4. April Fool?

I signed up for the Army on April 1st.
Most of my many different jobs had started on April 1st.
I started work for Dennis on that date. We signed the lease for the club on that date. Although we couldn’t be sure, Di and I thought we had met on April 1st.
We couldn’t be sure about that date because Di told me she had tried to get into the club for the first time and I had turned her away because she wasn’t a member; something she obviously liked to remind me of occasionally! So Gary was right after all.

We arrived back at the house to be greeted by Lyn. She’d been looking after the house and our two Chow Chows, Remy and Tia. Lyn came out to see us immediately we pulled into the drive.
“Paul, I’ve got some bad news for you. Dennis died today.”
My heart sank, forget about the problems we’d had, Dennis had been my mentor and mental sparring partner for years, it was a very sad blow to hear of his death.
We entered the house and the memory of a wonderful weekend simply faded away.
I rang his wife and offered my condolences, I was at a loss what to say but she was very calm about the matter. She confirmed that I’d been a good friend to him and we should let bygones be bygones.
Of course there were things to be sorted out for her and her two grown children but she assured me that any dealings I had had with Dennis would now be resolved.

It took a while to grieve his passing but the obvious outcome was that the club would now be transferred solely into my name, which meant we could go ahead with our plans!

April 1st, not exactly planned but what a day.

Our main concern for quite a while was that we couldn’t give up the dogs and we certainly couldn’t expose them to a life on the sea. We had two cats too but at least they have a better reputation for living at sea.
Remy dog was originally my dog before I met Di, he was a faithful boy until he met Di and then somewhere along the line he turned into a one-woman cat. Remy had always had wanderlust and was forever slipping out of door only to be returned by the police or people that knew him. We used to take him to our friends house in Bournemouth and his youngest son who suffered from asthma and eczema doted on him so it came as no surprise when he asked if he could take Remy.
We were unsure of making this decision because of the boys health but miraculously his focus turned to Remy full time and his illnesses disappeared with in weeks of Remy being with him.
Sadly the decision was made for us when Tia was knocked over one fateful day so it was fated that Remy should find happiness and retire to the south coast.
We still had our two cats, Pie and Ginge, Pies’ ginger offspring.
Pie was old enough to be used to dry land and as she was a delicate little thing we decided it would be best if she stayed with Di’s sister Roz in the country.
Ginge however was Di’s baby and he simply couldn’t be left to fend for himself so we decide he would become the ships pussy.

Our plans started to go into overdrive all of a sudden. I started to look for a buyer for the club and we decided that it would be prudent to improve our sailing skills.
We signed up for sailing course with a school near Portsmouth, it turned out to be a far cry from the instruction I’d received from Plas Menaii but that only endorsed the fact that I’d started off on the right foot to begin with.
We arrived at Portsmouth on a sunny June afternoon to be greeted by an ex naval officer who was using his own yacht to teach sail courses. No doubt to supplement his pension and mooring fees.
There were three others onboard and again, the camaraderie between people who have the same desires was incredibly heart warming. Just as well, because the Skipper and his wife seemed to be out of a Monty Python sketch. The Skipper/instructor was an ex Navy Officer. His twenty years experience teaching navigation to Navy Cadets didn’t really qualify him to teach sailing in Civvy Street.
I ended up teaching Di and the others more than the Skipper himself. He would go into a panic every time he was ‘teaching’ a manoeuvre. I suppose it must be difficult to let complete strangers handle your prize yacht but surely that’s what he signed up for in the first place. I put his navigational skills to the test in which he cam out ok but as far as a people person, forget it.

However with true British Spirit we handled the week admirably, we had a little mutiny but that was mainly due to the poor Skippers wife, who sort of cooked for us.
For instance the one memorable meal when the poor man asked her; “Mmm this is nice darling, is it curry?” to which she replied “No darling it’s mince. If I’d of known you wanted curry I would have put a teaspoon of curry powder in it.”
Gourmets all over the world, take heed, there is heavy competition out there.
Sailing needs a fair bit of energy to begin with, especially when you have to constantly repeat manoeuvres until you get them right so your calorie intake needs to be pretty high.
I can still see her grimly hanging onto the biscuit barrel after allowing us one digestive each with our morning instant coffee or weak tea.
If any one out there wants to write a sailing sitcom give me bell and I can supply you with loads of subject matter.

All the same we came away from the ordeal with my Day Skippers certificate and Di achieved her Competent Crew certificate. We also had great fun with the other crew so all was not lost.

Back to the ranch and things were hotting up. I’d put out the rumour that club was for sale for a vastly inflated price, just to see if there was any sucker out there. It didn’t do any harm to let people know that I wanted some serious money for it anyway.
And why not? I had worked my butt off making it a great club. The atmosphere there was superb. I had around four hundred members, most of whom I could put a name to, so anyone approaching my door would receive a warm personal welcome.
My staff were great, we all had a fun time there. Fancy dress parties, private parties, live music and charity balls anything that made the night a little special.
I had my fair share of battles too. One thing about being a 5’ 6’’ doorman was that people were not always convinced that I was the one to turn them away!
Within the first three months I’d received a broken nose and a broken jaw to prove just that. It wasn’t all violence though; some people just assumed it was their God given right to enter.
My favourite was Lord George Dowty who arrived at the door one evening all suited and booted with his four colleagues.
He presented me with his card and told me to step aside as he was coming in. “Nice card Sir but it’s not one of mine. Unfortunately this is a members club and I’m busy this evening,” I informed him.
“I say, do you know who I am?” He asked indignantly.
“Why have you forgotten?” I replied.
I returned his card to jog his memory and quietly closed the door.

My business colleagues and friends always tried to convince me that I should have a gorilla on the door but I maintained it was my house and I would be the one who showed them in: or out!
Again, it was the Army that had taught me a few things and tenacity was certainly one of them.

The rumours that the club was for sale went around Cheltenham like wildfire. Sadly some of my best clients and friends also heard and were quite distraught with the knowledge that I was thinking of selling up. They even tried to create a co-operative to buy me out but unfortunately too many chefs would not of worked.
I soon had one guy who rose to the bait so we met up to discuss it but it turned out he was a bit of a ‘Wanna be’ and didn’t really have the bunce to buy the place.
It annoyed me really because the club really was a busy place and I was sure it was worth the asking price, I certainly didn’t have the patience for timewasters.

Undaunted I asked Mark Fabian my lawyer and great friend, to recommend an agent to find me a buyer.
With that side of it in hand, we went ahead and ordered the yacht as I was convinced I would find a buyer soon. The yacht was to be started in October and we planned to take it over the following June.

The whole process of planning and uncertainty was taking its toll though so we decided to take a break to cheer us up a bit. We were still struggling to make ends meet so I took out a loan on my mortgage to have our ‘last’ holiday. As far as the building society was concerned I would be installing double-glazing, burglar alarms and central heating but instead we opted for three weeks in Mauritius, sorry about that but you did get your money back!

We packed our bags and water skis, and soon we were flying across the world to Mauritius, like the Seychelles but with waiter service one brochure read. Sounded good to me.
We arrived at the Hotel Brabant Morne late afternoon and as the sun set on the horizon we watched a guy skiing out in the lagoon.
What a perfect location, the Indian Ocean pounding on the reef a couple of hundred yards away and beautiful calm clear water on the inside.
We were sat on the jetty watching this powerful skier. When he returned to the shore he came over to us and asked if we wanted a go, “Thanks but we’ve only just arrived after a seventeen hour flight so we’ll give it a miss, we’ll be here tomorrow though. You staying here long?”
He laughed and told us he was the manager there so yes, he would be there tomorrow. He was in training for a round the Island ski race so he would be skiing most days. His name was Jean Marc and he welcomed us wholeheartedly to his Hotel.
He introduced us to Francis the boat driver and before long we were exchanging stories over a rum punch.
We spent the next three weeks skiing, sailing and learning to scuba dive. What a place to learn, incredible clear water amazing aquatic life. We hired a car and went all around the island marvelling at its diverse cultures and scenery.
We’d arranged the trip to coincide with Di’s birthday, by then we’d made friends with all the instructors and were made to feel at home with them.
We spent Di’s birthday driving to Chamarel Falls, a natural park with a waterfall and some spectacular views. The volcanic earth there changed colour as the sun moved through the sky and it was the most impressive place we had ever been to. In the evening we watched a floorshow in the adjoining Hotel and Jean Claude ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
The following day we invited to try our hand at barefoot skiing, something we’d seen but never believed we could actually do our selves. They had a great system of learning. A metal pole was rigged to the side of the powerful ski boat and they put an old windsurfer in the water next to it. The principle was that you sat on the board gripping the sides of it with your feet whilst holding onto the pole, when the boat driver told you so you allowed the board to slip behind you and voila there you were walking on water at 40 knots. OK well it sounds a lot easier than it was but I managed to do it first time, which impressed me and judging by the grins on the faces in the boat, them too.
Di’s turn and I was a little worried, as it was such a strenuous thing to attempt. It gives you a clue about Di’s toughness that although the first attempt sent her flying through the air with an awful crash, she got right back up on the thing and did it on the second run.
Poor girl suffered the next day with a black eye but what a feat.
We spent most of time with Francis, the ski instructor Dominic, Mick our scuba teacher and the rest of the crew; even going back to their digs in the next lagoon. We played guitar under a full moon drinking Green Island Rum with the surf crashing in the background, it was the most amazing experience.
Of course everyone got to hear of our sailing plans and we vowed to return one day, hopefully in our own boat, we were better equipped now with a wealth of experience under our belts.

All too soon our holiday came to an end and we boarded the Jumbo en route to the UK once more. As we circled the island on take off we knew we had had a very privileged experience.
Back in the UK we had a call from Westerlys to invite us to the boatyard to see our yacht being built.
We drove down there and as we walked around the yacht watching carpenters and engineers working on her, it all seemed a little surreal. We were that excited Di took her new camera with her, except it would have been a better idea to put a film in it….

It was time to make the decision to do this thing or not.

We were convinced that we could do it; we’d spoken about little else in the last two years. One of our turning points was reading the book Sell Up And Sail, an excellent informative book that concluded with a questionnaire entitled the Ulysses Quotient.
We filled it in, avidly waiting to see if we were made of the right stuff. It asked questions of our life onshore, our business or family ties, our hobbies sports etc.
The three answers it gave were: -
A. Thank you for reading this book, keep it by your bedside and dream on.
B. There is a distinct possibility of you sailing away one day but not yet.
C. What are you waiting for?

Well I’m sure it doesn’t take a genius to work out which answer we received but it was satisfying to hear it from someone else all the same.
So that was it, we made our minds up to do it and do it we would.