Bowls on the village green. A fine British tradition, with a nautical twist. Which dates back to Sir Francis Drake's defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588. Here, it is played, not upon the salt stiffened sod of Plymouth Hoe, but upon the manicured turf of the Eastbourne Parade Bowls Club.
Bowls is a serious business, for some. For others, it is a lighter, more social, occasion.
The majority, seem to simultaneously unleash their competitive streak and their verbal wit. On a day better suited to bowls than it is to seafaring.
For, after yesterday's lull, the breeze is touching thirty knots in Pevensey Bay. More, in the funnel of the Dover Strait. Through which Stargazer's path lies. Worse yet, it is a north easterly headwind.
Stargazer, and her skipper, had thought to be skimming homeward, with a moderate northerly on the beam, and a fair tide. But the forecasts have changed and so must our battle plan. Forcing us to follow in the footsteps of Sir Francis. Lingering ashore, for a further game or two of bowls. Whilst we wait for wind and tide, to suit our purpose.
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