6. Going Going ....

We weren’t allowed to put her in the water until we coughed up the last payment, quite rightly so as they were aware of our intentions to sail off into the sunset and they weren’t going to risk us doing a moonlight with £50k worth of yacht.
Steve was a huge support to us and took the responsibility of allowing us onboard to live and equip the yacht whilst they waited for the final instalment. The mast had been delivered previously and lay on blocks ready for stepping. Unfortunately some vandal had removed the wind instrument and VHF aerial from the mast, which left a bit of a bad taste to the proceeding, however there was enough to think about without dwelling on the dark side of human nature.

We checked out the chandlers in the marina with a list of equipment a mile long. The first chandler blew it by trying to fob us off with things that I knew were not right for the yacht so we politely bade our farewells and went over to the second chandlers, Cambrian Marine. The difference there was amazing, an old fashioned chandlers that reeked of style and efficiency.
We introduced ourselves to the owners Alan and Ann Robson and instantly achieved an excellent working relationship.
I suggested giving him a few thousand pounds up front, in return for his good judgement and assistance, which we exchanged with flying colours, and even a healthy discount!
We wanted to equip Chamarel with the top equipment and set about compiling an inventory that was beyond the norm.
The advantage of research had given us an edge on our predecessors. The main ingredients for disaster it seemed were either cheap or faulty equipment and the lack of knowledge. Throw in a dash of utter stupidity in some cases and you may as well take a gun to your head and make a quicker job of it.
One of my favourite recipes was the couple who had bought a steel boat and left Folkestone with absolutely no knowledge of boats, or even life for that matter. After drifting hopelessly in the English Channel for days they finally ended up in a harbour where the skipper shouted “Bon Jour Monsieur” to the chap onshore, only to find out they were in Canvey Island!

So we went through our inventory with scrupulous attention to detail aided by Alan and Anne at every step of way.

June swiftly passed and Steve politely asked if there was any sign of money on the horizon. Unabashed I replied that it would only be a short time and soon he’d have his money and he’d be waving us goodbye as we sailed majestically through the lock. Realistically problems were looming on the real horizon.
My potential buyer was either getting cold feet or was trying to screw with me I wasn’t too sure at the time. What I did know was that I didn’t have the £44,000 needed to complete the sale of the yacht.
I was still running the club most weekends but found myself increasingly staying on later trying to persuade my buyer to complete the sale.
Westerlys were pressuring Steve, Steve was pressuring me and I was blowing off steam like a manic pressure cooker.
I couldn’t believe I’d got this far only to be screwed about on some stupid detail.
I approached my bank manager David and pleaded my case.
“Well Paul, I can understand your predicament but you must also see ours. You no longer have any collateral after you’ve sold your house and really the lease on the club is pretty worthless to us. The fact that you intend to sail away from the country doesn’t install a lot of confidence in anyone thinking of lending you money either.”
“Ok I can see that but surely if you lent me the money I would then own a yacht and that would be my collateral.”
“Hah, nice try but lets say we lend you this money, hours later the boat depreciates in value and you have nothing to pay us back with. I’m sorry but it’s not the way we do business. Personally, as a sailor myself I empathise with you as I can see what you want to do and admire you for it. Unfortunately I only manage the branch, I don’t own it.”
“OK David this is your last chance, are you going to lend me this money or do I have to take my business elsewhere?”
He smiled at me and briefly patted my hand. “Nice try sailor.”

So there I was up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Now what?

I rang around the banks and even bought the Exchange and Mart and tried phoning some of the loan sharks on the back pages.
Did I have any collateral they would ask? No.
Did I own a property? No.
Was I willing to pay 26.8% interest? No but I was willing to throw in my Granny and a couple of goats.
“No sorry, we don’t do goats.”

Finally I hit pay dirt. One of the Barclays Bank managers sat in front of his desk twiddling his biro and finally said “Yes. I think we can help you. If you can get your papers together for next Tuesday I can review it with my board on the Wednesday.”
My shoulders, that had been around my ears for weeks, suddenly dropped in relief and it was all I could do to keep a straight face.
“There’s no problem with the paperwork. I can get it to you Monday at the latest.” I grovelled.
We shook hands for at least half an hour and I finally left him to bathe his fingers whilst I rang up Diana.
“Too easy my bestest Girl.” I exclaimed. “We got it. I’ll have to stay here for the weekend but I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
That was of course until the following Monday when the biro twiddling b*#t^rd informed me that actually it wasn’t possible and I may as well forget the whole thing.
I was furious. It took everything I had not to go back to see him and present him with a piece of my mind but instead I drove back to Swansea and took Di out for meal, accompanied by a bottle of champagne.
“I don’t get it boy, why are we celebrating defeat?”
“Because were not defeated yet. Just lost a little battle or two that’s all.”
I felt sorry for Di. I’d sort of got her into this situation and now it was nothing more than a huge hassle. Steve would constantly quiz her of my whereabouts and she would have to keep a brave face and explain that there were only a few minor details to clear up and it would soon be all over. One day the Westerly hierarchy decide to show up completely unannounced at Swansea for the day. Di had to hide below, frantically clutching Ginge to keep him quiet making sure the curtains were pulled back completely so as not to give them a clue that we were living onboard.
I apologised to her and Steve when I returned and promised to do something about it pretty damn soon. Brave words but they sounded hollow even in my head.
July came and went and we were struggling to keep our cool in August.
We would hear that people were saying “Oh Chamarel? Yes she’s seen more water on her decks than below her keel.”
“Paul and Di? Yes they were full of talk but personally I don’t think they’ll make it you know.”
“Yes Boyo, you know what its like don’t you? These yuppies think they got the money to do anything but they haven’t got a clue really.”
I was beginning to think they were right when in September I promised we would be launching Chamarel on Di’s birthday the 30th of September. I honestly thought it would all be completed by then, only to find another glitch had occurred and we were almost back at square one.
I sat with Steve one day in October and assured him that everything would work out in the end. I explained that deal was done but just needed a few final details to be sorted before I could be paid for the club. In a way I wasn’t lying but I was blatantly aware also that it wasn’t exactly the truth I was telling.
Di and I would console ourselves with the thought that all we stood to lose was the deposits on the yacht. The fact that we had nowhere to live, her business had gone and all our possessions were scattered around the country seemed like minor details.




I decide to have another crack at the bank so I arranged an appointment with David, my manager. We sat with a cup of coffee each and spoke about his upcoming promotion to a bigger branch.
“Congratulations David,” I enthused “ At least one of us will be earning lots of money.”
“Thanks Paul, look I’m sorry this hasn’t worked out. I know how much it means to you. As I said before, I only manage the branch I don’t own it. Of course if I was to lend you £45,000 just after I left, I wouldn’t be managing the branch then and that might be a different kettle of fish don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?” I sat bolt upright almost spilling my coffee.
“Well I was thinking, as long as you promise faithfully to pay it back, I’m sure it would be safely back in the banks’ hands before they could kick up a fuss, don’t you?”
“David if you’re serious I don’t know how I would be able to thank you.”
“I told you. Pay it back and don’t drop me in it. I’ve spoken to Mark and he assures me the deal will go ahead on your club. Just pay it back. Fair deal?”
I left the bank on cloud nine. I’d been with a few of my good mates in the wine bar opposite the bank before my meeting and when I came out of the bank with a jubilant smile and arms raised, I heard the cheers well up from inside the bar.
Naturally a small celebration was in order and a few bottles of champagne later we were all in good spirits. There were mixed reactions from my buddies.
“Take me with you.” Ray Shaw, my cousin in law pleaded.
“I’ll do anything, if you haven’t got room inside I’ll hang on to the keel on the way down, please take me, pleeease.”
On the other hand it was “ I suppose you’re going to become one of those boring people and just talk about boats all the time.”

I drove back to Swansea the next day we sat in Steve’s office. Di shakily wrote a cheque for the remaining £44,000 to Westerlys and I signed it through very teary eyes.
Steve asked me if I wanted to accompany him on a trip from Exeter back to Swansea on an Oceanlord, one of Westerlys flagships. Of course I jumped at the chance and that weekend we drove down south with a couple of guys to pick up the yacht.
We met up with the owner of the vessel and decide to go out and have a bite to eat and a beer before leaving on the evening tide.
Lesson number one.
Do not under any circumstances eat a good, old fashioned English meal of fish and chips, wash it down with three pints of Steam Machine Strong Lager and then think you are going too crew a yacht on a stormy night around Lands End without suffering the consequences.
It was my first and only time of being seasick and I will never, never, never, ever, do it again. Be warned.
Besides that, the trip was a buzz. I was actually beginning to like stormy weather, or at least I was gaining a respect for it, which made it more pleasurable; either way it was good for the soul. We had a good trip back up the Bristol Channel and arrived damp but safe in Port Talbot.

A few days later with Westerlys happy and us ecstatic, we arranged for Chamarel to be launched. Don’t start imagining slipways and greasy logs because it all it took was the yacht hoist to drive over, slip a couple of slings under her belly and drop her in the water. As Tom, the hoist driver, held her steady over the water, oil started to spew out of one of the hoist engines and we were lucky to get her into the water before the whole thing seized up.
Our maiden voyage to our berth was without incident and we sat onboard with a well-earned cuppa. Ginge was a little disorientated and went off for a couple of days. We frantically searched the area but couldn’t find him. Where he went we had no idea but he eventually turned up again covered in blood and smelling like a fishwife, the blood wasn’t his thank God but it was a worry.

The final straw came when I travelled back to Cheltenham. I had arranged everything as perfect as possible for the final signing of the lease.
I took the initiative and rang my prospective buyer explaining that I would be seeing him at 11 O’clock the following morning.
“I’m not sure actually Paul,” he answered, “I’m still having a bit of a problem with the last few grand.”
I shook inside until I thought I was going to throw up.
“Listen to me my friend” I softly spoke into the phone, “If you don’t turn up at Marks’ office, ready to sign, by 11 O clock tomorrow morning I will hunt you down. Do not do this to me. You’ve had months to sort this out and I will not be held out to dry by you. Are we understood?”
“Alright mate keep yer shirt on. I’ll have it sorted. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” I replied as calmly and politely as I could muster and gently replaced the receiver. Definitely time to get out of this business I thought.

I turned up at Marks’ office early for the meeting, where I was greeted by even more bad news. I’d made Diana my partner for business reasons and Mark pointed out that her signature wasn’t on the transfer papers, so even if this guy turned up and signed the document it still wouldn’t be legal. I nearly fell through the floor what else could possibly go wrong?
“Ok, ok” I blustered, “What happens if he signs it without seeing that her signature isn’t there, then Di signs it later. Is that legal?”
“Well it’s legal but I can’t see his solicitor overlooking such a blatant discrepancy like a missing signature, the guy would have to be crazy to sign it.”
Twenty minutes later Mark and I shook hands.
“Paul, you lucky so and so. You’ve just sold your club.”

I love crazy people, don’t you?