Forwards is better than backwards.

Now that Mrs K has retired I was hoping to see a calming down in the obsessive shopping department and overall this has been the case. She successfully fought off a raging desire to replace our 'brighter than the sun' umbrella when we discovered a chaffing hole in it at Corbieres but I have started to notice a strong desire to add to our rather large collection of cushions. 

This is motivated by a 'should we have guests' concept. Oh and of course they have to be blue and white to match and provide seating as well as a back rest, at least 2 inches of padding too. I am detecting that much more of my time is being spent wandering around Bricolages and Monoprix shops. Of course non can meet Mrs K's stringent requirements.

Anyway we left Sanary Sur Mer after a bit of a blow but anticipating an even greater blow, so getting to Toulon sharpish was a good idea. We had a lovely sail downwind from Embiez to Toulon with a bit of wallowing going on. 

By the time we entered the inner Rade at Toulon it was blowing a bit of a crosswind and my first attempt at stern to in the Darse  Vieux  had to be aborted. The second attempt got us in but more sideways rather than stern too. 

Two nice people took our lines but as I was making for the laid mooring rope with the hook I heard the gentleman shouting 'Avast Avast' I took this as some kind of Toulon pirate speak so was just about to ignore it when he shouted more clearly 'Advance'. Shit we were going to hit the dock. I leapt back to the cockpit and just averted  a stern bump.

Perhaps we could do with more cushions!

Toulon is a busy port town with that, Portsmouth, Chatham feel about it but with sunshine. It is surrounded by nice hills that are an immediate reminder of  Napolean's artilliary campaign in 1793 to liberate the town when he and his mates turfed out the British and the Spanish together with half the population of Toulon.

Collected number one son as Crew for the week.

After Toulon, and a bit of a Mistral, we made our way to the lovely island of Porquerolles with its pretty harbour and bays and anchored in Plage De La Courtade  for the night.

Anchor set, nice swim, shower, meal, bit of TV, ready for bed. Smashing. Went outside to take down the solar shower when a French ketch draws next to us, or at least near to us. I give him the British, 'I hope you're not thinking about parking there mate' stare, which was slightly lost in the return stare that said' Are vous really wearing stripy pyjamas?'

Anyway he went and dropped his anchor in the traditional 'drop it and pile the chain on top' fashion and went below. Twat.

We kept inspecting our closeness and eventually he came back up. " I think we might be a little close?" I said in my poshest voice with no hint of French. He asked how much chain we had out (Annoyingly in English) and I told him 30 metres too which he replied "Pah" and went below in a 'what's the problem' kind of way.' Well I was perturbed. Didn't he realise that I was an underwater ploughing champion? I have dragged more yachts around anchorages than he had had hot dinners. 

That's it, we are moving. So with fully pyjamared crew, we picked up the anchor and moved to a very nearby, empty Mediterranean sea in a most huffy way.

Next stop Porquerolles Marina where a very nice man meets us in a dinghy and explains where to go.

 A tight stern to spot which was going swimmingly until we caught our keel on our neighbours tailed mooring line. The very helpful Swiss neighbour helps us clear it, without the slightest hint of 'you incompetent twit' at all and we enter the spot bows to. 

At the capitainary they asked what berth we had taken and he seemed a little confused when I said the stern is in 22 but the bows are in 21. Still bows to does seem to be the answer, Hermy prefers forwards and it is easier to get on and off. Crew weren't having it but Captain says.

Porquerolles castle, the commander, with whom, in 1793, I can relate. No one told him about the British being kicked out of Toulon, or indeed that the Brits and the Spanish had entered and destroyed the French Navy. No one said that the republic had fought a hard and damaging campaign to rid France of the foreign invaders. So why shouldn't he go aboard  the anchored British commander's flag ship for a couple of snorts of vino, while the British Marines took and ransacked his fort?

We leave Porquerolles in a more dignified fashion, mainly because everyone else had gone too, and make for the unpronounceable Hyeres via a lovely bay for lunch.

Mrs K keeping everything spic 'n' span!

We enter Hyeres to a lovely reception, we are shown to our berth by the staff and are helped to tie up, so much so that I comment on their service. The lad says it's out of season so not much going on. 

Well that is out of season for yachts arriving, we find out it's very much in season for milking poor old boat owners with a 58 euro a night price tag.

Still the' interdit' fishing was good, whatever that means?