Blue Moon's trip around the UK

One of the challenges of having an extra, unplanned summer (OK, I’ll admit it straight away, this is really not much of a challenge compared with the benefits) is the possibility of going back to places that I went to last year, and not enjoying them as much either because they’re not as new and exciting or because the circumstances are different. The latter is probably more likely, given how fabulous both the weather and the company was last year: a place that was fun in broad sunshine with good friends (or even in a storm with good friends) could seem pretty miserable in the rain on your own.

I was expecting such an experience today, when it was agreed that it would be best to meet Andrew and Roger (my first guests of the year, coming together for a change) in Ballycastle rather than Glenarm (thence to Islay, the sole remaining significant unvisited Hebridean island, which just happens to be having a whisky festival this week). I had been looking forward to Glenarm, since when Sarah and I visited last year they were just shutting the castle cafe and farm shop, and I had planned to get there a day early so I could lay in supplies of venison and woodcock and whatever other delicacies the Earl of Antrim, who apparently lives in Glenarm Castle, chose to offer his punters.

This didn’t work so well with the tides to Islay, though, so a last minute change of plan saw me carrying on up the coast to Ballycastle, where Sarah and Owen and I had had such a jolly time eating ice cream and fish and chips in last year’s heatwave. I set out from Portpatrick full of gloom: it was cold and raining and ice cream and chips were a million miles from my thoughts. All the holidaymakers were tucked up in their caravans and self-catering cottages, and the place was deserted except for me, the harbourmaster, and some very miserable-looking children whose parents had booked them on a three-hour long fishing trip, presumably the day before when it wasn’t cold and raining.

The previous evening had indeed been lovely and while wandering around the village I came across two contrasting but noteworthy sights. First, this rather moving but also frightening memorial to the many people who the much-in-demand Portpatrick lifeboat had failed to save:

It’s on the way to one of the beaches and I watched as people trotted around the corner, stopped to take a look and then took a few paces back and fell silent. It’s a noble thought to remember these poor souls (there are hundreds, there have been several tragedies including one of the earliest ro-ro car ferries whose doors came open and sank the ship), but I couldn’t help but wonder if today’s lifeboat crew aren’t haunted by this image.

By way of contrast, and to lighten the tone, I had what might well turn out to be my last-ever sighting of a Ford Capri – given that I haven’t seen one for about 20 years, I may never again – so I thought I would share it with you.

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And so on to Ballycastle, which looked like it was going to involve eight hours slogging to windward in the rain, but amazingly it was the opposite. First the sun came out, then the wind went round so that I could first put up the assymetric spinnaker (keep up, the one that works closer to the wind) :

…and then the symmetrical one:

and then the wind died and it did began to feel like Groundhog Day because now I was motoring in a flat calm up the coast past the Glens of Antrim exactly a year to the day that Sarah and I were motoring in a flat calm up the coast past the Glens of Antrim…

…and past the famously terrifyingly tide-ridden Fair Head which, yet again as part of the ongoing conspiracy, was meek as a lamb and in to Ballycastle, where I tied up on the Harbour Master’s instructions in exactly the same berth.

It was Half Term here too, so the familiar sound of children on the beach (even though it was 7.30 it was still pleasantly warm) mingled with the waft of frying fish. I saw that Morton’s finished serving at 8pm so I had timed my arrival to perfection: I sat in the cockpit eating the finest cod and chips this side of Greencastle, wondering whether to visit Maud’s ice cream parlour now, or in the morning, or both. If only I’d had the company it would have been as good as last year, perhaps better because this time I hadn’t been expecting it.

I seem to remember Bill Murray enjoying his first repeat of Groundhog Day, but not so much from then on. I had a look at the forecast for tomorrow and realised I was about to have a similar experience, but that can be the subject of another post, which will probably be in a little while since I will have guests by then and although both have put up in the past with me writing blogs instead of entertaining them with hilarious stories from my yachting past, I don’t want to disappoint them too often.

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