Mount Gay Rum hats

I am not a serious party-goer but I know enough about party-going to tell you that if you ever fetch up in Antigua at the start of the annual regatta (i.e. now at the time of writing in April 2007), the Mount Gay Rum party is the place to be.

Some might argue that best thing about the Mount Gay Rum party is Mount Gay Rum. Not so. The best thing is the red Mount Gay Rum hat. Among serial Antigua week sailors a Mount Gay Rum hat, salt-faded and tattered as the years go by, is the hat to have.

The Mount Gay Rum people are very clever and restrict supply. To get a hat you need to have a red ticket acquired in certain places the previous day.

At the party there is a man in a small cubicle who supplies the hat on receipt of the ticket. One ticket buys one hat. But getting a hat with a ticket is too easy so I was quite pleased that we didn’t have one. Arriving ticketless makes the party more fun and the acquisition of a hat more of a challenge.

Hats off

First you need to talk to people with hats to get the low down on hat acquisition technique although you should not expect them to part with their own hats. Those with more than one hat seem to know what has to be done.

To avoid a free-for-all between the hatless and the hatted the Mount Gay people have inserted a clever ritual. At an appointed time in the evening one or two specially selected Mount Gay representatives begin to mingle with the party goers. If they find a hatless one who looks deserving enough, a ticket or two will be slid surreptitiously in to the palm of the hand.

I don’t remember enough about the party to know how I came by three hats but there we go. Much rum was consumed, friends were made, invitations extended and the upshot is that today I find myself among the crew of Pindar, a former Volvo Ocean Race yacht, sailing with Alex Thomson, Ian Williams and Brian Thompson, each of them recognised single-handed sailors taking the opportunity to work as a team.

Keel failure

Alex suffered a keel failure on the Hugo Boss Open 60 yacht in the Velux 5 Oceans solo round-the-world race that is still running. He was rescued by Mike Golding on Ecover. Ian Williams, just now, is leading the rankings in the world match racing circuit. Match sailing involves sail-offs between two boats competing head to head over a short course – very tactical stuff.

Ian would almost certainly have represented Great Britain in the Olympics had match sailing not been dropped as an Olympic sport. Having devoted the best part of his sailing career to this type of sailing I suggest to him that this must have been a bit of bummer. He agrees.

He decided to enter a profession and took up law. But a love of the sport, not to mention the potential earnings in top flight professional sailing, have lured him back in to serious sail-racing.

One thing I had forgotten about sailing when I came out here is that I get seasick and 20 knots of wind in a lumpy sea is just about enough, particularly since my rumometer had slipped off the scale the previous evening.

Big wave

The plan was to do a few tacks on the East side of the island before turning round for some downwind jibes so that every manoeuvre could be practiced before the start of racing tomorrow. That was before the accident.

Sailing close-hauled before the wind we hit a big wave and the shock was sufficient to break one of the diagonal rods that help to stabilise the mast. Usually when this happens, the whole mast collapses, but the sails are dropped quickly and the mast survives. It’s a tense moment all the same. New struts have been ordered before the boat is back in port. But there will need to be a thorough rig inspection to check for other damage.

I was feeling pretty grim in the swell and was thankful to be given the helm to take my mind off it. Ian tells me to steer for a headland but perhaps I take him too literally and Brian suggests I might be getting a tad close. Still it was good to take the wheel of this former Volvo Ocean Racer. I’m used to getting the grunt work on boats so it was a pleasant change and made my day. I hope they get everything fixed for tomorrow.

The Mount Gay Rum site where you won't find a hat.

N.B. This was written two days ago but because of a server error can only be published now. Apologies to anyone who tried to access the site yesterday. Pindar was back out on the water today and narrowly finished ahead of Artemis in the big boat class.

The Albatross and the Whale

The joys of travelling with a laptop. I've managed to find a bit of shade to write a quick note about English Harbour in Antigua where I'm staying this week. This is one of the few safe havens from hurricanes in the Caribbean, hence its establishment as a British naval base in the late 18th century.

The yachts are gathering here and in nearby Falmouth for the annual Antigua sailing week which starts on Sunday. I'm hoping to be sailing on the Open 60 yacht, Artemis, which won line honours in last summer's Round Britain and Ireland Race.

I'm staying in Admirals Inn, a quaint old place in the dockyard next to the old dry dock. It's humbling to think that most of the yard was built by black slaves who also quarried the rocks from the wharves.

The trouble with setting up office on the dockside - and it's not really trouble - is that the world comes to you. Lots of interesting sailing people keep dropping by and chatting. I have just been comparing children's books with an architect called Jamie Weisman who lives in Martha's Vinyard. He has a schooner moored across the harbour - a modern boat built to a 1930s design.

We were talking about whales and whaling - as you do - and he told me had written a book about an Albatross that laid an egg in the blow hole of a whale. "I was sailing across the Pacific and there was this albatross and I just got to thinking about," he said.

Then a couple called Sonia and David Stone were telling me about sim cards and the rip off charges imposed by the big mobile phone service companies. I'd forgotten about the exorbitant charges levelled simply when you take a call on your mobile phone. So the PR woman who rang to tell me about a pet food company this morning - a story in which I had no interest whatsoever - probably cost me about £5 just because I answered the phone.

In desperation she said that the son in the family had a sideline tasting cat food. That was quite interesting but not, I think, for FT readers and certainly not worth £5. For £5 I want takeover bids.

Good dog, bad dog

The river Dee was as majestic as ever. We could and should have had more fish. Five fish lost of eight hooked is not the greatest return from six days of hard fishing. But one of those caught was a first salmon for Bryan Kruse who can now add game fishing to an impressive list of pursuits that includes shooting, sailing, skiing and canoeing. "I'm going to have to clear a new shelf," he says.

Bryan has a springer spaniel called Solo. Will Sadler, another of our party, described Solo as "the best behaved dog I have ever encountered." What hope then for our West Highland white terrier, Dougie, in that kind of company?

Solo is a class swat among dogs; the sort of swat who is popular with everyone and gets to be head boy at school. Solo likes to please. Dougie pleases himself. He would have Friday detentions every week. He's the sort of dog that likes to stuff his nose in the backside of other dogs and bark at the postman. I don't think I have ever heard Solo bark.

I like to take Dougie along the river bank when fishing. Solo stays where he's put. Dougie disappears. He's not a bad dog. He's just stubborn, like all Westies.

The weather was sunny at the start of the week and the river needed some water. Still, there were fish about and I had a couple within an hour of each other on my birthday - a fitting present. The pool had been thrashed all week, mostly by the rods on the other side (although they would say it was us, such is the antipathy of anglers to those on opposing banks).

I put finesse to one side and swung through a big fly that provoked the takes. I had lost a fish the previous evening because of a badly tied knot on my fly. I cannot remember having made such a fundamental error before.

There was a lot of whisky downed as usual and haggis on my birthday. But no incidents. Well, just the one, involving Dougie again after we had returned south.

Gill had called to pick me up from Will's house and Dougie was behaving badly among his dogs. I put Dougie in the car for some peace and quiet.

My keys were inside and the other set was in the ignition but there was no need to lock the car. Dougie, however, thought otherwise when he triggered the central locking system. There was nothing for it but to smash a rear passenger window. The repair will cost £200. I have explained this to Dougie but he doesn't seem to care. So long as he gets regular walks and kibbles, nothing else matters. Next time I think we'll be getting a springer.

A stone setting of ginnels and snickets

We're heading north once more for the fishing. This time it's the River Dee and I feel a bit more optimistic than I did about the Tay. I love the Dee. I love spring salmon. There is no finer fish on no finer river.

But first we have a 25th wedding anniversary party in Leeds for Gill's sister, Alison, and her husband Richard - the Whitakers. They're having the party at what used to be Dyson's jewellers - now the Georgetown Restaurant. It's a place I remember well.

I once spent many hours in an upstairs room with a photographer for a newspaper investigation, watching out for people coming out of a ginnel opposite. Or should I call it a snicket (pronounced in the same way that Geoff Boycott says cricket, i.e crickitt)? Either term would suffice in Yorkshire but for the rest of the world I suppose I should reveal that it is an alley or a cut-through or a passage.

My other memory of Dyson's goes back nearly 30 years when Gill and I went there to choose an engagement ring. I only had £200 to my name, just enough to buy a ring with the tiniest sparkly diamond. We could afford something more showy now but would never replace it. The ring was good for us then and it's good for us still, like our marriage. I wouldn't claim that it was set in stone, but this is the stone setting.

War of the boats

I have always enjoyed "doing" journalism where you immerse yourself in whatever it is you're writing about. So writing about the forthcoming America's Cup this week from the end of a telephone has been a bit frustrating.

Typically I'd find myself speaking with a team skipper or manager and they'd say "Why don't you come down?" assuming I'm somewhere in Valencia where all the crews and yachts are gathered. "I'm in Woking," I say.

Martian invaders

Woking is not known for its glamorous ocean sailing. In fact it's not known for anything other than its setting for H G Wells War of the Worlds. Old H G must have had it in for Woking. I don't blame him. The town council has done a much better job of wrecking the place than could ever have been achieved by Martian invaders.

So I call these bosses of multi-million euro funded yacht-racing teams and what do they do? They complain about money. They never have enough. These are the "poor" teams with less than €50m to throw around although I heard the same complaints from one with upwards of €60m. The top teams have more than €100m to play with so they don't complain so much.

Team tough

The Emirates Team New Zealand isn't complaining. In fact it isn't saying anything. The so-called "team tough" has gone to ground, locking itself away in its compound. That must be great news for the sponsors who invest van-loads of dosh in these teams for the kind of worldwide media exposure that would be guaranteed if they were only to take a call from Woking.

In reality I don't mind being in Woking. I hate glamour events that are not at all glamorous when you're doing them. Well, I suppose they're a bit glamorous. Last year I had the chance to sit at the back of ABN Amro, the Volvo Ocean Race winner when it raced off the Isle of Wight. There is a lot of razzmatazz on the pontoon but out on the water the crew just gets on with the job.

Afterwards, when things have calmed down and you get to chat to people you find that everyone has the same concerns. These crews have this immense drive to compete but when the competition is over they just want to be with their families and friends, having a chat and a laugh together.

Broken mast

I'd hate to have a microphone-poking job. I detest the cult of celebrity that corrupts human relationships. Maybe the New Zealand team has the right approach but it can't be squared with the media/advertising/marketing machine that underpins so much funding in this event that it allows teams like Alinghi, the defending champion, to accumulate 16 masts. Two yachts and 16 masts? How many do they expect to break? I suppose the answer to that is 15 at a stretch.

The +39 Challenge (the boat with the strangest name - it never did get a big name sponsor) has just the one mast and it has been broken into three pieces. The race is on to repair it. Alinghi generously offered it one of their masts but other teams objected. What ever happened to sportsmanship and the Corinthian spirit?

I like the +39 team made up partly from world class dinghy sailors who compete fiercely against each other in world championship and Olympic events but who have banded together for what has turned out to be a sparsely funded entry racing hand-to-mouth.

Clapham omnibus

The America's Cup is big - as big as it gets. Yet how many of those on the Clapham omnibus have any idea how the racing works? I'm supposed to know yet it beats me. First of all there are some races called "acts" where everyone is racing, including the defending champion. Points (but not a lot) are awarded that are carried through to round robin races that are the start of the Louis Vuitton Cup. With me so far?

To recap: first over about two years there are a series of races (in a bit of sea, this time off Valencia in Spain) that don't count for too many points. These are used to generate media interest, check out the opposition and to build first rate teams. Next there is the Louis Vuitton Cup in which the defender of the America's Cup cannot take part. This is because the Louis Vuitton Cup is held to find the challenger.

Only then, when the rest of the field has been eliminated, does the best-of-nine duel between the defender, Alinghi, and challenger (the Louis Vuitton cup holder) begin. Once the America's Cup has been secured the next defence is determined by agreement with potential challengers. For more explanation of the whole event and its history read this.

A licence to fish

The UK Government plans to licence sea angling. What next? Hill walking? Picnicking? Breathing? The licence money would be used partly to manage fishing facilities and partly to fund the administration of the licence.

What facilities do you need to fish? You need water and you need somewhere to stand with your rod. The beach has proved useful for this in the past.

Another useful ingredient is fish but the licence will not be able to help in that respect because this and many other governments are doing too little to impose stricter limits on commercial fishing with nets at sea.

I would argue that hill walking causes far more more environmental damage than angling yet the government has no plans to licence walking. Perhaps it would if it thought it could get away with it. Some licences such as the annual game licence issued for shooters are a waste of time and effort.

I have no great faith in the ability of governments to manage our resources and would far rather invest my disposable income in other organisations devoted to conservation. In the meantime the government can't even manage its existing licences. I applied for my freshwater rod licence online two weeks ago and I 'm still waiting for it to arrive.

Meanwhile I'm getting ready for another trip to Scotland where you do not need a rod licence to fish. On the Tay last week I nearly fell out of my waders when I hooked a salmon in the first 10 minutes. It was nearly at the net when it shed the hook. Later in the week I caught a 7lb fish. Not the whopper of my dreams, but a fish nonetheless. For those interested in these things, both fish took a Black Frances. I'm hoping for better things on the Dee next week.

For returning my fish the Tay ghillies gave me a sweat shirt with the words "Saving Tay Salmon" on the front. I think they should add some words to the back: "I caught a salmon on the Tay and all they gave me was this lousy sweat shirt!" Just joking. I will treasure my shirt. It's a rare item. Incidentally, you get a bottle of malt for returning a fish on the Dee. But I wouldn't swap my shirt for anything.

I'm a celebrity, get me out of Iran

As one newspaper letter writer commented last week, there was a time when the convention for those captured in warfare was to quote name, rank and serial number. Today things have changed. When reading various bits of news and comment on the Royal Navy hostages in Iran I was wondering whether the armed forces were running their own version of "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here".

Now that some of those captured are being offered large sums by news organisations for their stories it seems even closer to something we might expect in future to be hosted by Ant and Dec.

The delicate diplomatic negotiations and high level deals could be replaced by a television "vote off" system using premium rate calls, the proceeds of which could help Iran to expand it's nuclear power programme.

In fact the TV people should think about cutting out the armed forces altogether. All they need do is order a couple of rigid inflatable boats, get some camouflage gear and kit out their favourite C-listers. Vanessa Feltz, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, Linda Barker, David Dickinson - are they up for it? What price Iranian hospitality against a bush tucker trial?

A neat twist to this reality TV game, I suggest, is that the Iranians can keep everyone.