The rain poured down as we set off from Worcestershire towards Portsmouth on Friday afternoon, but we were undaunted - Malcolm Copson was with us, so it would be sunny tomorrow! In fact, it had cleared up by the time we arrived at Haslar Marina and had tramped about a mile along the pontoons to meet Peter Hutchinson, the owner of the two Sigma 33 yachts which we had chartered for the weekend.

The boats were both pretty elderly and somewhat the worse for wear, but we were assured everything important worked, so we threw our bags and the mountain of provisions aboard ‘Scorcher’ and headed for the Chinese restaurant. When we emerged around midnight, our wallets were quite a lot lighter - but the rest of the weekend would be cheap enough to make up for it. Shoehorning was needed to fit Phil Walsh into the upper bunk, and also to slot Dave P and Amanda into a ridiculously narrow space, Dave protesting all the while that he wasn’t to be molested. Jim Beech got the table - appropriate enough I guess.

Robin was first up and about, making merry with bacon, juice, cereals, eggs etc and generally taking charge of the galley. Wonderful! After a visit or two to Mary Mouse, the large green lightship that housed the Yacht Club’s showers and loos, we prepared for sea, anticipating a westerly F4 for the morning, due to veer round to N. Having extricated Scorcher easily from the marina, we raised a double-reefed main and Carol took her out under power down the small boat channel. I slipped below for a moment to radio the others, felt a heel and a yaw, and heard a few girlish screams, and when my head was back above the companionway, found we were heading nicely for the (rather close) bank at around 5 knots. So it was going to be gusty! On we went and, clearing the sandbanks, we took her onto the wind and put out some jib.

The wind turned out to be force 6 rather than 4, (which was not good), but it was from the NW rather than the W, (which was fine). Stomping along nicely, we eventually lost the shelter of Gilkicker Pt and were butting a 3-4ft steep chop, quite wetly! We really needed that 3rd reef, but it looked a bit difficult to put in as our first exercise, so we reduced the jib and carried on, with the lee rail under rather more than it might have been. We made it past Wooton Creek on the first tack, and two more saw us around the point, dodging a container vessel and then ducking into Cowes before we got swept too far past. Jim and the Chelmarsh brigade were there already, having had a more comfortable passage with 3 reefs, but hadn’t progressed beyond the pontoon. They went off on a purchasing spree, having lost the water filler bung en-route, while we went to the pub for some Guinness as a stiffener against the afternoon’s activities.

Back to the boat for sausage sandwiches, and then we were off again, this time intending to reach down to Yarmouth for the night. The wind had dropped a notch so we kept our 2 reefs in place, but it backed a bit and we were fetching down the Solent with a favourable tide. I noticed a small tear in the main, just forward of the leech was developing into something significant, and so we ended up rigging the 3rd reef after all - Robin leading the deck crew in the quite difficult operation. Then we were off again, and soon were passing Newtown River. I popped down below again to try to radio Jim, but found the radio wouldn’t work on 25w, the emergency handheld radio had a flat battery, and was just managing to get Peter on 1w, when land again loomed into close proximity - just off the port bow and dangerously near Hampstead Ledge. We quickly tacked out and cleared the danger, but by this time the tide was turning and it took some time to make the last mile or two into Yarmouth - the beautiful light of the setting sun making up for the delay.

Jim had chosen a good spot on the visitors pontoon, so we rafted up and soon were stuck into David’s Mt Gay Rum while the dinner heated up. One bottle is never enough, so it seems, at least when its as easy to drink as rum ‘n coke, and we were soon getting stuck into roast chicken and all the trimmings. As the red wine level fell in the bottles, lethargy set in, and we never did make it to the pub. Still, we had good fun discussing whether we should pay the £1.50 return fare per person for the 50 yard journey or whether we should find our dinghy and blow it up, thereby allowing us all to have an extra pint (or part thereof). I passed out with my head in Macmillans (trying to work out what to do in the morning) and woke in silence and darkness at 1130. Heck - I thought - the blighters have gone to the pub after all, and left me here asleep. I ventured on deck, admired Jupiter and Mars etc which were looking really good, noted that Zennor V had wood in the hole as for sleeping, and wondered if I was really alone on Scorcher after all. Putting the light on, I found them all asleep, with Jim in my berth with his boots on, under 2 sleeping bags and a pile of baggage. With some difficulty I lowered the table past his knees, retrieved my sleeping kit and crashed out too.

Marine toilets are all very well, but when you are 8 on a Sigma 33, one tends to prefer the land based variety. We all instinctively felt this in the morning, so as soon as we had paid our harbour dues we puttered over to raft up on the quay and visit the facilities. I started sewing up the rip in the sail, Robin started doing another great job in the galley, the flags hung limply but the sun came up and the day didn’t look too bad after all, even through a fairly thick head. Jim left us early since he had to get Peter back home to do some evening office work, so we had the day to ourselves, with an adverse tide until 3pm. Amanda made a lovely job of finishing the sail repair, and we decided to do a bit of boat manouevring in the harbour for those that wanted a go. Surprisingly, few did - they obviously had so little confidence in my teaching ability and thought we were sure to hit something. Outside the harbour, we motored west for a while until we were level with Hurst Castle and could see the Needles, then, as the current was picking up, had a quick look at the leading marks and buoys at the entrance to Keyhaven, and then turned back to the east to head for the Beaulieu River, where I thought we might have lunch, and buy Amanda a cream tea if there was time. It was pretty slow against the tide, but we enjoyed keeping up with a handicap race which was spinnakering up the Solent alongside us. Some went right inshore after Yarmouth pier and gained loads on those that didn’t. They left us before Hampstead Ledge buoy and we edged across to the northern shore, still under engine only in the force 2 westerly wind. Pizza was in the oven as we entered the river, and we picked up a mooring to pause and eat it. Then up to Bucklers Hard for a look around, and back down again before the tide dropped too much to prevent us getting out.

‘Let’s get our spinnaker up, John’, was heard from Phil and others. Spinnakers are a pain, I said, and told them a long list of things that could go wrong. However, if we were going to try it, the conditions couldn’t have been much better, so we found the beast, which was mouldering nicely in the forecabin, but well packed, and heaved it on deck. By the time we had found some sheets, rigged them and jury rigged a downhaul, we were over by Gurnard and ready for a hoist, so up it went, smoothly enough, but I immediately realised some of the ropes were horribly wrong (as usual, when I fight a spinnaker) and rushed about shouting instructions like an idiot for some minutes until we had it set, the main gybed and the helmsman pointing us in the right direction. Very pretty it was too, red and yellow star cut, and we were making 4-5 knots, which was good news, with Jim enjoying himself trimming the sheet. Well past the Bramble Bank we had an accidental gybe, gybed back, but decided that it was better on starboad anyway, so dip-pole gybed (which was wrong - should have end for ended it) and headed for the forts. One more gybe at Gilkicker and we were nearly home, so we did a very neat cabin drop, repacked it, and made it back onto the pontoon by 5.10pm, 15 minutes before darkness overtook us.

An excellent weekend was had by all, and the financial damage was only some ridiculously small sum such as £32 each for boat, food and mooring charges. We’d almost spent that much on the chinese meal on Friday night!