretty!

Often we had lunch visitors so I might go into the market with Grant mid-morning to get some fresh food in. He used me as his “mule” and would load me up with lots of bags. He always insisted on shopping in full chef whites, branded accordingly with our yacht name etc. I was very proud of him as the sellers would insist that Grant come to the front to the queue and the locals would all stop and watch us. Grant would be offered free samples of fruit or maybe some fish. He would nod accordingly and then promptly order in his deep Scottish accent. He couldn’t speak French at all and it was extremely funny watching him negotiate for quantities. He would complain to me when the conversation would stall and he would be left wondering what he’d ordered! At least I could speak some of the local lingo!

Nearer lunchtime, I’d help him as he rushed about preparing some exotic meal. During this slack period, I often became his kitchen porter, changing out of my white T Shirt and donning an apron to wash his horrid pots!

At lunch, Ryan would normally ban me from entering the saloon whilst the visitors arrived and mingled. Sometimes, he forgot and I would help until he ushered me out. He liked the limelight I think and didn’t want me cramping his style. From the galley, I would hear the guests laughing. Sometimes, he would bark at me to follow in behind him with crisps and nuts etc, but mostly he had me as back-up on stand-by outside the galley. Often, Ryan and I would just stood to, outside the galley, our ears alert to the sound of the tinkling. Finally, Grant would indicate that he was ready to serve. Ryan would give me a little smile, he would calm right down and say, “regardless of the pandemonium we’ve been through this last 90 minutes, now we must be Lords and walk in with our heads high and our standards at the same level. Are you ready?” It always amused me when he told me to act like a Lord since I always they were drunk, however I knew what he meant!

The guests would marvel at me being so polished and young (I looked about 14!). I remember the Boss telling me to serve him from the “wrong side” once because of the extra visitors we’d had that day, I couldn’t get past to get to his left. The entourage chuckled with him at my predicament. Of course, eventually they’d all disappear drunk into the afternoon sky and the Boss would go down for his 2 hour sleep and calm would descend.

Afternoons were often very peaceful. As crew, we were allowed to sunbathe on the bow amongst the anchor chains etc. Sometimes I would wander off to the bar in the town, overlooking all the yachts and sit there sipping a Coke, marvelling at my very strange life. Of course, some afternoons were very busy and we’d be dragging our anchor (and everyone else’s!) off the bottom of Monte Carlo harbour just to pop out for a couple of hours of show-off time. Sometimes, “Madam” would have a friend on board and I could hear them giggling when they pressed the button for me to turn up on the boat deck. They found it very amusing to order drinks and snacks off me and they’d giggle when I turned up. Once, her girlfriend (I think her old “best friend” from school who came visiting for a few days when the Boss was away) intentionally let her bikini-top slip down and they both howled with laughter, slightly tipsy. Of course, being so young, I pretended that life was completely normal like this.

Every Friday afternoon, we sailed to St Tropez and parked stern-in right opposite the Gorilla bar (La Gorille?) making a huge show for the holidaying public. We would be on best behaviour, throwing our ropes and fenders about to best effect. Madam would be calmly sitting on the aft deck with Mr Boss whilst we put the best show on town on. The crowd would marvel at our skill. We became “family” for half an hour for the benefit of our egos and the Boss’s approval before going back to our normal bickering selves.

Mostly, Peter will have followed us to St Tropez in the Boss’s beautiful mahogany twin Chrysler V8 Riva powerboat. I adored that boat with its cream leather seating and vast engine cover to lie down on when it was whooshing along. On Saturday afternoon, we would usher the Boss and Madam to one of the beaches using our Zodiac as a kind of backup. We would act like MI6, delivering our cargo to the richest beach in the world, leaving a crew behind with walkie-talkies to stay in contact with Mother-ship!

On Saturday nights, we’d take turns in keeping one crew on board whilst the rest went to the bars in “civvies”. The Boss and Co normally went off to their friends’ houses or local restaurants. They didn’t go out for late nights, arriving back by 11:00pm. I was always extremely courteous to my Boss and when it was my turn to “baby-sit” him, I would try and make him laugh. I was after all, very happy that he’d given me my dream job. Normally he ordered freezing cold Vodka or sometimes a hot chocolate. I was always happy to get him what he wanted. Once, recognising my keenness to make him happy, he pulled a wad out and gave me a 100 franc note. He swore me to secrecy not to tell a sole that he’d given it to me, not wanting any backlash from the other crew I guess.

In mid-summer, we sailed to Venice, a three week trip which we all really enjoyed, weaving through the Greek islands. The crew laughed their socks off at me when the Captain told me to get on the boat deck and push the huge electric cables over the top of the radar mast with the wooden boat hook as we went under the cables strung between Italy and Sicily at the Messina Straights, “You won’t get electrocuted Callum!”. Of course, as we came closer, they went above the boat by around 500 feet or so. I felt a real dumb-ass. When I climbed back down into the bridge, Madam had obviously been let in on the secret and gave me a Mummyish smile (woops, that crush is coming back!).

That night, we were given a bit of leave and we headed into Messina to have a drink. 30 years ago, of course Messina would have had a fair amount of organised individuals, controlling trade and luckily for me, if you are an innocent working for a Boss who was happy to stop at Messina to meet his friends, my wallet and passport were very safe. In the morning, they were still lying on the same table I had left them on the night before. Friends in high places indeed.

The Greek islands are beautiful and we stopped at some amazing places including Kos. The harbour was so small, we only just got in, turned around and docked by the main wall (if only we’d had had digital cameras in those days). Work on board was extremely light whilst cruising. Little dust meant less work for me and the days were spent lazying around on the foredeck, waiting for that little bell to tinkle. At least we all spread the load. Poor Gary spent one day chipping, the next day red leading and the next day applying fresh new white paint. Rust, red and white. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, but that’s all I remember him doing on that cruise. Cleary the trip from Southampton to the Med had started the rusting process. Perhaps it should have been shot-blasted or something during the refit the year before?

Venice was marvellous. The Captain explained that if we got up very early, we would be arriving as the sun was coming up. Sure enough, watching the radar screen, I could see the channel ahead and finally, opposite from the famous St Marco square, we parked our toy ship between 4 massive anchor stations; these are those wooden structures that apparently are full of bats. This was 30 years ago so maybe times have changed, but health and safety was certainly not on the agenda then. John, Gary and I had lots of fun taking our lines to them in the Zodiac and they made me climb up onto them to slip the line through. As I did that, a load of bats would fly out. Ugh. I was screaming and the crew were laughing. I was such a girl back then.

It was in Venice that Robert Mitchum and his wife came for dinner. A most polite and graceful man, even though he was huge – really huge. Those original Hollywood stars really were amazing guys. For some reason he knew my Boss really well and they hugged when he came aboard. A load of TWA execs also came for dinner and they all speculated about Howard Hughes and wondered if he really had died. Clearly Howard couldn’t have been dead long than and it was still hot news. Mr Mitchum shook my hand when he left and thanked me for a pleasant dinner. His hands were the size of dinner plates. The only other time I was so affected by another man was Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who thanked me once when I bought his book. It’s like he looked right into my soul with his huge blue eyes. Just like Mr Mitchum did all those years ago.

The Boss and Madam flew back to London from Venice telling us they’d meet us in Nice in a fortnight. We were to have a holiday. We filled with fuel, a 110 tons of diesel apparently, which took hours from a local fuel barge. Why tons and not gallons or litres I wonder..? It was just as well that we filled up since we hit a calamity of a storm coming down the Adriatic. The boat was tossed about like a 10 foot dingy. The Captain was so hell bent on getting back to have a holiday that we were 45 degrees to the waves and the stabilisers could only do half a job most of the time – they were wings, not stabilisers and we clattered over to 45 degree rolls. Only the tons of fuel deep in our belly kept us upright. The twin screws were rattling their bearings dry on many crests. Thankfully I was completely unaware of the dangers. I’ll bet we dumped some diesel through those Caterpiller engines though since we were at Sardinia within a couple of days anchored off a lovely beach. We did some skiing off the back of the Zodiac and some Scuba too. Gary and I shared a single tank and sat on the bottom at 30 feet, looking up at the hull in a crystal clear sea making the OK sign at each other. Great fun. Gary liked to think he was teaching me to be a Royal Navy diver I think!

In the evenings, we took the Zodiac to the port and of course, in the best traditions of sailors, got completely hammered on the local booze.

After the Venice trip, a thorough bout of depression hit us via an anti-climax, only the news of a mini-trip to Nice to pick the Boss up sparked us into reality. I remember a flat calm, perishingly hot day with the quiet hum of our twin Caterpillers driving us ever forward with me, sitting astride the chrome bow sprit, looking down at the bow wave. Mindless days. We were pleased to see them when we met on the dock, and he us. A family again.

The end of the summer was looming and yacht crews were busy swapping jobs. Gary was excited about a promotion to another boat that we’d often bump into in St Tropez. John and his brother, the Captain were staying on as was the brown-nosed Peter. Clearly Ryan was at the end of his career and was stuck to the Boss like glue while Grant I believe, wanted to go back to Glasgow. Our lives crossed like ships in the night. I often wonder what happened to them all.

In early September, we started getting the boat ready for the Caribbean, an Atlantic crossing. Apparently a Lloyds crew were going to sail the boat there for Christmas. Of interest, I was offered a full-time job either on the boat or back in London looking after their Mayfair apartment, however I had had the taste of the high life and wanted part of it. I couldn’t do that working as a servant.

I have dreams of being back there working on the boat (we called it the boat when we worked on her). More recently I actually dreamt that I had discovered her rusting away in a Liverpool dock and I bought her for £125,000 UKP. Typing these memories, I thought I’d do another Google search and found a 2005 advert for her. I’ve saved the pictures. She’s had a flying bridge added which I think ruins her very 50’s style (although of course, a 1970’s yacht) and now called Lady Andrea.

Anyway, I trust you’ve enjoyed this little ditty from 30 years ago, it’s been rather pleasant writing them down. Apologies if I’ve rambled on a bit.

Cheers and beers.

Callum.