The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 8

I always thought that I would like to die at sea. The young mans death that old men dream of.

This notion, I had based purely on romance, woven through the generations of nautical communities that have lost so many. A romance deployed maybe as a way of licking the wounds of the loss of the millions of loved ones given up to the deep. Maybe in reeling from the fact that they weren't there to hold their loved ones hand as they crossed the bar and left their world. Maybe to die at sea is no more dignified than lying face up, full of tubes, on a bleached sheet, staring at bright lights beyond the oxygen mask. At least for most in the latter situation they may look back upon a long and full life wishing that more had come of it maybe, as they pine away to a whisper with dribble adorning their limp smile.

I give some thought for the first time tonight that maybe I will not have such a demise as this. I do not mind.

The Milky Way is a solid shaft of light, so bright that it stifles the magic of the phosphorescence illuminating the netting beneath my feet. These things are all so reassuring for if tonight is the night I am to die then at least my insignificance is confirmed. At least I'm where I want to be, out in the open, desolate sea.

Oh, so many stars!

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 7.

I start to warm up regardless of the large holes in my survival suit. I need to carry on and do something. Sacha and Luke have started getting suited. Sacha takes off his boots, his very expensive boots, the same make of boot that I had left behind in the galley. He passes them to Pete to hold on to whilst he gets into his survival suit.

Pete seemed a bit flummoxed at holding such unnecessary items.

'Your boots can fuck right off!'

...and with a huge throw they vanish overboard. Sacha stands momentarily gobsmacked and without much to say at all. Through the entire ordeal thus far I think that is the most upset about it I've seen him. Pete turns his attentions to Luke, Sacha accepts that his boots aren't important in the grand scheme of it all and carries on.

So; all of our EPIRBs have been activated, all crew members but Ben Bones are in survival suits, we have one life-raft cut loose from the other side of the netting; Ben and Slava found it impossible to get the other, but oh how they tried! One should be enough.

We have cut the netting to grab anything else that would be floating if on the wrong side of the boat with us. Joining our survival arsenal is a big fender and the Rigid Inflatable Boat, we just need to remember where the holes were cut for future reference so as not to find ourselves falling through the netting.

All that remains of the immediate job list is to inflate our life-raft.

The painter on the life-raft seems so endlessly long. Usually this would be tied onto a fixed point of a boat, the length gives you enough time to inflate the raft, get into the raft and cut it loose before going down with the vessel.

I'm watching Ben Bones pulling away at this rope to inflate our life-raft. It's like watching a magician pulling on an endless string of handkerchiefs. Eager for the finale we'd all gathered to witness the event. Well, it's hardly like we had anywhere else to be.

I'd seen this in training, in a heated, lit and tiled pool in Devon but never in anger before.

We're at the end of the painter. The final trick, a sharp tug on the chord. The casing parts and...

...pffft.

'Huh.'

Seven blank faces.

I feel as empty as our life-raft. I can't help but chuckle. Why? Because it's funny and maybe it'll stop me from crying. It is a blow (or huge lack of it) to the survival agenda. This is not what happened in the swimming pool in Devon, I'm not trained for it. I want a refund!

There's no point in worrying about our lack of life-raft. This is the hand we've been dealt, a semi deflated boat that we didn't have before. All it needs is a dinghy and a giant fender. We lash our new inflatable trimaran to the netting as a just-in-case boat, ready to use should our upside down one go any more wrong.

We've gathered alongside what once was the starboard hull, I have in my hand a head torch that I have been using to send out SOS messages to anything that might look like a ship, aircraft or homing pigeon. I know that it won't be seen for anything beyond a hundred meters. Yet doing this was to be doing something and this, right now, meant everything. To show six others that there still is a reason to try. That you've not given up, not yet! For if you do you may as well go for that long swim and accept that the meat on your bones will be a pleasant change in menu for the fish.

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 6.

Whilst we three were out of the boat having a paddle, Slava and Ben had been setting off the Emergency Beacons. I failed to activate the one in the galley as we went over. To be honest and to my shame I simply forgot about it.

Pete and Ben Wookey are handing out the bright yellow survival suits that we 'borrowed' from the Matthew. 

Slava upon seeing them being added to our kit in Bristol joked that we were off to the Southern Ocean. Ben Bones laughed, I laughed, we all bloody laughed. 

Pete hands one to me and they begin to molest me into said suit. I'm dizzy. I'm cold and for the first time I realise that we are well and truly in the shit. I can't feel my feet or hands, this is not going to be easy. Pete was very firm.

'Thom! You've got to get in to this suit now!'

It took about twenty minutes to get into the suit, my hands and feet by this time were so floppy and numb, the 'shoes' of the garment so stiff and just too small for my size elevens that by the time I had managed to get suited up it was much darker. Without these two guys it wouldn't have happened. I am very grateful and always shall be.

Surveying the scene, my mind having decided to stick around is now tying itself in knots, trying to take it all in, to make sense of it all. Nothing here is as it should be. Nothing here is as one would want it to be. Nothing here is at all nice.

Ben Wookey, look at him. I hug him tightly. He looks so serious! Not that any one of us here is feeling too jovial at this particular juncture in time mind you. Could it be that I took the smile from his face simply by asking him along? I've never seen him not smile whether it be with his grin or his eyes. You know it's bad news the day Ben stops smiling. How he looks now, this must be fucking terrible...

The Distraction and the Drunk.

Lot's of bad noise. I come to an hour later and realise that a drunken trawler man has been spitting words into my face.
Swearing? Plenty. His phlegm is building up around the snarling beard as he finishes his rant about filthy drunken sailors. I don't know how much longer I can maintain. With any luck he'll choke soon. Explaining to the police the corpse on the floor would be much more easier than trying to listen to this creature.
"I would've tried resuscitating him officer, I just couldn't be bothered to listen to him for much longer. No officer I did not realise by placing a bag over his face he would not be able to talk, I mean breathe."
Yes, that will work.

What's this now? he's asking my age. Again. I try to answer but he's off again.

The minutes roll by.

The white noise I deployed to put up with this crap has started to wane. He's talking about his days of beam trawling out of Grimsby, more noise. '...fucked every woman I could lay my effing hands on...'

I know, I'll pick up my computer and start writing. That'll show him just how little I care. Yes, focus Thom.

'...and she was fucking my best mate IN MY BED! MY BED that I paid for...It's different for me, I sez, I was at sea!'

Good, he's tiring himself out.

.'..I'm an alcoholic yer know, but I'll keep that to meself...'

I wish you would mate.

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 5.

A feint voice calls out from behind the slapping of the boat on the sea. Someone else is alive! Ben? Slava? Who cares? I think it's Ben Bones the skipper! Great, that makes four of us now. We call to him and tell him we're okay. Though through all of the excitement there is a lapse in communication.

Ben had thought that we were inside of the hull. When entering to find us after a brief silence he found that we were no longer where he thought we were.

We'd quietened our voices so as to let someone else think of the plan. It would, however, be nice if we could hear what said plan was. It's been a little while now and nothing's been heard, surely they know where we are. It's going to be quite a feat to get to the top of the bottom of the hull, I wish they'd tell us how it was going to happen.

'Ben?!'

A muffled reply makes it's way over the boat. 'Where are you?

'We're outside of the boat!'

A slight pause. 'What?!'

'We're outside of the boat, holding on to the railings!'

Another pause. 'Why?'

Why indeed! Luke couldn't help it. He was caught under the netting and made his way out to the side for the want of breathing. Me and Sacha however just left a perfectly good, albeit upside down, boat.

'Thom's got no clothes on...'

Thanks Sacha

'...He's getting cold. We need to get out pretty soon!'

I am cold, although the water had seemed quite clement at first. As it should be, it is late October after all. The seas have had the entire summer to warm through.
As soon as this was mentioned I started becoming aware of the numbness in my fingers and my chattering teeth. How long can I hold on for?

Forever! There is no way in hell I'm letting go of this boat other than to get rescued.

Still looking up at the mountain of a boat we see a hand appear, then an arm and then a Ben sitting by the Propeller. What a beautiful sight! Our knight in shining red waterproofs.

Now I'm not sure why I said what I did at this point, I could feel my brain trying to stop it as the words shivered from my mouth.

'Ben, if you wanted me to clean the bottom of the boat then there are easier ways than this you know.'

Twat.

Luke and Sacha suggest I go up first. Ben's outstretched arm is so inviting. I can feel his grip before I even start to reach up to him. He grabs my wrist, I his and we pull. I nearly make it but splash back into the Atlantic. I'm as tired as I am heavy. I can't do it.

'Hang on!' I remember what I've been struggling to hold on to for the past hour.

'Henri Lloyd!'

Yes! Good 'ol Henry can sort this out with his Salopettes (Thanks Matt!). I pass them to Ben to hang over the propeller by the shoulder straps. Inspired thinking. Though not as inspired as the leg up I got from Sacha. How did he do that? My thermals came down with the force of it. I know Sacha would have been looking up. I think that'll be a view he'll never forget!

The leg up + Salopettes + Ben = Me on top of the bottom of the hull.

What a sight! There's Ben Bones, Ben Wookey, Pete and Slava. With myself, Sacha and Luke that's everyone.

I slide down the hull and onto the netting then wade over to Ben and Pete. The motion of the sea is quite confused as it bounces it's way between the two hulls. The bottom of the pod in the middle of the boats is stripped of paint from where the water has impacted with it over the years. Here I throw myself down, my mind is beginning to escape from me. I don't blame it really, I just wish I could go with it.

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 4.

After about five minutes or so of Luke joining our swimming party, he said that he was going around to the stern of the boat to try and get onto the netting. This was a bad idea. Before he'd have reached the stern, our railing hand hold would have ran out. With the swell of Biscay trying to pry our firm grip away anyway, I thought that this decreased our odds even more.

When afloat the last ten foot of the boat is wanting for railing. It is rare that we had to go this far aft when under sail. If for any reason we needed to, then we would harness on to one of the dead eyes in the deck.

Adding to this, the netting between the hulls at this point on the boat is lower, meaning it would have been higher whilst upside down and harder to climb, the reason for this being a safety thing.

On a previous trip the netting had been the same tension as the rest on the boat. A crew member was caught out whilst nodding off, when a wave powered through the netting and over the centre pod. Falling backwards he landed and then bounced clean off the netting. If not for the cable that joined the steering gear and a strong finger, he may have been a man overboard on a boat that is extremely difficult to turn around in such an event. A good friend of mine, he still complains of a pain in said finger, especially in colder climes.

Though not the best option, Luke was right, we were in the wrong place. We needed to get back inside the boat. Leaving the interior of said vessel was the worst decision that Sacha and I could have made. Although hindsight is a powerful learning tool, through such disorientation with so much water entering the boat at once, you assume the worst and instinct takes over. An instinct in this instance that said 'get away from this fucking boat.'

Luke starts making his way astern. I voice my concerns over the plan, at which point Sacha starts to follow him. Not one for being a loner I follow suit. Simultaneously the generator, situated at the aft of the boat decides to start running at full speed of it's own accord. Without a cooling system for the engine what with it being high out of the water, it starts to scream. We all shuffle our way forwards, stopping to breathe as often as the sea allows. About midships now and the generator dies. Phew. Attempt two is being made to go astern.

Just as we're inline with the generator it starts up again, and I'm sure it's with more ferocity this time. Enough of a warning sign as far as I'm concerned. So, forwards we go again! Buster Keaton must be giggling in his grave by now.

'Guys, if we go that way we'll run out of things to hold on to...'

I felt it necessary to reiterate this point.

'...and it's quite a swell, we need to get back in through the hole (meaning the companionway).'

All agreed, we would take it in turns to make our way back inside the boat. This wasn't the easiest of tasks. We needed to dive through the railing, under the vessel and aim for the hole. Once there we would have to pull ourselves in to an environment that, although safe, was chaotic.

The risks involved with this were quite high. We needed to make a break as the boat lifted and land in the right spot so as not to have the boat land on top of our heads. A false move and any misjudgement could mean either a heavy boat to the noggin or losing your grip as the swell takes you away. Good timing is a crucial element.

'Sacha you first. On the count of three. One, Two, Thre...'

'Thom I'm claustrophobic.'

Fucking great.

So what now? Me and Luke aren't going to Leave Sacha out here alone to enjoy the wide open space that he seems to love so much. We'll hang on for a little longer and hatch a plan...

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 3.

'Who's that?!' cries Luke.

My heart is pounding so hard at those words that I'm sure I can hear it through the sea. We're watching someone float away from the boat, lifeless, helpless, face down. Who was that drifting away, too quickly for any of us to do anything to help? I do not like the taste left in my mouth at the thought that it is impossible to try and get to them, therefore I won't even try.

To rationalise this is difficult when seeing a close friend drift away. Be they conscious or not I would not go after them. Wow. I hear myself thinking this, it is against every grain of me that I wouldn't even try. So selfish. Though were I to swim out to them it would be two dead people. Or in this case just me, as it soon became apparent that it was an unoccupied survival suit floating away somewhere towards the open sea. 

For now this was good news.

Now I don't like our situation anymore than Sacha or Luke, why should I? At least there are three of us still here, still holding on and still uninjured. This is something worth carrying on for, this is our impetus to survive if nothing else. No one's dead until you know they're dead.

Luke had managed to set of his PLirB (Personal Location Indicating Radar Beacon).This is an astounding device designed to alert a shore base and/or a ship of a man overboard or an on board emergency situation. A device that I believe triggered the process of saving the lives of those on board that day.

When the beacon is triggered (manually or automatically in some conditions) it transmits on the 406Mhz global satellite rescue system. This system has world wide coverage. It also transmits a 121.5MHz homing signal as well as a GPS signal. This can be accurate to within 50 meters.

This signal was picked up at Falmouth. They then call whoever the beacon is registered to. For PLirBs they are registered to an individual; in this case Luke's dad. I can only imagine upon reflection just how worried his parents must have been. They would have been informed that their beacon had been triggered somewhere in the Bay of Biscay and asked if this was where it should be or a false alarm. Unfortunately this was correct.

As I later found out, it wasn't until two hours after setting off our emergency beacons that any signal would be received. It was picked up by Falmouth at around 1900 hours. Luke's parents would be in for a long wait. As would Luke, as would I, as would we all...

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 2

PART 2

Now outside and clutching to the submerged stantion, literally for dear life, the humour of the situation had started to wane. It was impossible to climb onto the hull as it was too high out of the water.

I was so pleased that Sacha had been down below cooking or I'd have been here on my own.

Our hands were gripping onto a rope railing by our waists; with every swell of water our heads were submerged, breathing whenever the boat rose with the waves. It's truly remarkable how little one needs to breathe in order to stay alive. Our grips tighten in order to stay fixed to our one hope, an upside down boat. This is better than no boat at all.

Not only was this our particular hell but it was also now Luke's.

Where the fuck did he come from?

'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'

I was pleased that Luke popped up from underneath the boat. His expletives were the truly rational actions of a person placed in our position. A good old swear about now would have been lovely, however I was too busy learning how to breathe underwater. One hand juggling a pair of Salopettes with the spectre rope railing that was swiftly feeling like cheese-wire, and the other clutching a lifejacket and struggling to pull up the dead weight that was my thermal pants.

I always had an inkling I'd go like this, floating off somewhere, face down with my bare arse to the world.

'What the fuck happened? Fuck!!'

You tell me, it was your watch. I was kipping.

'What the fuck!? Where the fuck is anyone? I don't know where any of the Bens are?

I think of Ben Wookey, the mild mannered optimist that is infamous for his high spirit and good humour. I hope he's okay! It's my fault he's here. He'd never been to sea before and I knew he'd just love it. I asked him along on the trip as we were short a crew member and a friend had suggested him.

He was very apprehensive, a lot of people are at the prospect of going to sea. I was the first time I set foot on a boat. This feeling though lilts away with the dolphins, whales, sunsets and stories that are prevalent in this watery realm. He had sailed across the Bay of Biscay to La Corunna and had become a valuable crew member almost instantly. A sailor had been made of him, and I was happy to have him along until this. Why did I ask him? Why did I tell him that it would be fine, that there are inherent risks of going to sea but it's unlikely that things would go wrong! How naïve, how thoughtless.

I hope he's not dead. I need to see his smile again. He was on my watch, probably asleep at the time that the boat flipped. On his own in the starboard hull. My God what have I done?

The Death of Enza (and my part in her demise) Part 1

The following post is the start of a series. It will document the final voyage of one of the most famous racing sail boats to have graced the oceans. I'll try and cover as much as I can, from all involved, the rescuers, the people of France, the press, the ships and of loved ones.

The recollections I present are purely from my own viewpoint. This event has six other stories from six other people. This one is mine, though it is now yours.

Part 1. Over We Go

1700ish hours: The sun is fast approaching it's nadir as I awake from my dream. Though something's different this time, something's wrong.

'No no no no no!'

We're capsizing, we're 170 miles offshore and I'm in my underwear. Unbelievable.

My present situation sees me at 46.54'.18N by 007.32'.32W. These are not the coordinates to be at on an upside down boat as the sun is setting. For those that don't know, this happens to be smack bang in the middle of The Bay of Biscay. It is hugged by the coasts of France and Spain, from here the continental shelf drops away into the Atlantic Ocean. A busy area for shipping, it is infamous for its hostility and at this particular time it is where I happen to be.

I stumble my way through to the galley, stepping over the debris between the bunks.

Sacha, my shipmate had been cooking spuds for dinner until they floated out of the pan and over his head.

'Thom, we've gone over!'

No shit.

'Turn the gas off.' is my reply.

Hmm.

Such amazing rationality it is that one shows in such adversity. I know what we said was ridiculous, but at least they were coherent words delivered in a calm manner. Even if the fear on our faces was more prevalent than we'd have liked.

We stumble across what used to be the galley. Any normality that existed 30 seconds ago is hanging out of the boat along with the cooker and gas can. Water and potatoes fill the space that should contain tea and biscuits, the bilge covers are against the sink, bags of rice and pasta fill the ceiling, the hatch now looks down where it used to face out. We look out of the companionway and stare across the 15 meters of boat to the other hull.

'Fucking hell!'

The profanity leaves us both in unison. We'd never seen the beam of a boat as a drop before.

The shouting stopped a little time ago. It's all dead quiet, I wonder where they all went?

That's not important just now, I need some clothes.

I head aft, to my berth and stumble across the wall of the hull, reach up to the floor to grab my boots. Wait, I don't need boots, I need layers. Steadying myself with my back now against the floor I reach down to the cabin side and choose the Salopettes left by Matt in La Carunna. He broke his foot the day before we set sail and had stayed there to enjoy this beautiful city before flying home.

I said I'd look after his gear for the return journey. Bollocks.

'Thom, we're going down.'

Sacha says this so matter of factly I assume it is a suggestion.

'You're fucking joking if you think I'm going down there... Oh I see.'

The boat groans and then yields submissively to its fate, falling the remaining 45degrees to be completely upside down. Me and Sacha are doing our best to run around the inside of the hull. Buster Keaton springs to mind. The punchline here however is a fire extinguisher square in the face. Slapstick is much funnier when it happens to other people; that fucking hurt!

The boat finishes its fall and seawater rushes in through the companionway. My breath leaves me, ironic as this is the point I need it most.

Sacha climbs down to the companionway to get out of what we assume is a boat on its way to start a new life as a reef.

'SACHA!' I remember scaring myself at how serious I had sounded.

'What?'

'Wait for me.'

Please, I need you with me.

My fingers and brain had been struggling to free a knot on an already inflating lifejacket from where it used to hang. Sacha tells me he'll see me in a minute and drops through the companionway. I take in a last look around, I can't believe it. With a deep breath I plunge myself into the saline waters of the Bay of Biscay. I never thought I'd be doing that.

Isles of Scilly

We left Newlyn harbour in the morning that will forever be known as Thursday the 28th of April 2011. The wind was not as Easterly as we'd have liked. Though it still had a scratch in it and we have an itch to sail. We rounded the Easterly cardinal buoy and set the canvas. First the foresail. Spritsail next and then on to the main. On a boat of medieval ilk this took us about an hour to achieve. 2 knots of speed now, not bad for an old girl yet we're in a touch more of a hurry than that so unfortunately the engine is left on. We cross the water to the anchorage some 6 hours later from averaging 7knots an hour. Hook down, celebratory beer.

Until the Monday we would play host as a floating hotel mainly for the Cleavedon Gig Club. I did, however, manage to get enough time off to read books aloud, watch a thunderstorm pass in the dead of night and even once managed to get drunken with the local sail maker.

We headed out to return to Penzance on Monday with the boat a fragile and groaning mess, the product of a weekend's hard rowing and drinking. True it was also that people had jobs to go to.
The hook comes up and with it a great mass of seaweed. Due East we go and smack into the startings of what the clever weather people are calling 'force 8 gale winds'.
The boat itself would handle it I have no doubt, but what of the crew? What happens here? The average member has not been to sea other than in a dinghy and in fair weather. Bar five of us the rest is made up of middle aged men who love to row long wooden boats for a laugh. And it is a laugh. And I don't blame them but this is not what I need here. Nor is the 1 knot of speed we're making into an ever increasing wind. 30 hours punching shitty seas to get to B? Fuck that, I'm staying in A until the weather clears.

So the next two days our guests made their arrangements for home, to fly or to take an alternative boat back and as the numbers dwindled we explored.

Tuesday: Off to Tresco to have a coffee and explore the fantastic gardens that were set up in 1836. Such exotic and prehistoric plants prevail here. Big ones, small ones, fluffly ones, 'living' ones. Golden Pheasants. A collection of figureheads. So much beauty in such a small island. My heart softens to a pulp.
Wednesday: St. Agnes. The pulp melts and with it my soul. It mingles with the sand and gets forever entwined within a perfect day.

I awoke in desperate need of a shower. Jacqui our cook for the trip needs a lift ashore. At the idea of washing the crust of a day at sea away the crew all head over to land. Shower. Re-group. Breakfast.
We find treasure on the beach, and then? Do the same on another beach. Drift wood, softly worn glass, the remnants of clay pipes and other wonderful tidbits are picked up and pocketed for the use in making shiny things for our loved ones. Drop off the findings and over to St. Agnes.
This place is magical, it has beautiful beaches, amazing headlands, a disused lighthouse and the Turks Head pub. It is here that I tinkle on the piano for a couple of hours, it's the first go I've had in over a month! I play rather badly but I don't care. I am playing and it feels good to just be alive, even if it's only for 5 more minutes. After a thorough walk we head back to the Matthew. The wind has changed and the Atlantic swell lets us know. A beam roll all night. No one sleeps well at all so I hold tight and read some more.
 Rob kicks the bunk at 6am.
'Thom, we're off.'

OK Rob, let me just be sick from the shock of the idea I have to move today and I'll be with you.
Also how dare you ask me to leave this bed. I am happy here, I don't want my time here to ever end!! You bastard!

'Aye aye, Rob'. Says I.

Hook comes up, more seaweed.
Due East.
7 hours later  after playing with dolphins we see Newlyn, two of our crew head off to carry on their lives. One as a boat builder and the other as amazing.
I write this from Penzance. Sorry it's been a while. I am at the whim of the sea. Here my computer is an unwelcome commodity that I may not always be ale to connect to.

"Siralas"

If I am to die at sea,
Know it's where I longed to be.
Happy here to end my days,
Happy face down in the waves.
Though as I drift to distant shores,
Know my heart was always yours.

The Public, the Sun, the Things That Are Fun

Thank you Falmouth for your amazing hospitality. We are setting sail tomorrow after nearly a month of being by the Maritime Museum here. The days have been as hard work as they have sunny! As the sun has shone we have gotten up early to sand and oil bits of wood and then prepared the boat for the public to step on for a snoop around.
If we have not sailed in the evening with passengers and pasties then we have carried on with our ever present maintenance. I shall write again soon about the oiling and sanding of the pin rail. It is a personal aim of mine to get the boat looking right 'andsome for her return to Bristol in July.

Over the holiday period we've been open to the public and to a great reception.
I have very much enjoyed being asked the same questions over and over again. For once I am not being sarcastic. I cannot begrudge such enthusiasm, for it allows me to look upon the Matthew with fresh eyes.
I no longer stare along the deck seeing nothing but a list of jobs for me to do and delegate, I see just how remarkable this ship truly is. I have always taken pride in the work I've done on board the Matthew, though I don't think I've truly stood back and thought just how lucky I am to be a part of this. It is by a renewed interest from many, varied people that I have re-learned to enthuse about my work and why it is I do whatever it is that I do.

Maintaining Matthew

It has been an extremely busy few days. We have taken two trips out into Carrick Roads, set sails and watched the wind die, one of the joys of sailing. The public have been looking around the ship whilst we are moored at the Falmouth Maritime Museum. Around this we have fitted in the ever present maintenance work.

The main hatch has been completely sanded and is awaiting  it's top layer of oil. We try not to make it look too new and shiny as it diminishes our chances of getting any film work. Often they will have to make the boat look scruffier than it actually is for that authentic pirate feel. We do however always endeavour to do a good job. It would be nice to one day have the money to completely strip and oil the boat in one go. I personally would add a dash of stockholm tar to the mix in order to stain the wood black. I believe that this would look more like the sailing ships of old. It smells lovely too!

The maintenance of the ship is non stop. Oiling, sanding, greasing, splicing, stitching, polishing, mechanics, repairing navigational equipment &cetera. Of course there is always chipping and grinding, though thankfully not so much as on a metal boat. I do find that working with wood is much more pleasant. It doesn't feel as if I am at work although I am indeed working hard. I end the day tired and covered in shavings of larch or oak. My bones and muscles cry out for a rest. It is a well earned rest too. I am grateful for this hard work on a lovely wooden ship. I believe, along with many others, if you have a job that you love, then you shall never work a day in your life.

Busy Busy, Old Salts and Flag Etiquette

It has been a busy few days on Falmouth harbour. I have spent two days tidying the Bosun's stores, a large workshop aboard 'Matthew' that has been wanting an extensive sort out for years now.
Also on the agenda is sanding. This is a constant must on a wooden boat and like the Forth Bridge, the maintenace never stops.

This has all had to occur around the swathes of visitors to the boat. I do enjoy the public's interest. It makes me realise that it is indeed a remarkable vessel and I am truly lucky to have a part in it's running. I can engage for hours with persons about the Matthew, answer the same questions and tolerate idiotic questions.
There are times however when my sense of humour trip switch just flicks.
A well spoken gentleman shouted down to me from the quayside.

"Excuse me, may I enquire as to why you are flying your ensign (National boaty flag) at half mast and the Cornish flag at full mast?"

Of course you may enquire, though please don't be offended that I don't have an answer for you. We have seen in excess of 500 people visiting our little boat in only a few days.

"Oh yes, I think maybe some one may have moved it, though I must admit I've not kept a close eye."

He seemed remarkably offended at this.

"FLAG ETIQUETTE IS IMPORTANT!! IT IS OUR NATIONAL FLAG AFTER ALL!"

Dick head. It's just a flag. I know I know, it stands for a lot etc... Though I would rather a nation be defined by the action of it's citizens and policies than what colour it's flag is and how high it flies. If this thing get's you so annoyed that you can happily shout at a fellow citizen rather than help them to understand why such etiquette is important. Then Fuck off and leave me alone.

Does Survival Training Actually Help?

The heat inside the life-raft is stifling. A dozen others around you and not one person here is panicking. Why should we? We paid good money for this.

The whistle blows, the sprinklers stop and the lifeguards call you to the side of the heated pool for a debriefing.

'How do you think it went?'

Amazingly well, I may well be a little tired from a full day's learning but I understand the importance of having the right survival equipment. I know how to use it and what to expect. I shall endeavour to read the informative leaflets on the train journey home. I know exactly what to do should I find myself mid ocean in need of a life-raft.

Mid ocean and in need of a life-raft. The skipper pulls at the painter with cripplingly cold hands. He gives the sharp pull that will inflate our hopes of surviving this predicament.

Pffft.

Seven blank faces stare at the half inflated life-raft. These things should contain more gas than necessary to get it to the 288 pounds per square foot of pressure needed, so why not this evening? I't's lucky that the vessel I'm on is still afloat, albeit upside down and in The Bay of Biscay. You know it's bad when that's what passes as lucky.

At least we have in date flares! Only one out of the five works. Oh such fun we're having!

This isn't how they said it would be. Not a single mention of this in the informative leaflets. They never even mentioned that this could happen. This is not how they said we'd survive!

Yet survive we did. It was a large part to do with the training and a greater part to do with the will and tenacity of the crew on board. It was having the luxury of the course that I could even presume what would happen and how to act in this bleak situation.

It was through the knowledge shared throughout one day that I can compare it to reality.

The reality of finding myself in this position however, is far removed from a heated pool. Maybe it would be a good idea for training centres to take on board that it isn't as easy to survive at sea as it is to walk away from a heated pool with a certificate. To disorientate and scare the students, to give them a hard time and to tell them that maybe it won't be okay. It will be worse than worse can be, but you can make it.

http://yachtpals.com/spirit-of-antigua-12246

In the photo at the above link you can see our piss poor excuse of a life raft.

Knot So Clever

I thought that it was about time for some fun with ropes. 

My shipmate, and mate mate Sacha is here to help talk us through some extremely useful yet lesser known knots. For any standard knots like the half hitch, bowline, reef knot and so on I recommend typing 'knots' into a search engine. There are thousands of sites to cater for your knot tying needs.

On Ship's Blog According to Thom, we shall be looking at the rare, fun and silly knots. There will be a how to video and a knot in use video.

I have got more planned throughout this particular voyage, as often as I can I will get old salts, vagabonds and rogues to share with us their favorite knots or fancy bits of rope work.

Donc...

We generally set our sails by bringing the yard down to the deck and untying the gasket ropes that keep the sails furled. We then unfurl them and then raise them to let the wind do it's thing. This is quite consuming, especially of energy and of time. We have used the following method in order to set the sails more swiftly. This means more sailing. Win win!

So, here's Sacha 'Slasher' Hall with the first one...

This clip shows the topsail being unfurled. The line is left hanging in front of the sail purely to show the knot in action. this would usually be behind the sail. 

So there one has it. not such a difficult knot to tie, extremely useful and all yours.
Enjoi!

Take it easy.

Why hurry? The sun is shining, the sea is lapping against the wooden hull and the trees on the hill are getting greener. None of these seem to be in much of a rush. So what's mine? 

I have just traveled down from Bristol which is generally known for it's easy pace and bohemian tendencies. I am still very much on 'Bristol time'. I have to be here, need to be there, want to fit this in to my day &cetera. This relaxed pace is obviously too much, for if you keep heading West something wonderful happens...

I have returned to the Matthew and waiting here for me, and you if you so choose, is the primitive urge to relax and take things easy. There are still jobs to be done and work to be carried out however. I've scratched the first job from my list already, this was to make a list. Done.

Completed also are the orders of diesel, gas, oil, spare parts for the engine, beer for the bar and pasties for tomorrow's evening sail into the Fal. I even felt compeled to soak down the deck with a good dose of salt water. Hopefully by the end of the trip the decks will take in the salt, expand and stop the leaks. This is another one of those jobs that you can do it every day and OVER TIME it shall work. With any luck, over time, I won't have a leak on my bunk.

This seems like an incredibly busy day for some. Though none of the items that have been ordered are here yet.

"I'll do it directly." Is what I was told, so directly it shall be!

What a wonderful saying, for 'directly' in Cornwall could be anything from one hour to a month or so. You would think that without any burdens or worries to weigh you down that one would be moving faster. This is not the case here, any bustle is purely by incident.

So whilst I have no fuel to put into our tanks, oil for the engine, gas for the cooker or beer to quaff, sorry, to restock the bar, I shall just have to wait. Fettling and pottering about the boat finding an odd job here and there shall suffice.

So for a while I shall be extremely busy taking it easy, along with Cornwall so as the rest of the world doesn't have to.

I advise everyone to try this. You still can be the best you can be by going at your own pace rather than an expected pace. 

Breathe in deep. Look up high, and slow down before you miss the point.

Cleaner Seas if You Please

There is a lot of what there shouldn't be in our oceans. We all are guilty at some time in our lives of adding to the pollution of our blue planet, whether conscious of it or not. I have been thinking over this subject for some time now. It's hard not to when you are sailing along upon the endless blue blanket. The sun beam only broken by the ripples in the water and a mass of polypropylene rope, cola bottles, can holders and a shopping bag all fighting for their presence around your propeller. Or indeed in a dolphin's windpipe.

This jumbled mass of debris, of Jetsam and trash, is a tiny teeny taste of what is here within our beautiful blue bays and endless seas.

The Largest human made object lies within the North Pacific spanning the distance from Japan to Hawaii. There is a chance that the majority of us have added to it's construction.
The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is believed to be over twice the size of Texas and have a predicted mass of 100 million tonnes of plastic.
Plastic may well take centuries to degrade, but as it does so, chemicals are released in to the area. Particularly one called Bisphenol-A (BPA). It has been linked to changes in the hormonal systems of affected animals.

BUT!

Project Kaisei (meaning sea star) was launched in 2009! Two vessels, the New Horizon and Kaisei are undertaking research to determine and propose a feasible method of cleaning up this titanic problem. It will also aim to pose solutions for the prevention of more waste entering the Oceans. This is very good news indeed. Maybe they can team up with Blest, who can now reverse engineer plastics into various stages of oil to be used from machine lubrication through to cooking!

http://www.projectkaisei.org/index.aspx

http://ourworld.unu.edu/en/plastic-to-oil-fantastic/

Oil rigs and ships are responsible for about 12% of the reported 806million tonnes of oil entering the oceans each year. This is from drilling, spills and leaks from within this industry. In 2007 there were a reported 654 accidental spillages from ships, mostly less than 2 tonnes though this was still 30% higher than the previous year.
A poor effort. I believe it is cheaper to pay the fine rather than fix the problem.

Natural leaks occur in our seas. Erosion of sedimentary rock on the sea floor and other such phenomenon contribute 2% (17.2 million tonnes) of the oil lost in the sea.

A massive 44% of it comes from land. From industry, agricultural and municipal wastes.
Oil runoff from roads is too a huge contributing factor. A city with the populous of Bristol could wash away up to the same amount of oil in a year as a large tanker spill.

HOWEVER!

There are companies involved in the clear up of oil. Unfortunately there are some companies that are so good at it they must unfortunately get a lot of practice!
The New Journal of Environmental Science and Technology released an article on 'Skimmer technology'. A skimmer looks like the front of a steamroller, albeit mounted onto a boat. As the wheel spins the pad picks up oil, A scraper dumps the oil into the boat. Latest technology has created Skimmers 3 times more efficient than what they were. Picking up 100% of the oil that they come into contact with!  Unfortunately they're not yet being used at every spill.

Toxic Wastes were dumped in the sea for so long and in vast quantities. Such things as radioactive waste, chemical pollutants from industry and agriculture. It was such a huge problem that dumping of extremely hazardous materials such as these was made illegal (with minimal acceptions) in 1972 at the London Convention.

This has had a profound effect upon our environment. This includes our land based one as much as the Ocean we can enjoy. As all waste breaks down it get's into the food chain. Contaminated mammals eating contaminated fish eating contaminated sponges eating contaminated algae. The ocean has seen so much pollution that it can be traced to the food at our fish counter. In very small quantities yes, but it is still there.
When fertilisers are washed off into the sea the localised area there are excess nutrients. Oxygen levels drop and the flora and fauna die leaving dead zones. The most famous dead zones are areas of the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Mexico.

As a water loving species, we need to take more care of it. The Ocean's health teaters upon the cusp of a breaking wave and we are in a great position. A gift that will help us to determine just how hard this wave breaks and how soon. Shall we get off now and swim belly up and smiling with the dolphins and starfish? Or do we ride it further, to the end? Where we shall be able to look back from the beaches and headlands and see nothing?

http://www.thegreenblue.org.uk/

http://www.greenpeace.org.uk/

Sickening Seas

It was watching a man throw up on the back of his own head that started it. The laughing. I know I shouldn't have but you must admit, how many times does one see that in a lifetime?
He ralphed up his meal on the boat's upward roll. The relief was sweating from his pale brow as he turned to us with his salival, bearded grin. Unaware that he was fast catching up with his lunch on the downward roll.
His reaction to this when it did happen was... to be sick. Again. Only this time on his friend. Not seemingly one to break the trend here his friend was, of course, sick. On our deck. Never have I seen such a small fellah expel so much, so quickly. Two things became apparent through my teared up laughing eyes.
One. This guy is a vegetarian.
Two. I'm cleaning that up.

So...

BE HELPFUL, PUKE OVERBOARD!!!!
Okay, so it might spray back or you might get unlucky odds like the above example, but it will help if most of it goes over the side. If not the decks will need a good scrub and at worse you will be wrist deep in carrot soup trying to unblock the chunks from the bilge pump.

It is always the able bodied and non puking sailor that gets to wash down the decks when your shipmates start exploding. So here are a few things to take in to account that might, if not quash your suffering, ease it a touch.


Luckily I have never had the misfortune of suffering from sea sickness. I have endured the worst weather on extremely rocky boats in my time. This is not to say that I have never felt sick at sea. I once let a captain I was sailing with do the food shopping.

'Thom, I thought burgers would be nice for lunch."

He handed me a box containing six grey discs of what I'm sure were literally, 'the dog's bollocks'. Bollocks bound together with a grey fatty substance broken up only by pipes and more grey.
As they cooked in the oven they filled my lungs with unnatural smells. Aromas not too dissimilar, I assume, of an incinerator at a liposuction clinic. This, added with no fixed horizon and a sea on the beam* made for an unhappy Thom.
Any one found slacking at sea can be sure to be given a crap job. So I left the galley and found me a slacker to finish off whilst I got some air.

Those 'burgers' went in the oven grey, left the oven grey and mine went overboard grey.
So the lesson here is...

EAT ACCORDINGLY TO CONDITIONS!
You will find that greasy, fatty foods can induce vomiting, especially in a rough sea. Also why would you want hot fat flying around your galley during the cooking process? Save the fat for the fry up at the calm anchorage or lazy bay.

Too much liquid in yer belly will slosh about in there. If you feel ill then this will certainly make a reappearance.
A stodgy, starchy diet is good. Fibre too! Something that will stick to your insides, that and give you a slow release of energy. Because when you are at sea you need a lot of it.
If food is the last thing you think you want after tasting the previous meals twice, try and eat a bit. Even small bits of bread or biscuit

CRYSTALLISED GINGER!!!!
Or Ginger tea, or a ginger biscuit, or just plain ginger. It is well known for it's power to ease motion sickness.
'But I don't like ginger!'
Believe me, you'll like it more than puking yourself inside out.

FIND THE LEAST MOTION POSSIBLE
The most common reaction is for people to retire to their bunks. This may work for you, but it's a long way to run to get to the ships side should it go wrong. Finding the boats least rocky bit is best. i.e. the middle! Get some wind in your lungs, big breaths through your nose released slowly from the mouth. Concentrate on the breathing process and fix your gaze on a horizon. It'll be over soon enough. If you must, take pills before you sail. A non drowsy formula is best as you may be required to be alert.

OCCUPY YOURSELF.
I don't mean practice knots or your leather/ sail work. Something that allows for the distance stare on that horizon. Take the helm for a while.


I have seen grown men of fifty winters crying for their mums. Jack Tar's looking not so jolly. Wind sculpted salts reduced to belching bags of bile and hiding in the fo'c'sle asking what in God's name did they to to deserve this?!

The answer?
You did nothing to deserve this, but you also did the minimal, or nothing to help improve your sudden debilitating illness. And it is debilitating, it can strike people even when the boat is tied up. You may not see any one that is suffering from this affliction for days as the body decides it is best to just shut down and sleep for the duration.
Crews have been airlifted from boats because of it, many a shirt has been ruined too.

It is an unavoidable occupational hazard for most at sea, wether suffering from it or suffering from witnessing it. I hope that the information here is of some use and that although the seas aren't calm you can carry on.


*The side of a boat

The plus side to seasickness is that you can call the sufferer names such as; Pukey McPukington, Pukezilla, Barf Brookes, One Spew Over the Cuckoos Nest, Spewie Armstrong, Wallace and Vomit &cetera. There response to this will usually be a gurgle followed by them leaving a present for you on your waterproof boots. They will not, however, be able to chase you.

This is the Matthew. A replica fifteenth Century Caravel. This is my new job.

In 1497 John Cabot and 17 other men left the port of Bristol to find an alternative trade route to Asia by sailing west. Far from reaching Asia they reached the shoreline of what Cabot called his "new found landes", now known as Newfoundland in Canada.
500 years on, 18 men of Bristol replicated the journey. 1998 saw the Matthew return to it's home port to a grand reception!

Unfortunately for the ship, a promise of a mooring and visitor centre was not adhered to. The little tall ship was taken on by The SS Great Britain, Brunel's big o'l boat.
The SSGB is a charity, and ultimately the Matthew would detract revenue meant for the SSGB. So for 13 years she has sat behind an uninviting metal security fence. Poorly advertised and mostly forgotten. We weren't even allowed to ask for donations to maintain the ship. Any penny being spent on the Matthew was not a penny that the SSGB would see.

To solve this, a former Lord Mayor of Bristol and a bunch of other people set up the Matthew of Bristol Trust.
This is fantastic news for now the Matthew is finally it's own entity. Any Legacies left and profit made can be put back into the ship rather than being hoovered up by the SSGB through some clever pants legalities that they had put in place. Hopefully the Matthew shall have it's very own mooring and truly be one of the few Jewels in Bristol's floating harbour!

Running it on behalf of the Matthew of Bristol Trust shall be Shipshape and Bristol Fashion. It is these guys that have been renting the ship from the SSGB for a good number of years now. These guys that I shall be working for from this coming Thursday!
What'll we get up to? Wellity, wellity wellity...! the Matthew can be visited in Falmouth until Easter. Here you can jump aboard and enjoy day sailing in the sun, a pasty in hand and drink in the other! If you really want to, you can put down the pasty and pull some ropes to get us sailing faster in to the sun.

Cruise to The Isles of Scilly for the international gig racing.
Come to the Channel Islands or France for a booze cruise.
Or just find us and say hello.

www.matthew.co.uk

The Matthew on Facebook

I hope that you enjoy the new flavour of Blog-O-Gramme that I shall be producing. A far cry from the commercial marine sector, I hope that my zest and love for the Matthew and the oceans shall become more apparent from the time I spend at sea whilst aboard this wonderful little big boat.

The Final Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Where sky and water meet,
Where the waves grow sweet,
Doubt not reepicheep,
To find all you seek,
There is the utter East.... End of London. Namely, St Katherines Dock!


Gracing us with their presence amidst a gaggle of journalists and presenters were Prince Caspian, wearing his girlfriend's cardigan and Eustace Scrubb, who may I say is a very polite young man. They would spend the entire day locked in the hold giving interviews to the world's media regarding the pending DVD release of the latest Narnia flick.
The journalists, whilst waiting for their time with the cast, would be kept occupied by learning the ancient art of sword-fighting. Not happy with the low fatality odds of such a sport they were also made to climb to the crows nest. Needless to say all survived and a good time was had.

It was nice to see this sort of event at work. Everyone there inducing the excitement that they themselves were surrounded by. A self perpetuating media orgy of cheeky northern presenters fooling around through to a Japanese over actor wearing a deck chair. Madness. I had to sit back and take it all in...
...The sun kissing my skin, London bustling away, the clink of sword on sword under the shadow of a dragon. WHAT THE F%*K?!

How did I go from marking oil rigs to this?
Here's how!

Drive as fast as you can from Harwich to Ramsgate, the town of the dragon makers. Or, the last stop before London where one can logistically turn a medieval caravel into a dragon.

then...

BISH

BASH

BOSH

One fully functioning Dawn Treader. 

The trip through to London was mostly non eventful and quite relaxing. We did find that the moon being the closest it has been to earth in 19 years upset the tides a little. Consequently we spent an hour grounded in the entrance to the Thames estuary. Did we panic? Of course not. We ate dinner and played music until there was enough water to float us through to our anchorage near Tilbury Fort.

The morning saw us motoring into a sun stricken London, where at Greenwich we picked up a small boarding party to continue on to St Katherines Dock.

When the oil dries the wind shall rise!

This is a dead oil rig.

Once the oil is depleted, the rig proved uneconomical or too old for purpose, a transformation occurs. All of the useful gear that was there is stripped away. This also includes any navigation equipment to warn vessels of its presence. So to ensure that it is visible there are cardinal markers placed around the structure at a distance of 500 meters.

The diagram below shows how the 'place of interest', or our oil rig is marked. This is the case for most hazards at sea.

At night they will flash white to direct a vessel around the hazard. An easy way of remembering what does what is seeing them as a clock.
                                                            N- A continuous flashing.
          
                                                            E- 3 flashes.
                                      
                                                            S- 6 followed by one long (In a rough sea you may not catch all of the flashes, the one long at the end emits any confusion)

                                                            W- 9 flashes.


SO! The Buoys are in place, situated 500 meters from the rig. But what next?
We move the buoys from here...

...to here...

Now they will lay at a distance of 1500 meters from the hazard. This gives the removal men and women the room they need to break down the rig. To manoeuvre ships,  swing on anchors and whatever else they need to undertake such a task. The rig itself will be broken up to the level of the sea bed or below and will no longer pose a threat to navigation.

We shall be seeing the numbers of oil rigs in the North Sea diminish and perhaps even be obsolete entirely within the next 25 years. For reasons why, I'm not privy to such information. I can merely speculate that the 50 years worth of oil that was previously thought to be in these wells, was a figure based on a population that has been exceeded.

As the horizon clears of such structures, it shall in the near future be host to masses of wind farms, some as large as 25 square kilometers.
Funny really, for the three weeks I spent out there there was piss all wind.

There was however plenty of sea, a sea that is host to strong tides and, at times, large waves. This begs the question; Why not use tidal or wave 'farms'? Sea bed tidal generators being planned for the Orkney area should prove to generate as much as 1.2 GW of energy. This rivals some major nuclear power stations! Maybe it's the vast infrastructure that would have to be installed to allow such endeavours to flourish. There would be a need for new ports and a new grid to wire up to the existing one. 
Maybe someone somewhere will see that the investment would be worth it, to light up 75,000+ homes on a resource that is always there and always creating energy.

Ours is not to reason why, Ours is but to chip and grind.

For those avid followers of this humble Blog O Gramme, you will be all too aware that I often mention how much painting, greasing, grinding &cetera that we as deckies undertake.
It is not that we are ragging the ship into oblivion, merely getting on top of things before the work overtakes the workforce. I don't envy those on The Patricia or any older ship that must be doing this all of the time to then watch the bit they've just done rust over again!

Galatea has spent the last couple of week in Harwich undergoing a general refit. Now as you can imagine this is a gargantuan task. Not only is it a boat, it is also a floating home for the 20 crew and officers on board. Not only this but a floating depot/storage facility/worksite. You can imagine the damage a 2 tonne sinker would do as it is lifted from the sea in a swell were it to strike the boat.
The consistant use of the gear, most of which is made out of heavy metal takes its toll.

A brief idea of the work we've been undertaking follows.

Chipping back rust spots, priming then painting; Mainly on the Davits (A crane for lifting the tenders in and out of the water),the High Focal Buoy pods, in which we hold our Class 1 big bastard buoys (see Blog O Gramme on Buoy Bashing. Also the life boat cradles and other such areas of the ship that are inaccessible and at use whilst at sea.

Cleaning the hull of ship. It's a big bugger, we reach the topsides by using a cage on a crane. An environmentally friendly cleaning product called Viceroy is used. This took four men three days

Cleaning the big crane on the stern, for this we use a cherry picker on the Quay along with some guys working at height on the crane itself.

Grinding back the welds where windows have been covered over. Enter the crane and cage for this as they are 2 decks high. Each window took four hours and five grinding discs. They were then primed and painted. Of course.

Welding the Gunwhale area from where we lift the Buoy chains onto the boat. The friction here is massive, the effect of the chain rubbing gives a wrinkling effect. When lifting you sometimes see smoke and sparks.

We are having some interior changes done, for which we have contractors working hard day and night.

Servicing the two tenders, one of which is getting a new slip slap slop it on paint job.

The smaller crane on the back of the Ship has just been fixed after a few months of being broken. I was volunteered to be the one to catch the leaking hydraulic oil in a bucket. I'll let you guess how much of the 200 litres reached the bucket and how much found me.

Void inspection. For this we have what is called a Permit to Work. A Permit to work is also enforced if there is work being done by the RADAR. If it was turned on when you were near it then you would be lucky if you were only made sterile. The permit is signed and a note kept by the RADAR monitor warning it not be used. I may post more in depth about Permits to Work later on.
The bridge is notified when anyone is entering a void (Usually a space between hull and boat interior). A team of two enter to check for any damage, especially if we have taken a large knock at a particular point of the vessel. Prior to entering, oxygen levels are checked and two men are on standby with breathing apparatus for those who enter. There are still many cases within the shipping industry of people entering voids and dying. Sometimes through inhalation of noxious gasses, through there being no oxygen, or even not notifying of entry and knocking themselves out or, rarely, being sealed back into the void.
Once here, any damage there may be is welded, ground and chipped, primed then painted depending on severity.

So yes there's a lot to do, the above list is but a mere smattering of the tasks and jobs we undertake. So I'd better get on with it.