Back in August, a bunch of pirates invited me, my Wayfarer, and son #1 for a weekend of sailing and a bbq at Waterhead, Windermere. Club rules? "Have fun!". Any other rules? "No."
On the Saturday we sailed down the lake, me in tee-shirt, life jacket and shorts, and - it being hot - after two hours I decided to head into Bowness for a drink. Mooring up at a jetty, I sent son #1 into the village to pick up a couple of cold cans. He returned two minutes later with "I can't get out!" He said we were in some type of large, gated compound. I was surprised to say the least, and said I'd take a look, and it was true: there was no access into Bowness.
Returning to the boat, a 'gentleman' in a blazer and tie stopped me and asked, "Are you a member?"
I said, "Of what?", my hackles already rising.
Literally puffing himself up, he replied, "The Royal Windermere Yacht Club."
Every syllable dripped with pretentious, class-driven privilege.
"No way." I said. (That sort of thing is the last thing I'd want to be part of. Give me piratical fun any day.)
"Then," he said, pointing at me with a victorious finger, "perhaps you'd better leave."
"Thank you for such a warm welcome." I said, before taking my time to untie the boat and sailing off.
How is it such an atmosphere can develop in a club? Surely we're all in it for the same reasons? (Though maybe not - many of the plastic gin palaces I saw at the RWYC seem to be little more than floating boltholes for the weekend, rarely, if ever, using the lake for sailing...)
I despair.
Andy