The wind tells me

I foiled in the soft westerly for an hour, then just made it to the shore by my fingernails, as the tide, responding to a tap on the shoulder from the moon, raced out again. That was close. Next stop would have been France.

But I didnt care because the sea was as blue as the sky, it was warmish and for the first time this year you didnt need three people to put the cover on. The harbour was quiet and sparkly. I sailed upwind with an old cutter, slim and elegant she had sails with a seam every six inches, healed the wrong way and split the wind in two. She was 100 years old and at the helm I could see a woman, and even from my modest height of 4ft above sea level, it was apparent she was beautiful.

We were the only boats out, history meets the future, and in that wind she was faster..and more wonderful. I asked if they'd like to swap, she said "maybe..." And I could have left the Moth class then and there.. Yet despite trying to keep up I stopped foiling sometimes, but the wind blew against my neck, telling me to move forward.

Except eventually the bleedin' tide ripped me away. I bet Napolean never had to disconnect the cable to try to keep up with Josephine..