TESTING, TESTING

Last night was the Crew Party of all crew parties. This time with a twist, since it was the first held at the Royal Malta Yacht Club's premises at Ta'Xbiex. It was a fine affair. Usual good food, good company, good music (a weally wockin' band, yah), phenomenal location on the waterfront. Not as good a spot as the old clubhouse which basked in the view of magnificent Valletta, but at least nothing was likely to fall on one's head from the crumbling battlements.


I even got a privileged view of the proceedings from Malta's Naval Base, immediately across the harbour. Armed with only an adventurous Kiwi cameraman and a headtorch, I stormed the bastions of Floriana (well the dockwall), shooed away a couple of stray dogs and cats and was in. The enemy fled...er, what enemy. Had I been a terrorist (ignore the why would a terrorist land in Malta question) I would have had a free run of the Maltese fleet (recently purchased for Australia). Not a Maltese soldier, not a Maltese sausage (which can be quite strong, in flavour at any rate), challenged us.


It would be lying to say I had a wild time and whilst this is utterly disappointing for my wife who likes to curry sympathy amongst her friends by suggesting my life is just one party, it is the truth. I had one beer. One beer...it was free and flowing, and, I had only one. Such willpower. However, my saintly behaviour was rewarded today. I was home by 11.30. Gentleman to the last I even escorted the RORC Commodores' wife to her hotel, whilst he was game-on at the RMYC bar being served cocktails by his unique opposite number in Malta.


Today though I was rewarded (see above for grounds). I got to helm the mighty Steinlager (10.3 knots upwind in a gust of 11). I also got to grind on the pedestal. I got to pull sails up through hatches, push them back down again, trim the mizzen (aye, aye Master Mate, trim me mizzen! I got to meet 3 Russians and 5 Kazakhstanis, 3 Sicilians, 2 Italians, 1 Pole and a Swiss. Let me tell you this: next time I am storming the Maltese Navy I want a Kazakhstani beside me. Ignore the paunch look at the stubborn nature.


Still it was not all fun. We were supposed to go sailing at 10, but left the dock at 11.30. Lunch, as good as it was, was served at 2.30. Do the maths...breakfast was at 7.45. There is only so much paparazzi behaviour and grinding one can do on an empty stomach. Even if it is more than I would have achieved had the empty stomach had a gallon of beer secreted within it.


I played for much of the time with the camera and complicated mount given to me by a photographer friend. Tomorrow I try out a complicated piece of video kit, brought out from the UK by a very helpful gentlemen who happens to be doing the race. Let's hope that kitted out I can perform.


One final laugh at my expense, plus an example why I love this country and the people. I spent the day sliding about the deck of Steinlager thanks to my sailing shoes having lost the will to grip. It was like wearing skates and I can't skate...I resorted to wearing the RMYC Commodore's sea boots. Funny it may have looked, but at least I could stand upright. Once ashore I phoned a friend, who happens to work for a chandlery. At close to seven pm he picked me up from the clubhouse, drove me to the shop and located the last pair of size 47 sailing shoes on the island (probably). Service? the word is inadequate.