The Compromis story had to start some time and that time was 1998. Roger bought my share in our previous yacht, Brandy Bottle, and eventually Liz and I found Compromis and so began the Mediterranean adventure.

This page provides the links to our years in the Mediterranean and I’ve selected three or four highlights from that season.

“Is there life after Brandy Bottle?” chronicles the move from racing on Brandy Bottle in the North Sea to cruising the Mediterranean on Compromis. Parting was such sweet sorrow. 

Is there life after Brandy Bottle?

Brandy Bottle is a UFO 34 that Roger and I have shared for the last 12 years and everyone assumes from the name that we are a pair that likes a drink and while this is true it is not the origin of the name. Brandy Bottle is named after a marshland lily with a large yellow flower - Neuphar lutia. Why is it named after a flower? Over a drink sometime I’ll explain.

Among my fond memories in those 12 years are a foul tide beat into a gale during one Haven Race, a few second places in EAORA but never a win, eighth overall in the Round Britain and Ireland Race, a big spinnaker run in the overfalls off Bishop's Rock during the Fastnet when the steering cables parted, winning the Autumn Series,  beating Des in the protest room to take the Frostbite Series and a family party in the Lightship after Pete’s Pot on Boxing Day. As us Norfolk boys would say - bootiful.

Of course there was 12 years of maintenance. Scrubbing the bottom wasn't scrubbing the bottom to Roger unless the wet and dry froze to the hull. There is blue International antifoul on the roof lining in both Liz's car and mine. She is still tying to figure out what it is and I dare not tell her. Brandy Bottle has a Leyland Thorneycroft diesel and we are great friends. I know more about that engine than many men know about their wives, having taken her out four times in six years. The lads in the yard thought the engine was on wing nuts. 

Brandy Bottle has twice taken me to Copenhagen, to every part of Holland from Flushing to the Frisian Islands, to Belgium, to Normandy, to Northern Brittany, to Southern Brittany, the Channel Islands,the West Country, the south coast and of course every port and sandbank in the Thames Estuary. And it has all been tremendous! At least I thought so but after one Copenhagen trip Liz wasn't so convinced. Air in the diesel stopped the engine, something in the pipes stopped the heads and the clock stopped permanently at 9.25 and all in the 3 day beat to Helgoland.

As with childbirth she soon forgets the worst and Liz has continued to cruise with me - sometimes just the two of us - but usually with good friends. The right crew is half the battle. Nigel pampered her on a sunny spinnaker sail from Jersey to Flushing.

" Would you like a bunk cushion to sunbathe on Liz?"

" No, I don't think you should stand night watches Liz."

" Lunch is ready Liz." 

Les took her for a £3 English breakfast on the quay side in Weymouth and talked of visits to the Uffizi and the Bargello in Florence.  Jonathan made her laugh and recited long narrative poems. Jenny enchanted us with children's verses while rowing across Bray Harbour in the dark. Getting the conditions right is the other half of the battle. A day's sail should be no longer than an East Anglian race. The showers should be hot and fierce and dinner should not be a crew supper but, given all that, she will sail anywhere in almost any conditions.

Over the last few years my thoughts have turned to distant seas and foreign lands. Slowly these vague ideas started to come into a sharper focus. I wanted to share my sailing with Liz and she was more likely to be tempted by warm seas and, if you twist my arm, I might admit that the cold North Sea was losing some of its appeal. With just the two of us, trips between those foreign ports would need to be under 150nM  and since we would be working for another few years, travel to and from the boat had to be quick and easy. The Mediterranean beckoned.

A list of criteria started to impose itself. The boat had to be a pleasure to sail. Years ago I chartered a 31ft catamaran and used its tiny wooden spoked wheel to steer it across the Channel to Cherbourg. What pleasure was there in that?  It had to be large enough to accommodate our two children and their partners but small enough for Liz and me to sail on our own. Separate sleeping quarters and not bunks in the saloon meant three cabins. The list of essentials started to lengthen: hot and cold running water, a shower, a bathing platform, room for us all to dine in relative comfort and a good music system. I love Brandy Bottle and despite some very dry mouth situations she has always got me home safely, if somewhat shaken. Even so it was with great sadness that I concluded that she was not the boat for the new adventure but I've never plucked up courage enough to tell her!

Yachting Monthly and Yachting World were scoured for boat adverts. I telephoned and wrote to individuals and brokers in Britain and Holland. I went to London boatshows, Southampton boatshows, I visited all the major yards and brokers on the south coast and the west country and I travelled to Holland to see boats. Everything I saw pointed in one direction. The new boat had to be French. The Italian Grand Soleils are beautiful and strong, but expensive and a little cramped. Moodys are great for a couple and occasional guests. Sadlers, Bowmans, German and Dutch boats are good boats but out of my budget and didn't seem to fit my criteria. Where do you find French boats but in France so the search area widened. The magazine  “Bateau” is full of brokers, the small ads are arranged conveniently by boat length and it contains a listing of second hand boats with likely price ranges. Contacting the brokers was easy because usually someone could speak English but telephoning private owners was interesting. My French is rudimentary so I wrote out a list of questions in French beforehand and this was generally OK but there is a woman in Lyon who I think was going to report me to the police.

Armed with a list of appointments, Liz and I flew Easyjet from Luton to Nice for a week in October 1997 which convinced us that the south of France is a wonderful place. The sun shone, the French were charming, we had a magical day at the Maeght Foundation and swam in the sea at Juan les Pins on the last day in October. And we looked at a lot of boats. Many were wrecks but some were beautiful. There was a Beneteau 45F5 - Owner’s version - that for 24 hours had us thinking about going £30 000 over budget but once we got away from the broker and sobered up, good sense prevailed. Driving back to Nice Airport on the last day we called at Marina Baie Des Anges and in the broker's window was a Jeanneau Sun Voyage 12.50 that was within budget. Having never seen one we asked for the keys and drove to Antibes. Liz looked at the cockpit, went down below and said this is a boat I could be happy on.

Back in Norwich I went through more lists of boats but they all led back to the Sun Voyage. It had three cabins, hot and cold running water, 3 showers if you count the one on the stern, in line galley with a large fridge, a circular table in the saloon at which six could dine in comfort, a great bathing platform and there was plenty of room for sunbathing. Slowly I began to realise what a good geriatrics boat it was with roller furling main and headsail, electric windlass, granny bars at the mast,   lines that all led aft to large self - tailing winches, bowthrusters and a GPS linked to a screen plotter. Surely we could sail this on our own, Liz?  Two more visits in November and December, a survey and a large cheque and she was ours. That sentence hides many hours of worry, analysis, more worry and doubt but the deed is done and the new adventure has begun. Our new boat was going to be called "Downwind" as a gesture to Liz but the new boat’s original name seemed more appropriate "COMPROMIS".  

PS. I did the Autumn Series with Roger on Brandy Bottle after he bought me out.

[Home] [Our articles] [Cookbook] [Readers] [Links]