The only thing more useless than a yacht is person who sails them. They go on and on about iron men in wooden boats, driving before the wind, but what happens when the wind dies? The iron men sit there, with all the manoeuvrability of a stick, waiting for someone smarter and an engine to come to their rescue. Some of them, of course, are prepared to sit there stranded for hours on end, rather than admit they have a problem.
Me, I like motor boats. If I want to go somewhere, I go. Sure, if I run out of fuel or break down I'm in the same boat as a yachtie, so to speak, but fuel and maintenance are under my control. They are constants and can be allowed for, unlike the fickle wind.
There's a clubhouse at the local marina where the yacht lovers gather from time to time. They tried to get me banned at one stage, after I made a few acerbic comments about idiots floating on sticks. That was the day my boys had to go out and haul in four yachts that had run out of wind late in the evening and the yachties were panicking that they might be stranded all night.
The motion was defeated after it was pointed out that if they banned me, I probably wouldn't arrange to have their toys towed to safety, but they didn't like it and most of them don't talk to me anymore.
Don't think I hate all yachties. There are some nice blokes amongst them, even if I do think they have a screw loose, but it's their screw, after all, and if they want it to be loose, it's their choice.
It's the supercilious bastards that get my goat, with their presumption of superiority just because the wind blows for them. Part of my objection is the Commodore of the yacht club is the biggest horse's arse it's ever been my misfortune to meet.
Brendan, sorry, Commodore McClintock, is about forty, has a fortune (inherited from daddy), a trophy wife (and she is a honey), the morals of a rabid weasel, and a yacht that is a serious contender for the America's Cup (in his opinion only). He also has a superiority complex so large that it's a wonder his little boat doesn't sink under the weight of it.
Shortly after trying to get me banned from the clubhouse, the son-of-a-bitch stiffed me for some work my yard did for him. It was only a minor job and he knew I wouldn't chase after the money as it would cost me more in time and fees than the amount was worth. That didn't mean I wasn't going to stick it up him and snap it off if I ever got the chance.
The chance came several weeks later on a hot Saturday afternoon. Anyone who knew anything at all about the local weather patterns would have known that the morning wind would drop to a flat calm about midday, staying like that until nearly sunset, when they'd start blowing the other way. Not the type of day to go yachting.
So of course Brendan did. He took out a smaller yacht, just him as captain and his wife, Debbie, crewing. He rolled up about eleven and took sail, and by midday he was well out on the bay, quite a distance from shore. And at midday, almost on the dot, the wind died and left him sitting out there, and out there he would remain until the evening, as none of my boys were going to tow him in.
Now I tend to stand out at the marina. I wear a sort of standard outfit and people know who I am by that outfit. You're looking for someone to fix up your boat, motor or yacht, and they're told to see the guy in the odd outfit. I get some good custom that way. Another side effect of the outfit is that people tend not to know me if I'm not wearing it. I wore a suit into the clubroom once and was asked three times who I was. By staff, who should have known me.
Idly looking over the water to where Brendan was sitting becalmed, a thought came to me. A wicked little idea, actually. I fought the temptation for a good second or two, then happily yielded. I went to my yard and changed into a more standard type of outfit. Then I went and boarded the newest addition to my little fleet of hire boats and set off.
My immediate intention was to go visit Brendan. I knew as soon as he saw a boat with some decent power he'd hail it and ask for a tow. It was only fair to give him that chance. If he didn't ask, I'd concede the game to him and go away again, letting him wait for his wind.
Sure enough, as soon as I started to get close Brendan started waving and yelling, indicating he wanted a tow. First point to me. The second step of my little game would depend on his arrogance. If he came to the bow to take the tether and tie on I'd again concede the victory and tow him in. I was betting that he'd have Debbie do the job. I'd never yet seen him do a job that he could delegate.
