Looking without touching
Yesterday, a freebie ticket having come my way, I visited the 2017 Southampton Boat Show. Over the past decade and a half I would say I’ve averaged roughly a visit every other year to this annual event – not a bad score for someone who does not consider themselves a sailor.
My reasons for attending have been twofold and sometimes overlap.
Firstly, my son Barry works in the marine industry and on three or four occasions he has been involved in crewing or sailing boats which have stopped off in Southampton in order to feature as a Boat Show marina exhibit on their way to destinations in the Mediterranean or the Atlantic.
Secondly, for good or ill, I have known people who can arrange ‘freebies’ for me.
In one case these has been at the hand of a former work colleague who organises an annual group visit by registering his buddies as executives in his media organisation: traditionally we then make a bit of a day of it by setting up camp beside a preferred luncheon venue on the site and occasionally nipping off to tour the exhibition stands in between drinking and eating.
As it happens, my expedition yesterday was courtesy of an old friend, now a multi-millionaire soccer agent living on the south coast, who called me up a fortnight to so ago to issue a invitation to join him in his quest to buy a new, and even bigger, gin palace on which to entertain his clients and friends.
The fact that – across my seven or eight visits to said Boat Show – I have only ever paid for my ticket twice (on both occasions in order to rendezvous with my son) is significant and I wish to tell you why.
Amidst the whole manifold spectrum of pastimes and special interests that human beings have ever become enthusiastic about, a few tend to be almost mutually exclusive by definition.
As youngsters and teenagers, when it comes to sport, individuals can be divided into those whose sap instinctively rises at the prospect of ball games … and those whose doesn’t. For the most part, those who recoil from ball games are interested in things like archery, rock climbing, sky-diving, and messing about either in motor vehicles … or in boats.
You can probably see where I’m going here. Those that can play ball games, do. And for those who cannot play ball games, or who can only play them poorly, there is potential consolation to be found in taking up pastimes such as sailing and driving. I’m talking ‘bucket chemistry’ generality here. Clearly there are some sailors and motor sports enthusiasts who can also turn their hands to tennis, golf or football with some degree of proficiency, but they’re the exceptions that prove the rule.
Every sinew of my body is that of a ball games enthusiast.
I wouldn’t wish to mislead, however. I know how to sail because I was taught as a young kid, but there’s a difference between knowing how to do something and being totally immersed in it – just as a sailor can stand in the right back position on a frozen football field in the depths of winter, hands in his pockets (wishing he was anywhere but where he is, the ball rarely if ever coming his way which is just how he likes it) but that is never going to make him a footballer.
Accordingly, for me, yesterday was therefore primarily another opportunity for an intense period of people-watching human beings of the yachting variety.
I don’t wish to be mealy-mouthed about this.
If you have a penchant for messing about in boats – whether yours be a kit-type rowing boat that can be folded down and stowed in a square metre bag, or a £2 million ocean-going motor cruiser – popping along to the Southampton – indeed any industry – Boat Show is a chance to ‘fill your boots’ with all things nautical, ranging from clothes to life jackets, ropes, navigation and radar systems, paint, sails, mattresses, galley kitchens, jet-ski boats, ‘gaffer tape’, buckets, tillers, flotilla holidays, buying or selling boats, marine insurance and/or engines.
For a yottie (as I commented to my host yesterday) an industry boat show is basically the equivalent of what a sex industry convention might be to a bunch of doggers and/or wife swappers. Even if you’re not one yourself, it’s still well worth going just to behold those that are.
People-watching is endlessly fascinating, no doubt about it. However, for a landlubber like your author, being asea in an ocean of yotties yesterday wandering around hundreds of stalls, stands and slickly-established exhibitions and sales operations for a couple of hours was enough.
By 1230 hours we had regained the sanctuary of our car and hit the road in search of a ‘nice little somewhere to have lunch’. A very acceptable lunch it turned out to be too – my fish pie was outstanding – as we caught up on our respective news and put the world to rights.
Last night as I finally made it to bed I reflected on the fact that I’d had a very worthwhile day.
Same time again next year?
