Snitchy’s Rantings.

Hi there my adoring fans. It’s Snitchy the RS Aero checking in after my Once-A-Week outing. I’m a little boat in mourning for the glorious flag-cracking, solar punching days of summer (and getting out more than once a week). I’m also in mourning for my beloved Frieda, the fat bottomed Finn, whose buxom transom I lustily followed in many a race. Her mysterious disappearance has been the hot gossip in the boatpark this week and there has been wild speculation and conspiracy theories from being abducted by aliens to an invitation by NASA for use as a rocket launching platform.

Let’s examine the facts folks; Frieda was last seen taking Mr. Simons to the Finn Nationals, where she managed to win him the first race. Awesome result Frieda. Mr. Simons then returned with an Irish imposter Finn on his roof.

In the dark lonely nights, I often wonder what became of my Frieda and my dreams become nightmares, where she is parked up on a slipway on Parkgate seafront with tulips planted in her cockpit.

 

The replacement Finn has IRL on its sail, which translates as Don’t Mess With Me (This is a polite transcript, as IRL really stands for

“I Race Legless”). Anyway, the drunken boat from the small wet island was out racing with us in the Fast Handicap fleet on Sunday’s tidal races. The race started in fairly light winds in a fairly fierce 9 metre tide. Owner tacked me off to Wales and towards the shallower and less tidal waters of the sandbank and hooked me back on a tack out to sea once the wind had shifted enough so I could lee bow the tide. The Guinness machine had arrived at the windward mark first, chased by 3 Albacores and Sam McDougall in his Finn “Red October”. I followed closely behind trying to catch them up and yelling “Ireland’s the OTHER WAY”.

There were a large number of boats on that first reach and most of them weren’t even in my race! The Falcons were on a course that carved across ours, so I had to work hard to weasel out in front of them, before they cut off our mark. Fortunately the Lasers and Larks behind me were able to play with them instead.

The second race was sailed at slack water under darkening skies. Heavy showers arrived and damped down our steady wind. On the final run, the fleet became bunched together, as new breeze arrived from behind. This was good news for the slower handicapped Lasers, who had kept in touch with the leaders.

As for me, I finished a respectable second, strategically avoiding a win. Why? Well I’m dubious about the fate of winners and don’t fancy ending up as a Snitchy roadside garden ornament full of flowers, being climbed on by small children and photographed by Japanese tourists. Even if my Owner would make a rather good gnome.

Yours, very confused,

Snitchy