By rigorously setting aside a set period every day I managed to get a good few books under my belt this summer. Funniest read: Clive James’s Falling to England (takes up where Unreliable Memoirs laid off). Most disappointing read: Kazuo Ishiguru’s Nocturnes. Best children’s book: The Dark Flight Down (all right; I only read one children’s book). Most irritating read: Struck by Lightning – not so much a thin article screaming to get out of a fat book – see 27 July post – as a series of loosely-related articles stapled together and pretending to be a book (to be fair, I learnt one thing from this book; if you know how to use it, randomness can be a strategy). A Thousand Splendid Suns I have mentioned in another post. Together with The Reluctant Fundamentalist these books did much to broaden my geopolitical knowledge (and made me realise how much I didn’t know about contemporary events). But most exquisite read of the year: Vladimir Nabakov’s Speak, Memory – quite simply, a masterpiece.

I’d like to give a puff for the school where we learnt. Tabo is at the northern end of the Lago di Como. It’s a small, family affair (Luca’s the windsurf teacher  and Paola, Luca’s wife, and Manuel and Paola’s Dad, Nicolino, handle the sailing) and set in a beautiful spot beneath Monte Lennone. We started off, together with an Italian couple, Alberto and Donatella, with Manuel. He was nice and gentle and quietly passionate about his sailing. Then, on the Wednesday, when we had learnt the basics, Manuel took his day off and we suddenly found ourselves accompanied by the altogether more volubly passionate Nicolino (passionate, but with a great sense of humour). By the fourth day they had us racing (well, it looked as though we were) and manoeuvring to take the wind out of each others’ sails (yes, another familiar saying). Genova-based Nicolino is also a ski instructor and a keen photographer (his website is here). If you’re at the northern end of the lake, drop in. You’ll be sure of a friendly welcome.

I learnt to sail this summer. We did an intensive, week-long, course then sat an exam (written and practical) and now we have our basic licences. Learning to sail has been on my ‘to do’ list for a very long time. It was like learning another language; in this case, the language of the winds. We learnt on Lasers – a Bahia first, and then the more flighty 420. The first striking aspect of the experience is just how touchy and sensitive these boats are. The slightest movement on the tiller, the slightest change in the wind, and the boat reacts strongly. The second striking aspect is just how difficult it is to capsize them. (As part of the exam you have to capsize the boat and then re-right it and get back in.) In the beginning, the slightest shift had us, as novices, hurriedly correcting our position in the boat. Towards the end, though, as we grew in confidence, and as we realised that we were nowhere near the boat’s limits, we became more relaxed and fluent. There can be few experiences more exhilarating than the moment when the boat picks up speed as you swing out on the trapeze, the water scudding beneath you, nor more satisfying than navigating your way upwind. That leads me on to the third striking aspect of the experience. It is not by chance that there are so many sailing metaphors and terms in general language usage. So much of what I learnt about the winds and the boat’s relationship to them applies in other areas of human activity. Sailing against the wind, for example, may seem counterintuitive to landlubbers, but it is actually very easy, once the basic mechanics have been understood. And the inter-relationship between true wind and relative wind can clearly also be translated into other areas of human endeavour. In any case, a clear parallel is that even when events seem to line up against you progress towards your objective is still possible…

Yes, I’m back in the saddle – and how!