It is with great relief that I can confirm the Oldmansailing blog is back. It has been an anxious week waiting for it to reappear.
I left Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands on June 11th. On June 13th, 318 miles in the vague direction of a waypoint somewhere 100 miles east of Bermuda, I received an email (I would have received an email if I had some way of doing so) telling me that my domain name oldmansailing.com was about to auto-renew.
Five days later, there was another saying it had not been possible to take payment because the card on file had expired. There followed several more until, on the 28th: “Important – suspension notification.”
Of course, I was unaware of all this – blissfully unaware, as it happened, since the wind had filled in and on the 28th, I see that I recorded a day’s run of 131 miles.
The first inkling that anything was wrong came on July 23rd off the Scillies when a rather tentative mobile signal wandered south from St Marys and informed me that gmail had received no emails for me since June 10th.
That couldn’t be right, surely? That was six weeks. Six weeks without anyone offering to fix my bad posture or set me up with a new wife from south-east Asia?
Complaining to Google seemed about as useful as shouting at the weather so, instead, I called my domain-hosting company – the one connects to the other. I gave them my new card details. They withdrew what seemed to be rather a lot of money and said they hoped to recover the name (providing nobody else had grabbed it) and then restore all the content (no guarantees there, either).
This was slightly alarming. “The Content” dates back to 2017 – how many hundreds of posts is that? Everything from playing kissy-kissy with a racing pigeon off the Casquets Traffic Separation Scheme to “Death on the Foredeck” halfway up the Deben. Was it possible that all this could just have gone pop into the ether, never to be seen again?
I started playing the “What’s best about this situation” game. All I could come up with was “Well, if I do have to start again, next time I’ll keep control myself – instead of being held over a barrel by the web designer who refused to release the password and wanted me to carry on paying him forever. As it is, whenever I want to change something fundamental, I have to get someone in India to hack into it.
So now it’s all back up there, and I can relax.
Relaxing is what you do in Falmouth – it seems to consist entirely of pubs and restaurants.
And yes, the return from the West Indies was very straightforward, thank you: 3,437 miles, 44 days, nothing important broke or fell over the side.
But I did run out of Pringles 100 miles short of The Lizard.