Two flying displays

The lower reaches of the Ribble cannot be described as pretty, the banks are a mixture of flat salt marsh, some WW2 concrete bunkers, and a bit of industry. They are nevertheless home to thousands of birds. On Wednesday motoring down to the sea with the ebb tide I disturbed a huge flock of some sort of wader who put on one of those synchronised flying displays which we find so intriguing and appealing, making continually changing random patterns in the air before settling back on the mud again. Nearer to the sea is Walton airfield where the new European fighter is being built (or tested or something), it is frequently seen around Preston. That morning it was apparently flying circuits, the downwind leg bringing it directly over "Christabel and Sheila" at what seemed like mast height, lowering its strange undercarriage as it turned onto finals. There are conflicting opinions about the usefulness of this incredibly expensive project, but you can understand what a thrill it is for the young man lucky enough to find himself in the driving seat of a billion pounds of flying machine.

Nearer still to the sea off Lytham even the moored fishing boats were flying the England flag. When I arrived in Liverpool 12 hours later on the next high tide, the same flag was to be seen flying from the balconies. I concluded that England had lived to die another day. They were not going to be made to walk home after all!

From the outer buoy which marks the entrance channel to Liverpool, it is 17 miles to the city centre. The north bank is a more or less continuous parade of docks. The burghers of Liverpool must have contracted for the shifting of millions of tons of spoil to dig out all these basins. Alas, most of them are empty now or given over to various watery amusements. It seemed a little sad that the busy magnificence was almost gone. Imagine those docks full of hundreds of ships with their crews on the rampage ashore. No wonder Liverpool was considered a wide open city.

This modest mariner had a polite little rampage to Tate Liverpool to look at Picasso's work. I can't make my mind up whether he is a genius or a trickster but I spotted a couple I might buy if I had a few tens of millions lying about.

Spring Cleaning

Boats are like babies, they need their bottoms cleaned occasionally. Not as often thank goodness, it is two years since my old lady has been exposed in this undignified fashion.

But it's the time of year when old sailormen's thoughts turn to ........ well, in the case of the older ones like me, the sea rather than other things. Why we do, I am not so sure even after 40 years of it. People say its the last wilderness, which is surely true and you don't have to fly to the other side of the world to find it either, it's on your doorstep. Just the other day a fishing boat skipper remarked on TV that it's always a bit frightening, in fact he said, if your not a bit frightened, you shouldn't be there!

After my disastrous cruise last year, my plan this year is to have no plan, I will just wander where the wind blows me and, if I stop enjoying it, I will head home. I do have one commitment though and that is to visit the river Mersey later this month when I am involved in a conference. I have never before ventured into that famous stretch of water which is effectively next door to Preston. There is something exciting about taking a small boat into a big famous harbour. I have done it in places like San Francisco and in Sydney but in the UK only in Portsmouth and Plymouth. Both of these latter places are nowadays dominated by pleasure boats. The Mersey still has the gritty atmosphere of a serious commercial harbour, although in fact it has a big busy marina.

The tides and sandbanks make for quite tricky pilotage but I actually enjoy that aspect of sailing. The difficulty is that I have to be there at a specific time. If the weather doesn't cooperate on the appointed day, it will be back to train or car which will be disappointing.

Still it's midsummer so I keep my fingers crossed.