… it has been a week of mixed blessings.  Everything from the good, to the bad, to the ugly – and all the shades of grey between.  And while in cliché-spewing mode,  I might as well add, “and there’s more where that came from… “

But let’s kick off some cheery stuff first. After writing my last post on this blog, we did indeed have some excellent sailing weather, and after hoiking up the anchor, we pootered out to sea to make the most of it.  Flying along with full main and jib, Butterfly sliced through the waves and came to life once more. With gleeful, unabashed sentiment (and totally unsubstantiated by fact) I’ve often thought that boats that lie at anchor for long periods get restless.  What do they  call this?  – anthropomorphism, is it? (try saying that with your teeth in) – when you attribute human characteristics to inert objects or animals? A heck of a clunky word to say and spell.  But there ya go – I must be one of those -  a self-confessed, cock-eyed, anthropomorphist. For whether bobbing in a marina, swinging off the hook, or dancing on a buoy, boats strike me as being in a kind of dormant phase, quietly biding their time, just cooling their keel(s), waiting  … but set them free at sea again, unharnessed, fully engaged in play with wind and wave and you sense them come alive. Even as the first waves swoosh past the bows, the whole vessel springs  into life with a burst of latent energy – no longer merely a thing, but a co-ordinated entity with its own personality. At least that’s the way of healthy boats.

Happily, given some ideal sailing weather, Butterfly, too, came alive. With the wind  – a steady 15-20 knots on the beam – nicely taking the heat off a blazing sun, and with the seas sparkling fit to dazzle,  she couldn’t have been happier, nor could we. So much more fun and so much more comfortable to be slicing through the brisk Caribbean waves with Grenada growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Ahead,  an uninterrupted horizon of blue;  astern, a trail of foaming wake. Far, far nicer than sitting in the bay sweltering.  We spent the best part of the day sailing just for the sheer unalloyed pleasure of it. And then only as the sun began to sink – a rich blast of apricot pink in a lavender sky – did we pull in to St David’s Harbour for the night. One of my favourite bays, St David’s, totally unassuming, totally unspoilt, and totally peaceful.

We’d have got more sailing in if we could this week, but like the weather of late, clouds and squalls in the form of a broken tooth gathered to stop play for a while. Just before leaving South Africa I had a final check up with an excellent dentist there before embarking on the Atlantic crossing. He fixed a tooth for me that has given continual trouble on and off, repairing it with a temporary filling that would need crowning eventually. No time for him to do the crown before we left Capetown. Well two weeks ago or thereabouts, the filling and tooth parted company giving rise to an abscess,  and consulting with a local dentist here in Grenada, it was obvious an extraction was the only answer.  I’m not a wuss when it comes to doctors and dentists and men in white coats wielding pliers and such, but I was somewhat ginger about the quality of dental services here in this delightful island.  Grenada may be good for a wide variety of excellent mangoes, but excellent molar technicians? We asked around and some new friends of ours who have lived on the island for some years  recommended someone who had cared for their pearlies in reliable fashion. Happily and reassuringly, their smiles seemed to endorse their recommendation.

Well the tooth is now out (and thankfully, for vanity’s sake, the gap out of sight) but I can’t say it was a pleasant experience. Dr Vibart Yaw, a thoroughly engaging, delightful fellow (and dig his wonderful name! I chortled when I first saw that) -  removed the offending molar, what was left of it, in speedy, efficient fashion, but as he pulled and twisted, I developed sudden powers of levitation and and was fast on route to examining his ceiling at close quarters.  Mercifully, he was mighty quick and though a little more anaesthetic would have been a blessing (like triple the strength of whatever those syringes contained), all seems to have gone okay. After a few days looking like a hamster sucking a golfball and thanks to the high-tech remedy of salt water rinses, symmetry is gradually being restored.  Only a hamster sucking a pea now. The pain is gradually receding too. Woo-hoo.

In fact one of the concerns about cruising has been that of finding suitable medical and dental care if necessary.  A tooth extraction is still small fry in terms of health problems, but having a successful extraction has taken some of that concern away.  My erstwhile visions of unsterilised needles and grimey dressings an insult to those practitioners here who are just as adept as those back home in the UK and – in some cases  – more adept.  Of no interest to you, unless you are also cruising the Windward Isles, I understand there is also an excellent dentist on St Lucia. No name or details yet, but will find those out and report back.  Should also mention that pulling that tooth here had one distinct advantage – it has saved us a packet: the total charge for two consultations, a packet of antibiotics and painkillers and the extraction itself?  EC $130 – or roughly £33.  Needless to say, however, it’s a bargain I’m happy not to repeat.

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Still with the good news – had another fabulous night out at de Big Fish last Saturday, with Stan and Cora being joined by a fella on lead guitar (excellent musician, though don’t know his name) and Martin on alto-sax this time. Just one of those nights when nobody wanted to go home – certainly not the band themselves – and so the guys played on and on … and on.  Everybody up dancing; a full house in full swing. What makes one evening a riot like this, I’ve no idea, best not to analyse, better to just be grateful.  And tonight there’s yet more music with a young Grenadian lassy  singing – again at de Big Fish. She, too, is the bees hum. On Saturday, she dived in with Stan and Cora, belting out a song or two and wowing everybody in the process.  All I know is her name is Jenny.  Pics to come later if the light allows.

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And now for the – well, not bad exactly, but perhaps the not-so-good news:  at the time of writing this, still no word from African Cats on the whereabouts of the spares we need to fix some of the warranty issues. Nor an answer to those queries we’ve raised regarding their warranty decisions.  We have, however, received a response on a separate issue from their Service department, so at least some form of communication has occurred.

Elsewhere, the storm continues to brew over our predicament and African Cats track record to date. I wondered whether or not to refer to this – out of diplomacy, if nothing else – but there is no point in ignoring or denying it since many of you reading this also follow the forums where the latest ruckus has occurred.  In a perfect, fair world, everyone – boatbuilder and boat-buyer alike – would be free to give their full and candid version of events,  and let those who might be interested in such matters – eg, potential catamaran customers – make their own minds up as to the true state of play. After all, buying a boat is a huge investment, especially if you’ve been trying to build that cruising kitty over many years. For many folk, anxious to embark on a sailing adventure of their own, choosing the right boat and boatbuilder are the most important decisions they will make. Other customers’ experiences are an invaluable assistance in making that decision.

But – and forgive me for stating the obvious here – this is not a perfect world, nor is it fair.  So for reasons most regular readers of this blog are aware of, we must plough on, by necessity keeping much under wraps, focusing as much as possible on just trying to get the boat warranty issues finalised in principle, before arranging for the repairs to be completed.  So another day comes to a close, and we are still no nearer to starting the main warranty repairs.

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This is one very long post.  But just before I buggeroffski,  perhaps a final caveat might be in order:

If you are thinking of buying a new boat – be it monohull, multihull, powerboat or sailing vessel, do think long and hard about just how long you are going to be involved with your boatbuilder.  It might sound slightly daft, but buying a new boat is like entering a kind of marriage. After the initial wooing phase, the hearts and flowers and bright shiny engagement ring stage, accompanied by attentive emails and declarations of mutual admiration and adoration, you will find yourself at the alter soon enough, saying “I do”. But beware, don’t allow yourself to get bedazzled by the flowers and trinkets and pretty words and,  instead,  think hard and long before you get to that alter, because once that ring is on the finger, the realities of boatowner/ boatbuilder married life will kick in.  And unlike modern marriage today,  if the mojo between you and your boatbuilder fades, or simply doesn’t work out, there is no quick easy divorce. For better or worse, you are now bound to each other for a considerable time to come …

As is obvious to all, our marriage with African Cats – and I’m sure Mr Goudsmit will agree with me on this at least – has had more than its fair share of storms and showers. The sunshine days before “I do” could bear a second summer!