that on her record-breaking voyages she has often felt as though she were in the hands of a benign, powerful force. This is not much in the way of grist to the mill of a malign, powerless biographer, but we work with what we’re given.
‘The Canaries,’ I say when at last there’s a lull. ‘The other day you asked me to remind you to mention the Canaries. What was that about?’
‘Oh yes. You know I told you that on the last leg I sometimes felt it was like somebody else’s hand on the helm?’
‘Um,’ I say cautiously. ‘As I understand it, Millie, for most of the time you didn’t exactly have your own hand on the tiller anyway. Wasn’t it under computerized control?’ The next thing we know, she’ll start hoping to see her Autopilot face to face / When she has crost the bar.
‘There you go again, Gerry. I don’t literally mean I felt something had taken over the steering. More that it felt as if my fate was out of my hands.’
‘Or hand, to be precise,’ I stopped myself from saying. ‘And this happened around the Canaries, is that it?’
‘To the south. About a day before I reached La Palma. I suddenly felt we could do no wrong, me and Beldame . We’d picked up the wind just where I’d predicted and we were really beginning to fly. It was as if the wind and the sea had joined forces just to get us to the Solent quicker than I could ever have managed on my own. Really. But there, I’ve always been super-sensitive to the ocean’s living principle. You see, Gerry, I’ve absolutely no doubt that the sea is alive in some mysterious way. A sentient entity with a mind of its own. And I think that we, the human race, are committing the utmost folly in the way we are rubbishing the oceans, polluting them with chemicals and noise and trashing the animal life for our own selfish and short-sighted ends. I’ve always believed this, Gerry, and it’s missing from your book. It’s a vital part of what makes me the world’s best. When I sail, I sail with humility and respect. And it pays off. The ocean knows I’m on its side.’
Golly, what hubristic poppycock! How right I was! The old girl’s been got at. A year ago it was all ‘She’ll be right!’ and blistering curses she must have picked up from Antipodean friends and boatyards. Now it’s ‘the ocean’s living principle’ and ‘a sentient entity’: the pashmina phrases of people who have dabbled their fingers in the Age of Aquariums. ‘We, the human race.’ Blimey.
‘Okay,’ I say in the brisk and businesslike tone of the cosmetic wordsmith called in to advise on a difficult case, ‘we can fix that. But can you give me any idea of when you first felt this coming on? I remind you that you never mentioned it last year. It’s all new to me.’
‘If I never mentioned it in so many words, Gerry, it must be because it’s so much a part of me. There never was a moment when I “felt this coming on”, as you put it. I just am by nature a spiritual person and always have been. I can’t help it.’
‘Fine. Well – I’m thinking aloud here – how would it be if, instead of my trying to shoehorn little reminders of your native spirituality into the book as it stands, we were to write an entirely new short chapter about it and stick it in the middle ? Something with gravitas and weight to give stability to the rest of the text? Like lowering a centreboard,’ I add with the offhand ease of a master of metaphor. Maybe after all it is G. Samper who is the reincarnation of W. Shakespeare.
‘Brilliant, Gerry!’ exclaims Millie, and would have clapped her hands. ‘That’s a marvellous solution. A chapter all about my soul and its relationship with the sea, and let that speak for the rest of the book. Good. How soon can you do it?’
You may be thinking that, despite wanting to get shot of Millie and her wretched book in the shortest possible time, I am letting myself in for far more work. Surely writing
‘The Canaries,’ I say when at last there’s a lull. ‘The other day you asked me to remind you to mention the Canaries. What was that about?’
‘Oh yes. You know I told you that on the last leg I sometimes felt it was like somebody else’s hand on the helm?’
‘Um,’ I say cautiously. ‘As I understand it, Millie, for most of the time you didn’t exactly have your own hand on the tiller anyway. Wasn’t it under computerized control?’ The next thing we know, she’ll start hoping to see her Autopilot face to face / When she has crost the bar.
‘There you go again, Gerry. I don’t literally mean I felt something had taken over the steering. More that it felt as if my fate was out of my hands.’
‘Or hand, to be precise,’ I stopped myself from saying. ‘And this happened around the Canaries, is that it?’
‘To the south. About a day before I reached La Palma. I suddenly felt we could do no wrong, me and Beldame . We’d picked up the wind just where I’d predicted and we were really beginning to fly. It was as if the wind and the sea had joined forces just to get us to the Solent quicker than I could ever have managed on my own. Really. But there, I’ve always been super-sensitive to the ocean’s living principle. You see, Gerry, I’ve absolutely no doubt that the sea is alive in some mysterious way. A sentient entity with a mind of its own. And I think that we, the human race, are committing the utmost folly in the way we are rubbishing the oceans, polluting them with chemicals and noise and trashing the animal life for our own selfish and short-sighted ends. I’ve always believed this, Gerry, and it’s missing from your book. It’s a vital part of what makes me the world’s best. When I sail, I sail with humility and respect. And it pays off. The ocean knows I’m on its side.’
Golly, what hubristic poppycock! How right I was! The old girl’s been got at. A year ago it was all ‘She’ll be right!’ and blistering curses she must have picked up from Antipodean friends and boatyards. Now it’s ‘the ocean’s living principle’ and ‘a sentient entity’: the pashmina phrases of people who have dabbled their fingers in the Age of Aquariums. ‘We, the human race.’ Blimey.
‘Okay,’ I say in the brisk and businesslike tone of the cosmetic wordsmith called in to advise on a difficult case, ‘we can fix that. But can you give me any idea of when you first felt this coming on? I remind you that you never mentioned it last year. It’s all new to me.’
‘If I never mentioned it in so many words, Gerry, it must be because it’s so much a part of me. There never was a moment when I “felt this coming on”, as you put it. I just am by nature a spiritual person and always have been. I can’t help it.’
‘Fine. Well – I’m thinking aloud here – how would it be if, instead of my trying to shoehorn little reminders of your native spirituality into the book as it stands, we were to write an entirely new short chapter about it and stick it in the middle ? Something with gravitas and weight to give stability to the rest of the text? Like lowering a centreboard,’ I add with the offhand ease of a master of metaphor. Maybe after all it is G. Samper who is the reincarnation of W. Shakespeare.
‘Brilliant, Gerry!’ exclaims Millie, and would have clapped her hands. ‘That’s a marvellous solution. A chapter all about my soul and its relationship with the sea, and let that speak for the rest of the book. Good. How soon can you do it?’
You may be thinking that, despite wanting to get shot of Millie and her wretched book in the shortest possible time, I am letting myself in for far more work. Surely writing
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