Sailing to Purgatory
The final scene in this true adventure shocked the author, too.

‘The reader will be enthralled as Paul, former Fleet Street journalist turned professional yachtmaster, takes us along on his ‘swallowing the anchor’ voyage, his retirement from the sea.

'This self-confessed newish ancient mariner … has spent almost a lifetime sailing solo, as both an ocean going competitive yachtsman, as a DoT Commercial Yachtmaster, and during his circumnavigation to become a singlehanded Cape Horner ... Sailing to Purgatory has all the roller coaster elements of a heart stopping adventure — drama on the high seas, observing life ... undersea volcanoes, a love interest, and waves high enough to scare the pants off most of us.’ - Brenda Vowden, journalist, avid reader






Home from the outside ... St Helenans,
'Saints', round their South Atlantic
island in Midshipman,
en route for Stockholm.


















Enterprising forebears ... The house Paul's father designed, and the car his paternal grandfather designed and built.














Running repairs ... crewman Declan checks rig fittings on the superyacht, Midshipman, which Paul sailed from the Cape to Sweden.


















Sail power ... Gavin's Howe's beautiful yacht in the Mediterranean.



















Rescue in the Southern Ocean ... Yachting World's international edition this month features Paul and Captain Fantastic in its Great Seamanship series.


















Pat and Gerry Adamson, two wonderful supporters get Spirit of Pentax ready for her circumnavigation.















Home sweet home ... St Helena islanders, after a voyage round their island home on the superyacht, Midshipman.


















Baptism of a Cape Horner ... Lady Chichester names Spirit of Pentax in a ceremony at Brighton Marina.
















Homeward Bound 2 is prepared for her attempt on the longest open boat record.


















Tri trials ... testing Paul's entry in the singlehanded race across the Atlantic are great friends Ron Pell, Jerry Freeman plus a keen helper.


















Cover up ... Bob Abrahams works on cover ideas for Sailing to Purgatory.

















Stocking up for 18 months ... Last minute farewells before Spirit of Pentax and Paul left on the long route to become Cape Horners.
















Death of a racer ... Baltic Wind flounders after running into a container in the South Atlantic. Paul and a lady shipmate spent eight worrying days in a liferaft.

Gloomy old Britain and monsoonish London aren't exactly presenting the Augusts we've been used to.

Image of part of  a Sailing to Purgatory webpage to illustrate the article.
What me? ... It seems in Europe that youngish beach babes are baring their all. Their all? It's easier to spell that out than it is to remember what it was that used to shine from above. Photo by Joshua Aragon on Unsplash, with many thanks.
Let me offer a needed seasonal reminder: this is the time of year we used to label summer for some or sun reason.

We needn't this year because it's been more overcast than anything else.

Perhaps a more appropriate name for the season might be, well, Clouder.

The rain!

Did you see the rain falling tonight? Our elements are trying to out-monsoon India.

It's not like this over on the Continent. Remember the Continent? It's that place we used to call Europe until a big red bus and some very dubious characters propaganda'd the electorate to offer only a cold shoulder.

Apparently, you might see almost as many mammaries on Europe's beaches as we spot brollies on our high streets. This is not to knock our gorgeous traditional brollies, with their varnished walking stick parts, and sooty sort-of summer-tent like tops...
From what I read, and plan for authenticity's sake to see, it's where the sun – that's the name of the great glowing orb that used to be seen here – shines.

Prickling bachelors

And as the popular media has been prickling we reluctant bachelors, boobs are out in the open on their sunny beaches.

Apparently, you might see almost as many mammaries on Europe's beaches as we spot brollies on our high streets.

This is not to knock our gorgeous traditional brollies, with their varnished walking stick parts, and sooty sort-of summer-tent like tops.

For some unstated reason, the tabloids are not making Page 3 spectacles of our surprising 'summer' of brollies, but they are of the beach lovelies from over there, as they tan their accessories.

Gay gendarmes

Lots and lots are to be seen, perhaps admired, on the beaches of our nearest neighbour, so much so that gendarmes – gay gendarmes, no doubt – have been telling them to put them back.

That encouraged tourist-hungry authorities, perhaps with an eye to our gloomy land, to announce, 'It is not illegal to sunbathe topless in France.'

Maybe because of a shortage of appreciative Brit tourists, a recent survey found that only 22% of French gals like to do it topless, but in Spain 48% do, and with Mrs Merkel's crowd, 34%.

And in our kingdom? It seems that with the summer that forgot to arrive here, the survey wasn't considered worth conducting.

Thanks very much for visiting the mostly Tuesday and Thursday blogs for my adventure book, Sailing to Purgatory, which are introduced each time on Facebook Facebook dot com/Sailingtopurgatory

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