1988 was quite a year for me. My all time sporting hero Ayrton Senna won the Formula 1 World Drivers Championship for the first time, Flo Jo mesmerised me on the track, and in Calgary Eddie the Eagle didn't so much as soar as plummet from a great height, as if he actually was a short sighted plasterer from Cheltenham.
I remember when Senna died. I heard in a café when I had just finished a yacht race to France ("Oui, Un Café au Late, err no milk please") and on hearing the news drank a crate of beer and nearly missed England on the way home. Flo Jo's tragically short life was over almost as quickly as her races but, and here's some news, Eddie the eagle is in fact still working as plasterer in Cheltenham.
Anyway all this was a very long time ago.
But in 1988 Jason Belben was competing in the Olympics. Charlie McKee won Bronze and Ossie Stewart and I were 470 tune up there. And had a great holiday watching.
I guess the point is, we are all still competing, in Moths. And doing OK.
I don't know why it is. Charlie for example should be spending his old age in the Golden State where sunshine is guaranteed to the masses, all dogs have therapists and looks are so important that women are not allowed to drive in house coats or without make up.
Yet he's just won SIRS and I note that as we get faster the average age is going through the roof. Sure you can argue that having a higher disposable income at this age means you can afford the boat, but that's no barrier, be creative and put a kidney on eBay.
There are other reasons, lots of them. From the desire to speed up evolution and fly a few million cheeky years before God intended to having something to grasp on to as you teeter unexpectedly between love and madness. But these days, and especially if you're a banker, its probably more fun and in fact easier than trying to cheat a polygraph test.
But for some, in this world of rules, run by abominable "No" men, this is the only place to still let it rip.
Anyway any conclusion? Not really, except I was thinking about all this as I stood today with Mike Lennon waiting for the rain to stop and the wind to rise to just a tenth of the 55 knots it was earlier. It didn't and as I waited I reflected at the futility of my day. Why wasn't I in that little bar in London with a tall drink and even longer legs for company... My conclusion? Well I'm still keener on winning than err.. women, and well you do have to try, and I figure that in order to get to what's at the end of the rainbow, you have to put up with a little rain first ;-)