At my age, I never thought I’d need another qualification. But here I am, grappling with knots and a man overboard in 35 mph winds
I
’m at the helm of a 15-foot rigid inflatable boat (Rib) in terrible weather: there are storm clouds approaching from the south-west and the wind is already gusting at 35 mph. Waves are breaking over the bow, dropping a bucketful of water into my lap each time. As I bear off to port, the boat lurches in the heavy swell, and someone at the starboard bow shouts, “Man overboard!”
I should also probably mention that I’m in a reservoir, between the M3 and Heathrow airport, less than 12 miles from my house. And also: the man that’s gone overboard is a buoy with a face drawn on it in permanent marker. I’m not here to save anybody; I’m here in pursuit of a Level 2 Powerboat Handling certificate.
Like a lot of men my age, I imagined I’d reached a stage in life when I could coast to the end without further qualifications: no more badges, degrees, licences or clearances. I’d got this far without them – why bother to have my competency tested, approved and registered with some governing body?
