Waiting for the tide with the editor
Spin and you win I found yacht clubs quite intimidating as a child; all the smoke-filled rooms full of rosewood cabinets and grown-ups sharing post-race banter. I remember decades-old trophies inscribed with the same family names and gloomy oil paintings of sinking ships. The real problem, however, was that there were never any kids. So when I decided to get my eight-year-old into sailing, I found a large, bright club that had an active junior section… but what I didn’t realise was that he’d be vetted by the commodore! Running late, he turned up after football training in his AFC Bournemouth kit (my son, that is, not the commodore), plonked himself on the twirly leather chair, and – to my horror – put his feet on the desk, revealing a filthy pair…
