CBC

What a grand afternoon we did have. I had managed to secure the services of two trusty crew and off we set up to Cramond. Having done it once before, I thought it would be a doddle, but the poles up the deep water channel had suffered over the winter and in the recent floods (i.e. they had disappeared). Fekk.
Anyway, we got there and tied up. Of course, we were all set to crack a bottle on the quayside when some chaps in the local boat club hailed us to come up to their bar. It would have been bad form to decline their offer. No sooner were we there than an ex-official puffed up the stairs (aged 88 she proudly told us). I've served under seven Commodores she coquettishly said, the things I could tell you - it would make a book. Mr T was in there straight away. "I'd buy it!" he said with no hint of sarcasm. Bloody charming chancer. I could learn.
Anyway, better was to follow. Whoah, yes. Did we sail round Cramond Island back? Did we? We did not. We went right between the concrete pillars on the genoa. Rock n effin Roll! Whoop whoop. More beers were cracked and King Creosote was amped up on the x-mini speaker. Norway here we come. Nul points!