Anxiety Depression Crash. Part 6 the CRASH

14th December 1998. Mid Atlantic, 1,600 miles from St Lucia. Three crew, my client, skipper James (if you missed James's last time click here) and me. Three hours on watch and six off. Cruising chute (big kite) full of wind, too much wind as it’s now 30 knots and should have been down two hours ago. James, Marlborough in hand, gives me clear instruction, ‘clip on, go forward, find the down rope on the snuffer (a 20m long condom) and pull it down when I shout now’. Seas huge and surfing down the swell. I crawl along the deck, attach myself to the shrouds (wires holding up the mast) and await the call. ‘Pull now’ I hear. I pull with all my strength but nothing. We surf down the next wave, I feel the boat turn into the swell, it’s rolling, it keeps rolling and we are going over. In sailing jargon we have broached, I am now standing knee deep in the ocean, gripping the shrouds as the mast hits the water, my feet on the rail, the deck against my shoulder and water everywhere. ‘Pull, pull, pull’, I hear from the cockpit. I pull as if my life depended upon it. It did! I pull, it’s working, the condom rolling its way down the chute, the GRP rim whacking me on the head. The mast leaves the water and returns to the upright. I scramble back to cockpit safety. We joke and I’m fine. That was until I came off watch and hit my bunk. The shaking starts, can’t stop weeing and the shock takes hold. I want to get off and go home but one big problem, 1,600 miles of them along with a vodka drinking, chain smoking skipper and a pretty incompetent owner. 

What doesn’t destroy you makes you stronger. 

Sunday 20th August 2020 Richmond London. Colin returns from Bridlington battered, not bruised but very hungover. He collects Sheila’s bike from the store, inflates the tyres, helmet on and cycles into Richmond, along the towpath to Teddington Lock, Anglers pub on Middlesex side. Wheels bike over bridge, BANG as rear tyre explodes. Shit it’s a Sunday. Help! I am told there is a bike shop, open, 1.5 miles along the road to Kingston. I push my bike feeling shit and exhausted, they are open, the gods are with me. A pub! So lunch, a pint and two new tyres later I am back on the road. Three more pints and in bed by 8 pm. The phone rings, it’s James, back from delivering a Princess 65 motorboat to Greece. He has 10 days before his next job and needs a bed. ‘Yes’ leaves my lips and I’m back in Dorset the following morning.

My depression and anxiety are raging so the company is welcome, a shoulder to cry on even. Afternoons are glued to horse racing on ITV, alas no winners for James. He stays up late to follow the golf but still no winners. He bets in the £1,000’s, screams at the telly and drowns his sorrows with Marlborough and San Miguel. I join him with the latter. ‘Let’s go to Richmond and cycle on the towpath, it will ease the pain’, I say. Second bike in the car and off we go.

He helps clear ‘stuff’ from Sheila’s flat. I cry a lot and we drink a lot. ‘Let’s cycle to Teddington Lock’ I suggest. Off we go, James refuses to wear a helmet, pint in Richmond, two pints in Teddington and on our way back, big tides, the last section of the tidal river, means the path is flooded, we are stranded but, just by coincidence, next to a pop-up bar with pumping dance music. Two pints and a dance later we climb, pushing the bikes, Richmond Hill and land at the Marlborough pub, aptly named, as James lights up whist delivering two pints. The views are stunning as darkness descends and pints 6 and 7 slide down. No lights and too much beer not a good combination as we start to descend Queens Road to home. James holds back to light a fag, I am some 100m ahead, now 50m, now 20m as he approaches me flat out, Marlborough in one hand. He zooms past, cuts across me, and …

Deja vu, I am back in mid-Atlantic, going over and over as rock (tarmac) bottom greets my body with a thud. James laughs and thinks it’s funny. Two days later he was gone.

Tears, anxiety, depression and totally CRASHED.

What doesn’t destroy you makes you grow. Now, let's see how good the Baclofen is.

Have a good weekend.