All at sea with sunfish

Joe shows us how it's done

I have written a serious piece on the potential of public sector spin-outs to do more than just achieve economies of scale but before I post that, I though you might like to see what I was up to this glorious weekend.

Anticipating tropical, sapphire seas, we thought we'd have another go fishing from our little boat and so the whole family made a mad dash down to Cornwall on Friday night. Hitting Cornish air is like being hit with a fat, feather duvet – it knocks you off your feet and into a state of relaxation like nothing I have ever known. Is it the oxygen? The ozone? The people, all of whom seem relaxed and deeply philosophical?

Katie gets to grips with fishing

In any event, even at a short burst, Port Isaac had the effect of calming back-to-school, job-seeking nerves and putting a very big smile on all our faces.

The trip took in some fantastic highlights like a secluded beach with a spectacular waterfall and huge basking fish that we later learnt were sunfish, which can grow to 4 metres, are the largest bony fish in the sea and are brought to Cornwall from more tropical waters on the current.

Sunfish in Falmouth 

In ignorance and because I loved their floppy shark-like impersonations I dubbed them, for the duration of our trip, hi-there! fish, as they appeared to be waving at us. At roughly a meter long they were really impressive, and so unlike anything I had seen outside the tropics before. We all got very excited, although like everyone else in that part of the world they seemed relaxed by contrast.

Sam, our helmsman, asked me in that charming way that 14-year-olds do, if I was on something, as I laughed like a drain all afternoon. No, I replied, just having fun and if you could have seen Katie's fantastically eccentric yet successful method of fishing, you would have laughed too.


Saturday night saw mackerel a plenty, a drink with neighbours and deep, deep sleep. You never know: I might just get used to this boating lark.

Sink, swim or float?

Not my best look. Note: lifeguards to the rear, ready and waiting
 to effect assorted rescues

Well the good news is I did The Big Swim and didn't need rescuing, the bad news is ... wait for it ... completing the race in 53 minutes. I came last!!! Local fisherman and member of the internationally famous shanty singers Fisherman's Friends, John Brown said I had inspired him to think about doing the race next year in that the way I drifted into port demonstrated for him a technique he felt he could emulate. Thanks John.

I wasn't sure I could do it at all as, for the first time in my adult life, I have been suffering from acute hay fever. The medication for my endless snivelling has knocked me for six and training was not possible, so when I got in the water I'm afraid it all came as a bit of a shock. But that's just an excuse. The bottom line is I am not as fit as I should be and unless you are Usain Bolt you really do need to train or at least be our friend Andy, who owns the local surf school, Wavehunters and is the fittest man I know in a general everyday, without trying sort of way. He did the race in 23 minutes no less! Ouch.

As 300 of us ploughed into the water I only got 100 meters in before I realised my breathing was not going to let me progress at more than a snail's pace, so I gave up trying to compete and concentrated on finishing. Sam my 14 year old had long since disappeared from view and judging by his pace I knew he was going to be alright, even though it was his first race (he did it in 35 minutes!).

As I left the bay I saw a number of much fitter, stronger swimmers put their hands up giving the signal to be pulled from the water. The conditions were far from ideal with a heavy swell in the sea, which can come as quite a shock to those who swim well in pools but have never had to work their way through currents and waves.

Joe gives Sam a brotherly send off

I made a few critical errors while I was trying to stabilise my breathing, namely cutting across the bay in the wrong direction! When I bobbed up, imagine my surprise to find myself surrounded by RNLI bloats and earnest looking chaps ready to pull me out. I apologised for giving them a scare and headed back the other way feeling a right tit.

The race has to be surmounted in roughly three parts: first getting out the bay of Port Gaverne, which seems to take longer than you would think, then just as you round the corner, the hard swim is open sea which hits you, literally. After a good distance in open water, elongated by the race buoys set out to make you go out to sea before the last part, which is when you can swim passed the fishing boats into Port Isaac, this last bit is usually done against the tide which is tricky as by this stage you are quite tired. Or at least I am.

As I was making funereal progress, I fell into conversation with a woman who had accidentally gone into me (there is a lot of bashing about Sam couldn't believe how aggressive some swimmers are), she made some comment about the conditions which I agreed with, adding that I wished the sea would stop hitting me in the face, I was starting to take it personally. She asked me not to make her laugh which was a good idea as we were both struggling to find the next race buoy given that the horizon kept dipping in and out of view.

This year we all had fancy timing devises on our ankles and once we had done the swim there was the business of running up the beach and on to the timing mat which logged our times and confirmed what everyone on the slipway already knew as they gave me an alcohol-fuelled welcoming cheer, that I had come last! I did it in a miserable 53 minutes which is better than a few people last year and a lot better than the dozen or so who had to be rescued, but really, I ask you?

I shall train next year, if they let me do it at all. It appears to be getting more and more serious with this year's race fully booked out months before, competitors looking leaner and meaner than ever and the day itself augmented by the local radio station broadcasting from the beach, a fantastic rock concert from the afternoon late into the night and a great party atmosphere, presumably for those who had not done the swim and still had the energy.

Richard Cook, coastguard at Port Gaverne and the man responsible for everyone's safety on the day, told me that evening that 324 swimmers went into the water and one way or another 324 came out and were duly accounted for. In the chaos of a choppy sea that is no mean feat, with people looking out for us every step of the way, fun was had by all. He went on to tell me that when I slowed down there was a discussion amongst the lifeboats about whether to pull me out and he had said that he knew me and that I was a strong swimmer, just slow. Which accounts for the offers of rescue waining after the first leg. Thanks Richard.

I suppose next year it will all be more competitive as sea swimming and triathalons become more popular but no matter how many perfectly proprotioned triathletes join the ranks, I shall continue to enjoy the race for its unmatched stunning views of the Cornish coastland and the simple fun of doing something I love until it makes me really, really tired.

Happy New Year! 2011 is going to be a wee bugger

New Year finds me clear headed in Cornwall. Last night we were invited by my friend Emily Scott to her fabulous restaurant, The Harbour, in Port Isaac. Emily is a stunning chef and last night she really treated us. We had red onion jam and goats cheese tartlets, locally caught crab in a light salad, monkfish in pancetta with lemon mash and pannacotta and raspberries followd by chocolate truffles, yum! The village gathered outside the restaurant which is at the head of the slipway for some super fireworks and a male (nude) swimmming race across the harbour which the health and safety police have not been able to put a stop to, yet. This morning I have awoken to views of the surrounding countryside, including an unbelievably large cow.

Scanning Twitter I see many are posting their predictions for 2011, whilst I'm tempted to join in, I think it will be a bugger of a year with much rear guard action and can only advise we keep our spirits and left hook up, and not pull our punches as my dear old Dad used to say.

I was over the moon yesterday when the announcement came that my friend Stephen Bubb, ceo of acevo, was to be made Sir Stephen. As Vice Chair of acevo I have had the chance to work closely with Stephen who is a very rare bird indeed. Whilst he cultivates a persona based on hedonism he is, in fact, like a swan, frantically paddling under the water to promote and these days, preserve all that is best in the third sector. I have always admired his approach which, if you are a fan or irony, which I am, is self deprecating. In any event, Stephen is bloody effective and a good laugh, so well done to you dear and the team at acevo who, like my SEL lovelies, work like stink for the sector!

Other honours included OBE's for SEL board member Gordon D'Silva, founder and leading light behind the ground breaking Training for Life, and Steve Wyler, Director at our old friends the Development Trust Association. It will be organisations like Training for Life, the DTA and Community Links, featured in a shattering article by Patrick Butler in last weeks Guardian, that will be picking up the pieces of the cuts. I could not believe my eyes when I read the piece, much of it in the words of David Robinson, one of the most respected leaders of community work anywhere in the world. He told us that this beacon of good practice, much needed in such trying times, was itself facing closure. That can only mean one thing, no institution, group or icon is above the waterline.

So, when the going gets tough the tough get going? Well yes, but many of us don't work for the tough, we represent society's least heard, least valued and most vulnerable, so that isn't terribly helpful. We shall all need this break, like boxers we have gone to our corners for some refreshment, and when the bell sounds we will have to come out fighting!