Last night at Chew was a special event in honour of the Olympic torch's passage by Bristol. I was looking forward to a sunny evening crewing Marmite with Paul.
Sunny, yes. The wind however decided to have a bit of a laugh. It stopped. Then it started. Then it changed direction repeatedly without any warning. Then it stopped again. We spent some time going backwards. And a lot of time on the opposite tack to boats heading in the same direction. It proved impossible to carry the kite on a single leg of the triangle-sausage course. I was feeling like a useless playpen passenger while Paul leapt in and out like a demon yo-yo. Neither of us can remember a flukier, more difficult outing at Chew.
I learned a lot from Paul (thank you!), but needless to say we did not win any of the medals or model Olympic torches. Not Cherub weather.