1. Not a Sailors Background

I was never ‘into’ the water. I’d had some bad experiences over the years. I’d learnt to swim as a child but it was always a difficult thing to come to terms with.
I’d been thrown in the deep end of the local swim baths when I was six, nearly drowning me in the process and I’d burst both eardrums when I was sixteen, whilst diving of the rocks in Malta; something that left me with a fear of water that I’d never quite gotten rid of. That is until I met Diana.
I was thirty-two when we first met, a partner in a small but successful nightclub in Cheltenham and my idea of relaxation was to sit at home with my guitar and pass the time with my feet firmly on dry land.
I’d opened my club a year previously on June 6th the anniversary of D Day, strangely enough two days after Diana had started her beauty salon, completely unknown to me, ten miles away in Gloucester. Our relationship started after I saw her walk in a wine bar one evening with friends. I was stood at the bar with my manager Gary when this vision of loveliness floated by. The vision smiled, waved and then drifted out of sight leaving me love struck and wanting more.
”Whooaa did you see her Gaz?”
“Oh yeah that’s Di, you know ‘er, she’s bin down the club a few times.”
“I‘ve never seen her and trust me I know I would remember her, “ I replied.
“Aah that’s '‘cos you never let her in, you pratt!”
“Rubbish I’m telling you I’ve never seen her before.”
‘She’ came to the door that night and after I charged her the entry fee, (I might have been love struck but business was business,) we struck up a conversation and hit it off immediately.
Diana was different; a beautiful twenty six year old go-getter, she windsurfed, water-skied and would regale me with tales of her water baby activities.
Of course me being a macho nightclub owner I couldn’t bring myself to tell her of my innate fear of the water, so I just shrugged it off by saying I wasn’t interested at all in her silly water sports.
She would spend her weekends and every other opportunity going to the gravel pits outside Cirencester pursuing her love of the water and I would sit strumming my guitar until my fingers blistered.
We didn’t see much of each other initially, although she moved in with me pretty soon, hers was a morning start and I wouldn’t get home until at least four am. She would come down to the club on a Friday and Saturday night with friends but even then I was working and she didn’t really like to be with me at the door too much. It was OK when the initial rush was over but I would have at least a hundred clients ringing the doorbell within the first hour of opening, in itself not a problem but I also had to sift through the people to weed out drunks and non-members, some nights not so easy as others. There would be the odd altercation at he door but at least it would stop there and rarely did I have any trouble inside.
The only day we would have together was a Sunday if the weather stopped her from windsurfing, in which case we would enjoy a relaxing lunch in a Hotel or country pub, only to return home and flake out in front of a video.
Things started to change when we visited a good friend of mine on the south coast near Bournemouth.
We strapped her wind surfer on to the top of the car and headed off down south.
Wary of the water I might have been but I’d spent six years in the Royal Engineers and there wasn’t much I didn’t know about knots and lashings, so I would end up setting up her board, while she changed into her wet suit or steamer. I envied the way she would step right up onto the thing and off she would go into the sun. I would sit on the bank secretly wishing I could be alongside her.

After the initial trial and error of my first business I was now into the second year and organised enough to be able to take my first holiday.
Diana had some great friends who holidayed in Ibiza and so a few months into our relationship we decided to take a week off and booked an apartment close to them in Port Des Torrent, just outside of San Antonio.
It was a quiet little bay with a beautiful family style beach with just a couple of small bars and restaurants in the adjoining village.
After the first night boozing session with Ted, Nola, Neil and Tonia, we ended up on the beach the following morning and did the typical tourist bit. English newspapers and magazines at the ready we found our patch on the hot sand and soaked up the morning sun.

For all of ten minutes.

“Oh look! They’re windsurfing over there,” Di pointed out a small rocky outcrop with some bamboo sunshades and a few boards.
I used every excuse in the book to avoid going over there but two minutes later we were introducing ourselves to Luciano and Margaret at the ‘school’.
We hired a couple of boards and a few minutes later my private hell began.
As usual Di stepped elegantly on her board and off she went leaving me floundering in the water, desperately trying to get to grips with the monster.
I’d watched enough of Di’s antics to appreciate the theory of it but the practise was proving to be a little harder to achieve.
After scraped shins, sore arms, stubbed toes and a repeated dunking I actually managed to stay on the board long enough to get my first buzz of windsurfing. The wind picked up and I was off.
Unfortunately even Di’s shouted instruction wasn’t enough to teach me how to turn the damned thing around so before I knew it I was halfway out of the bay, heading for Gibraltar, or so it seemed.
Finally the crunch came and I fell off and couldn’t get back on the thing for love nor money.
“Just sit on it and I’ll go and get help.” Di shouted as she went in search of assistance, leaving me grimly hanging on to the board on the high seas, drifting ever further from my beloved terra firma.
I sat on the bucking monster and waited for the cavalry to arrive, realising for the first time that I was way out of my depth but strangely at least unafraid.
Twenty minutes later Luciano turned up with a dinghy to tow me back to the shore.
“I’m sorry my friend. I didn’t realise you couldn’t windsurf properly. If you want I could give you a few lessons.”
I had to admit I’d enjoyed the few seconds of my first sailing trip so I readily agreed and he started his instruction. On dry land with a simulator, much better idea; theory I could deal with.
Luciano was a great instructor, I suppose Di could of taught me but you know what it’s like, the ‘never teach your wife to drive a car’ syndrome.

After an hour or so I was back in the water, this time on the end of a long line! By the end of day I was set free and I was tacking like I’d lived on the thing for years.
Forget the beach loungers and the newspapers I was hooked. I was a windsurfer.
Luciano and Margaret quickly became friends and we were invited to end the day with a few beers and a BBQ on rocks.
As Luciano started to get kitted up in a wetsuit and flippers he asked if I wanted to come along and catch some fish for the meal.
I eyed up the lead weights he was putting around his waist and became more than a little anxious.
“I’m sorry” he said “but I only have one dive belt and spear gun but if you can hold the net bag for me it would make life a lot easier,” he declared.
Relieved that I wouldn’t have to go underwater, I agreed and slipped into his spare wetsuit. At least I had some buoyancy and it was obvious I was with someone who knew his stuff.
I loved it, following him while he repeatedly dove under water returning with a fish on the end of the spear. It was the first time I’d been snorkelling in clear water and just to see him dive to six or seven meters was quite a thrill. I told him so over a few beers that evening.
I also owned up to my fear of water because of my eardrum experience.
“You mean you didn’t equalise the pressure in your ears when you went under?” Luciano asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Well every time you go under water you should hold your nose through the mask and blow until your ears pop. That way you stop the pain in your ears by filling up the cavities with air, this stops the water pressure affecting them.”
To me this was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. How could it be? Thirty two years old and nobody had taught me this one simple procedure?
We talked and drank long into the night and I felt like I’d been reborn.

The following day we were back on the rocks. I tried out Luciano’s theory and lo and behold I could finally go underwater without pain or fear, incredible.
My windsurfing skills picked up rapidly and I was like a kid with a new toy. If I wasn’t skimming over the water I was diving underneath it. How cool was that?