An Old Man And The Sea

Peter Ireland was persuaded by some friends to join a flotilla sailing holiday in Greece. It was wonderful – in parts.

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When I started teaching Classics back in the 1980s I had a poster, courtesy of the Greek Tourist Board, stuck to the classroom wall. It showed a solitary yacht, photographed from above, moored in a bay of turquoise water beside a sweep of white sand. In my darker moments my eye would rest on it and I would imagine living the dream in perpetual sunshine.

Forty years on, I was invited by friends to join them on a flotilla holiday in Greece. Having once been a Sea Scout, I thought I was pretty well prepared for the trip. We joined the group at Sivota on the island of Lefkas in the Ionian Sea, and met our boat, the Alethea, which was to be our home for the next two weeks. Alethea was a brand-new vessel, 38ft long, sparkling clean and very well equipped, but I was grateful that I was not overweight or I would have found it extremely difficult to fit into the heads or the little shower cubicle.

My cabin had enough room for me to stand upright by the door, but then I had to crawl on to the bunk and try to avoid hitting my head. There were four of us on board but apparently the boat could take six or even eight. I don’t know how two people and luggage could have fitted into my cabin and remained on good terms for any length of time. My uneasiness was increased by the presence of the isolator switch attached to my bunk. Apparently the previous crew had damaged it and the merest touch would cut off all power in the boat. I became extremely nervous of this sinister black switch and avoided it as if it were a cobra, which was not easy, given the dimensions of the cabin.