Every boat, sooner or later, has to come out of the water. Not because anything has gone wrong, but because the things that slow a boat down are the things its owner stopped noticing long ago. A little seaweed here, a few barnacles there, and one morning you realise you have been sailing for years with the hull quietly dragging its feet.
I start a sabbatical in November. It is only six months, but it matters to me that it is useful. I liken most things to sailing when I can, so I have come to think of it as a slipway of sorts. For that time the boat is up on stands with the sails down, and I get to potter about beneath the keel with a scraper, taking a long, honest look at everything below the waterline.
From the quayside she looks shipshape enough. The paint is bright, the brass is polished and the decks are scrubbed. Anyone walking past would think her in good order, and for the most part they would be right. But the waterline hides a lot. What sits above it is on show, so it gets looked after. What sits below it does the real work, in cold water and out of sight, and that is where the wear and tear builds up. The hull takes the knocks and the keel takes the strain.
I expected the usual sort of list. It has turned out to be more interesting than that. There are the barnacles proper: small habits and neglected jobs that built up without my noticing. There is the engine, which needs a thorough going-over, so I mean to row, swim til ship shape. There is the rigging, by which I mean my sleep, what I eat oh and my wits, all due a touch of tar. And there are the charts, which I shall spread across the kitchen table, because in May the boat goes back in and sets course again.
Most of us have a hull of some sort. Not a crisis, just the parts of life that keep working without much attention, until one day you notice how much they have been carrying. This seems a good time to take a proper look.
Jeeves would no doubt have something to say about the unexamined life. I shall simply say that I am looking forward to this. Six months to pay attention, mend and plan, then back in the water. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall ankle off and find the scraper.
Leave a Reply