March arrived and we found ourselves back home just in time for a whirlwind of celebrations and chaos. Birthdays, daughter’s house moves, and pond repairs (because of course the pond needed attention the second we landed) kept us busy before we finally bid farewell to winter’s frosty grip. With a dramatic flourish, we (my Mum and I) swapped wellies for flip-flops and jetted off to El Masnou, where the Mediterranean sun was already working its magic. 

Pookie’s Great British Bake-Off (And Other UK Shenanigans)

Not everyone joined the Spanish fiesta, however.

Pookie, ever the culinary maestro, stayed behind at our home in Solihull. The Reason? Well a very popular local shopping mall had asked her to present her food. Her presentation in Touchwood in Solihull dazzled the public with her kitchen wizardry. Her Mango Panacotta (straight out of MasterChef) was widely liked and her new Pea Soup Sphere's went down very well with the crowds, especially when she offered to share some with them!! Easter was near but this was a great culinary introduction!

Meanwhile, my dad, who is slightly less of a sailor than Pookie, had also stayed to brave the winter weather; where he embarked on a quest of his own - discovering what can only be described as the world’s most ambitious hot dog. (Seriously, this thing could’ve fed a small village.) 

Back in Spain, my mum and I dove headfirst into the land of tapas, where every meal felt like a celebration. And speaking of celebrations - no, that photo isn’t our budget airline chariot at the top of the page, but the legendary Concorde, lounging at the airport like a retired rockstar. A fitting metaphor for how we wished we’d travelled. I had really enjoyed my time in Barcelona (or Barca as my fellow British friends kept saying), and I knew of the famous "Pickpockets of Las Ramblas" - Seriously, keep all valuables really close to you, the Police do their best but I think they are a little out numbered.

Gaudí, Gangsters, and the Great Handbag Heist

Barcelona awaited, and with it, the surreal, dreamlike world of Antoni Gaudí. Born in 1852, Gaudí was a man who saw the world differently (probably because rheumatic fever kept him indoors long enough to develop a deep love for nature, which later exploded into his architectural masterpieces.... but I digress). Park Güell, a reclaimed hillside turned into a psychedelic wonderland, was our first stop. If you ever go to Barcelona, do not miss this place, it’s like stepping into a fairy tale designed by a genius on a sugar rush. This video is from on the day and turn the sound up and have a listen because it sounded wonderful and the group were stoked I had recorded them.

Gaudí himself never married, dedicating his life to his craft until a tram (yes, a tram) abruptly ended his story in 1926. His magnum opus, the Sagrada Família, is still under construction, proof that some art refuses to be rushed. He’s buried in its crypt, forever part of his own masterpiece. 

But the real drama of Barcelona? The Great Rental Car Scam. 

Picture this: a free upgrade to a bigger car (how generous!).

Except

- plot twist -

the car had been deliberately sabotaged ready for our pick up. We then had a very conveniently timed puncture, some "helpful" strangers jumping to our aid, and boom - my mum’s handbag (along with her euros, passport, and dignity) vanished into the Barcelona underworld.

The rental company?

Oh, they were definitely (according to Spanish Police) in on the scam because the "helpful strangers" would need to know when it was being hired and could follow. The rental car company would benefit by our distress becuase their solution? "We’ll take the car back, give you another one, and charge you for the privilege!" Cue loud enough altercations in their store to suggest to other renters that all was not so Kosher, police reports, and a very stressed trip to the British embassy to get a temporary passport. I would say who the rental company is but apparently the investigations are ongoing.

But my mum?

A trooper. She put a very brave face on it and soldiered on, and we still managed to have an incredible time - because when life robs you, you rob it back… of joy. 

Sailing, Smoke, and Sudden Storms

April arrived, and with it, the opportunity of the open sea. We bid a fond (if slightly disorganized) farewell to Tim, sailed gracefully out of the marina… and then promptly turned back because we’d kept the security key. (Classic.) 

Second attempt: success!

Except, naturally, like our first foray from Cartagena, we’d once again picked the worst weather possible.  Twenty-knot headwinds (gusting to 27) forced us to shelter in Blanes Marina like bedraggled seagulls. The next day, however, rewarded us with dolphins and the stunning Cala Port Lligat - home to Salvador Dalí’s surrealist hideout. (Sadly, visiting was impossible—apparently, geniuses book up fast.) 

Then came The Fire. 

Yes you read it right. Because why not?

After firing up the generator (bad weather demands bad decisions), Pookie soon felt ill and retreated to her often cruising lie down area. Seconds later - smoke. Thick, ominous, and billowing as it was from under the saloon chair. Cue frantic switch-flipping, panic, and the discovery of two very crispy 350-amp fuses that had decided to stage a rebellion. 

Nerves partially in tact we limped onwards and into Cap d’Agde, poured stiff drinks, and toasted our survival. (Note to self: "First fire at sea" is not a milestone you want to repeat.) 

Engine Woes, Bouillabaisse, and the French Riviera’s Revenge

Marseille beckoned - mostly because our engines were making noises that suggested imminent mutiny, plus the electrical fuses still did not look very healthy and had knocked out (or we dare not use!) lots of electrical stuff on the boat.

The verdict?

A mad dash across the Gulf Of Lyon and a desperate pleading with marina’s to let us in before the impeding storm… We would have tried to call them on the mobile phone but the ever protective French simply don't allow their neighbours mobile packages to work.

oh yeah, plus €3,000 worth of repairs. It seems the engines were definitely staging a Coup d'État.

No? well I looked it up and the classic traits are::-

• Swift and secretive (surprise is critical - as were the engines and electrics).

• Often bloodless (definitely in this case but quite a few violent expletitives were thrown at the boat on the way...).

• Targets the existing regime, not the whole system (check!).

My engines swiftly went from glorious to problematic, replace bloodless with oil-less and you’ll get that one and finally it targeted the "head", exhaust manifolds (for which I needed new ones) and a turbo. It didn’t affect the starter motor so I suppose it wasn’t quite the whole system. Anyway, I digress - Sailboat ownership: because who needs savings?

We drowned our sorrows by deciding to cry in our soup… or in fact make a video of how to make a Marseille’s Bouillabaisse and cry into that. Partly because Marseille’s legendary bouillabaisse is delicious, and partly because crying into fish soup feels appropriately dramatic. 

Sobbing completed we set off again, but the adventure wasn’t over. The French Riviera delivered to us a stay at Anse Mardeleine (above pics) which was stunning and where Pookie helped herself to a whole platter of uncooked sea creatures (really not my thing, I prefer them definitely dead) and finally Sanary Sur Mare.

Before we anchor anywhere we always attempt to at least know a little bit about what we have in store for us. Sanary, a small provincial village of only 17,000 people made us go “Wow”.

We pulled into the marina in our dinghy and tied it up and asked if it was OK to leave it there for a while. We had found that if you say “I want to look round and have a nice meal” the marina’s tend to want to charge you. However, we had more luck asking if there was a chandlery near by and saying we needed a spare part for our boat. I’m not sure they ever believed us but it often bore results.

Anyway, we were told we would be charged about 20euros which seemed harsh to us but we were keen to look around. Sanary sur Mare has to be one of the most beautiful towns we’ve ever visited and full of postcard-perfect charm, reminding us why we put up with the chaos of boat ownership. When we returned, the marina didn’t charge us after all and we had a great day. 

To Be Continued… (Because We Clearly Haven’t Suffered Enough)

the next episode sees us continue our journey across the French coast where we thought we’d earned a break. But 60 mph gusts and a near-ejection from the boat decided to test our resolve. But that’s a story for next time… 

Stay tuned. (And maybe send spare fuses.)