While M prepared tea, I tried out our new purchase, "I think we've been diddled dear?" For the umpteenth time I switched on then tried to tune it in. "Maybe it's the aerial?" suggested M. "You could be right, we're pretty low down, the tide's still out, we'll pick up a new one tomorrow". The wall was still much in evidence.

Monday, we toured the back streets of Ramsey, eventually found a shop with TV's, picked up a portable aerial, we also bought a length of garden hose to extend our water hose to reach the water tap. Back on the boat, after filling the water tank, I tried out the new aerial. Nothing I couldn't get a blooming peep out of the thing. There was no way of contacting the stall-holder who had sold us the duff gear, so I resorted to my two other major forms of entertainment, eating and the bottle. (Only kidding, hic).

By now we were fully resolved we weren't going to see Scotland this trip, so we did all the usual touristy things Ramsey had to offer, Fish and Chips, Queenies and walking. We also needed to replenish our diesel and gas stock. The only source of red diesel was at the local garage about half a mile away. The trip there was no problem, but lugging a five-gallon container back was a struggle. The gas stockist was also a goodly step away. It was about this time we fell foul of the neighbour we were moored to.

It was blowing an absolute hoolie, the tide was in and Tranquillity was straining at her lines. We were below when a shout from the quay got me on deck. I peeped through the hatch, there was a guy on the quay with steam coming out of his ears. "Get some bloody shore lines on" he shouted as he saw me. I was too inexperienced to know what he meant not having rafted up before. He gesticulated at his boat, her lines, which were straining to hold his and our boat to the dock. I looked again then the penny dropped. Rushing on deck apologising profusely, into the locker for our longest strongest line. After making it fast to Tranquillity's bow, I crossed over our neighbour, scaled the ladder then tied the rope to the dock ring. Back down the ladder for our second longest warp, tied it to our stern then back onto the dock. This satisfied our neighbour he grunted and left. Of course now every time the tide went up and down I had to adjust the shore-lines, very inconvenient.

Across the river from us on a small island, was a colony of swans, I think someone was rearing them and selling the eggs. One afternoon, two of the swans passed our stern so M threw them some bread, big mistake. Next morning about six am, we were woken by a tapping on the hull. Thinking the dinghy had swung around and the propeller of the outboard was the culprit I climbed on deck to investigate. It wasn't the outboard, it was about six of M's swans pecking the hull wanting their breakfast. Without telling M what the problem was I called her on deck for assistance, as we passed in the cockpit, I said "your problem I think" then crawled back to bed. That morning we had an early breakfast.

It was now the fifth of July, we had worn out Ramsey's highlights, I could identify each stone block in the wall, even tell where the tide was with it. The forecast was as good as it had been, the tide would allow us out of jail at noon so we decided to make for Douglas, the capital, about 20 miles south. After saying goodbye to the harbourmaster, he opened the bridge and we motored into the outer harbour, it seemed a lifetime ago when we arrived. Out through the twin breakwaters, main up I resolved we should sail all the way.

Our log reads wind NW, 4 to 5, so with a following wind I unfurled the genoa turned to starboard and off we went, the brisk wind blowing away the Ramsey blues. The light on Maughold Head was just visible in the bright sunlight as we sped past, the log reading 6.5 knots. During our stay in Ramsey our Target digital echo sounder had failed. I had diagnosed a dry soldered joint. My tool kit didn't possess an electric iron so I bought a twelve-volt iron from our aerial supplier. The iron was as good as the aerial, wouldn't melt butter until I switched on the engine and got the alternator voltage through it as well. Back working again it was showing 150 metres.

After speeding by Laxey with it's famous water wheel we were around Clay Head and could make out Douglas in the distance. Being mindful of the ferry, King Orry at that time, we lowered sail and switched on the iron donkey. I called Douglas harbour control for permission to enter and was instructed to go to the temporary visitor's pontoon placed to the left of the lifeboat station each summer. Luckily it was empty so we tied up just opposite the stone steps to the quay. Little did I know at the time, that pontoon was to nearly sink a subsequent boat, but that's another story.

To get to Douglas's flesh pots; we had to walk to the bridge at the far end of the quay about a half-mile away, the town was only a few hundred yards away from the bridge. On the way we passed the chandlers, not being able to resist we browsed around the displays. Back outside, just next door was a Regatta clothing stockist. I purchased a new pair of fleecy lined sailing pants much cheaper than the mainland, mine were somewhat mucky after our trip from Liverpool. M acquired a new bright yellow fleece, which she still has today.

Douglas has a Marks & Spencer store with a food hall so we stocked up to replenish our larder, all the goodies that only M&S know how to produce. The season in Douglas hadn't really got underway, everything was pretty quiet. Back on the boat we had a visitor, another boat had tied up behind us. We had decided to set off south to Port St Mary, the last port before the southern end of the Island. Time was running out, I didn't fancy leaving the boat moored on the Island.

After leaving Douglas the next morning at 11.30, which was a big mistake. The strong tidal flow north meant we were plugging into the tide and a southerly wind. We managed to make Ronaldsway Airport but could go no further, with the combination of wind and tide we were static. Just off the end of the runway is an anchorage called Derby Haven. Turning towards the Island we managed to enter the haven then pick up an empty mooring to await the tide. It was 15.40 and high water when we managed to resume our journey to Port St Mary.

At 17.30 we tied up in the inner drying harbour, six hours to travel 19 miles, that's the last time I try that. The PSM yacht club was only 15 yards from the boat so we had an evening drink after dinner.

A couple of people spoke to us, but it wasn't as sociable as Liverpool. In total we spent three days at Port St Mary. Very quiet, picturesque and safe in the inner harbour. On the quay, a guy was renovating a mark one Nauticat 33. The day before we left I went across to speak to him and see how he was progressing. The decks and wheel-house were rotten, he had a hell of a job on. In fact on our next visit two years later, he was still at it. Well our holiday was almost over, all we had to do now was get back to Liverpool, PSM being the nearest port.

On the 10th of July we bade farewell to the Island, six am saw us leaving the outer harbour. The forecast was not perfect, but it never seems to be in that part of the world.

After raising the main, we sat back to a long run under engine. One wonders how many sailing boats actually sail when you've a schedule to keep? Around 15.00 we sited the North Morecambe Bay gas Field, the wind had increased to force 4 or 5. At 20.00 we were in sight of the city, the wind was westerly 6 gusting to 7 around Formby point. I realised we were approaching on the wrong side of the Queens channel. Eventually, we sited Q2, because of the following sea and strong wind I had been unable to drop the main. In hindsight we should have turned around, gone back out to sea until the tide turned in our favour. Inexperience plus an instinct for self preservation made us seek the safety of the river.

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