Beware Boats That Drive Men Mad
I ONCE knew a man who fell prey to a mad desire to own a large boat. He found the vessel of his dreams, an Arctic trawler, in Norway, but he lacked the captain’s papers to sail a ship of her size, earning, as he did, his living in the London art market. Nothing daunted, he bought a British admiral’s hat with which to bully the Norwegians into submission. The hat was scuffed and Victorian, but officialdom obligingly turned a Nelsonian eye to that and to the lack of qualifications—and to his being only 26—and off he steamed.
I have no boat to my name, but, last summer, I bought a Breton sailor’s hat in a market in the landlocked Provençal town of Apt. My children said I looked silly and my wife dubbed me Capt Haddock. Boxsets of The Onedin Line next, she sniffed sarkily over the blurred points of her knitting needles.
Little did we know what the hat presaged. Even then, I must have been harbouring the germ of a desire to take to the waves, a dream perchance to island hop around the west coast.
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning
