All aboard, me hearties!
Yesterday I made my ritual annual visit to the Southampton Boat Show. I’m not really a ‘yottie’ person myself but I know a lot of people who are and I’ve slipped into the habit of meeting up with four of them every year to have a look around and catch up over a fast food and beer lunch.
I suspect full-on boat shows are pretty much the same the world over – viz. an opportunity for a sizeable marine location to gather together members of the public interested in sailing or motor boating together (the wealthier the better) and expose them to the examples of the latest yachts, specialist marine clothing, equipment, accessories, sailing holidays and indeed anything else that anyone can imagine might be of relevant interest. (Quite why barbeque machines and items of garden furniture qualify under this heading I know not, but they do).
The best way I can set the scene is to ask you to imagine a ten acre site heaving with rows of stands, whether either outside in the elements or inside great hangars, featuring products of all shapes, sizes and descriptions ranging from ropes, navigation aids and six-foot rowing dinghies and their oars right up to £30 million pound gin-palace motor cruisers moored in the designated marina area.
For me, as a comparative land lubber but fervent people-watcher, the fun aspect of a day spent at a major boat show is the opportunity to behold every variety of human being in one place. It’s one of those rare occasions in life where cabbages and kings rub shoulders and, for those of us who have turned out specifically to gawp at the spectacle, it can be a strangely fascinating experience.
Firstly, naturally, there are thousands of what might be described as sales or marketing executives of both genders. These seem to be uniformly chosen for their model-like attractiveness and their healthy-looking, well-to-do, well-turned-out, tanned and smart appearance. They spend the bulk of their time trying to look as though they’re seasoned professional sailors who just happen (temporarily) to be on shore, standing around conspicuously, pretending to be speaking on their mobile phones whilst simultaneously being available for you to approach should you wish to see or have demonstrated ‘whatever it is they are selling’ (most particularly if you appear to have at least a spare £5 million cash that you urgently wish to part company with).
Think your average Fulham or Mayfair estate agent, only on water.
Like all sales people, they know that it is their lot in life to have to kiss a lot of frogs before they bag a ‘prince’.
And there are a stack-load of frogs at a boat show.
One substantial set are the fifty-plus older generation (think Captain Bird’s Eye), usually plump, bearded, wearing a battered cap, a decade-old sailing jacket and grubby jeans who just love ‘messing about in boats’. Whether they’ve made a surprising success of their careers or not, they’re the nautical equivalent of the types who spend their weekends mysteriously in an ancient shed down the bottom of the garden that smells of diesel oil, carpentry equipment and tool boxes, where they fiddle about reconditioning some decrepit car engine and/or playing with their model train set of the Reading to Bristol line circa 1934.
Another instantly-recognisable group is the mass of ‘Great Unwashed’ grockles who pay their money to attend every year solely to walk around looking at how the other half lives. The nearest to actual sailing they’ve ever been is across to the Isle of Wight eight years ago on a day trip, but that doesn’t stop them walking boldly up to the gang plank of one of any one of a hundred eighty-foot gin palaces in their T-shirts, trainers, shorts, carrying their Tesco Metro shopping bags and asking to be shown around the interior of what looks like a cut-down version of the Queen Mary.
Every time this happens you can almost see the heart of the salesman concerned sink in ‘real time’. Far from soon getting down to a nitty-gritty discussion about whether it would be possible for the prospective new owner to take delivery in Monaco in time for the 2017 Formula One Grand Prix, he’s going to be fielding requests such as “Could we take a look at the sharp end now, please?”
Still, I suppose we can all presume that he’s going to be paid for his time, come what may.
Once observers such as your author have had their fill of people-watching and/or become weary of foot and in need of a sit-down, there are hundreds of fast food, coffee and alcoholic drink stalls on hand at which to rest and regroup.
Yesterday, after another five hours soaking up the atmosphere, I withdrew and travelled home.
Roll on the 2017 Southampton Boat Show!
