Sunday lie-in is not for us as we take the short hop out of Plymouth and the old gun batteries. We pass the Mewstone rock (and the quaintly named Shag rock) in intermittent showers to reach the Yealm ahead of the stronger winds and around high tide. We were here a few years ago and it has to be one of the prettiest places around.

We have a great but all too short sail across the bay and pick our way across the bar at the entrance and up to a vacant visitor’s mooring for a couple of nights. The rain arrives as we settle down for some morning coffee, snug inside with the heater on in June! Bring it on.

Being old we snooze the rainy afternoon away until it is time to get the party frocks, DJs and wet weather gear on for our dinner date at the Ship Inn in Noss Mayo. The outboard decides not to co-operate and we have a lovely wet paddle to the slip. We arrive at the pub for our Sunday dinner hot, damp and not really in keeping with the rest of the clientele. We raise a glass to John’s Mum and Dad who he used to bring here years ago as their treat.

The event is being sponsored by the University of Plymouth and included a series of lectures as well as the usual commercial stands. Although only small by most show standards, we glean some really interesting ideas about where the future of boating is going. At the moment, the options are still mostly much more expensive than the current mass produced stuff (outboards, antifoul etc) but this is clearly the future. We ponder for a while what we can practically (and economically) do and it seems that the most immediate change will be to the way we keep Heydays’ bottom clean. Coppercoat is clearly the front runner at the moment in terms of avoiding the powerful biocides which are clearly not ideal for marine life. However we were specially intrigued by a material made from short fibre recycled plastic which is then stuck to the hull. The short velour-like fibres stop the usual critters from adhering to the surface and has apparently been used for over 10 years in parts of Europe, specifically the Netherlands….maybe we go down this route instead.

Plymouth is a funny mix of the very old stuff which even Drake might recognise, sat next to 50s and 60s-built blocks built after the horrible destruction left by Nazi bombs in the second world war.

Grumpy git alert…we get tempted into The Harbour Seafood Restaurant for some seafood lunch (oddly). We count 12 staff and around the same number of customers and wait a few minutes to get seated. Menus arrive some while later. Having attracted someone from their own conversation, we order from the menu. Doombar zero is printed in reasonably clear letters (even for old people like us) but are told that they never sell it and they don’t know why it is on the menu. The food, when it arrives is really good though and our mood lifts until we ask for tabasco. The waiter goes off to check…and then gets on with something else presumably more fascinating than us. After a while we ask him about the tabasco to be told “Oh, no, the chef said we have run out”…we are tempted to do the same! In reality of course, they are using staff who have probably never received any training and who are probably on minimum wage with no paid breaks…not their fault. We leave without anyone acknowledging our departure and vow not to return.

After a bit of worshiping in the ultra-modern Drake Circus shopping church…sorry mall, we find ourselves sucked in against our will to the Plymouth Gin Distillery cocktail bar, where comfy sofas and even comfier gin-based cocktails make a great end to a day of odd contrasts.

The thunderclaps as we head back to Heydays herald the predicted change in the weather for a few days, but they leave a spectacular sky in their wake. This must have been what the sky looked like at the height of the bombing.

In the early morning light, Brixham is slowly coming to life among the brightly coloured houses …

…and in the harbour.

The plan is to sail to Plymouth to have a look at the green boat show…and to pick up Chris and Yee Tak who plan to join us there. We set off with absolutely no wind at all, which is sort of OK, as although it means motoring initially, at least we can bear away and sail once the predicted south easterly picks up and we round Berry head.

We round Berry Head and pick up a light southerly…with a hint of west in it…dead on the nose. We consider just sailing and doing what the wind allows, but sadly we feel that we ought to make some effort to meet our wives as agreed and we continue to motor. Nothing is lost though, as once we round Start Point, we will be able to sail properly and may be pick up a bit of sea breeze as well. The late morning passes happily in the sun and the engine chugs along helped by the early ebb. Start Point looms as we finish lunch and prepare to get the sails up…to find that the wind now has significant west in it! Never mind, Bolt Head will come along soon and then…

Bolt Head does indeed come along and once again the wind god watches us carefully and follows us round. S/he doesn’t get the malevolence quite right as we can at least use the main a bit as we motor sail. Ha! John ges on with a bit of ropework as the red cliffs slide past…

We round the Mewstone rock just off the pretty Yealm and have the wind right where we want it.

At least we’ll have an hour or so of sailing. Engine off and peace reigns…for all of a minute as the wind dies completely. We slat to and fro in the gentle swell and then its back on with the engine to take us up the Sound into Queen Anne’s Battery.

The irony of going to a green boat show in a boat designed to make use of wind power but burning diesel all the way is not lost on us. We’ve come to this marina as it is where the boat show is to be held, but at over £40 per night, we assume that the showers come with a personal masseur and a welcoming band….or are we just grumpy old gits?

It is lovely however to meet up with the feminine bit of the crew and we pass the evening with a few drinks and dinner in the restaurant by the marina office…and the grumpiness dissolves.

We can’t really understand why more boats are not using Portland Harbour as a stopover, or even as a tranquil anchorage. Weymouth clearly has the attractions of the town and restaurants, but almost inevitably it means rafting, or a trip through the lifting bridge. Portland was calm, peaceful and even pretty (looking in the right direction).

Breakfast was leisurely after an early coffee and we were able to attend to some glamourous tasks left over from the winter, such as cleaning the bilges. The work we did on Heydays over the winter seems to have paid dividends and we are once again  reasonably proud of the old girl in her 33^rd year.

We set off in virtually no wind, aiming to get to the infamous Portland race around slack water at 12 noon. The place looks better in the sun (despite the forbidding prison on the cliffs…shades of Alkatraz?) and maybe the cruise passengers and the small boat day-trippers think so as well.

Given the benign conditions we opt for the inner passage which means around 100 to 200m off shore and no more. We are in the company of a few others, but they seem to be hanging back waiting for the first one to take the plunge and lead the way.

We can see the race and the overfalls and hug the shore as instructed (we are tempted to try the literal biscuit toss but don’t want to offend the holiday makers…). Our companions are in line astern following closely past the old quary cranes and loading docks, past the light and the monolith…and then we are through…what’s all the fuss??

With the ebb now taking full effect, we head out over Lyme Bay for the rest of the afternoon. The sail does a bit of work, but once again we are motor-sailing simply to make Brixham by dinner time.

With an hour to go we are shaken out of our relaxed stupor by a pod of dolphins who swim for an all too brief while alongside, before shearing off after fish or perhaps the richer pickings from a cruise ship which has just left Torbay. It is always magical to be joined by dolphins and we end the afternoon on a high as we head for the harbour master pontoon making sure not to collect a rather shaky skiff in the fairway…

Brixham is still a busy fishing port, but it is a remarkably welcoming place which tumbles down to the harbour and which deserves more recognition from yachties who almost invariably flock to the cutesy Dartmouth or Salcombe instead.

What is not to like to sit eating fish and chips with a beer not 50m from our own boat…?

As the light fades it shows into sharp relief the modern trawler fleet right next to the last of the sailing trawlers to work out of this harbour.

So, the first day of our little June cruise to Devon. The plan is to get to Plymouth on Friday so that we can have a look round the Green Boat Show. In the early stages of planning, it looked as though there would be something other than unremitting sou’westers. Sadly, things have changed and while we don’t have F4 on the nose, we have some very variable light airs. We catch the first of the ebb out of Lymington around 1pm and get shot out through the Hurst Narrows like a cork out of a bottle.

The Needles and the light and Alum Bay are always glorious even though we have seen them a zillion times and then we catch the first of the afternoon sea breeze.

The sails fill and we switch off the old lump of iron which we carry around and just enjoy the silence except for the chuckle of water gently running alongside.

Our favourite lunch-on-the-go of avocado sandwich with lots of salt, pepper and olive oil sets us up for the next few hours…and some cake!

The Dorset coastline and headlands pass by with no sign of the overfalls or breaking water which can often be found close in. The sun lights up Old Harry Rocks and it is easy to forget how unforgiving this stretch of coast can be. We even disturb a big flock of gulls diving on a shoal of fish for their tea…

Anvil point, St Aldhelms Head mark the last of the ebb, and by the time Lulworth is abeam we are plugging the first of the flood…and the sea breeze gives up the ghost (almost). There is nothing for it but to make the iron work for its living and we motor-sail the rest of the way.

During covid, Weymouth Bay was littered with anchored cruise ships with nowhere to go and no one to take. Now there is just one gas tanker and a small coaster lying offshore. Portland, with its distinctive shape and slope to the south, looms ever larger with its decaying prison, decaying naval port remains and a few rusty ships.

A very incongruously smart and fat cruise ship sets out in the early evening (not entirely sure what the passengers make of being taken to a prison/immigration detention centre) as John serves up dinner…not quite what the cruise guests are having, but I bet we enjoy it more!

Portland in the evening and it is still light as we anchor peacefully at 9pm…the joys of June sailing with the long daylight hours.

We plan to catch the early ebb down the Solent and back to Lymington. This won’t start until around 1.30, so another leisurely morning after a late breakfast. The doctor on the boat moored next to us chats to someone on another boat further down. It turns out that his boat caught a gust while they were leaving a mooring in Portsmouth and he had tried to hold on and got a finger trapped. Her description was “…it was just hanging by some skin, so they flew him to a plastic surgeon in Salisbury.” This tale is OK but not especially welcome as we are already experiencing gusts of around F6. We think carefully about the process of leaving a lee pontoon without leaving a finger behind.

In the event Heydays behaves beautifully with a stern spring and we motor away feeling a bit smug. The wind in the Solent is a steady F5 from the East and the sun is shining as we turn the motor off and run back for home with just a genoa. Highly stressful…

So…although we were later than planned to be on the water, the work we have done over the winter means that the old girl is back to something approaching respectability with systems working and a few improvements made. Not the most adventurous of cruises this time, but a great preparation for some trips further afield over the summer.

We had planned to take the tender up the river to Newport (capital of the Isle of Wight), but as this is really a shakedown cruise, this was not one of the bits of kit that we had previously tested. In the end we discovered a leak around one of the valves and that brought an end to the plan as the special glue for the rubber boats takes around 48 hours to cure properly.

It turns out to be an ill wind as they say, as we take the water taxi to the shore and walk the 2.5 miles or so along the river bank into town. Newport by the river turns out to be OK and once again is a funny mixture of both new and slightly derelict or perhaps just faded…

A ‘lite bite’ turns into fish finger baguettes for 3 of us and smoked bacon and stilton baguette for the remainder…not exactly ‘lite’. But the pub by the river was lovely and served glasses of Jubillee Fizz (English sparkling) and pints of ‘Cheers Ma’am’. All very patriotic…

We heave our pints and lite bites back down the river bank, past the preparatioins for the Isle of Wight Festival, and past the old paddle steamer “Ryde” which someone unkindly suggested was a little project for James…”just needs a bit of welding and the odd lick of paint”…

So… a quiet day stretching legs rather than sailing, but pleasant all the same.

Some of the people on board are determined to celebrate the Queen’s 70 years on the throne and Heydays ends up being decorated for the occasion…

After a leisurely morning we plan to catch the ebb down Southampton Water and head where the wind best suits. Presumably in celebration, the marina staff appear with a trolley full of free drinks and we relieve them of a few glasses of prosecco and a beer…not too much as we are heading out on the water.

A couple of us want to pay some different respects and we turn briefly upstream under the Itchen bridge to what is surely the most glamourous of places of dreams…or nightmares!

Actually this part of the Itchen brings back some memories of our friends Graham and Madeline who completely rebuilt their boat My Foolish Heart in a small yard just opposite the Saints stadium. Some of the yards seem to have an odd way of coping with flying boats…

The wind is very different from the forecast and as we turn to head out it is a good F5 gusting 6 from the SE. With two reefs in the main and a couple of rolls in the genoa, experience has shown that Heydays will tack really well and take what the weather has to offer in her stride. The sailing is glorious…

Given the wind direction (which had originally been forecast as having some west in it), we opt to head back to the Folly for another night on the Medina instead of Chichester as planned. Tacking down Southampton Water and we dodge the various ferries, tankers and other assorted boats. We’re not racing…but we manage to outperform several others. Ha!

Although we are on a falling tide, with just 1.4m draught, we can pinch a little more out of each tack than some of our deeper cousins. With hot tea and coffee on the go, it is really joyous to be out even if the reverie is broken by unreasonable helms shouting “ready about”, followed by a general hauling and winching before we can settle in for another 10 minutes or so.

By the time we reach the the Medina, the ebb is now running across the entrance at over 2kts and we join a throng of others motoring steadily up stream. Lots of boats are already tied up and the various clubs etc have bunting and flags…

We head further up and out of the mayhem to the relative calm of the Folly reach. This never fails us and we spend the evening just chilling, eating and watching life come and go…

Waking up to the sound of birds looking for breakfast on the mudflats is always one of the joys of the creeks and rivers, even if we are sharing it with a dozen other boats. It is easy to forget that this is still a commercial river in many ways until a remarkably long ship makes its way upstream.

The name is both explanatory and funny….there is a wind turbine factory in Newport.
True to form as we leave the river and just as we pass the Red Funnel ferry, it gives a loud blast to say that it is leaving…they really take no prisoners, but we are well clear and head off out into the Solent heading east past folk who work for a living!…

…in order to poke our nose into Wootton Creek to see what it is like. We have the main up, but there is almost no wind to even fill it and so we motor-sail along the north east coast of the island past the various remnants of what were presumably royal landing stages and boathouses attached to Osborne House. This was one of Victoria’s favourite retreats with Albert and also where she spent considerable time in relative isolation after he died.

The rocks off Wootton are not to be taken lightly and we keep a cautious distance off before heading into the creek.

There is not a huge amount of room for moorings or anchorage and the yacht club has a drying pontoon, but ferry aside it looks pleasant enough.

Just as we decide to head out again, our peace is disturbed by three black police ribs powering into the creek. They carry out a boarding exercise on the ferry…not initially successful as their ladder isn’t long enough. Presumably any villains on board would wait until the police got the right ladder.

Back out in the Solent, the wind has filled from the south west and we enjoy a single tack round the east side of the Bramble Bank and up Southampton Water where we plan to pick up Chris from the train. A few other yachts are out including a design/paint-job which provides a disturbing optical illusion…

We have company up the water with a small tan sailed gaffer and it is great just to be sailing free.

Southampton Water is another strange mix of the heavy industrial on the west side…

…and the old and more leisurely east side, including Netley Abbey and the old military hospital which saw thousands of wounded troops arriving by boat from France in the first world war.

We round up past the car and boat commercial handling dock….and meet Chris in Ocean Village. We are 50m from the Harbour Lights cinema and take in an ‘old’ Tom Cruise in Top Gun: Maverick. A rousing utterly American movie in terms of themes, dialogue, story line…and (sshh) lack of any sublety!!

Anchoring in Newtown Creek is always a delight. So little to disturb the peace except a few quarrelsome birds and the very occasional rumble of the anchor chain as she settles to subtle changes in the tide and wind. No tide to catch until much later in the morning, so a cup of coffee in bed sets us up nicely for the day.

The early sun sends dappled light across the cabin roof, but there is a chill to the wind even this late in May.  

As we heave up the anchor (OK…so we’ve got an electric windlass!) we seem to bring half a ton of best Newtown mud with it. Heydays breaks herself free and we push out into the Solent for a short hop round to Cowes for lunch…and then a squall comes through. Fortunately, we saw it coming and were already in our wet weather gear…ha! John and Yee Tak bravely face the weathery maelstrom!!

The showers continue like this for the rest of the day, but it is just wonderful to be out on the water again. Cowes is its usual busy self and the Red Funnel ferries give no quarter. Some unlucky (or incautious) souls get madly hooted at for their troubles and we feel like being back in school with a cross teacher. Once you know it is not you in trouble but one of your mates, you can sit back and enjoy the event!

We pass by the posh places and head for Shepherds  Marina for a short stop. Years ago it used to be free….it can’t be more than forty…but the very pleasant and friendly receptionist smiles very pleasantly and friendly as she takes £21 for 4 hours! Lucky we didn’t go posh.

Cowes is of course very nice and quaint and still has a decent range of very local shops with polished brass steps and old bells over the door. It must be expensive keeping all that brass polished as they wanted over £20 for a deck brush.

However, a couple of pints and a prosecco later and all is well again. Lunch by the river watching the activity is very therapeutic and we finally head off up the Medina to the Folly Inn. The river is a strange mix of faded Victoriana, modern steel and glass and old industrial. All interspersed with some lovely countryside.

We moor on the pontoon and discuss important stuff like when to go over to the pub for a drink, when to have dinner…or snooze as the tide gently recedes….

The water taxi picks us up at 6.30 and we have a lovely 15s trip to the bank. Only £12 for a return journey, however, the boatman has a lovely smile and it is a lovely (albeit short) ride….

The Folly Inn is itself a bit of an anachronism. Set miles from anywhere, it is something of a party place and it brings back memories of John’s stag do years ago when he was seen dancing on the table with a ‘few’ ladies….just sayin’.

Dinner back on board as the sun provides a colour display to end the day…