Trailing fingers in the water attracting mermaids, watching the shadows of the weeping willow dance,listening to the hum of the mechanical wizard, sensing friends serenely shifting the child calms, gently holding the carers hand; arcadian expressions flutter across the rictus, the blank gaze flashes an otherworldly intensity but no words, no communication to compare with a politicians filibuster - just a trust in us.
Four long years since last seeing my daughters I passed yet another of my eldest's birthdays bound in law not to even send her a card. Instead of a slough of despond, exuberance; instead of melancholy, merriment - Bristol Harbour Regatta elated me albeit for a few hours only.Tasked with shepherding model 'yachts' across the harbour we idled in our safety boat, the commentator by my side interspersing the names of the builders (local primary schools) with the names of sponsors (local business') and observations that untreated cardboard is not an ideal, nor common, hull material.
Absolute calm ensured chaos - some 'yachts' coyly approached parties on gin palace bathing platforms; some voyaged up the Frome reach; some just sank; but a winner was finally declared by the commentator, who had for the last ten minutes taken to frequently switching off his mic. and swearing, on the grounds of distance made good - not crossing a finish line.
Listening to his voice echoing over the loudspeakers JR (crew & past Commodore) and I started collecting sodden models; aware of the gaze of hundreds of spectators watching us and that most would be videoing us in the hope that one of us would do something worth posting on you-tube - we attempted professionalism as an emblazoned scarlet boat and my bush hat does not equate to anonymity. I didn't take photos of this race as I was skipper of the 'safety' boat! The next race was much more promising... for our delectation crews had built their own 2 man rafts from cardboard and tape... interestingly no women entered. We had had to go back to our centre as we were supposed to provide the buoyancy aids (my 'oops'), the crowd welcomed us back as the commentator had just announced it was our (my) fault the start was late, luckily he said Bristol Sailing School (our commercial side) not Bristol Sailability (emblazoned on the side of my power boat ) which is my focus.
These boats, left, were allegedly built and crewed by undergraduates; it does not bode well that the engineers did not make the first mark, their effort disintegrating into it's components, though I can attest that they were extremely heavy - the components that is - they were not effective. Two craft were, I suspect, made by using a kayak as a mould and the cardboard used like a child creating a paper mache toy - they led. Others, coracle in style, aimlessly voyaging but enthusiastically crewed, provided inspiration for the hecklers. Yet more sodden cardboard was collected such that we ended up resembling a New York waste barge for our weary return.Satiated by our promotional efforts I returned to my flat which some would call my home. My previous abode was St James, a charitable hostel for vulnerable adults (me) with addictive personalities (me again) that are homeless and unemployed (guess); so being offered and taking up a full time job caused an unexpected problem... where to go, I cannot get 'council' housing. Addicts simply do not get non-nepotistic jobs outside the recovery industry, nor a year earlier than the system provides for. A government scheme does provide a damage bond and advance rent allowance but locally has such a bad reputation that professional landlords despise it... I tried it and had my own name sullied by association.
The answer... be economical with the truth, rob Peter to pay Paul ... etc. blah, blah, blah. Chicanery, swerving, manipulating ... all contrary to recovery suggestions but necessary to keep my job - a job that is keeping me normal(ish). A Job! Job : definitions; a (1) : something that has to be done (2) : an undertaking requiring unusual exertion <it was a real job to talk over that noise>; b : a specific duty, role, or function; or c : a regular remunerative position.
Allow me an indulgence re these definitions, taking them in reverse order: I am paid albeit for enjoying myself; specific 'role' should read general 'dogsbody'; unusual exertion applies only if one does not habitually lift non-swimmers from docks; lastly 'something that has to be done'... something - in my case taking people boating, people that are unique not average, idiosyncratic not peculiar, our sailors are not standard issue people but are sapient beings who trust us to aid and abet them to survive in our world, so has to be done. I am not alone amongst our staff in believing a minuscule difference in DNA on the bell curve of 'normality' should condemn a person to a life locked away; kept in isolation to avoid embarrassment; unloved by their own; too much trouble to care for (and since the latest round of care cuts too expensive to care for at home, this government prefers institutions (now in private hands) to a care allowance); and sadly often forgotten, never visited.
All-Aboard's sole purpose is to introduce people to water sports, simply that. I have the privilege of working for them as, primarily, bo'sun (there is an element of 'shovelling shit' but that is true of any job and I'm used to it) and, secondarily, skipper of very small boats in a small harbour with a funny (by any & all definitions) crew. A salmagundi of personalities; funny, fun loving, playful, thoughtful, naughty, intense, aloof etc. etc. etc. - just like a child, any child ... just like mine were, hence the opening paragraph by Oriah.
I have no illusions, our sailors are my children because "Sometimes we decide to bury a longing that seems impossible to fulfill because we cannot bear the pain The danger in doing so is that we forget the name of that longing. And if we cannot find it again, we lose a piece of ourselves."
