Chapter 1

It's been 8 weeks since I left home and during that time I've sailed across the Atlantic, been on television, made new friends, found new relatives, got in touch literally with my inner girl and learnt to salsa! All that of course means nothing in Cardiff until it's been shared with the friends I've grown up with, however only Serena, Jenny, Evan and Andy are in the city, and maybe not even them. A shift has happened and my childhood friends are no longer my friends since childhood but have become the friends of my childhood.

"Venus!!!"

As Bill's new motorhome pulls up outside my parents' house Serena's screech pierces the suburban tranquility.

"God you're so pale and skinny girl!"

Nobody had thought to tell me that 2 weeks in hospital with a no solid foods diet for the first 9 days had left me looking like death warmed up but that's what friends do! "Help me in with my bags See and you'll hear why."

I found it almost impossible to go back into my home without reverting to being the person I'd been when I left but I did make an effort, teasing Mum and Dad with the idea my trip had been part of their training to cope with 'empty nest syndrome'.

"There's no cure," announced Grandma Tina. "It might be unfair but although when here Isaac is the man of the house, to me he will always be first and foremost my son!"

It was the word 'son' that hit me. When I had thought of reverting to an earlier stage in my parents house I'd imagined myself as a younger girl, not as a boy, but on hearing Grandma's words I couldn't help but wonder if to my mother I'd always be first and foremost her son. Dad I had no doubts about especially after our New Year's Eve but Mum had been slow to come around intellectually and I wasn't at all sure about her deeper feelings.

"Mum, now I'm back and have to take things easy while I convalesce I would like to learn more about cooking and sewing and wondered if you would be willing to help?"

The answer was slow and considered as Mum knew I was at least as good a cook as her and neither of us were any great shakes at dress making but eventually she said "That's a lovely idea Venus and I'm sure we'll have fun learning together."

The smile on Mum's face was precious but maybe I was being a little manipulative as I'd looked in my notebook on the drive from London and noticed:-
① Recipes - home cooked meals with no local shop to run to for ingredients.
② Sewing - sails needed sewing and clothes needed repairing.
③ Exercises to keep fit at sea.
④ New things to learn to sail new type of boat.
⑤ Learn to scuba dive.
⑥ Find out how to get clean fuel.
➆ Christmas traditions - decorations for the boat.
⑧ Learn to dance.
⑨ Lightning strike protection.
⑩ Rudder protection.
There was more but I'd made a start and Serena didn't know it yet but she was soon going to be joining me in 'Fitness Workouts' because if I'm going to suffer it's only fair that my friends do too!

The early hot topic of conversation that evening didn't turn out to be my operation, the Caribbean holiday, sailing the Atlantic, or indeed anything I knew about… It was Bill's new motorhome. Mum thought it was ridiculous for a 75 and 78 year old to be wandering around the countryside camping. Bill explained that there were perfectly good hotels when they wanted luxury but they took planning while with their 'magic bus' they could go where they wanted, when they wanted. I thought that Grandma and my new Grandpa were set on making up for having been a generation too old and sensible when the 1960s erupted. What did come out about their magic bus was that so far most trips had gone out and back via the new boat but as soon as the boat was mentioned a veto was declared. "That topic is for Bill, Isaac and Venus only," Mum stated "Once you three start on the boat I know we can forget any other conversation"

"What about Venus and her operation then?" broke in Serena clearly keen to get to the meat course of the chat.

"Oh no, I don't think so. Not with men present! You'd better ask her when you two are alone." With that answer Mum answered my earlier doubts as last year she had quite openly talked about Jack's rupture with all of us present but considered Aunt Sophie's laser therapy an unsuitable topic for mixed company so I had to find out from my sister about pre-cancerous cervical cells and what was happening. In Mum's mind it seems I am now at least female enough that my bits aren't suitable for discussion in front of Dad and Bill.

The conversation instead went on to dancing which everyone enjoyed on holiday and Come Dancing which had been a regular television programme in our house when I was growing up. I brought up my intention to learn more dances now I was back in Cardiff.

"My generation enjoys dancing as much as any other, so something like Come Dancing will be back on television once they get rid of those weird professionals and have people we can relate to."

"But nobody does those dances any more," said Litara.

"Maybe the dances have changed but I saw Venus Waltzing and dancing Salsa," said Grandma "and I'm not going to forget your pole dancing in a hurry Litara as I don't think you'd still be single if there had been any men there watching! You know people at the BBC Litara, tell them to bring back our Come Dancing!"

That is how the evening went and it wasn't until Serena and I excused ourselves and went upstairs so I could unpack that she finally got the full gory details of my operation and a few juicy personal details of my trip such as my meeting with Armando.

"In a few months I've been told I'll be able to have sex normally but it wasn't until I saw him that I ever imagined that I might want to with a man."

"Why the long wait? I thought bones mend and wounds heal in about 6 weeks."

"In my case it is more a matter of my growing. I might be an 18 year old on the outside but I'm much more immature inside as I'm still at the stage you were before your first period."

"That is seriously weird Venus! You're both my best friend and like a baby sister!"

We chatted on until midnight but in the end I had to call it a night as this was my first full day out of bed. As I saw her out of our front door and waved once I'd seen her safely open her own door across the road I stood for a minute breathing in the cold Welsh air. I was home and as they say, tomorrow was the first day of the rest of my life.

Book 2, Chapter 2

On my first morning at home, by the time I'd woken and set about doing my medical chores, Mum and Dad had already left for work. In real life surgery is not as exciting as on the television where the charismatic surgeon saves the patient's life while fighting the administration. In my case the surgeon (female) was far from charming, joked about how large her bill would be and she has left me with a legacy of douches and suppositories which are demanded by Mr Pitt. On the positive side I don't seem to have developed any adverse psychological reactions during my journey of going from an 'outie' to an 'innie' and sitting on the loo with nothing dangling feels totally natural.

Finally sorted and dressed I headed to the kitchen where there was just Litara and I to share the late breakfast fry-up I served.

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," I told her as we worked our way through a cholesterol binge.

"You should watch more documentaries," was Litara's answer. "We cover everything from lottery winners to holocaust survivors and there are only ever two reactions:- 'Why me?' and 'What now?'"

"I'm going to see my GP, Jane Carter, and see what she thinks."

"I doubt she'll see your feelings as strange and in any case I thought you were doing pretty well considering how you handled Mum last night."

"That is flattering Obi-Wan Kenobi but Mum wouldn't have known she was being manipulated if you'd done it!" It was fun and reassuring being back with Litara after months with people who had grown up with very different backgrounds and didn't understand my references. "I also need your help choosing what to wear Sis. Two months of tropical sailing hasn't prepared me to pick clothes for a freezing Welsh January, especially as not only has my tummy been unzipped again but this time I've got new tender equipment down below!"

"How you'd cope for clothes without me I can't guess. Any other 18 year old girl has got a filing system in her head of clothes she's got, clothes she needs and clothes she wants while all you think of is comfort."

That said once she had washed up and I had made an appointment at the doctors for that evening we spent an hour of wardrobe analysis and I was introduced to the wonders of opaque hold up stockings, which were both warm and all that was comfortable, before she my approved my final choice.

I've got to be back in London by late this afternoon Venus but before I go I was interested in what you and Grandma said about dancing last night - are there any other things you've planned to learn before you set sail again?"

On a copy she made of my list she circled the cooking, sewing, exercises, dancing, scuba diving and Christmas decorations as ideas for the stew pot of her professional life. "It might seem trivial but I'd be surprised if during the project at least one of those didn't earn you some money on air."

When I eventually waved goodbye to Litara after a bowl of soup for lunch to warm her for the drive back to London it was a sad moment - for the first time since she left home when I was eight years old we had spent time together every day for three weeks.

Back indoors after preparing a beef casserole to slow cook I phoned Bill. "I'm up this tree…" I started.

"OK, make a thermos of tea and sandwiches for three and I'll be round in 30 minutes," he replied. An hour later the two of us descended on Dad in the yard to discuss the new boat.

"Do you realise the fuss you caused with your question about lightning strikes? We ran tests and without the precautions we are now incorporating, a carbon-fibre boat with carbon-fibre mast and the new synthetic stays we plan to use will behave just like popcorn if it's struck by lightning! Maybe I was a bit cruel," added Bill, "but I did enjoy rubbing it in that the question came from my 18 year old granddaughter!"

But I don't know anything about these things it's just that when people live aboard for long periods they talk about boats, complain about boats and, just as I suspect you have, dream about perfect boats. When we were together in The Dominican Republic and I suggested small scale electricity generation it was because yachts do it although they do complain like mad that some of their neighbours have noisy wind generators so they would have to sort that out for houses."

"Anything else while you're dissecting our plans?" asked Dad

I got out my list and showed them.

"We'll be practicing with the new boat which is more like my own Molly than the catamaran you've been sailing but what do you mean by your notes on clean fuel and rudder protection?"

"The fuel was Tracy saying that it was very difficult to get clean fuel and dirty fuel wrecked engines."

"She's right but that is what the filters are for although it does mean engines stopping whenever a filter clogs," agreed Bill.

"That's why I wrote it down because I'm frightened that I couldn't cope if the engine stopped with a clogged filter somewhere like a busy harbour! Why can't you guarantee at least enough clean fuel to stop that happening?"

At that point I left them alone while I got the tea and sandwiches from the Bill's bus only to find the two of them grinning fit to burst on my return. "Your wish is our command and you get a small tank of very clean fuel high up in the boat which will both give you a reliable, gravity fed fuel supply and also let us put more of the fuel low down in the boat which gives better weight distribution," was Dad's contribution.

"And I guess your comment about rudder protection means you experienced getting a rope caught by your rudder or propellor."added Bill. "That's one we've already covered as the new boat has two rudders which can kick up out of the water underway and the drive engine is electric with a propellor designed to lift clear of the water!"

"I can't even begin to imagine how you are going to do that but I'm glad if my innocent questions help. What I will ask is that one of you drop me off at the doctor's surgery later."

A short discussion gave that job to Dad in an hour and I left them chatting while I got some badly needed exercise walking round the almost deserted, windswept, January marina. To me, yacht building like surgery makes a mess and is not that exciting!

At 5:45 I got in to see Dr Carter and explained the surgery I'd had in London.

"Well I'm delighted you've told me and I'm interested to see how it works but that doesn't explain why you are here," was her reaction.

"Everything has all become a bit much recently. I don't know if you can help but there are a lot of people with huge plans that depend on me. I don't want to let them down but at the same time I would like to disappear and live a normal life like any other 18 year old girl."

"That, in the circumstances, I can assist you with but you won't like my suggestion. I think it would help if you saw Dr. Stanhope."

Book 2, Chapter 3

Walking home from Dr Carter's surgery I felt I'd been a bit of a wimp running to the doctor; really for no better reason than because I was frightened. I had agreed to an appointment with Marjorie Stanhope though and now I would have to accept the embarrassment of asking for help from someone for whom I'd previously verbally 'ripped a new arsehole'.

Dr Carter had at least been pleased when I produced my notebook with my morning temperature records which I'd noticed did seem to be cycle over over about a month although it was difficult to tell when there had been moves from Wales to the tropics and lots of disrupted sleep for watches while sailing. I told her that in a strange way with so many changes in my life I'd come to almost enjoy the routine of taking my temperature every day.

Once back home I was surprised to find that the casserole had turned out to be one of my more successful efforts as the slow cooking made tender a tasty but tough piece of beef. That gave Mum and I a start to discussing what supplies recipes and equipment would work well on the boat. As we chatted I realised how well we got on when there were agreed practical things to discuss compared to how badly we got on when the discussion revolved around abstract ideas like 'should', 'sensible' and 'ought to.'

We all watched a little television together after dinner and I briefly chatted to Serena on the phone but I needed an early night being utterly exhausted and I didn't even start to feel human again until lunch time next day - this newly revamped body was taking its time to settle down and I wondered what would be found when I went up to London for a check up with Charles and 'Frank' in 12 days time . Thursday I was mostly recovered and by the time I got a phone call in the afternoon to ask if I could take up a cancelled appointment with Doctor Stanhope on Friday at 3 pm I was feeling ready to take on the world again so I called Serena and we made plans to meet in town next day after my hospital visit.

Back to normal on Friday I caught the bus into the city mid-morning to trawl the library, college and university for opportunities to take some useful classes even though it was the wrong time of year to be starting a course. The PADI scuba diving training was easy to find as they were still at the early stages of the courses in the local swimming pool which they agreed I could join. Dance opportunities were however full taken and all that I could get was the telephone number of a teacher called John Hart who didn't do a suitable course himself but knew 'everyone in the local dance world'. A phone call later I was on my way to the café on Churchill Way to meet John during his lunch break.

"Are you Venus?" The accent was broad Yorkshire and the man clearly a builder or road mender of some sort. I nodded and beckoned him to sit but he first went to the counter to get some cottage pie and a mug of tea. "You can salsa?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that but I've started to learn and it's made me want to learn more."

"I'm not a regular dance teacher as you can probably guess. In fact I'm after a teacher myself and you might be just the person I'm looking for."

What had I got myself into? This man was clearly 'on the pull' and he had my name and mobile number!

"The look on your face!" he burst out with the widest of grins. "Sorry to tease you but you looked so sweet and innocent sitting there that I couldn't resist. Look I can teach you any dance you want and I'll do it for free but I teach handicapped people to dance and I want a woman to help me do that. If I teach you, in return, I want you to help me teach them."

I explained I'd recently had an operation I was still recovering from but he shrugged that off. It was the unlikeliest of offers but free one-on-one lessons weren't to be discarded lightly so nervously I agreed to meet him for a trial tomorrow at 2:30 in a local community hall where he would give me a 30 minute lesson followed by my meeting the class he was teaching at 3 pm.

"OK then love. A deal's a deal" and he held out his huge calloused hand which I could only shake wondering what I'd let myself in for.

An hour later I was blushing in front of Dr Stanhope who was grinning as much as John Hart had been. What is there about me today that makes people grin?

"Welcome to the grown up world Venus… …whatever 'grown up' means that is. You say part of you simply wants the life of a ' normal woman' but from all my training I have learnt that I'm not 'normal' and in fact I'm not even 'a woman'. Words and images are treacherous and not to be confused with reality. 'Normal' could be a town in Illinois or a setting on the washing machine but it has only recently been used to describe people and what we do. We used to aspire to ideals and it was openly acknowledged that nobody reached them until some bright spark said 'We are normal and they are not normal so in the pursuit of progress we will kill them.'"

On the spur of the moment I'd decided to be utterly open with Dr Stanhope once we'd both accepted that her describing me by …'You don't really seem to be much of anything do you?' …and my calling her in return an 'arrogant bitch' was just our way of getting to know each other.

Everything had come out from my adoption by Bill as first an ersatz then a proper granddaughter with a billion pound legacy; through the television project requiring me to become a public figure whilst solo-circumnavigating the globe; and finally to my agreeing to undergo experimental surgery not to fit some self-image or for social acceptability but in the hope of having a baby.

What had finally broken the doctor's reserve was when I said "I would like to disappear and live a normal life like any other 18 year old girl."

"Considering the hand life has dealt you it's healthy that you have doubts, fears and at times a desire to hide from the world but the idea that there is such a thing as an 18 year old girl leading a normal life is a fantasy. Think among your friends if there is one whose life you would swap for your own."

At this time Dr Stanhope seemed to pull herself together and leant forward to speak earnestly. "It seems that being a billionaire, world-girdling television personality is just your day job and what you need is an outside interest."

I looked at her to see if she was serious and deciding she was offered "This morning I signed up for scuba diving lessons and this afternoon for dance lessons as long as I agree to help handicapped people learn to express themselves through dance?"

The last time I left Dr Stanhope's office it was with a strong desire to slam the door but this time I had to offer her a tissue to stem the flood of tears produced in her paroxysms of giggles and splutters…

Book 2, Chapter 4

It was still only 4 pm when I left Dr Stanhope's and even a long quilted winter coat with boots couldn't keep the cold wind out, so that's how I ended up in Debenham's trying not to spend money I didn't have. My intentions unfortunately didn't save what I did have once I started chatting with Kelly on her cosmetics counter. It seems sailing in sun and salt spray followed by wandering wintery, windy Wales demanded more moisturisers and sun screens than I knew existed.

"Appearing regularly on television you have to look after yourself or the close-ups will make your skin look like the craters on the moon."

I did manage to calm Kelly's selling enthusiasm to one extra moisturising shield against the wind by pointing out that it was now January in Cardiff and in any case the skin of the new relatives I'd just met in the Caribbean didn't seem to fare to badly from sun. Then I suggested she join Serena and I along with whatever other friends turned up in the café after work.

Jenny and Evan were already there when I reached the café and it seems they had kept up regular Friday meetings even when it was just the two of them.

"Don't look so shocked Venus!" chided Evan. "Jenny knows I'm gay. Everybody does. It was my Christmas present from me to me because when you left for the Canaries it hit me that staying in the closet was going to guarantee me a very lonely future."

"I explained to Evan that every girl needs a Gay Best Friend" Jenny explained.

"I've seen 'Sex and the City' and I've seen 'Will & Grace', Evan and I think that you might have difficulty fitting the GBF stereotype being a 210lb 6'3" rugby prop-forward."

"I've thought of that and I have one gigantic advantage over Will and Stanford Batch. I'm the real thing, so in Cardiff I'm the role model other prospective GBFs will have to measure themselves against!"

"Well you certainly have large shoes for anyone else to try and fill because I remember the trouble you had getting size 48s (14 in UK/US)."

That was when Andy and Kelly arrived, entering together with Serena just a minute later which made introductions easier than having to do lots of repeats. What became immediately obvious was Andy's tongue practically drooling at the sight of Kelly and her complete and utter lack of interest in him. So much more stimulating for the rest of us to observe than if the attraction had been mutual.

It must have been 20 minutes or so before I was sure that nothing was going to be said about my surgery and I wasn't sure who knew what if anything. This must be how Evan felt about people knowing he was gay…

Co-opting a convenient lull in the conversation I made my announcement "Excuse me everyone but to clear the air you should all know I've been re-plumbed and joined the other side."

"What do you mean?" asked Kelly.

"I mean they have operated to sort out the gender situation I talked about on television."

"On television when?" came from a very confused question from all the others.

"Oh sugar!" I'm so sorry, you don't know anything do you Kelly?" The continuing befuddled expression on Kelly's face confirmed my blunder. I'd told Serena about the surgery but what had been important in my life hadn't magically become known to the rest of my friends. I did my best to explain but after a couple of minutes Kelly interrupted.

"Why on earth would your friends think you were a boy?" It seemed Kelly had seen the programme but taken in my appearance more than what I'd said

"She had a prick so everyone thought she was a boy but what I don't understand is how she can have been on television when she hasn't started her voyage?" was Serena's explanation and, to her mind, more important question.

"We've got that recorded for my Dad at home." was Jenny's contribution when I mentioned the Bilbao programme's name and so it was that at 7 pm we were all round Jenny's with fish and chips we'd bought on the way watching Bilbao Reborn'

"So what's between your legs now?" asked Kelly at the end of the recording.

"About the same as yours I imagine. Vagina, cervix, uterus but only one ovary."

"Wow!" "Wow!" came a double explosion. Kelly's once she'd taken in the my medical situation and Jenny's to the television performance.

"Are you sure that was you? That was so, so… real" was Evan's reaction.

Every one it seemed had their own angle on my situation Serena and Evan on more television programmes, Jenny on whether I could get pregnant and Andy, rather grossly I thought on the details of my vagina. Strangely however the whole topic died in less than an hour under the more immediate pressure of deciding where we were going tonight which turned out to be a pub Kelly knew with really hot live music. Teenage priorities took precedence as my momentous news, like I expect Evan's 'coming out' on its day, proved in the great scheme of things just a flash in the pan.

With no Litara this weekend just the three of us breakfasted on Saturday morning then, while Dad put in a few hours at the yard, Mum and I cleaned and tidied. Once Dad was back we had a light lunch before I changed into what I thought was appropriate for a dance workout.

"What on earth are you wearing Venus?"

I'd forgotten to mention my plans and once more run up against the strange inability others had in reading my mind - was I really so thoughtless? Perhaps I'd grown up fitting around others and was unused to having a life of any particular consequence to them. Once I'd explained the deal on dance lessons Dad offered to give me a lift if I would introduce him to John Hart which is how the three off us walked in John as he was sorting out music and chairs, I presumed for rest moments with the class to come.

"Ah, the protective parents approach!" exclaimed John with not a hint of embarrassment.

"A little." My Da agreed. "She is a very special girl, but also her mother and I used to dance a lot so I was intrigued by her description of what you were offering."

"Please, I'd be delighted if you joined us." John offered turning on the music. "Today I think is good to rhumba.

Book 2, Chapter 5

Back at home preparing dinner I was giggling to myself because the style of rhumba John had chosen for his lesson was outrageously sexy. I'm sure his idea was to create a tsunami of emotional embarrassment in front of my parents but it didn't work out that way as Mum and Dad loved it and dancing together were soon oblivious to my own awkward efforts. One thing led to another and they both stayed on for the disabled class which arrived in a mobility bus and included 4 with Down's syndrome who were the most enthusiastic of dancers, 2 girls with cerebral palsy who claimed Dad as their own as he was such a physically steady presence that he gave them confidence, 4 more with injuries that were taking the class as physiotherapy and 3 more helpers.

By 4pm I was nigh on exhausted by the Down's dancers but feeling physically the best I had since my operation. In other ways I was feeling the best I had in ages from the relief of putting my own worries aside for a while. After the class proper Mum and Dad went back to prancing about like teenagers having returned to practicing rhumba steps while John and I discussed the future.

"I never realised they could do so much." was my reaction. "I'd like to help if you think I can be useful."

"Twice a week here?" Saturday for a 3 pm class and Wednesday 7 pm with 45 minutes beforehand for your lessons?"

I agreed gladly and when Mum and Dad rejoined us they offered and were accepted to help regularly on Saturdays.

Very quickly life settled into a routine. I was more restricted in what I could do than after my previous operation and when I went to see my GP, Dr Carter, on the Monday evening she vetoed my diving lessons until I was completely healed.

"How did you get on with Dr Stanhope this time?" she casually asked.

I was aware that the two doctors were friends but had confidence that they would only share details about me on a strictly 'need-to-know' so I couldn't help but tease. "I think we got on better and I have another appointment but it is difficult to know what she thinks because when I left she was in tears!"

My convalescence days I filled with researching new recipes to be made from ingredients that stored well, improving my sewing slightly and adding a new skill in the way of marine rope-work which offered a combination of practical and decorative touches. I'd seen old fashioned splices made using 3 ply rope but materials had changed since those ropes had been common and in addition to newer braided ropes which needed their own techniques there was rope made with something called Dyneema which was so strong and low stretch that Bill wanted to try it as an alternative to the stainless steel that had been used for quite a while for standing rigging but was expensive, heavy and prone to breakages at the end fittings. Why is it I feel like a test pilot trying out the very latest innovation? I suppose Captain Cook was pushing the boundaries in his time so maybe innovation is in keeping.

My Wednesday evening dance class was a lot of fun. I turned up at 6 pm and as John was already there I helped him first with the seats before we began my lesson. Going through what I had already begun work on we did a salsa, waltz and rhumba before spending a good 30 minutes breaking new ground with a quickstep which twice had me down on my backside as my legs got plaited. After the second fall I did have to ask John to take things easy as I was sure my stitches weren't expected to cope with aerobatics but nothing felt over-strained and it was good to have some real exercise. As a bonus John lent me a stack of CDs sorted by dance rhythm and DVDs to remind me of the steps.
"If you wanted to be a professional dancer I'd get you to concentrate on one area at a time but I think that you just just love to dance and it will help if you play these even when you're doing other things. I find for instance a waltz is perfect for drying and stowing the washing up."

That did make me do a double-take as John was the last person I could imagine waltzing around the kitchen! I was almost sure he wasn't gay from my own reaction which so far had been zero when faced with a good looking gay man like Evan - probably the wrong pheromones. John on the other hand was…… "Wrist slap Venus! Don't even think about going there!!" I said to myself in self-reprimand.

The next big event was on the Friday when Bill had arranged for us to go the 150 miles north to where the new boat was being built; stopping there overnight in his magic bus before returning on Saturday morning so I didn't miss my dance class. Going from the driving the instructor's car with occasional added drives in our family car to driving what amounted to a small truck was nerve wracking to start with but Bill seemed relaxed so I soon settled down to enjoy a slow but beautiful diversion through Snowdonia National Park. I suspected there was more to Bill's choice of route than a desire for scenery and all became clear when we stopped for an early lunch by Trawsfynydd Nuclear Power Station.

"I used to come here when they started building that power station in 1959." he said pointing. "Before that, in the 1920s they created the lake to supply hydro-electric power by building four dams and then later used that lake to cool the nuclear power station which in turn was closed down in 1991. They say the decommissioning will be finished in 2081."

"So you are against nuclear power?" I asked.

"Not at all. I have great hopes for nuclear fusion even though I have no idea if it can ever be done practically. I chose this route to share with you what has become a beautiful park creating jobs by attracting people mainly from Britain. At the same time I hope it gives you a sense of perspective about any projects you may become involved with. Nothing we do is for ever and there are always unintended consequences."

It was 2 pm when we pulled up outside the boatshed and Bill walked straight in unannounced. To say I was shocked would be a massive understatement as what I could see was nowhere near finished and not the black I expected of carbon-fibre.

"Bill, have you been bullshitting us all? Is this a MacGuffin?"

Book 2, Chapter 6

"What are you on about Venus? This is the male mould being made for the production run. What we came to see is behind that spray curtain."

I think if I hadn't already mistaken something else for the boat I would have been shocked but at least what was in front of me next was recognisable as a boat. Very black and very bare but a boat. A boat with a complete keel which ran half the length of the boat and was not, compared to boats I'd seen before, very deep. I noticed too that the keel was slightly bulbous at the bottom and, although I didn't know why it was made that way, it did show that thought had gone into the design.

"It has no rudder" I said noticing that for the first time, then moving under the stern spotted "and it has a great big hole in it!"

Bill laughed and asked me to hit the transom which terminated the stern of the boat as a simple vertical face. Picking up a rubber mallet I gave it a good thwack which produced the thud of something very solid. "That is down to your input and an advantage of carbon fiber is we could make it very strong but still light - the two rudders which will hang from that transom are leaning against the wall over there."

"And the hole?"

"That is a tube that runs vertically up to deck level and the electric drive motor sits inside it. When you are not motoring the motor slides up until the propellor is inside the tube and a flap closes the hole at the bottom. It looks unsophisticated but there is no large electric outboard in production so we have made the first from tried and tested parts. I hope it will make the boat very manœuvrable for marinas."

I walked over and looked at the engine sitting next to rudders. "This is a one-off handmade engine so who is 'we'?"

"It only looks that way because the case is a one-off but all the working parts are off the shelf. It was designed and made in Scotland by a company that are an interest of mine and one day I hope their big new outboards will be manufactured under license."

I was beginning to understand that just about every part of this boat involved some scheme of Bill's and climbing up onto the boat's deck I couldn't resist asking, "The ladder?"

"Already patented by someone called Noah but fortunately for us the patent has run out."

Looking around the deck I could see a lot of work had been completed before the deck had been joined to the hull but hearing work still being done inside I stuck my head down the companionway where I could see two men fitting a tank to a forward bulkhead.

"Well there's a sight for sore eyes but don't let the boss catch you up here Pet." The man facing aft had spotted me and was nudging his friend who turned and smiled.

"Can I help ya Hen? Are you looking for someone?"

"I was just looking at this boat and wondered if it was any good?"

"Aye it's good alright but will cost a pretty penny. Mind you the guy who designed it knew what he was doing, like this day tank we're putting in. Me bro' fitted one to his fishing boat for reliability but you don't see them often on yachts 'cos it all costs extra."

"Don't mind us lads." announced Bill joining me in the cockpit. "I'm just showing the skipper here her new command!"

"Bill you're a sneaky bastard and I can't imagine what tale you span this sweet young lass to get her to go along with your schemes!"

"Don't be taken in by the sweet innocent looks lads she knows her stuff and is no pushover. Now we don't want to interrupt you so let us know if we get in your way."

For a while Bill and I just sat in the cockpit looking around. Unlike other cockpits I'd seen this one had strong looking arches running over the forward and aft ends.

"Much of the overhead space between the arches will be filled with solar panels" explained Bill, There is no mainsheet in the cockpit to hit you because it runs on the forward arch and the aft arch will hold the radar, the wind generator and a hoist to lift the engine up the tube we talked about. Oh yes, there is a towing generator back here too - you tow a spinner on a line which turns a generator and makes electricity."

"Why all these ways of making electricity Bill?" There's a diesel generator inside and boats used to go sailing without all this stuff?" You only have the main engine with an alternator on Molly come to that!"

"First there are two diesel generators inside - a 5hp and a 15hp - but that… . Sorry, let me try again. When we talked about improving life by generating electricity in a place like the Dominican Republic we weren't the first to come up with that idea and their situation is in many ways similar to a long distance cruising yacht's. The generating equipment is improving and getting cheaper all the time as are ways of storing electricity. What haven't improved are the networks to utilise power from many different sources, which is your dad's field, and there are few real figures for how much electricity you get for your money from different sources in different conditions and your trip will help supply those."

"So are you doing this to design a better yacht or to build power grids for islands?" I asked getting confused.

"You think we can't do both? Like that park today much of what we enjoy is an unintended consequence of someone's earlier effort. Of course the accountants try to steer projects so narrowly there aren't any unintended consequences but human beings are talented in the art of creative inefficiency and, given half a chance to play, time after time we come up with new ways of doing things, new ways of seeing things and new things to do."

I could hardly argue the point as the only reason I was here today was because 6 months ago I had looked in the mirror and after 18 years of assuming I was a boy I'd suddenly seen myself in a different light and known I was a girl!

From that point on Bill had my full attention. Through the afternoon, except for a tea break with 'the lads', we went over the boat trying to see potential trouble spots and opportunities. When I mentioned I was practicing splicing Dyneema Bill immediately phone Ian, the rigger back in Cardiff and I quickly had a job which included working on the new boat's rig. Geordie, the Newcastle lad, encouraged by the spirit of the moment offered a new way of running the generators' exhausts which opened more space in the saloon - I hadn't even known that the watertight box in the centre of the saloon held the two generators. No boat is a perfect design but this one wasn't going to fail for lack of creative thinking.

We finally left along with the men at the end of the work day and walking across the windswept car park to the magic bus I asked Bill where he was thinking of for us to park up and sleep for the night.

"Don't be daft lass! Tell your mother we slept in the bus by all means to wind her up but it's February, you've just had an operation and I'm 78. What do say to a dinner and hotel in Stoke on Trent with theatre tickets I just happen to have booked?

As I drove back toward Cardiff with Bill next morning I had time to think what our excursion had really been about. The boat yes, and even Bill's 'pearls of wisdom' which he'd been dropping since our very first sail together on Molly…. There was more to it than that though.

"It's lonely isn't it Bill? Not being able to share." I glanced sideways and caught a pained expression cross Bill's face.

"Aye lass. Sometimes I need to be with people I don't have to hide things from even if some of them are barely acquaintances."

The lads in the boat shed, the hotel staff and even the woman who checked our tickets at the theatre had all treated Bill with an easy familiarity and he was relaxed around them. as I believe he'd become with me.

"Last week I forgot that I'd never told a particular friend that I grew up living as a boy so when I introduced her to my oldest friends, who of course were likely to casually mention it, I felt incredibly stupid! Once it was done of course I had to smooth things out but at the same time I've never told any of them about the billion pound trust. That I told to the psychiatrist who I now need to help me cope with all these changes."

"I've never told Litara about the money. After nearly 50 years of loving her and now being married to her I still haven't been able to bring myself to share that." There were tears rolling down Bill's face by this time and all I wanted to do was hug him: I couldn't of course while I was driving the bus so I just touched his shoulder for a moment.

"My family know you've made me your heir and that you have a nice house and things but they haven't the faintest idea of the scale of the legacy. I can't imagine telling them. How would they react? Would they want money or to tell me what to do with it? If one day I'm seen giving a charity a £100 someone might think I'm being generous until they find out I could equally well have made it a £1,000 or even a £1,000,000!"

I started laughing and couldn't stop, nor could I stop driving because by this time we were on the Severn Bridge. "The problem is that you're not rich enough!" I gasped. "In 1966 they built this huge bridge we're on, never imagining they would need more until only 30 years later they had to build that new bridge over there." I was still giggling to myself as I pointed out the new M4 bridge to the south of us. "It's a case of 'If you build it they will come.'"

Book 2, Chapter 7

Bill dropped me off at my house then raced off to be with Grandma leaving me wondering if he would ever tell her about the money - and indeed if it mattered. After sharing a light lunch with Mum, Dad and Litara I changed into a variation of my workout clothes (different scarf), only to find Mum and Dad waiting for me smartly attired in formal dance clothes. Although it had been agreed with John that they could join my Saturday practice session it was just to enjoy the dancing, not for tuition, and I never expected them to treat it so seriously.

The look on Mum's face said it all - I needed to make more of an effort. My clothes I couldn't do much about at short notice but I refreshed my make-up, put my hair up using a copper barrette and found a pair of matching earrings that wouldn't swing as I danced. I won't say Mum approved but at least she disapproved a little less obviously although that might change when she saw what I planned to wear tonight if Litara would let me borrow it.

As in previous lessons John started with the dances I had done before salsa, waltz, rhumba and quickstep but this time the bulk of the lesson was devoted to a dance I could only associate with Scent of a Woman. Is it possible for a brain to go into meltdown? I know I survived my own lesson and went on to dance with just about every member of the disabled class, including one of the cerebral palsy girls, but at every break my mind went back to 'the tango' and I'd glance across at John!

Back home I rang Serena to confirm that we still had her special invite to a club in the city then I had a douche and stood under the show for a good 10 minutes - I really wanted a bath but my nervousness about getting an infection had increased since the doctor's ban on swimming. Dried and deodorised I went into Litara's room to borrow the catsuit I had seen earlier.

"Got a special night planned?" Litara asked, and I explained that Serena had got us an invitation to a very pricey club on in the city centre.

"Probably not a good idea to wear the cat suit then."

I was quite shocked and annoyed as it was the first time my sister had put any restraint on what I could borrow. "Are you going all mumsy on me Sis? You must have worn it yourself at some time!"

"Oh I have my new little sister but it wasn't where I'd have to strip off completely in a public toilet just to have a pee!"

It took a moment to sink in what she meant and then I got it… "Whoops, I never thought that!"

My final choice owed as much to Litara's taste as mine but it wasn't 'mumsy' and I felt pretty daring showing off my tattoo and most of my back.

The evening's invitation had come about as a thank you for help given, by the company Serena's father owned, in a real-estate deal. Serena had grabbed it as an opportunity for a bit of 'Glam' during a very unglamorous period in her life at the very bottom of the estate agent business. As I just knew she would be 'pushing out the boat' with her clothes and make up I turned to my sister.

"Litara?" I wheedled. "I don't want to let Serena down with my look tonight and I don't really want her to make me look dull in comparison either… Any suggestions?"

My sister is amazing! I know Kelly is a professional but I could hardly ask for her help getting ready to go to a club she couldn't afford and for an semi-amateur Litara really knows her business as I found out when her first move was to get out an airbrush. The false eyelashes I had to promise to replace with new ones but the final effect was more than worth the time and effort. My nails I'd been keeping on top of with a natural polish that went with my skin tone but for this evening I added a coat of shimmer to lift their look. That was it except for my diamond stud earrings which gave a touch of less-is-more class.

As I looked in the mirror before heading to Serena's place I thought 'You look a million dollars girl!' Then I reconsidered… 'Make that a billion pounds!'

Being shown to our table in the roped off area my ego was fairly purring from the attention. Sure I'd been to nice places with good company in recent months but this was special pampering and Serena and I were a definite focus of attention. The arrangement was that we were the guests of the CEO of a large property development company and nothing was too good for us including the champagne that arrived to replenish those bottles the other dozen guests had already emptied. We were the youngest there except for one other girl our age who seemed to be with her boss if I got the body language right. Some of the party did seem a bit full of themselves over what sounded a dodgy deal but most were reasonable and I was soon on the dance-floor giving it my best, which after my lessons and musical immersion was getting pretty good even if in a place like this they'd never see my ballroom moves.

Just after midnight it all went pear-shaped! Serena and I had headed for the ladies with one of the wives and the other young girl who was becoming agitated from the constant groping she was being subjected to by what indeed turned out to be her boss. The wife put it down to 'the price you pay' but Serena was having none of it. When we got back to the table Serena thanked the CEO for his hospitality but said it was time for us to go and that Penny, that was the young girl's name, would be sharing a cab with us.

That should have been that but just as we were getting Penny into the cab her boss turned up announcing it was his responsibility to get Penny home and roughly grabbed her arm.

"I don't think so" was Serena's response putting herself between him and Penny with her face just inches from his.

"Just go you stupid cow" he shouted pushing Serena back against the cab.

Bad move! Serena didn't get to be the second best woman tennis player in Cardiff by lacking aggression. She rocketed off the cab straight at the surprised man as I dropped to my knees behind him. In rugby there are illegal tackles and I think growing up in Cardiff Serena must have absorbed them all by osmosis or maybe it was an accident that resulted in her knee landing in his groin at the same moment his back hit the pavement! She was first to her feet and offered her hand to help me up from beneath his legs and into the cab, leaving the 'letch' still whimpering in pain on the ground.

"Home James and don't spare the horses! Where is home by the way Penny and please don't say Mumbai."

Book 2, Chapter 8

Luckily Penny lived on our way home and as she got out Serena gave her a business card saying "Please call me because I know I've cost you a job?" Even I recognised that was true.

"Could I stop at your place tonight?" Serena's question floored me but I knew she had to have a reason so said "Of course if you need to. There's a couch or I've got a double bed if you don't mind sharing."

Serena texted her mother news of the change of plan and we ended up sharing. Naturally I did lend her a nightie although as we got undressed she did ask if she could see my …. I'd have preferred not put myself on display but felt it would reassure her so stripped off. "There's nothing to see really unless you're interested in a prickly vagina! I was shaved a month ago and it's itchy!"

As we settled down side by side in bed I waited, knowing that there had to be a reason for Serena's behaviour…

"Those men were real arseholes boasting how they got that land cheap and with a change in the building permission immediately made a big profit. What is worse is that my father helped them and they're scheming to do the same thing with the land around your dad's workshop!"

Having almost been caught before by one of Mr Johnson's money making schemes involving our home I knew a little of how these things worked. "Thank you for warning us Serena," I said giving her a reassuring hug. "Fore-warned is fore-armed and I think I can guarantee them a big surprise!"

Despite the champagne and late night I woke bright and sparky next morning much to Serena's annoyance. A quick wash, walk and wake-up call to the rest of the house and by 9:30 we were all tucking into breakfasts of varying degrees of heartiness. From full fried down to, in Serena's case, a gently nibbled slice of toast. Afterwards Serena and I went into the lounge and, pre-warning her that I was going to share the property news, I phoned Bill who as far as I knew actually owned the land.

By 11am Serena, Dad, Bill and Alistair Dougan (who was Bill's Welsh properties manager) were all around the dining room table pouring over the plans Alistair had brought with him. Naturally that is the moment Penny chose to call Serena and the next thing I was sent off to pick her up with Dad's car and she joined the gang of conspiritors.

This was Sunday and I was about as useful as parasol in a hurricane so I left them to their machinations and joined Mum and Litara in the kitchen preparing the roast dinner but even that didn't last long for Dad came in to fetch Litara having remembered it seems a comment she made about corrupt council officials, and Mum too followed probably on the basis that with so much business being talked there must be a need for an accountant.

Fortunately when they were finished not all of them stopped for the dinner I had ended up cooking by myself. Serena left having come to terms with her family demons, Penny got dropped back at her place by Alistair and Bill went home to Grandma. Nobody was willing to share what they had hatched and I wasn't about to beg although they did all seem to be inordinately pleased with themselves. Sometimes in business and politics I gather it is better not to know in the name of plausible deniability.

5 am next morning Litara and I headed off, driving to London. It had been two weeks since I left hospital, four since my surgery and 'Frank' the scientist wanted his pound of flesh. There would be no relaxing stopover with Litara this time nor any opportunity to dig further into the mystery of her love life. Instead we drove straight to Charing Cross Hospital arriving an hour early for my 9am appointment.

If you feel everyone is looking at you when they aren't you are said to be suffering from paranoia yet if you feel everyone is looking at you when they are you are not seen as ill. It seems paradoxical that your diagnosed condition depends not on anything about you but on the actions of others. Lying on my back with my feet in stirrups and an endoscope up my new vagina it is not to be wondered that my mind roamed onto such matters as about twenty observers gathered about the three screens showing my most delicate inner regions.

First I had donated the usual armful of blood but then I was put through the sort of exercises I associated more with a general medical than a post-surgical examination. Still what is done is done and I was ready to go home when instead an observation team arrived mob-handed and keen for more intimate details. It wasn't until 11am that they finally left without a word of thanks or explanation. Fortunately however Mr Pitt had joined them at some point and he stopped behind to enlighten me…

"The good news is that you have no indications of infection or rejection. The confusing news from their point of view is the rapid colonisation your body has made of the transplanted vaginal bridge. Our own pet scientist was expecting to show off his handiwork to his team but in places it is difficult to distinguish transplant from home grown."

"That's what you get hiring a really good surgeon!" Behind my back my Glaswegian surgeon had entered the room and been re-running the video before choosing to double the number of words she had ever spoken to me. "I must admit it looks as though that little nerd has really came up with the goods. About 60 girls are born every year in Britain with an underdeveloped or no vagina and uterus due to MRKH and at this stage there is very little difference between your case and theirs. Although you've a way to go, from what I've seen here, unless you're lesbian you are soon going to have to consider contraception so don't go buggering up my handiwork!"

With that she left… a fairy godmother in hobnailed boots. Charles confirmed her prognosis somewhat more urbanely and we confirmed my next appointment for 2 weeks ahead.

"The scientists will have you returning for years if you let them but please give them as much time as you reasonably can because your case really is important to the girls your surgeon mentioned. To be more blunt I'm hoping your periods will start before you want sexual intercourse but if they don't you will need dilation like other MRKH cases. Unlike those who've had normal gender reassignment surgery you will do major damage if you start dilation now so don't even think of it."

"What about scuba diving and self-defence? When can I start those?"

"Let's say after your next appointment if all goes well but if you want to take up something like kick boxing it will be longer."

The coach trip back to Cardiff was uneventful if a lot longer than the morning's and I was ready for an early night when I got back. Once under the covers though, sleep didn't come quickly. My mind kept going back to the doctors' words… sexual intercourse… contraception… Jean Luc… Armando… John…

Book 2, Chapter 9

Each day brings changes but some more than others. I was up early and dressed in boatyard dungarees with boots to make breakfast next morning as I wanted a lift in with Dad to see Ian the rigger about some work. Mum having taken in my unprepossessing appearance decided to tell me my hair was a mess too but I stole her thunder because I'd already made an appointment at the hairdressers for late that afternoon. Happy families, Cardiff style, or maybe it's like that all over the world.

"You couldn't resist and you've come to claim your kiss." called out Ian as we pulled up outside his workshop unloading my bicycle.

"Dad will be with you in a minute so pucker up ready for him" I replied in reference to Ian's offer of a discount for a kiss on our last meeting.

As Dad pulled away confused, Ian's eyes took in my blossoming figure…

"Unless I'm very much mistaken you've grown a bit more girl. The doctor been feeding you them 'ormones?"

"Seems my body makes those by itself Ian but my doctor did warn me to keep away from over-sexed men like you unless I wanted a baby." I'd come to recognise in Ian a heart of gold hiding behind his dirty-old-man facade and I wasn't surprised when his eyebrows shot skyward with an unspoken question.

"Yes Ian. With luck."

Our banter quotient reached we got into the details of techniques for using Dyneema. Promoted as the strongest material in the world and weight for weight 15 times stronger than steel, it had enormous potential to cut down weight aloft but used techniques for rigging not seen for a 100 years (before swaged end fittings and turnbuckles). "There will be problems to overcome but this could take over from wire and I want to try it before doing Bill's boat so by the end of the week materials will be here to re-rig 'Cyflym'(Swift). Ian was a keen racing sailor and where he went technically with his boat Cyflym, others were likely to follow so it made financial sense.

Having agreed with Ian that we would arrange times and dates on the phone as soon as the materials arrived, I pedalled over to Dad's place to do a few hours circuit building before cycling into town for my hairdressing appointment with Litara's friend.

"Before we start I'd like to see some of your earrings" I explained. "I'm doing much more dancing and particularly want something dramatic that won't swing about."

That is how I ended up pierced for a second set of studs higher up my ear in preparation for the new earrings I chose. It might be a small thing but I was inordinately pleased with my choice, I think because they were picked to please nobody but myself. The decision on which surgery to have was purely for me of course but although I'd enjoyed looking attractive to others my appearance hadn't mattered much to me personally as was witnessed by my turning up in the city windswept and dungaree-clad like some 1970s feminist hippie.

My hairstyle I didn't change despite the hairdresser's half-hearted attempt to get me to try a short style to better show off my earrings. Why would I let anyone chop off my best feature? So all done I left, promising not to leave it so long between trims, and went to explore the shopping mall, just in case…

'Just in case' turned out to involve a new leotard with bright flowers and a contrasting green and copper scarf as well as a pair of 3½" heels that I bought purely because I felt the need to stretch my ability to dance in heels.

There were other things to buy like food, as being the one not really working I was expected to pick up the bulk of the domestic work, but that didn't spoil the inner glow building quite nicely inside me. In fact that glow stopped with me throughout the evening and the next day, if anything growing as I prepared for my evening dancing lesson in my new outfit - it would be a while before I could wear my new earrings but the accessories I'd worn the previous week matched well.

"Do you think we could try something like reggae tonight? At a club last Friday I felt short of experience in the more club-based music - I even think the disabled group might like to try it. This week as well I'd like to try these heels to see if I can manage," I said dangling the new shoes from two fingers.

"No reason why not and you're right about the disabled group as we've done it before and reggae is a favourite. My only advice is you change shoes straight away if those new ones start to hurt but otherwise… 'Go for it!'"

It was the best night so far and that might be why I agreed when, while clearing up afterwards, John asked if I would like to join him for a drink at the pub adding that he'd drop me home afterwards. John was far to old for me at I'd guess 45 but against the odds we did get on and he was to be honest incredibly hot - think Pierce Brosnan in the Thomas Crown Affair.

The pub, off my usual patch, was pleasant but nothing special, but then neither were we after 2 hours of sweaty dancing. John got a pint of bitter for himself and a half of cider for me and started describing how he and his wife used to dance in all the competitions until the accident…

That is when they came in! The 'Parrot Man' and, still walking with a cane, his friend from the car park!

Book 2, Chapter 10

I bent down to pick up something imaginary dropped on the floor as 'the parrot man' and his partner passed our table on their way to the bar, not raising my head until they were safely clear.

"She enjoyed dancing so much. It was her that started me dancing but now she won't go out the house."

Slowly I realised what John was saying as I absorbed that first he was married but then maybe widowered (or is that widowed), but no his wife was shut in his house… and now she is housebound… "Why can't she leave the house?"

"Oh, she could but she won't! It's the scars. After the car crash she needed physiotherapy to get moving which is why I learnt to give dance therapy. We did it at home so now she can dance again but she won't leave the house. I say won't but she has left it when I've refused to buy food but she never leaves for pleasure, only necessity!"

As we were chatting and I tried to understand the problems John and his wife were having the 'parrot man' and his partner finished their drinks and departed with no sign of recognition, letting me breathe a sigh of relief. Just 10 minutes later John and I had finished our own drinks so we headed for the car park where John showed his style by opening the passenger door for me.

"Bitch!" came a scream and out of the dark a man charged straight at me only being diverted by John throwing himself between us. It all happened so fast: the man cannoned into the side of the car and dropped to the ground while John staggered back through the car door into the passenger seat and sat looking at a knife sticking out of his chest. "Bitch!" again it came, this time as a snarl as my attacker started to rise to meet my foot swung with all the force I could muster straight under his chin.

"Get me to hospital" said John holding up the car keys. Looking down at the unconscious man on the ground I fumbled for my phone saying "I'll call an ambulance."

"No time!" insisted John, so sure of himself that I immediately swung his legs into the car and grabbing the keys shut the passenger door.

"So who was this man in the pub?" the policeman asked as we sat in the waiting room at the hospital.

It was nearly 2 miles from the pub to the hospital and it had taken me no more than 2 minutes to drive it through Cardiff city centre. There had been no need to call the police as, for the last part of the journey, we were being chased by a police car with its light flashing and siren wailing which screeched to a halt behind me in the ambulance bay at the entrance to Accident and Emergency.

Everybody was wonderful! The ambulance drivers waiting outside took charge - one of them even parking the car and paying the admission ticket for me before giving me back the keys. The police took me inside the hospital from where I phoned John's home and gave his wife the news before their own questioning started. Finally when I became aware that I could easily be arrested, handcuffed and taken to the police station they allowed me to call Mr Davis, my solicitor, who arrived at the hospital within 10 minutes.

Maybe that is what people are really like given half a chance and there was no connection between their behaviour and the fact that they were all male and I was an 18 year old attractive female, in shock and pumping out enough pheromones to floor a bison!

While Mr Davis was giving the police the details of 'the parrot case' John's wife arrived by taxi and after going to reception was pointed in my direction. I've seen worse scars on television but she would have drawn attention walking down the road. Fortunately I had become used to unusual faces through the dance group which included, as well as the Down's and cerebral palsy cases, a stroke case with distorted features and a man with a livid scar but I had also become aware how rarely disfigured people are seen on the street.

As best as I could I described what had happened and how her husband had saved my life. She looked confused, I guess wondering just who I was, so I briefly explained and gave her the car keys when she said she'd seen it in the car park. By then I had to go back and give the police a formal statement which Mr Davis had got them to do on the spot but once that was done Mr Davis and the police left and all we could do is wait for news except for a brief moment when I went outside to use my mobile and explain to Mum and Dad what was happening.

Judy, that was her name, and I were talking about the dance class and how useful and enjoyable it was to the members when a doctor came through to say John was in recovery.

"He'd have bled out if he hadn't got here so quickly and it is unusual for us to see a wound that severe on a live patient but now it looks as though he will be home soon and as good as new in a couple of months if you can stop him overexerting himself."

The relief on Judy's face was palpable, like releasing a breath that has been held far too long, and I hugged her as she finally let go the tears of relief. Even after such drama life quickly becomes mundane: it would be a while before John came round and I had to think of catching the last bus home but before leaving I couldn't resist asking " We really need help at the dance class and until John is fit enough, as I know you can do it, would you please stand in for him?"

Sitting on the last bus on its meandering route to my home I had a great big grin on my face which is not bad for someone who's experienced 2 assaults in 5 days with prosecutions possible. "That man was right" I said to myself. "You are a bitch!. A highly manipulative bitch!"

Book 2, Chapter 11

Wake up, take temperature, douche, jog and shower… that was my morning routine but at least the suppositories had stopped so I was making progress. Before breakfast I phoned the hospital to check John was alright not wanting to disturb Judy who had probably been awake most of the night - it was only after I got the news that he would be well enough for visitors 1400→1600 and 1800→2000 that I remembered about hospitals giving no news to and allowing no visits by non-family members - unless that was something from America I'd picked up from the television. Ever since that recent series Big Brother on the TV it could feel as though life steps backward and forward between reality and fantasy. How long would it be before Big Brother had a transgender contestant?

Thinking of fantasy I ran back upstairs added some hoop earrings beneath my new studs and put on a bit of makeup. I might have to wear work clothes to help Dad today but if I was going visiting afterwards… maybe take a change of clothes for after work too.

Over breakfast Dad gave me an appraising look. "Boyfriend?" he asked.

"God no Dad, you know you're the only man in my life but I have to go into town later without looking like something the cat dragged in."

"Just let her discover her inner girly girl Isaac." Said Mum. "It will be fun for her and if you remember when we met you loved my hair that was so big I could barely fit through the door!"

Mum may have had a point as after work, on my way to the hospital, I stopped off to see my friend Kelly to see if she could wheedle a discount for some eyelash extensions like last time… I did seem to be becoming more conscious of my appearance.

Arriving at 6 pm I found John awake and looking rather chipper for someone who almost died 20 hours before, however he did have company in the form of a uniformed policeman.

"I was hoping to catch you here" remarked the policeman.

I so wanted to say 'It's a fair cop guv. I dun it an you've got me bang-to-rights.' but I suspected humour during an attempted murder investigation was not appropriate even from the intended victim.

"This is my friend and neighbour Matt, he's not here to arrest you," explained John. "He was telling me that there doesn't appear to be any record of my car travelling at 68mph along Eastern Avenue at 21:02 last night and especially none of it having previously gone through two red lights."

"As I'm uniform branch not a detective I can't tell you how the investigation into the assault is going either; other than to say a man, who may well have been on CCTV in the pub in question last night, is in The Princess of Wales Hospital, Bridgend under guard, being treated for an unexplained broken jaw."

Life was suddenly very full of pleasant surprises although I did see John wince when he couldn't suppress a laugh at Matts heavily stressed way of saying 'unexplained broken jaw'. Maybe it was fortunate for John's stitches that Matt couldn't stop long being on duty.

"I bet you never expected all this when you decided to take dance lessons with me."

"In this case John I think it was just a matter of time before that man found me although it's beyond me why he'd risk a long prison sentence to get revenge."

"I gather you've met my wife Judy. She had a few choice words to say about you being a selfish cow who could only think about work while I lay here dying!"

"That's me," I admitted. "So does that mean she'll help?"

"She will if I've got anything to do with it! She wouldn't go out just to dance but I'll play up just how important regular therapy classes are. Thank you Venus. That was a great idea so let's keep our fingers crossed."

I didn't stop long at the hospital having learnt from my own recent incarcerations that short and regular visits are more welcome those that extend beyond conversation's limits. Friday during the day I was with Ian and started work on Cyflym's rigging which involved a new technique - having spliced a deadeye to one end we needed to put the line under heavy tension to pre-stretch it and find the right length before splicing a thimble in the other end. Ian's solution was to use me to borrow a neighbour's forklift truck. Should I have objected? I didn't see myself as a feminist but a little man-manipulation is one thing and being used a very different feeling!.

Ian had to close his workshop early to visit a yacht and take measurements so I was 'out on the street' with time on my hands. My first port of call was a charity shop where I struck lucky - what's so wrong with them that they would discard, unworn, a pair of pink dungarees! Of course I wasn't wearing them when I popped into see Kelly but must admit the top and pink jeans I'd changed into after work wouldn't be everybody's choice!

"Upstairs now!" demanded Kelly. "And you owe me!"

A deal had been struck and all I had to do was agree to being photographed for the in-house promotional pamphlet for eyelash extensions and they would be free. Kelly even agreed to stay late and do my makeup for the photographer. With an offer like that what could I say?

That was how I was turned out when I met Dr Stanhope as I walked through the hospital to see John a little later. In retrospect my makeup was a little heavy for day wear, in one hand was my shopping bag with the pink dungarees showing on top, over my arm was my flowery topcoat and on my shoulder my pink messenger bag.

If a picture could tell a thousand words Dr Stanhope's face was a picture.

"You are coming to see my on Wednesday aren't you Venus?"

I followed her eyes as they moved about my body and in reaction raised my arms.

"Too much?" I asked doing a little pirouette. "The good news is the police aren't pressing charges!"

With that I skipped down the corridor with the sound of Dr Stanhope's words echoing behind me… "Don't run Princess…"

By John's bed was Judy looking a lot more relaxed than when I last saw her. Judy got to hear the full story of the 'parrot man' and I in return heard from John the gossip on why I had been attacked. It seems the two men were a couple and being a villain hadn't stopped 'parrot man' caring for his partner who's leg had healed badly leaving him with a limp.

"The court had to accept that the broken leg might have been an accident Venus," said John looking at me sternly. "Some thought your father did it but only the villains know for sure."

"Enough shop talk" broke in Judy. "If I'm going to face the embarrassment of taking tomorrow's disabled dance class you are not escaping that embarrassment Venus. Be there at 2:15 because I am giving you your lesson too."

Book 2, Chapter 12

I was in trouble! Litara made an innocent enquiry about my eyelashes over breakfast - she notices details and knows prices which is a killer combination - and I innocently answered with the details of the deal I'd done of which I was quite proud. The result? Litara promptly went ballistic because it seems I was a commodity being devalued by my own thoughtlessness.

"It's alright for you Sis! Business is your world but not all of us think like you. Last weekend I was effectively shut out of the conversation about the developers and Dad's yard and I still don't know what's going on there. Today I make a simple arrangement to save myself some money and you come down on me like a ton of bricks because something I signed with you last year says I mustn't license my image. What does license my image even mean?"

I slammed the door behind me heading upstairs to my room where I locked myself in and bawled my eyes out while hating Litara for bullying me, hating the world for being the way it is and hating myself for being such a whiney cow!

An hour later I was back downstairs apologising while Litara apologised for going over the top over something that would probably never happen. Simply put once you become a public face all of your history bubbles to the surface and that photo and agreement meant I could legally be described as 'a model' which is a word newspapers love misrepresenting. "That being the case would you be willing to be filmed doing a modelling course and then filmed again talking with girls who've done similar courses?"

This did not sound at all like Litara, Queen of the 'fait accompli', which had to mean she had only just thought of it. "I trust you not to show me up as a fool Sis but I'm very busy working during the day, dancing Wednesday's and Saturdays, doctors' appointments and I've arranged scuba and self-defence classes." I went and got my calendar for her to photocopy, quietly asking myself why I'd even consider taking on more. The answer was obvious: what 18 year old girl would turn down the offer of a free modelling course!

The rest of the morning I spent at Serena's house where I was greeted by a screech as she instantly spotted the second set of studs in my ears but then I got the silent treatment when I tried to pry information from her about Dad's yard. Accord was only regained when we made phone calls to Jenny and Evan settling details over which pub would be honoured with our presence that evening. Back home for some lunch and then it was dance time as Mum, Dad and I headed to the hall where we met Judy who had clearly been given instructions but I think was relieved with our early arrival and familiarity with the routine.

"Right," she said sorting out the music. "Salsa, Waltz, Quickstep, Rhumba, Tango and Reggae. You've been busy Venus. We'll get back to these if there is time but there is something more appropriate I'd like to warm up with today if your father will forgive my indulgence," and we all moved onto the floor to the opening chords of I Will Survive.

Music and dance were one of the first human inventions and their power is undiminished as I'm sure we all stood an inch taller as that track finished and we went into More Than a Woman.

I don't think I could have managed to dance to Judy's lead if it weren't for the previous piece but it worked and glancing across Mum was in seventh heaven judging from her expression. I find being dipped during a dance, even by another woman, very erotic and as I looked up at Judy I couldn't help but ask her, "Who says disco is dead?"

Judy's need to disco being enjoyably sated for the moment we went into a run through of all the other dances I'd done receiving a round of applause when the entering disabled class arrived during our final tango. I made the introductions and we went once more into disco mood.

An hour later as the class gathered their things to leave I noticed Judy chatting away to a helper and the man with the livid scar like old friends, and I couldn't help but feel pleased both for her and for myself - my manoeuvre appeared to be working!

Sunday morning found me a little fragile. The previous evening Serena had driven us to town where we met Evan and Jenny for a chat more than anything, but when Andy joined us things got out of hand. Andy was feeling flush with cash and bought a round of drinks which was unusual in itself as we customarily each bought our own. Evan bought Andy a drink while getting his own refill then Jenny did the same. Both Serena and I are slow drinkers and on finishing the drink Jenny had bought him before either Serena or I finished ours Andy bought another round, downed his drink in one and burst into tears.

The talk went on into the small hours when we drove Andy home to his bedsit and tried to find what was wrong or at least how we could help. There didn't seem to be anything to grasp. We had all known each other for years and Andy had always seemed the most straightforward of people if a bit cynical at times. I wondered if he was just like me in feeling directionless the way I had after my exams. Since then I'd been swept up by events but what if that hadn't happened? What happens to those left wallowing while others surf?

My run on Sunday morning was longer than usual pushing through the fog of too much alcohol, coffee and reality but by 11 am I was back on form when Mum told me we were all going to Bill's place for Sunday dinner. As she already had the dinner in the oven this made no sense…

"And… ?" I asked.

"And nothing. Just choose something nice to wear and don't take too long about it."

Something was happening but I wasn't prepared when Mum, Dad, Litara and I arrived at Bill and Grandma Tina's place with the dinner Mum had cooked to find Alistair and Jill Dougan, Serena and Penny were joining us.

Welsh lamb with all the trimmings is always welcome and not a meal to be rushed or spoiled by heavy conversation so it wasn't until first our plates and then the table was cleared that Bill brought the meeting to order, because that is what it was, a meeting.

"Venus, in Bilbao you got to see something of the process of property redevelopment and of course living in Cardiff you've seen similar work here. I'd like, if you can think of one, a name for a company to do that sort of development work here?"

"I don't need to think as the name I was going to suggest for your new boat is perfect for that. As a child I loved the story of the Welsh goddess of the northern stars who's castle was the aurora borealis where our spirits go to be reborn. Her name is perfect, Arianrhod.

"Agreed! Alistair, the papers please" requested Bill and after filling in the name Arianrhod several times Alistair laid in front of me a sheaf of papers to sign. Never sign anything you haven't read is the rule but in this case it would have been ridiculous and I suspect reading it would have taught me nothing through the legalese. I signed.

"When I bought the land which includes your father's yard it was a simple decision as the land was classified many years ago as contaminated and suitable only for industrial use. However Serena's father found out that the classification resulted from a long ago scam a tenant pulled to keep using the land his business rented by tampering with the soil samples.

So far so good and all credit to Mr Johnson for making the discovery. The most immediately profitable use for the land is for residential use which would take a lot of investment and which is why Mr Johnson called in the development company Penny worked for and you shared an evening with. Their intention on buying the land is to have the tests redone and get the land re-designated to maximise profit by building a residential estate."

"An interesting story and now you know I can see a big profit for you instead of Mr Johnson and company but what has it to do with me?" I asked.

"Everything and if that is what you want that is what will happen because when you signed those papers you became Non Executive director of 'Arianrhod Development'.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I almost shouted having signed on trust just like with Litara and her contract, so twice a fool!

"Easy. I own the company Alistair, Jill and Joy run the company, Serena and Penny work for the company and you get to decide what the company does."

Book 2, Chapter 13

Having dumped a pile of steaming, equine faeces in my lap Bill sat back to await developments. The American president Harry S Truman famously had a sign on his desk saying 'The buck stops here'. It is rarely mentioned that 'buck' can refer to either responsibility or to a dollar, two things which are often confused by greedy politicians. Also those who regularly accept responsibility rarely care let alone get hurt or make amends regarding the damage done in their name!

Exasperated I decided I wasn't going to suffer alone! With the title 'non-executive director' they had effectively given me a shovel to start slinging the horses' do-dos back at them so I set to with a will as it would be up to them to make the roses grow!

"Alistair; I presume you have the plans of the land with you so let's all go and see it. Bill I want a private word so you can drive me there."

I don't know how I expected them to react but not-a-one objected and 5 minutes later we were on our way. "What have you told my family about the trust Bill?" I demanded to know.

"They only know now what they have known for years. They know I own my house, this land that we are going to see and they probably guess I own a bit more, but they have no idea of the scale."

"Why me? I have no knowledge of property development beyond that there is a lot of money involved and people are likely to get hurt. In fact, how on earth did you even get the others to agree when my mother doesn't even trust me to wash behind my ears?"

"I relied on self-interest and the fact it was my money and my land to sway them but as to why you…? I'm 78 Venus! I could drop dead at any time and you have to start handling the trust sometime. This is a good place to begin because even if I die today you now have the authority to protect your Dad's business and that is what you wanted to do when you first phoned me about this."

How did Bill come out of this sounding so reasonable? He didn't even have to mention the one fact that made me drag them all here - that this bit of land we were looking at was my 'back garden'. We'd moved houses but not my playground. This place where my Da worked, I had grown up exploring and playing in; this place I knew the people and their quirks. If I cared about or identified with any piece of land this was it.

Within an hour I had the boundaries of Bill's land fixed in my mind although it was larger and more disjointed than I expected. I looked at everyone and felt ridiculous. I was an 18 year old girl about to start ordering real adults about, including my own mother.

"This land has unused space but it isn't the time for a big development as they've only just finished rebuilding the city centre and things are booming so nobody needs the city turned upside down again. I've done enough history to understand that it won't always be that way and but the land won't run away, Dad and the others here will keep their jobs for now and when the next slump comes the land won't be under houses filled with a lot of unemployed people. That's how I see it and if you think I'm biased because Dad's yard is here… Tough!"

I looked about me wondering how they would react when I started giving orders… "That tongue of land with the monumental mason shouldn't be industrial. The houses next to it hate the noise and there isn't wide enough access for the heavy trucks to turn in without regularly hitting that wall. If you think you can buy that bit of garden to make the access wider dream on because the house owner loves his garden but hates trucks and the stone-mason's noise. The good news is if you can move the stone-mason's business onto a different part of the land it will be easy to get the furniture maker to move with him as they are like twins - what one does they both do. The third unit reclaims batteries but I've seen drums being emptied down the drain so there is a danger that if his land wasn't originally contaminated it might be now. If you can get that bit of land reclassified as residential, and cleared of industry then I think it might make a reasonable scale housing development."

Nobody interrupted and nobody objected so I turned to face the south side of the land which ran down to the slipway Dad used for boats he worked on. "That big old house belongs to Mrs Clarke. It isn't part of Bill's land but in time it should be. She needs to move into a smaller place but nobody will offer her enough for that house as it is isolated and needs lots of work. First buy it then, as it's already residential, rebuild it as flats with ground floor workshops."

"That's my contribution to Arianrhod Development for today so any other choices for the immediate future I'll leave to Bill and Alistair." The whole thing felt unreal but then so had being told I was a company director…

For the ride home I again went with Bill and we sat for a while outside the house. "Is this what life is really like Bill? On the news this morning they said Tony Blair was with George Bush on his ranch in Texas. What are they talking about? Is it politics or are they both wondering when the rest of the world will wake up and realise they don't know what they are doing?"

"You made decisions on company strategy today Venus; which particular decisions do you think were wrong?"

"None, although it is only a hunch from listening at college that makes me think there are young people wanting accommodation with workshops."

"I thought your ideas were sound too Venus so the only reason we're sitting here is that you made those choices and not some faceless man you never met. In my experience that is what life is really like; real people making choices and you are as real as anyone!"

Litara, like me was home early leaving the others to their schemes at Bill's place.

As we warmed up with a cup of tea after our cold February afternoon on the windswept industrial plot I gave thought to her modelling plan for me…

"I don't believe you're doing a documentary on modelling Sis so confess, why do you really want me to be filmed doing a modelling course?"

"You're right Venus and I should have given it more thought as I don't think it's right for you."

"This afternoon proved to me that I'm the one who has to decide what is right for me so tell me what it's really about and let me decide."

Litara took a moment to pour herself a second cup of tea then started. "It isn't for a documentary. A journalist friend is going undercover to expose so called modelling schools who not only take the girls' money without teaching useful skills for modelling; they push drugs onto the girls, they get them to do pornography and they pimp them out as prostitutes. When the subject of modelling came up I thought of two things: first that when the programme is made, footage of what a good school does would contrast well with the experiences of my friend and secondly, and please forgive me for saying this, you missed years of growing up as a regular girl and are now you fluctuating wildly between a Huckleberry Finn-like tomboy and a Princess Barbie like a 13 year old and I thought a modelling course would 'settle' you down a bit."

"So why isn't it right for me?"

"You are not an investigative journalist so you don't know the backlash and even real physical danger they face when they expose something like this - especially on television. My friend thinks it's worth taking the risk to expose the scandal but whoever appears with her faces that same risk and I don't want my little sister hurt, especially with what you have recently been through."

"First I must remind you that I am not little as I'm almost an inch taller than you! Second I haven't lived the last 18 years wrapped in cottonwool and a close friend got conned into having nude shots taken which ended up on the internet. I'll do it!"

Book 2, Chapter 14

There is old footage of a steam engine I've seen on the telly where, after much starting and stopping as the train works its way through the city and suburbs, the countryside opens ahead and the train speeds up as the rhythm of poetry joins the beat of the engine, the clack of the wheels as speed and momentum build and and build…

My life appeared to have reached some take off point. After a day working with Ian, at 6pm, Litara rang from London to see if I could do a dozen two-hour modelling lessons on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday evenings starting the very next day. In a flash of inspiration I asked if the company would pay for a friend to do it with me and to my amazement she agreed - if you don't ask you don't get.

Borrowing Dad's car as soon as he got in I drove across town… "Jenny? I have a favour to ask. I'm doing this modelling course for the television. It's all reputable and paid for but I'm nervous so they have agreed to pay for someone to do it with me and as you know the most about fashion from among my friends… It's a big ask but would you please do it with me?"

It was a big ask as Jenny was the friend who'd been conned into nude modelling. For years we all thought she was going to be the next Kate Moss but the man who took her to America, supposedly to help her career, was the one who sold her nude photographs when they had an argument and then left her stranded in New York. The whole episode had shattered her self-confidence so she'd given up any thoughts of modelling settling for a job with a chain store."

"Why don't you ask Serena? She is after all your special friend."

"Yes but she's only into fashion as a customer. Can you imagine anyone who was silly enough to tell Serena what to wear!"

That did it! We were giggling so much at the thought that Jenny dropped her defences and before she had time to recover I'd arranged to pick her up next evening at 6:45.

We caused a heck of a rumpus next evening! After a day shuttling between Ian and Dad's workshops I had only time for a quick shower before picking up Jenny so while she looked the part, my style was of the 'hedge backwards school'. A person I hadn't expected to find there was Litara with Jean 'bloody' Luc but a deal had been struck with the modelling school (there's always a deal with media types) so there were to be 3 filming sessions; one tonight, one mid-course and one on the final evening.

Whether it was part of the deal or not I don't know but that first evening I was the one taken as the example of how not too present myself. My hands and nails were a mess from rope splicing and my hair had that just showered in a wind-tunnel look. Jenny was Miss Perfect and there was a girl called Blanche who was so far up herself I wanted to strangle her or at least stick her curling iron where the sun don't shine if she looked down her nose at me one more time. Walking in heels was at least one thing I expected to excel at after all my dance practice but wouldn't you know it instead of me falling off my heels my heel fell off my shoe which supposedly demonstrated my lack of preparedness and it was all caught in full colour action by my arrogant French cameraman who I swear almost wet himself laughing.

At least the after-lesson gathering in the pub went well as most of the other girls were up for a laugh, pretty much like Jenny and I, although a couple did embarrass themselves in front of us by fawning all over Jean Luc who of course lapped it up while continuing to film our antics. Litara finally had to drag him away for the drive back to London just before 10pm. "I'll show him" I thought. "How dare he laugh at me?"

Wednesday I got off work early to see Dr Stanhope which oddly I'd been looking forward to. First though I almost ran to see John who was actually out of bed in the television room. "Another week they say if I haven't gone mad watching daytime TV by then!" I commiserated and said he could always catch up on his reading but he admitted he hadn't read a novel in 10 years and it was a bit late to try and catch up. "Men! You are your own worst enemy! You had better get well soon or the class will demand Judy becomes their regular teacher! Here" I said thrusting a bunch of flowers and a pamphlet into his hands. "Teach yourself ikebana. I've got to run now."

"No pink today?" Dr Stanhope asked as I entered her office a couple of minutes later.

I looked down at what I had changed into after leaving the boat yard - Ugg boots, skinny jeans and an inoffensive warm coat. "I'm on a low-pink diet but give me time."

"And the scuba lessons, how are they going?" I had then to explain that the London doctor had said I would have to delay the scuba and kick-boxing lessons for another week or more.

"Life has quietened down then. Are you happy with that?"

I was so tempted to give her a clever answer and I had plenty of ammunition with the directorship, the modelling and the attempted murder but that would have been both disrespectful and a case of cutting my nose off to spite my face so I laid it all out as well as I could, in the process realising that what concerned me most was that I'd kicked a man in the face as hard as I could having already left his boyfriend permanently disabled - all over a parrot! What sort of person was I to do something like that? What was going to happen in court and what would happen when 'parrot man' eventually went free?

"Have you heard of the butterfly effect? It's easy to feel that, through chains of cause and effect, everything that happens is about us. That leads us to blame ourselves or take the credit for everything that happens and it follows that we feel as though other people see us in the same light. Your 'parrot man will be doing the same thing and although at the moment he may blame you for what's happened, in a month or a year he may be blaming his mother for making him gay and taking the credit himself for Britain doing well in the Sydney Olympics. You can't tell. Nobody can."

"What I can tell is that your behaviour and feelings at the moment only seem extreme because you circumstances have been extreme. I would like to see you at least one more time in a month when the doctors in London have finished with you but I'm confident that you can take whatever the world throws at you Venus so get out there and if I hear you've become the first woman to walk on the moon I won't be surprised but I will expect a postcard!"

I just had time to pedal to the hall and change clothes again before Mum, Dad and Judy arrived for the dance class. Judy did mention that she hoped John would get out of hospital soon because on her visit that afternoon she'd found him flower arranging which was odd behaviour for him.

"Ikebana" I said.

"Gesundheit" she replied

Getting down to my dance lesson for the day meant a change of pattern for Judy had noticed Mum and Dad's style and announced that Dad would be leading me as I learnt to jive.

Just sometimes I like to surprise people. Dad had taught Litara to jive and in her turn, much to my delight and excitement, when I was 8 or 9, she had passed on the moves she had learnt, throwing me around like a toy yoyo.

Dad caught on really quickly that I knew what to do, only hesitating once when holding me upside down he commented that the last time he'd seen my backside that close I'd been in nappies! I hasten to add that come time for the disabled class we did not try to pass on that manoeuvre!

Thursday came and Thursday went almost in a blur. The modelling class, without Jean Luc's presence spent more time teaching us about agents and contracts but still skin-care, preparation, clothes, movement, cosmetics and style were pounded into us, just like John had done with dance and music, stressing that it took 24 hours a day 7 days a week of complete immersion for it to become as natural as breathing. I was determined that if I was going to be filmed, and then seen doing this on television, I was not going to let myself be humiliated and I think Jenny got caught up in my mood as we critiqued each other.

On Friday Ian came across me with the radio on dancing the quickstep between the ends of a stay I had stretched out across the workshop and he joined in singing "♬♫♬ Around the world I've searched for you ♫♬♫." Back home once more to shower and eat then it was clothes, hair, makeup, accessories - Oh I love that big bag! - all done while keeping the beat of dance music going on the CD player, in my mind and in my movements.

I swear I could see a difference in Jenny when I picked her up with Dad's car and we began chatting excitedly about the class even before we got there. No broken heels tonight as I seemed to have picked up a new rhythm to my movements as we practiced catwalk and poses.I hummed happily as I tried a new dramatic effect with Jenny's makeup and she reciprocated to give my look a bit of extra oomph for when we met Serena and Evan in the student union afterward.

"Don't forget girls," the teacher called as we headed out of the door after class. "'Style! Find your unique style and work it 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Work it!"

Side by side Jenny and I strode through the doors into the union building. I knew I was never going to be a model or a dancer or a boat builder but for now I was going to be the best boat building, dancing model I could be!

Book 2, Chapter 15

At first, Friday night in the students union felt like old times. Martina, Gwen and George were away at University and Gareth had sent a card from Australia but Kelly and Penny had joined us and Andy seemed more himself. Of course we were no longer students here but Evan had an 'in' with the band playing and that had drawn us back.

"What's with the new look you two? This is Cardiff not London you know."

I hadn't had a chance to tell Serena about the modelling course and I think she was a bit annoyed to be 'out of the loop'. "It's Litara and that cameraman Jean Luc that we met in London See. They wanted some footage of a local modelling school so roped in Jenny and I as extras." I looked at Jenny and she looked the epitome of style somehow making a massive faux fur coat look casual. "Anyway you lot should talk! All of a sudden you and Penny are working for Alistair Dougan while I don't have a clue what is going on, and if I'm not mistaken Kelly, you've had a hand in Serena and Penny's makeup which by the way I love and it's very ‘New York.’"

For a moment there our friendship was rocking and strictly speaking I was, through Arianrhod Development, a client or their boss or something. Thankfully we were also and more importantly of an age and disposition that united us still against the dull adult world so the 'digs' were forgotten and the evening took off.

Evan loved to dance despite his rugby playing proclivities and Penny took Andy in hand with a 'dance or die' look while Serena, Kelly and Jenny did what comes naturally to them in attracting an entourage of male admirers ready to buy them drinks. That Friday it turned out was the first where a new dynamic for the group coalesced. Where once we'd all been students the academic ones had gone their own way leaving us a bit adrift until the addition of Kelly and Penny made us more work-centred in our views but even more ready for fun!

If I think too much about it my life should be chaotic but it isn't. What I have is a very full calendar which gives me very little opportunity to deviate let alone to get into trouble. Rather like that train I'd been thinking about. Ian and Dad did help with things like giving me time off for my last London doctors' visit when I'd been given the all clear for scuba diving, which was on Sunday mornings, and self-defense on Monday evenings but not yet for kick boxing. I even have Saturdays off as neither visiting John in hospital on the first week or hanging out at the mall thereafter was entered onto my calendar. The position of NED of Arianrhod Development turned out to be not much of an imposition at all as the only time I was called on was to see Mrs Clark. When she heard my plan for rebuilding her house she was over-the-moon as it seems part of the problem of selling it for her was an emotional attachment and part in practical terms she didn't want a big capital gains tax bill. She was clearly no fool in knowing more than me about property so I dialled Alistair and passed her the phone to do a deal. I'm not sure how legal it was but she had first choice of flats in the new development when it was finished and Arianrhod were, as part of the deal, providing her with accommodation nearby for the duration of the work.

By the time another week had passed John was out of hospital and Jean Luc had filmed the the second instalment for Litara's friend which confirmed my suspicion that the deal with the modelling school had included letting him concentrate on me being put in difficult situations. It wasn't just me filmed as Jenny and others got a fair bit of attention but when it was my turn…? Have you ever worn a seriously backless dress and wondered what would happen in a following breeze? It's like a hot air balloon filling and taking off and the teacher had sited a fan by our makeshift runway to demonstrate how easily it could happen! Fortunately my sailing and dancing experience paid off as I pirouetted toward the fan to take the wind out of the sail of my dress before I was totally revealed and the only shot Jean Luc got was of my tongue which I stuck out at him!

There was talk during that lesson of plans for Selfridges to open in Cardiff and the modelling school, with some local designers and the college, were planning to raise Cardiff's profile in fashion with a show to coincide with our final class on the 9th of March.

I felt that Jenny was a sure thing but not everyone was going to get on the catwalk for that show and I wanted to be picked so I asked her to help me.

"I don't know what I can do that the class isn't," she replied "but the teacher keeps pushing for complete immersion so for the next 2 weeks I want you to imagine you are Naomi Campbell with everyone around you either a potential client or a media shark ready to photograph or report your slightest slip and for the next two weeks I will be the biggest shark in your ocean!"

I'm not entirely stupid about accepting other people's plans for me and I'd seen on the news the way celebrities can end up behaving so I offered Jenny a compromise that I would be allowed to tell my family, our other friends and Ian that I had been given a method acting assignment which in a way was true as they didn't have to know that Jenny was the one who'd given the assignment to me just because I wanted to 'rub Jean Luc's nose in it' for laughing at me!

My sincerest thanks are owed to everyone for putting up with me over the next two weeks, especially Ian, who knew and daily witnessed me prancing about the workshop like a prima donna, and the other girls on the modelling course who were not 'in the know' especially if they came to hate my insistence on repeating every thing unti I had it just right.

I only had one bad slip that I was aware of. That was with Judy during a class when she was dancing with me to John's instructions given from his position as an invalid on the sidelines. Simply put I fell flat on my butt and burst into tears and I felt I had to explain my insane obsession with perfection.

During the modelling lessons we had local designers come in several times and two fastened onto me as a model but luckily the teacher vetoed the one with the clear cellophane creation masked only by the slightest of hand prints but the one who it was agreed would fit me was, in my mind at least, only sightly less outrageous.

The final week my brain became like candy-floss. Litara and I arrived in London on Monday at 8 am to see the doctors who, 8 weeks to the day after surgery, gave me the go ahead for kick boxing about which by then I was having second thoughts. There was still one limitation however for in the words of Frank, "Please not sex until period." I think he's Japanese, very serious and short so maybe I shouldn't have kissed him on the top of his head as I promised to return in a month. He got his revenge however by announcing that I was healed enough that the bridge could stand some dilation. From reading I'd expected that from the begiining but Dr Pitt explained the union had been too fragile and it was only Frank's thorough but careful examinations that had kept things open. Now especially with the delay it was likely to be painful but it was important and he showed me exactly the depth that was wanted - no more no less.

By 6pm I was back in Cardiff and by 8 after the earlier self-defence class preparation, involving being manhandled without actually being allowed to hit back properly, I learnt that kicking a bag did release tension rather well. Tuesday morning just about everyone in-the-know turned up to see the delivery of the new boat on a low-loader, resplendent in her new paint job of orange topsides and white coachroof (I admit not everybody liked it but Bill and Dad would have chosen plain white and you can only move a man so far). There was a lot of work still to be done on the boat but at least we were on our way.

The excited but good humoured mood of Tuesday in the boatyard did not survive through the evening modelling class as we found out that the final catwalk choice would be made on Thursday. Then on Wednesday was the dance lesson during which I fell following John's instruction. I'd leant right back with arched spine and Judy simply wasn't strong enough to hold me at the end of the samba.

Thursday evening I could hardly stand the tension being only able to let let out the tiniest of peeps when it was announced that against the odds I would be on the catwalk.

Six months before I had been living the life of a confused directionless boy and here I was, in the main hall of the college with all my family, all my friends and even Judy, John and Ian out in the audience and I desperately cared about everything and everyone about me wanting it to be perfect as I stepped onto the catwalk in a wedding dress!

Book 2, Chapter 16

The doctors had more or less done with me, I'd completed the series of modelling classes and as John didn't need me helping the disabled to dance quite so urgently, since Judy became a regular helper, my dance lessons were mostly a courtesy from him… So everything stopped - just like at school or maybe University after a course or exam? Not in the big wide world I'd joined! In a very short time I'd woven a mesh of obligations, ambitions and simple habits around myself. What appeared to be my proper work, with Ian in his workshop and increasingly with Dad on the new boat, was in fact the simplest to deal with in terms of serious decisions.

Take today for instance. Tomorrow is my scuba lesson and I want to buy a new swimsuit this afternoon after dancing. A month of modelling classes had seen me whittle down my fresh sprouting pubic hair to bikini wax dimensions but was that trim enough? The full Brazilian was not for me being a woman and not a child but maybe a little more should go… and the epilator stripped another ⅛" off each side and the top. What was I listening to as I prepared myself? Spanish language salsa music of course because I knew that, in following Captain Cooks footsteps, by September I would be in Madeira which is basically Spanish speaking (as were my new relatives in the Dominican Republic) and by November in Rio de Janeiro, where in my mind's eye I'd visit Copacabana and Ipanema Beaches and dance Salsa, Samba and maybe even, with the right partner, Tango!

"Venus! Welcome to the dark side!" Those are the words I'd spoken to myself when back in St Barts learning to Salsa. My salsa teacher had given me permission to act; to create this woman who loved to dance. Bill had done the same when he helped me create the woman who made the business choices because she was as real as anyone. Again just 2 weeks ago Jenny gave me that extra push with the Naomi Campbell suggestion and here I was brushed, buffed and bouncing as I went downstairs channeling Naomi through every bit of me, I was a method actor!!

The acceptance of what I was doing popped the acting balloon and made me smile, I think partly in relief that I could turn off the part I'd been playing, and by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs to join the others for lunch I was plain old Venus Williams again.

So much to do and so little time. Litara reminded me that I had more filming to do explaining I would receive an invitation to a 'casting' for a modelling job. The casting and the job were real but it had been arranged that the undercover reporter and girls who'd attended the suspect courses would also be invited and during the casting process a film crew would be on hand trying, with the encouragement of the reporter, to draw girls into comparing experiences of their courses.

Mum and Dad's focus was on the dance classes which they felt had given them a new lease of life, both for the dancing - they were going out dancing later tonight - and for the work as helpers. I suspected a case of 'Empty nest syndrome' but that may have been an egocentric analysis because like Litara they were getting on with their own lives just as I had to.

"Bikini or one-piece?" asked Serena. She, Jenny, Penny and I had gathered around Kelly's counter for a council of war.

"I was told for scuba a one piece was more practical because of all the straps and belts catching and rubbing.

"Boring! We'll look for both! - and that's the way it went - not with me going and quickly buying both but with us arguing over every point! My first choice was vetoed because the pink would clash with the boat's orange and Penny's choice would leave me marked like a waffle iron at the cutouts - I do tan a little! Eventually I bought a pottery necklace I saw in a charity shop and then I went back and bought the first swimsuit I'd picked. Naturally when I got home I regretted both but you can't win every time.

"The law's an ass!" Bill was not impressed for the 'parrot man' had pleaded guilty to both charges - attempted murder of me but with no harm resulting and grievous bodily harm of John but with no intent to harm - and Mr Davis estimated that with good behaviour he could be out as early June 2004 which was when I was due back in the UK for the Transit of Venus as seen at Greenwich with media coverage pinpointing me!

"Maybe Bill but that is over 3 years away and we have a boat to build and a world to be circumnavigated before then." The boat had only been with us 9 days but already work was flat-out focussed on her with Jack taking the brunt of it as the carpenter who was to give me an interior I could live in.

An addition had been made since I saw her up at Deeside and a propellor shaft placed in the stern tube that was part of the original construction but was at first left blanked off. Bill had come to Dad's yard to be part of the crew dropping the small diesel generator into it's compartment in the centre of the boat and stopped to discuss changes for Jack to make so that an electric drive motor could be connected to the newly installed prop shaft.

"This is temporary? When Venus leaves she won't have this motor and prop shaft?" Jack was confused and so was I but Bill explained that boat Mark I was being temporarily used as a test bed for boat Mark II which, being less radical, was more in keeping with the accountants' and sales experts' desires. It seems that while praise was heaped on originals with brilliant concepts the real world was full of things built by committee for the lowest common denominator.

"Don't forget built in protection against being sued," came a voice from the deck which proved to be Mr Davis who, unnoticed had climbed the ladder after us rather than just leaving after dropping by to pass on news of the court case. I'd imagined Mr Davis to be a skilled solicitor but fundamentally just a man who charges by the minute. Wrong! It turns out he's a 'boat nut' using me and the court case as an excuse to have a nose around a boat that was fast spinning off local rumours. Once he had an 'in' he happily joined the design discussion.

Somewhat later I left them to it pointedly muttering so they could hear, "Boys and their toys!"

Book 2, Chapter 17

On Friday morning at the yard I got an excited phone call from Jenny about a casting invitation that had arrived in the post.

"When and where Jenny?" I'd left before the post arrived that morning so wouldn't know yet if it was the same casting as me.

"This coming Monday at 11 am in Canning Town, London."

"Wow that's fantastic! Don't book your ticket yet as that is near my sister's place and she might be able to give you a lift from here early Monday morning. I'll ring her now and get back to you."

Jenny didn't know that I had a 'fixed' invitation due, possibly to the same casting as her. Also of course I didn't want to spoil her moment speculating so left it there until I could check with Litara. It takes 15 minutes in Dad's car to get from the yard to our house, pick up a letter and get back to the yard which makes it a ridiculous thing to do but but these things happen when it takes your sister 16 minutes to answer the phone!

"You're on for a lift on Monday Jenny and I'm coming too! Litara knows about the casting and says your competition is 100 girls from all over the country. I've been included because of the programme Litara and Jean Luc are making but she didn't know about you being one of the people auditioning."

"You could get a job too Venus. Just because you're doing Litara's programme doesn't mean you stand less chance than the rest of us. If you're good you're good so let's get together on Saturday and decide what we'll wear!"

"Work! No more playtime!"

"Yes Daddy."

"Don't you 'Yes Daddy' me. Litara tried that and it won't work."

"No Daddy."

"No what?"

"No Litara can't make you say Yes, Daddy"

"Yes what?"

"Oh thank you Daddy, I knew you'd let me go to London with Litara on Monday!"

In fairness I did still put in 9 hours work that day fitting wiring into the boat to Dad's design with everything made out of the best quality materials that could be bought. Even something as simple as lighting is a problem on a boat where temperature and voltage available vary a lot, power is limited and it all has to work in a salty atmosphere. Of course I'd be the one to suffer when things broke so I cut no corners and re-made any soldered connection of which I was unsure.

I did have to put up with a deal of teasing from Jack and Ian, especially when I took to wearing gloves but I was very resistant to playing the helpless female even when help was offered. That in turn got me accusations of becoming a strident feminist to which I sweetly replied I'd love their help if they would promise to come when I needed help alone in the middle of an ocean.

Not everything said and done was of a teasing nature though - for instance I hadn't noticed until working all day with these men that in proprietary moments Jack or Ian would put a hand on my back unlike my Da who sometimes pushed my hair back. Small things count.

Sorting out Jenny's casting 'look' that weekend was simple although you wouldn't think so the flap she got into. Think a warm topcoat for the journey and underneath classic blonde, casual smart and you've got it. For me it was more difficult for, as well as taking part in the casting, I was likely to be on camera for the television programme and I didn't want to divert attention away from the girls with a story to tell. Postponing my decision on clothes for a day; after dancing on Saturday afternoon I `splashed the cash’ with an eyelash extension fill-in and a manicure - nobody was going to see me on Monday looking anything less than totally Naomi!

Possibly not the brightest of moves as, although as it meant that for Saturday night with the gang I was 'hot', on Sunday morning I spent the whole of my scuba class wondering how many nails I'd break and if the eyelashes were swimming-pool-resistant!

"If you get this job you're going to be a basket case!" was Serena's reaction when she came round to visit Sunday afternoon and watched me picking my clothes for next day.

"I've decided that for the journey I'll wear a white shirt with the jacket and Uggs I wore to see Dr Stanhope as they're warm and comfortable but to give myself a chance in the casting I'll concentrate on my below the waist style taking my best heels to change into as they won't be obtrusive during the reporter's camera work which by its nature is sure to be head and above the waist shots."

"Sounds like a plan." said Serena. "In fact it sounds like a plan you've spent your entire weekend working on so enough about you. It's me time!"

Serena's domestic life was going through a sticky patch as her father had accused Alistair Dougan of using underhand methods to poach his staff which in the world of estate agents, realtors and property developers is almost a compliment. After a contorted description of the dispute I began to suspect Serena of playing them off against each other for some scheme of her own.

"You're angling for more holiday time!" I accused.

"Damn you're good! What gave me away?"

"I've known you for ever See and learnt to listen to what you don't say. All that was left was an apartment of your own or extended time off - even you can't stand much chance of getting an apartment and we were talking about Madeira and Rio de Janeiro last week, so……"

There is huge comfort in long term friendships and when Serena left it was with a hug and good luck wish plus a threat to tear me into small pieces if I didn't call her as soon as Jenny and I had news.

Next morning Litara and I picked up Jenny at 5 am, after of course I'd had a last minute change of outfit. I'd added a cami under the shirt in case they wanted to see more of my admittedly very average figure, changed the jacket for something lighter while hoping I didn't freeze and stuck my Uggs in my bag in favour of my killer heels. I'd done my best and now it was up to the selectors.

It was 9:30 before we got to the hall and Litara dropped us at a nearby warm café suggesting we follow her in an hour. By now we knew that the 100 hopefuls were coming from all over the country to fill several categories and which ones we were up for was indicated by a colour code on the name clip that had come with our invitation - privately she had told me that a green circle indicated someone of particular interest to the reporter and she wanted me to concentrate socially on those.

That hour was very slow as neither of us were keen to eat or drink much but eventually we joined a crowd of other young hopefuls signing in.

"Girls." I jumped as unnoticed by me one of the men had picked up a microphone. "You are all here because you are new faces and we are looking for new faces. Our methods may seem chaotic but they work. You will see around the hall several tables each with a coloured tablecloth and it is your responsibility over the next 3 hours to visit each table whose colour matches a circle on your name tag."

He paused for a moment. "A word of warning: no commitments will be offered until 3 pm so don't waste time asking; secondly you all have in common that you have done modelling courses because that is where we obtained your details and that is the explanation for the two camera crews you will have noticed. They are making a programme for television comparing the experiences of students on different courses. You are under no obligation to talk to them and they must have your written consent to air any film footage of you. I'll hand over now to Martin Wood here, who you may recognise, to explain further."

I did recognise the new man with the microphone but I couldn't have named him and all he said was that he and his colleague Shirley Porter would separately be moving among us, each with a camera crew, and they would welcome any comments we might have on the courses we had taken.

There were 6 coloured tables and if they gave 5 minutes to each candidate in 3 hours each table would see 36 out of the 100 of us. I on the other hand with 3 tables to visit would spend 2¾ hours just queueing! It began to make sense because bored people talk. Within 30 minutes I had identified the undercover reporter who hung around Martin Wood and made several complaining remarks about the teacher trying to sell her amphetamines to lose weight.

"Suck it up sweet cheeks!" came a voice from just behind me. "If you can't stand the heat you'll never make it as a model. I had to screw the teacher's cousin and you don't hear me complaining, and no Mr Wood you don't have my permission to use that!"

That reaction was common with the students taking pride in the abuse they'd endured to get here. Very little of it could be shown on television and I couldn't imagine it interesting the public.

I did get to the first of my tables and they did want my shirt off so it was lucky I'd changed my plan. I'd imagined spending most of the time posing and walking but they were more interested in my sailing and tennis - my 5 minute guess was about right though.

Shirley Porter seemed to be running a model class appreciation session. I did tell her how the teacher used a fan to try and blow me out of a backless dress but did it more to raise laugh than complain. I had to leave her in any case for my second table which only lasted a minute once they spotted my tattoo!

Queueing at my third table I found myself next to the girl who'd almost boasted about having sex with the teacher's cousin to get here. She was it turned out good company and had come down from Yorkshire. I couldn't resist asking why she hadn't told the teacher to take a running jump. "

"My boyfriend really wants me to get into modelling because he thinks I have potential but the teacher said he'd throw me off the course if I didn't do go with his cousin."

"In that case he'd have had to refund your money."

"That's what I told him but he said he'd tell everyone I tried to seduce him if I tried to get it back."

"Who'd believe him?"

"Maybe not many but I wouldn't have the money for another course and my boyfriend is the one who got me onto the course because he's a friend of the teacher."

Something didn't sound right about this. "Where is your boyfriend today if he's so keen for you to become a model?"

That is when this tough cookie broke down in tears. "He told me the competition would be too tough for this job and it would be a waste of money. It's my money so I said I was coming anyway and he dumped me!"

That was when I became aware of Shirley Porter, her accompanying camera pointed straight at us, and that it was my turn at the casting table.

I was gently pushed aside as Shirley moved in to put an arm around the sobbing girl and gesture with a nod that I should move to the table.

Hardly aware of what I was doing for the next few minutes my mind was trying to make sense of the story I'd just heard while my body incongruously went through dance steps.

"Thank you Miss Williams. Next please." and I was left suspended…

Chapter 18

A waving hand beckoning me attracted my attention to a side door off the main hall. Shirley Porter and the person I'd 'sussed' as being the undercover reporter had taken the Yorkshire girl aside, the green circle on her tag having marked her modelling class as being suspect. The reporter it turned out knew a lot more about the boyfriend and the teacher than did the girl, Sarah. The reporter's investigation had started out researching individual cases of drug pushing and abuse both physical and sexual but had uncovered what seemed to be a ring of men who by a mixture of grooming and blackmail were steering sometimes very young girls into prostitution.

The boyfriend and the teacher were heavily involved in the ring but had chosen the wrong girl this time! Once the reporter explained that she personally knew that the boyfriend had at least two other 'girlfriends'… well I got the impression his chances of ever fathering children had suddenly become significantly reduced. Not only that but Sarah announced that having only recently turned 16 years old the sex had occurred when she had been legally underage!

Sarah was smart though. She had come here at her own expense for a casting and, she informed us, was going to have it! Not only that but she was aware, telling us in no uncertain terms, that there was very little chance of the men being prosecuted let alone found guilty on her word alone and she might even be accused of racism as she happened to be white and they weren't.

"Besides," she concluded. "I am not a victim now and I refuse to be seen as a victim even if the law insists that I was then!"

Sarah, with my help, did a repair job on her face and the two of us went back to the queue at the interview table where we had started our chat. The camera was following and filming the two of us when Sarah turned directly to camera stating that what she was about to say they had her permission to broadcast and then she explained why there had been a break in filming; what she had been told; and, in the starkest of terms, what the boyfriend, the teacher and the teacher's 'cousin' had done when she was 15. Her final words? Slowly, calmly, but with icy venom dripping from every syllable…

"If they don't like me saying this on television let the bastards sue me." With her sounding like a sentencing high court judge it was difficult to accept that she was still only 16 for she was magnificent!

Sarah joined Jenny and I at the café for a much needed escape from the hothouse atmosphere and I found out that Jenny had been to 4 castings with the only overlap being the one my tattoo got me ejected from.

"You've got the same tattoo Jenny! We got them together!!"

Sarah thought it was a hoot as Jenny patiently instructed me in the art of covering tattoos and by the time we walked back into the hall we were 'The Three Musketeers' ready to face the selectors.

I'd assumed without thinking that 6 tables meant 6 jobs but I'd got it all wrong - this was an elimination process and 20 of us would go through to the next stage of one or more 'fashion shoots'. It seems that there is even more competition to be a fashion photographer than there is to be a model and those models that got through would be fodder for aspiring photographers! This time we would be paid a total of £150 for a session to cover travel, which would be fairly local to our homes, and up to 10 hours work on the day with several photographers.

No pot yet to be found at the end of the rainbow then, but I was human and didn't want to be eliminated as one-by-one 14 individuals were called forward as having an assignment and handed their individual details with the cameras filming their reactions. One of them Jenny pointed out, was Blanche the bitch from our class who I hadn't even noticed as being there.

There was a pause as Michael Wood picked up the microphone and asked "Are you nervous yet?"

Another girl was called forward, told 2 assignments and handed the details; another with 2 and it was Sarah!; yet another with 2 and she was me!!

It hardly registered as the next was given 3 assignments until I realised that Jenny was uncalled. Another with 3 and Jenny was squeezing my hand so tight…

Four assignment for Jenny! Cardiff's very own Kate Moss as we'd called her in college days, had 4 assignments, which was more than anyone else and I was so excited that I flung my arms around her her neck on her return to the fold.

A moment like that demanded a street party but of 6 billion people all but a hundred cared nothing for for our success so The Three Musketeers headed for the tube station and minutes later Jenny and I were waving goodbye to Sarah who we might never meet again.

Looking along the platform on our side I spotted Blanche standing by herself and looking very lonely. What can you do? Yes she's a snob yes, but she's our snob so I approached.

"Congratulations Blanche. I'm really pleased that you got an assignment."

"Like I'm going to believe that Mister 'Ladyboy' Williams!"

Chapter 19

"No Jenny!" I said sharply stepping right into her path as she was making a lunge to push Blanche off the platform. "This has been a good a day for me and I know how to play this game!

I know you don't like me Blanche but what have you got against 'ladyboys'? Is it that they're from Thailand, is it a race thing? No? Maybe a colour thing? Is that what gets to you, that ladyboys and I aren't quite white. Of course it could be religion that's always a good one and I know the people in Thailand and I rarely go to chapel. Then there's the worst one of all - that they and I just aren't Welsh enough for you. Come on Blanche, pick your prejudice so we can have a good argument - unless that is you want to forget this silly game and join Jenny and me on the train before we all miss the coach back to Cardiff?"

At that moment the train door opened and by default we stepped on together. "I've got nothing against Thais. I don't know any Thais - it's you I can't stand Williams!"

"You're right Blanche, it's the jeans. They're too tight and they make my bum look huge and nobody likes a big bum."

"It's not the jeans. They're great jeans. It's you. You're a Mister!"

"I know Blanche; it says so right on my birth certificate so it must be true. Lucky really it didn't say I was a horse or they wouldn't have allowed me on this train. I like horses but they do poop everywhere so I can see their point in not letting them on the train."

"It's nothing to do with horses it's … You're a …"

"Yes Blanche?"

"I hate you!"

"I know Blanche but it's so exhausting and I don't know why you would hate someone you hardly know… unless that is, it's easier for you to hate them than talk to them?"

"Why did you do it?"

"I don't think I did do it any more than you did it. One day we look in the mirror and recognise that the person being reflected is us."

"So why do I look at you and see a man who looks like a woman?

"I don't know, when you saw Dana International on Eurovision †, did you see a man who looks like a woman? How about Hayley on Coronation Street? ‡

"Hayley is played by a woman, everybody knows that."

"How does everybody know? Is it because she looks like a woman? What if they had cast a woman who looks like a man or a man who looks like a woman? What if they had cast me?"

"It doesn't make any difference. You're the one I see in Cardiff. You're the one who makes my skin crawl!"

"Like it's crawling now as you talk to me? I'm not asking you to like me as there are things about me that I don't like either - the way my tummy sometimes looks like it's full of cold lumpy porridge; the way I get into arguments like this one. There are things about you that make me want to scream like the way you lift up your chin and look down your nose."

"I don't do that!… Do I?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't like anything about peanut butter; I don't buy it; I avoid looking at it; I've even been known to leave the room when someone else is eating it but I certainly don't waste energy hating it! You are my human peanut-butter!"

"Stuffed olives! They're my peanut-butter."

"With the red stuff in them? Gross! Who eats those thing?"

Blanche and I will never be friends but thanks to Yorkshire Sarah, who I'm sure I'd been channeling, we did get to Cardiff together without bloodshed. Blanche, Jenny and I even shared a taxi from the coach station.

I so wanted to sleep-in next morning - emotionally drained I guess - but there was money to be earned and a boat to build. The contrast between the company of Dad, Jack, Ian and Bill to that of those I met through modelling was stark. In many ways the men were easier to be around as, in this environment at least, they joked around a lot and didn't get jealous or easily offended. But then I suspected that they found it easier to lavish care and attention on the boat than they would have on a baby left in their care! Was it a male/female thing, a young/old thing a 'manual work'/'media work' thing? Mainly different levels and different areas of experience I expect and it did at least make my life more interesting in the days ahead when we I had to spend so much of my time soldering, splicing, swaging, vacuuming, dusting, washing, plucking, epilating, exfoliating…

The downside of an emotionally easy working life is that it leaves few memories. In my time with the gang I do remember our celebrating together some success at work of Serena and Penny's, particularly as they jumped and I was dragged into the waters of Cardiff Marina in March - it appears that the Non-Executive part of Non-executive Director meant I couldn't fire them. In my time spent at classes I do remember when the instructor unexpectedly pulled my mask off underwater as part of my scuba lesson; I do remember when it became clear in the dance class that the man with the livid scar and the taller of the girls with cerebral palsy had fallen in love; and I do clearly remember throwing the self-defence teacher flat on his back, even if in my kick-boxing lessons I'd found I had developed almost a phobia against using against a real person, one of the kicks at which I was becoming adept in practice on the punch bag. The only major memory from the yard over that time was when unloading the newly delivered carbon-fibre mast we accidentally punched out one of the workshop windows.

Most of all I suppose I remember the day I fulfilled my assignment for a sportswear shoot in Bristol. Two models, ten photographers and one organiser with each photographer getting 2 hours with one of the girls. My first was a 'Mr Cool' type type who said he wanted to bring a modern ironic eye to classic photos of the past - whereas I suspected he was a nasty little perv as I reprised the classic 'Tennis playing girl scratching her bum' poster.

† Transgender winner of Eurovision Song Contest in 1998
‡ In 1998 became the first long running transgender character in a British soap opera.

Chapter 20

I've often heard it said that modelling, like acting, is much harder work than it looks, but not in my experience. It can be boring when you are treated like an object but it can also be fun when the photographer collaborates with you.

"Make like in those tampon adverts where you can go swimming, ride your bike and play tennis all before breakfast" encouraged the woman who took over for the second session, "even though in real life you feel like reaching in and ripping out your uterus!" It worked, she got the blue-screen shot she wanted as I reached out that extra inch.

The male organiser was also the makeup artist which was the first time any man had done my makeup and a rather pleasant experience as he fitted none of the camp makeup artist stereotypes. The purpose of the assignment might have been to stretch the photographer's ability to make the most of the outfits but as the photographers kept the rights to the images and expected to add them to their own portfolios, standards had to be maintained which meant a lot of cosmetic attention over the day. On a few occasions I got to see him working on Tanya, the other model who was from nearby Bath, and by the way she lapped up the attention I had a pretty good idea of what I looked like when it was my own turn!

I did feel sorry for the final photographers on that day - they had first a wait of 8 hours before they could begin work and then had to use models who'd already been on their feet since morning. Despite or maybe because of that, my final session went particularly well I felt and the photographer, Philip, and I ended our day by travelling together back to Cardiff, on the train, where in that 'small world' way I found he not only lived in Cardiff but also knew and would like to know better Evan if you follow my drift. We swapped cards with promises to meet up again although for some reason I didn't have the heart to tell him I had no ambitions to become a full-time model as in fashion terms I counted as 'a plus size' (UK 10-12, US 6-8) and had no intention of loosing weight.

Back in Cardiff a few days later, during our regular Saturday afternoon gathering in the city, Jenny and I had our modelling experience dissected by the others as payback for our moment in the spotlight. Jenny was quizzed especially for the 'cosmetics shoot' that had been her first assignment and for which she had received copies of the photos which looked like magazine cover pictures and were an odd juxtaposition of the real Jenny in front of us who we knew so well and the fantasy 'Jennifer' who we were sure would soon live in the world of high-fashion.

In the yard Dumblebit, Bill's new boat, was coming along fast as was the pressure for us to come up with a real name. My suggestions so far had been Nautilus (for the orange and white shell-fish), Titanic (on a bad day), and DuMBLeBIT (on a day I felt sensitive - 'Does My Bum Look Big In This?'). Nautilus was vetoed for its association with the submarine in 20,000 leagues under the sea - (it seems a submarine namesake wasn't a good image for a yacht and by the same logic Jack's Das Boot wasn't allowed either). Litara had the final say on the boat's name as the television involvement was uppermost even though all of the original reasons I'd had which made me agree to cooperate with the television had physically if not legally evaporated. She was the one who got to decide what was acceptable and apparently Titanic was in 'bad taste' and HMS DuMBLeBIT 'too frivolous' (the HMS addition came from Ian when I was in Naomi mode and he referred to me as Her Majesty). This did not stop Dumblebit being adopted by all and sundry, even Litara, on a day-to-day basis for convenience like the temporary lyrics used by song writers.

On a personal level I hit a crisis point in my understanding of Dumblebit's wiring and 'add-ons'. While I could still follow the wiring diagrams that Dad gave me I had no feel for how the whole network melded together and it made me 'touchily insecure' to the extent that one day, listening to Dad and Bill discussing the addition of a second wind generator, I blew up…

"You two have totally lost the plot! You came on so strong at the beginning that this was a boat for normal people to sail and maintain. That it would be safer for me because I could make any repairs needed by myself. Now it's beginning to make Blue Horizon and WorthIt (which were the 2 most complicated boats I'd ever crewed) look simple in comparison and they have to hire expensive professionals to fix them!" and with that I stormed out of the work-shed and walked home in case I smashed something in frustration.

It took the two of them to talk me down that evening. First Dad joined me at the kitchen table with what appeared to be a freshly drawn wiring diagram but was an overall schematic for the boat with, at the last count:- 8 high tech batteries two diesel generators; two electric drive motors; two solar panels; two wind generators; and one towing generator. "This is the core of the boat he explained the different forms of generator are individually very different in the voltages and currents they supply and all prone to individual breakdown in ways you couldn't repair but the circuitry together ensures that as long as there are 4 good batteries and 1 generator to charge them the system will work, at least until the batteries go flat and you have to wait for them to recharge. When you get to your next stop you replace rather that repair broken units."

That was fine of course as long as what Dad was saying was true - something I had no way of judging. Was I going to call him a liar?

Bill's approach was somewhat different - he took me to the marina bar and we took our drinks to the table where months before we had discussed celestial navigation with a sextant.

"Would it surprise you if I told you I don't understand your Dad's circuits either?" I hadn't thought about it but Bill had never mentioned a technical background so it was probably true.

"At school, at college, while sailing, in dancing, in modelling, in scuba diving, in self-defence and kick-boxing, in making stays for yachts and electrical circuits you have learnt from people you felt were expert compared to you. At the same time you understood that those people were fallible humans beings and that there were different workable ways of doing things. If you went to a decent school, unlike in my day, they might have even have shown you that history can sound very different according to who tells it and that every now and then there is a paradigm shift in the way we see everything."

"Do you mean like bacon-and-egg ice-cream?"

"If you're thinking of that chef from Bray in the paper who puts ingredients together that were never put together before and then cooks them in ways that were never done before, yes that is exactly what I mean."

"What has that to do with Dumblebit's electrics?"

"It isn't as commonly accepted but science and technology have been through paradigm shifts too. Science was once about absolutely predicting the future with a Theory of Everything but first relativity and then uncertainty humbled that dream. Technology was once about making things that would last for ever like the pyramids, then it became about making copies that could cheaply be replaced as they broke or wore out and now it is about putting together things that can be copied cheaply in ways they have never been put together before so as the individual bits break or get updated they can be easily replaced. You might say I believe that Isaac is Cardiff's very own electrical Heston Blumenthal." †

"So Dad might have it wrong but if I do it the way he says you at least believe the results will be worth it Bill?"

"Perfectly put Venus except that as well as preparing the ingredients and cooking the meal, as per your Dad's instructions, you will be the first person to actually try and eat bacon-and-egg ice-cream!"

† Heston Blumenthal OBE - Celebrity Chef who promoted techniques like cooking with dry ice

Chapter 21

I'd screwed up again hadn't I? I might be good at building electrical circuits - faster, with fewer repairs to do and fewer mistakes missed than Dad but still I'd blown up on the job I was being paid to do. Admittedly if I never built another electrical circuit I wouldn't miss anything about it but the money, but I'd allowed my perfectionism to get out-of-hand, in a way creating the opposite situation to when doing the unpaid things in my life.

It might have been odd that I'd needed some sort of permission at the start to allow myself to dance and get into 'model mode' but that permission had worked and once started I'd come to enjoy them more than most would have done. Now it seems it was time to give myself permission to stop working myself into a sweat over the electrical circuits: to be satisfied with less than perfection as long as it was good enough for Dad who was the electrical designer and Bill whose boat it was to be (and who was paying the bill).

On the television behind the bar was the chancellor of the exchequer, probably pushing the idea of freeing the banks of restrictions if I'd understood recent economic moves at all. Was it the right thing to do? Did he have a special understanding of economics or the present economic situation that made his decision better than someone else's or a decision made on the toss of a coin? In my position as a Non-Executive Director of Arianrhod Development it might sound authoritative if I told people through a blog or newspaper letter that the chancellor's decisions were wrong. If however they knew me as Venus, the tantrum throwing lowest of the low in the boat building world, they would simply laugh at my economic ignorance. What about as internationally famous model Venus Williams or billionairess Venus Williams… ? Was the whole decision making adult world populated by actors who'd given themselves permission to act rather than experts? Are they one and the same thing - merely human?

Back home I spent some time with Dad, first apologising, which seemed a good start and then getting him to agree to pay me the same rate to help Jack with the woodwork as he had been paying me to work on the electrics. A concession I made was to finish Dumblebit's wiring as long as I could drop doing the wiring on Dad's other jobs - his concession in return was to try to get Ian to teach me to weld stainless steel so I would have some variety in my work and an extra skill. By anyone's standards Dad is far from being chauvinistic or insecure - he'd stood by me when even Mum was thrown by my changes; he loved to dance and rarely drank but it was fun to see the surprise on his face when I said I wanted to learn to weld - of course unlike me he had not regularly watched throughout childhood the video of Alex(andra), the dancing welder in the movie Flashdance.

Maybe I'd needed a major emotional shakeup as after that blow-up I felt more relaxed at work and more confident about giving some input to the layout of bits and pieces aboard. My woodwork and metalwork became an unexpected success as it turned out I had the good eye for 3-dimensional shapes and the steady hand necessary for building boats that have many curves and few right-angles.

Outside work as well, my personal style was evolving and becoming more confident which drew unexpected attention. My second modelling assignment was for a specialist in dance and evening wear and held right here in Cardiff with 3 models and 15 photographers. Think less a modelling session, more an occassion likely to attract attention under the civil disorder laws. I hadn't helped things when through my connection to Litara I tried to get Kelly an opportunity to work as a makeup up artist… Kelly got her opportunity at the expense of Litara turning up with Jean Luc and his camera.

Then without Litara's keen eye maybe nobody would have noticed the presence of Philip, the photographer I'd met in Bristol, who I'd invited to meet me at the end of the session so that we could afterward join the gang, including Evan, for a night out. Philip being a 'chancer' spotted an opportunity and arrived first thing in the morning to talk his way into being allowed to photograph the whole session, unpaid, in return for the designer, who was also there, having first refusal on the photographs at a very reasonable price…

As I suggested, it was creative mayhem but I loved the clothes which ranged from from romantically floating to downright sexy. Even I was surprised that a dance-wear designer's range extended so far as to include costumes for pole dancers - yes there was a pole set up for our use but I was unable to persuade Litara, winner of Grandma Tina's hen-night pole-dancing competition, to demonstrate how it should be done until she had made every photographer swear to keep off their cameras - which limited my opportunity for blackmail to my own cell phone which she had forgotten about!

Such was the exuberant mood the session produced that afterwards all of those who didn't have trains to catch stayed with us into the evening once 'my gang' turned up and somehow, without paying entrance, we all ended up descending onto the upmarket club where Serena and I had downed the slime-ball on our last visit. I got to show off my new colourful jacket and leggings that I'd bought at large discount from the designer and, if I'm not mistaken, Philip got Evan.

The unexpected success? Seven days later my photo was splashed all over the local paper as the most colourful character prominent in an article highlighting the Cardiff Club Scene!

Book 2, Chapter 22

Wales isn't known for the huge numbers of its butterflies but enormous numbers must have been flapping around Cardiff to explain the whirlwind of media forces that concentrated on Dumblebit's launching on Wednesday, April 11th 2001 at 12:15.

Disastrous ship and boat launches have been a popular source of humour since the dawn of film but they aren't that common that the simple popping of a yacht into the water with a crane would attract the media vultures. Litara was expected to be there with her cameraman for the project of course and it was the tiny beats of her butterfly wings that gave the final impetus that turned a local event into national news.

It started with the boat name as we'd being calling her Dumblebit, unable to come up with a proper name, so Litara announced that the various documentary makers involved felt that to give the project added unity the best name would be 'The Transit of Venus' which linked Cook's voyage and my transition/transportation.

I was ready to go along with the inevitable when Bill, whose boat it was said "No. You can't give a boat a name beginning with 'The'. Around the world vessels are named by a prefix such as HMS, SS or USS and then a name, so although the public might talk of The Ark Royal she is properly named as HMS Ark Royal. The best I can offer you is SV (for Sailing Vessel) 'Transit of Venus'."

Although the name sounded slightly 'off' it wasn't obvious why and nobody objected. "T of V' it is then," concluded Ian anxious to get on with proper work. To formalise the moment he painted 'Transit of Venus' onto the reverse side of a piece of wood, on which he had previously painted in jest 'Dumblebit', and then hung the new nameplate from the bow. The decision had been made but history has inertia so we continued to say Dumblebit secure in the knowledge we would call her Transit of Venus when the time became appropriate.

With a precise launch time announced because of the hire crane's schedule, my friends showed the sort of low moral fibre that allowed them to skive off from work to come and cheer the moment - as it seemed did half of Cardiff through family and work connections. None of these people I'm sure had phoned the local newspapers, radio stations or television companies but when people chat there are two alternatives: either the details are soon forgotten or new information starts being linked to other remembered details. My life it became apparent had been drifting across some sort of vague line where it was uncertain if I was an anonymous private individual or a local public figure and as this is the gossip that the local media feed on they joined the throng of spectators at the launch.

Sunshine with showers was the typical April weather forecast for the day. The boat's cradle had been winched across the yard to the water's edge where the crane was ready to lift her into the water between 2 jetties steadied by lines, 2 from the bows and 2 from the stern quarters, held by Dad, Jack, Ian and Evan. Grandma Tina, Bill, Mum and Latira were standing on the back of Bill's pickup truck ready to swing the champagne and name the boat when a voice clearly asked "This is the TV boat isn't it?"

Probably the question was innocently asked to check that it was the boat to be used in the making of a TV/television programme rather than the boat to be sailed by the local TV/transvestite but I think Litara recognised in that moment 'Transit of Venus' as a regularly used name just had too many associations other than Cook and astronomy…

"Dumblebit! Please call her Dumblebit!" shouted Litara over the rising roar of the crane's engine's as it took the load.

Age hadn't slowed Bill and Grandma's wits one iota and with a swift motion Bill span the nameplate to show Dumblebit and swinging the champagne bottle Grandma shouted at the top of her not inconsiderable lungs just as the crane's diesel died down

"I name this ship Dumblebit!"

The cameras were rolling, and many photographers snapping as one unfortunate photographer, ignoring safety instructions, moved between Ian and the water's edge to get a better angle. A gust of wind began to spin Dumblebit so Ian stepped back with his port bowline better to brace himself against the strain knocking the errant photographer in the water.

Maybe the photographer's scream distracted Ian because in stumbling he was jerked off his feet to hang helpless from the bows leaving Jack on the starboard quarter line, feet scrabbling and slipping on gravel, as the only force remaining to stop the accelerating spin. The spin was becoming a dangerous swing as I grabbed the loose line from behind Jack and quickly threw a braking turn of rope around a bollard but not so quickly that the photographers failed to catch the image of Jack and Ian hanging from their prospective ropes above the water, the crane teetering on two legs looking ready to fall, a drenched photographer regaining the security of the jetty and the nameplate brightly proclaiming the name Dumblebit.

That was the image the Sunday papers eventually ran, with various headlines playing on 'I name this ship Dumblebit' and 'Does My Bum Look Big In This'. The BBC as early as that evening ran with the line that without my quick thinking to stop the swing, Dumblebit, the crane and possibly several lives would have been lost while the commercial station promoted the line that the incident arose from ignoring the superstition that it is unlucky to change the name of a vessel. During that actual lunchtime though the incident was over so quickly that we just breathed a sigh of relief no harm was done, motored Dumblebit round to the marina and enjoyed the hampers of goodies that Grandma, Mum and Bill had laid on to feed the 5,000.

Book 2, Chapter 23

It wasn't until on our way to work next day that I heard from Mr Patel in the paper-shop that Dumblebit's launch had been on the television - despite knowing the cameras were present my heart believes television pictures come from a different universe. Litara had driven back to London soon after the launch and the Wednesday dance classes for Mum, Dad and myself meant we missed seeing the local news. Mr Patel was only the first of many to describe our television moment as we continued Dumblebit's fit-out where she was now afloat in the marina.

My biggest surprise was when Martina, Gwen and George came screaming down the dock. It had been 6 months since I'd seen any of them as I'd been away for when they came home at Christmas.

"You're such a tart for the cameras!" announced Martina. "I came home at Christmas to see you swanning about for the cameras in Bilbao and the first thing I saw coming back to Cardiff this time is you on the BBC playing Wonder Woman lassoing bollards."

"I didn't lasso it!"

"Sure looked that way to me." insisted George.

A cough from Jack reminded me that I was supposed to be working so I had to cut our conversation short with an arrangement I would gather as many of the gang as possible for us all to meet at the pub near my house at 9 pm.

Those arrangements for a gathering of the clan progressed during my lunch break with phone calls to Serena, Kelly and Jenny and then Penny arrived with Andy and Mrs Clark from the development. It seems Penny was determined that Andy was going to live in one of the new apartment/workshop properties producing sculptures; despite my suspicion that his work was of strictly hobby quality and he'd never sell anything, let alone enough to pay for rent.

After they left I was thinking about the odd relationship that had been growing between Penny and Andy, and wondering why he tolerated her meddling, when Simon Snow from the South Wales Argus turned up at the boat. He wanted, he said, a personal interview and had been doing his homework, even having even heard about the frantic drive with John to the hospital. Of the journalists I'd met he seemed the most trustworthy although I could have been biased because I'd managed to manipulated him last time. There was the programme on the modelling scandal soon to be aired and with the fast approaching Transit of Venus voyage series I was tempted to try to manage my public image in advance… The word image threw up in my mind the picture of Litara furious because I'd allowed the eyelash extension woman to use photographs of me in her advertising without Litara's permission.

"I'd like to give you an interview Simon but I'm not a free agent and before I can talk properly I will have to ask my manager." The irony was not lost on me although hopefully Simon didn't see what it cost me to say that.

"Tell the truth and no more than the truth you are asked for. Journalists come with a story they want to tell and Simon Snow will be looking for quotes from you to hang his story on." were Litara's instructions as I got ready for my evening out.

"That doesn't sound difficult so why do the papers give so many problems for the people they interview?"

"Because people try to protect themselves like Clinton saying ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman.’ or they try to please the journalist and puff themselves up by saying what they believe the journalist wants to hear so sometimes dropping a coin in a collection box becomes ‘I am active in several charities.’"

"That still doesn't explain why you're coming with me." I concluded finally getting my hair to just that right combination of casual but classy to complement my 'off-duty model' look.

"Because my little sister is growing up fast and I love her."

The interview was arranged for 20:15 at the pub and didn't go at all as expected? "I'm writing a book on those called Generation Y or The Millennials, concentrating on those who turned 18 in 2000 and whether you realise it or not you are the loudest member of that group in Cardiff. What I don't know is whether you are typical of your age or someone special. If you are typical I'd like your input for the book but if not I'd really like to write an article on what makes you special."

"Do you really believe you can divide people up like that? There are no 'special' people unless you're thinking of people like those in the disabled group I dance with."

"So Mozart and Einstein weren't special?"

"Probably not in any way you'd notice if they were here in this bar. Ask someone deaf since birth if Mozart was special and Einstein said he didn't believe god played dice because to his mind the quantum physics that we now see as governing so much was just wrong thinking."

"So why when your friends are studying or working in regular jobs do you keep cropping up in conversation and the media as doing all manner of unusual things?"

"I think many of my friends have something in mind they want to achieve or to avoid so perhaps their concentration means they don't see macaws up trees."

"That doesn't explain why the papers aren't full of stories of other unambitious 18 year olds."

"Unintended consequences just linked things for me but not for others… The macaw got me noticed which produced medical gossip which led to a trip to Bilbao which led to the television interview which caused me to sail across the Atlantic which… "

"Hold it a moment. You sailed across the Atlantic?"

'Oh shit!' I silently thought 'Tell the truth and no more than the truth you are asked for' was what I was told… "Litara. I think Mr Snow has some questions we need you to answer."

Maybe it was cowardly but it was 9 pm and the first of the gathering arrived in the form of Evan, Philip and Jenny so I made my excuses saying we had run past the 30 minutes he'd asked for and left Litara to pick up the pieces.

My local pub is nothing special but the following day was the Good Friday bank holiday so spirits were high and everyone and their dog had turned up including gap-year Gareth who had just flown in from Australia, flush with cash and deeply tanned.

George, on his arrival, had plonked a cardboard Wonder Woman tiara on my head and it stayed there as we made introductions, caught up on news and tried to reconnect on another level. The reconnection was the most difficult as, although I thought we in Cardiff were unchanged it was the students, Martina, Gwen and George who were if anything just more extreme versions of their old selves while work experience had probably tempered the behaviour of the stay-at-homes.

Gareth was full of himself and even better looking than when he was on the receiving end of my enthusiastic kiss at Serena's swimming pool and I was the one who had done the most new things and physically changed to be almost unrecognisable even though I could only see changes in me through the eyes of my friends. I certainly didn't envy Simon Snow the job of finding common threads that joined us or lines that separated us from other generations.

Evan and Philip came in for a deal of teasing which confused Gareth who hadn't heard Evan was gay. That led to the suggestion that with Penny and Andy tied at the hip, Serena and I were letting the side down by not either finding boyfriends or becoming a couple. George inadvisedly leapt to Serena's defence stating he knew Serena wasn't a lesbian then had to apologise with a self-depreciating comment that girls who went out with him tended to decide they were lesbian (I wasn't immediately sure but Kelly seemed to look at George more intently after that and then in the toilets she quizzed me on his details so… Watch this space?).

As I left the toilets Litara, who to my surprise had remained talking to Simon for a good hour, beckoned me over.

"Do you expect to be richer than Mum and Dad?"

It was a ridiculous question - I was 18 so how could I possibly know - except that if everything went as Bill wanted I would be incredibly rich. Not even Litara knew that so she must mean something else.

Simon stepped in to explain. "People have been getting richer, taller and living longer throughout the 20th century so the question is, do today's 18 year olds expect that trend to continue?"

I didn't have the faintest idea so called for backup from Kelly and Serena who were followed, as the discussion became heated, by everyone else moving their tables and chairs to join in…

Chapter 24

"Global warming," claimed Andy as an example of an unknown that could turn predictions upside down.

"Yes we could soon be extinct but if we are then this talk means nothing so we might as well assume we'll be here with a booming economy in things like solar panels."

"If you buy property then history says in the long run you'll make a profit."

"Sure if the maintenance and tax doesn't bankrupt you first."

On that April evening of 2001 we could have passed for any group of city dwellers in the breadth of our holocaust scenarios and sure fire winning schemes except maybe an older group would have been drawn from a narrower base and eventually have agreed on some particular set of people not included in the gathering, to blame for all of life's problems.

"What makes you think there is something about our having become 18 in the year 2000 that makes us worth writing about Simon?" I asked having pretty much decided that The Millenials were a non-starter as a book topic.

"Come back in 20 years and I might have a good answer for you Venus but at the moment I just believe that your generation will have to cope with bigger faster social changes than any of us can imagine while creating the generation to come. That means writing about you and your friends will be like writing about The Beatles and their friends 40 years ago."

"Who?"

Simon's words 'Creating the generation to come' felt like a knife going in. I know there are girls who don't want children or at 18 haven't given it much thought but I'm not one. Back in Bilbao I'd described myself to Aarón Martinez as a genetic melting pot person but knowing that at times in history as many as 90% of women had children, a comment like Simon's could make me feel totally outside the human race. What made me a bit like everyone so far seemed to be barring me from a fundamental human experience.

Looking across the bar I could see myself reflected wearing the bloody silly cardboard tiara. I took it off and tossed it at the mirror - "Some bloody Wonder Woman you are!" I said to myself but out loud, and I rose to my feet and headed for the toilets. I didn't really need a pee so was still standing by the wash basin when Serena and Gwen came in. Reaching into her bag Gwen pulled something out and offered it to me. It didn't register so the two of us were left standing like a pair of frozen china dolls until Serena said "Tampax" breaking the spell and letting me dissolve into tears.

15 minutes later I felt much relieved having explained that I'd yet to have a period and that in any case my doctor had suggested using a sanitary towel.

"You'd better stick one in your knickers then girl because your friends in Cardiff might not have noticed but you've come a long way since I last saw you." The pad I put in I'd been carrying as a sort of talisman since my last operation and I couldn't help asking Serena, "So just how much do you and the other girls talk about me behind my back because I haven't even had time to tell Gwen about my operation yet?"

If Gwen and Serena felt guilty they didn't show it but I reckoned that if I did ever become pregnant I wouldn't need a test kit because they'd know before I did.

As it turned out that incident was a false alarm but it did make me feel closer to the other girls and so less isolated. Also by chance it gave me an idea for my future as a large scale financial player. Sanitary towels are bulky and must be expensive to ship so how did women cope in poor isolated places? To both make and dispose of towels locally might make a lot of sense and a lot of compost!

The hiatus in the evening seemed to allow everyone to catch their second wind until at 11:15, when the landlord finally threw us out to close, it didn't seem silly for Philip to persuade Evan, Gareth, Andy and George to toss me, tiara in place and red scarf flying, up info the air from a car blanket as a pose for Wonder Woman in flight so he could get a shot for his portfolio.

I think I remember saying that modelling was not harder than it looks but that was before I was tossed in the air hundreds of times after a heavy night's drinking - or at least if not hundreds then enough times that Philip was a happy photographer and I was throwing up into the ditch. I hate to say it but I think Litara and Simon witnessed this and by then she was holding onto his arm.

Every year Good Friday was a family gathering and this year Grandma Tina and Bill wanted it to be at Bill's larger house so Litara and I packed the makings and took them around to prepare Roasted trancons of turbot with a sauce vierge while 'the old folks' went to church. I'd put extra effort into adding to my fish recipes but was glad that I wasn't the one who had paid for enough turbot to feed eleven adults.

As we got on with our work I was tempted to tease my sister about Simon but when the opportunity arose I just felt happy to see the smile on her face as she prepared a couscous salad. It seemed likely our days of spending a lot of time together would be coming to an end soon so instead of teasing I just came up behind put my chin on her shoulder and arms round her to whisper in her ear "Love you too big Sis."

Chapter 25

After lunch and a bit of family chit-chat Litara, my cousin Emma and I went for a walk down at Mermaid Quay to enjoy a genuine spring-feeling afternoon. The reason for Emma suggesting the walk was slow in making itself known but she eventually asked the classic question…

"How do I get mother off my back so I can have a life of my own?"

Emma at 16 is almost 3 years younger than me and seems to be modelling herself on Beyoncé Knowles from Destiny's Child - if I were aunt Sophie I'd be worried sick that Emma was going to come home either pregnant or with some sexually transmitted disease but maybe I'm overly influenced by my dislike for the dark skin/blonde hair look!

"Oh my god! I'm turning into Mum, or in this case Aunt Sophie!"

"What?"

My outburst had not been a help in easing Emma's troubled frame of mind and I had to explain that I'd been trying to see her through her mother's eyes. "Litara had a terrible time with our mother and I sometimes think she still hopes Litara will get a proper secure office job."

"It was even worse in some ways with Mum and Venus because to Dad and I it made no sense," Litara added. "My female friends have or had the same problems because it's a law of the universe like E=mc². Mothers spoil their sons something rotten and make life hell for their daughters."

"But not now. Aunt Joy treats you with respect now. I bet if she were my Mum she'd let my boyfriend stop over!"

If you are 18 and want to know what it is like to feel 80 try explaining to an over-sexed 16 year old that it just isn't going to happen that her mother will agree her boyfriend sleeping-over. Then of course you discover that she's already had sex with him and they are relying on condoms. As it happens we shared the same GP so I got volunteered to accompany Emma to the first available appointment.

As Emma walked ahead Litara looped her arm through mine… "Welcome to the grownups' world Venus. Happens fast doesn't it."

It took us a gentle hour's strolling and joking at the sun-basking tourists to reach the marina where Dumblebit was moored. She was of course Bill's boat but I took pleasure in explaining the deck layout with its little quirky ideas.

There was a retractable carbon-fibre bowsprit the like of which I'd never see that Bill designed to slide out through the starboard gunwale allowing large furling headsails to be flown independent of the rest of the rig.

There were 2 poles, one carbon-fibre and one telescopic aluminium, to hold the normal headsails out when sailing downwind. I tried not to think too much about how I would cope when these things went wrong.

The wind generators and solar panels made Emma ask if there was an electric cooker. My first thought was that the idea was silly because the power drain would be far too heavy without running a generator every time I wanted a cup of tea or to fry an egg but I decided to ask Bill about an electric oven or microwave.

That was when the rest of the family arrived with thermos flasks and nibbles. You can't actually fit 11 people aboard Dumblebit but it was fun trying especially as it was the first time the family had the boat to ourselves without an audience. Bill was beaming like the cat that got the cream with his arm around Grandma. Many couples their age wouldn't have had the mobility to board Dumblebit but here they were discussing domestic details for the boat like any other newly-weds. I gathered that I would be living with an orange/green/violet colour palette which could be interesting when a pink mood came over me!

In a world with a better screen writer our family day would have finished with friendly board games and a Waltonesque goodnight scene but in the madness of the previous evening I had promised to go for a run at 6 pm with Serena. I didn't need a run and I definitely didn't need the Easter Bonnet Half-Marathon she had signed us both up for on Sunday but what can you say when your BFF explains she already has our bonnets and it is to raise funds for children.

Serena of course thought of herself as superbly fit, and she was as fit as any good tennis player who has had no regular exercise for 6 months. One session would probably do more harm than good but when did logic ever come into these ideas. I didn't feel quite as gullible when having changed into my jogging gear I found the whole gang over at Serena's house waiting.

There is something about crowd psychology that allows or even coerces the most conservative into extreme behaviour in the name of fitting in. At its most extreme these conservatives will even insist others belong and conform to some group or other,

"I am an individual not a number! Just because you see me as a boatbuilding, dancing, kickboxing, black, female model does not give you the right to dictate what I wear. If you must know this is very practical and cost only £1 on sale in the charity shop and the day will come when everyone jogs in pink tracksuits covered in flowers!"

Book 2, Chapter 26

Proper classes don't run on Easter Saturdays for a host of reasons but when the staff are unpaid there are ways around that as long as you can pressure the key-holder to let you into the hall. As far as those taking part were concerned it was situation normal until I let slip that we were holding an Easter Bonnet race starting 11am next day at The Millenium Centre. Once said of course it was another reason why I couldn't pull out and on Sunday morning I was having my bonnet secured.

Serena's logic was impeccable - from Easter to Easter eggs to chickens; one of which was perched on her head. From there via my first television appearance it was but a small step to my parrot inspired bonnet. In truth I rather liked the hat, other than the parrot and the fact it was nailed to my head as we raced around the city centre.

Serena had been economical with the truth in describing the event as a Charity Half-Marathon as there were no facilities, the publicity had been by word of mouth and there were a mere 30 runners plus 10 can-rattlers involved. Regular City Events don't, it seems, just materialise out of thin air and somebody has to be first to whip-up local enthusiasm for an idea which was why our course was 4 times around the areas where tourists concentrate and included climbing a ladder - not the brightest of ideas as, although popular with spectators, after running 13 miles in just under 2 hours, climbing it on the 4th occasion almost finished me off and certainly left me no energy to gloat over Serena's exhausted much later finish! The winner I did not recognise but I was certain he wasn't local as a full lap ahead of me he flaunted his prowess with a victory dance. unlike when I crossed the line and my Down's Syndrome dancing partners had to hold me up (having seen them on the dance floor I insisted next time it was their turn to run).

In one of my better moments of forward planning I'd asked to borrow Bill's magic bus so we would have somewhere to wash and change after the race. What eventually happened was the whole family came into town and congregated at the bus which Bill and Grandma drove into the city but at least Serena, Penny and I got turns in its shower cubicle while Jenny, Gwen and Martina made arrangements with a nearby restaurant owner (I don't know and don't really want to know what the boys did if in fact it was any more than donning jeans and jumpers).

Wales once had a strongly religious culture which linked to the choirs and the rugby but only the rugby seemed to be holding its own in changing times, with Evan and George still playing yesterday (Andy and Gareth attending as spectators). The fun run was just that, fun, not being connected to the religious Easter in any real way but the pleasure it gave was undeniable. There seems to be a deep human need for events to mark the passing of time which I thought would probably outlive any religious institution's attempt to highjack it or the efforts of business to turn it into a pure money making opportunity and, more by accident than design, a very good crowd was there to cheer in the last of the 'official finishers' at 2:15 pm

22 of the 30 starters completed the course by the cut off time including all my friends but for Gwen who I don't imagine expected to finish dressed as a chicken! Waivers were given to the majority who had the commom sense to bypass the ladder and Philip was the only one of my friends who didn't run claiming he could raise more for charity with his race photos which we only allowed as long as he matched or surpassed the average tin-rattler's donation. Martina wanted him to wear a tutu and bonnet but she was voted down on the grounds of homophobic stereotyping - a decision I regretted when I later found out he'd taken some photos of the women runners, including me, very much oriented toward the male market!

Easter 2001 was special in many ways not least of which was the weather but mostly it was to do with my family and friends. Bill and Grandma's happiness was infectious of course but I think Mum and Dad were aware that there were likely to be an increasingly fewer chances for us all to be together. I won't say LItara was in love but Simon was at the run and the two of them disappeared for 3 hours together on Monday afternoon. Beth seemed to have adopted me as a big sister, at least as far as using my hard-won modelling experience to give her an image makeover. So all-in-all it was a huge success until Monday evening in the marina restaurant where I'd made sure the whole of Arianrhod Development including the Dougan's, Penny and Serena were present because I'd had an idea…

"When I was at school I was frustrated that there wasn't more to do during the summer holidays. Now I'm director of Arianrhod Development I want you to make an Arianrhod's Day race in July or August. We have a trophy because Arianrhod is the goddess of the silver wheel and there's a stainless yacht's steering wheel on the wall in the workshop and to make it about steering it can be a dinghy race with one person calling instructions and one person rowing in a blindfold…"

"Why?" was the word on everyone's lips but my answer was simple.

"It's not my job to say why! Directors say what, where and when. That done they leave others to decide how and why."

With that I took my temporary leave to do a circuit of the marina by myself until I got back to the restaurant door where Bill was waiting.

"What was all that about Venus? It was a great deal of fuss for a small event."

"It's because of you Bill. You joining the family has pulled us together in a better way than ever before in my memory. I like it and I don't want us to lose that feeling, but it will fall apart unless we make a continued effort to encourage the things that unite us"

Book 2, Chapter 27

Evening surgery with Dr Carter brought to mind the saying 'It takes a village to raise a child.' - a sweet idea until the village wants the help of someone who doesn't want to be part of any village. Today I was Beth's village representative and luckily Dr Carter, unlike Dr 'Frank the scientist' up in London, had the human touch. I hoped I could rely on Dr Carter not to demand that Beth's parents be present or informed because dear aunt Sophie might just explode at the news her daughter was no longer a virgin.

Looking at Beth when she was called I couldn't help but be aware that inside the sophisticated, street-smart image she tried so hard to project was a frightened little girl but all I could do was squeeze her hand reassuringly and hope for the best. NHS doctors are usually pushed for time but it was at least 20 minutes before Beth came out smiling, from which I took reassurance but couldn't stop to talk as my appointment was next.

"Not exactly low profile, are you?" remarked Dr Carter as she checked my blood pressure. "You are not the only gender variant person in Cardiff and it has been a habit I suppose of doctors in the area to suggest, to transgender women patients for example, that they keep a low profile." She looked down my list of base temperature readings.

"Any bleeding or spotting?"

I commented on my friends' reaction to my behaviour but said no periods and definitely no sex yet. Dr Carter looked up sharply at that and said "I never asked you about sex so what made you mention it?"

If the embarrassment is strong, dark skinned people 'blush' just as obviously as any English rose and images of John and Gareth and even Armando flashed up. Not Jean Luc of course, never Jean bloody Luc with his camera catching my every squirm and frailty! I blustered through a non-answer by saying I had only one more appointment with Dr Stanhope and was about to leave when Dr Carter said "Wait a minute" and pulled a folder out of her drawer. "If you would just sign this…"

Bloody internet! I didn't know you could get glossy 8"x10" photos from the newspapers over the internet and I definitely didn't lasso that bollard no matter how it looked in the photgraph!

"My niece is your biggest fan. She wants to be just like you when she grows up and you won't believe how much she'll love having your autograph."

I'd borrowed Dad's car for the doctor's appointment and took advantage of that to take Beth to my favourite café for a chat largely about how she was going to break the news to her mother. I suggested rather naïvely that over breakfast might be a safer choice of timing than midnight if she wanted to avoid spending the night on the streets but whatever she decided I'd back her; I was only a phone call away; and if worse came to worse I would find somewhere for her to stop.

In reality I got a phone call at midnight; had to ok things with Mum and Dad to borrow the car; pick up Beth to stay with us for the night; and finally sat through a painful breakfast next morning when Sophie and Jack joined us before, Beth in tow, they all went home.

"Don't you think we'll be there to pick up the pieces if you come home pregnant!" was the last thing Mum said to me as she left for work.

It takes a village!

The 3 working sails for Dumblebit arrived that day so Bill was called and he and I fitted them.

The mainsail aft of the mast could be reefed from the cockpit by pulling on downhauls and outhauls. It could be reduced in size 3 times" but each reduction created bags of loose sail so there were ties to collect the loose sail tidily and importantly prevent the bags filling with water if the sail caught a wave crashing into it.

The staysail was the smaller foresail and closest to the mast. The foremost edge, called the luff, of the sail was slid into a roller reefing gear which would allow its size to be progressively reduced by rolling it up around the luff. The foot of this sail was parallel with a boom which swivelled from the deck and made the sail keep its shape.

The larger jib in front was also on a roller reefing gear but, without the extra boom along the foot, its shape had to be controlled by positioning pulleys between the outermost corner, or clew, of the sail and the winches in the cockpit - that way the rope, or sheet as it was called, could be arranged to pull from just the right angle.

In theory you order equipment and it fits but the dimensions of something as stretchy as a sail are moot. First Bill and I had to fine tune the placement of the reefing lines for the mainsail then I used my new splicing techniques to make short extensions to the luffs of both the jib and the staysail so the rollers would work without risk of jamming.

By the time we finished it was 7 pm but at least Jack had now fitted a stove into Dumblebit so we could sit with a mug of tea in the cockpit congratulating ourselves on a job well done while I bemoaned the state of my 'totally ruined' fingernails!

Book 2, Chapter 28

It was Wednesday 18th of April 2001, well into spring and I had an appointment with Cape Horn in 9 months, which meant leaving Britain in 5 months to sail the over 7,000 nm to get there. Captain Cook on Endeavour set sail from Plymouth on either Thursday the 25th or Friday the 26th of August in 1768, and, while there was no suggestion that I should follow his exact route or timetable, the same start would be kind of nice… Could it be done? Bill got out his diary and counted 17 weeks but remembered a consideration…

"Beginning a voyage on a Friday or on the 13th of the month is bad luck! That lets out the 13th and the Fridays of the 17th, 24th and 31st of August 2001."

"Surely you don't believe those superstitions Bill?"

"Not at all but I bet Cook's crew did which is maybe why there is disagreement their starting date and I bet Litara won't start a television series knowing that half the audience will be pointing an accusing finger!"

Litara? I'd learnt to not presume anything about my sister so with a quick phone call I gave her the news on dates and superstitions, duly passing the buck to the person with most to lose on the wrong choice… - … assuming that is that the Friday superstition is rubbish?

To be ready, in 17 weeks, to sail a new boat of untried design around the world in would take a lot of hard test sailing which would certainly result in breakages and the finding of changes that would be necessary. Also we would have to work within the limitations that the local tides made on when we could get in and out of the marina - with tides producing up to 15 metres (49 feet) variation in depth they were no small inconvenience. With incentives like that, planning to give Dumblebit her first workout at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning was natural.

"Bloody sand bar's moved!" Bill explained eloquently, if a little forcibly. Leaving on a rising tide is safest because if you run aground the rising tide will re-float the boat except… if the wind or current is toward the shallower water you will just be pushed higher and higher up the sandbank. That is why I was inflating the new dinghy and cursing its silly little foot-pump and too-short hose. With Dad picking it up effortlessly, at least there was no difficulty getting the inflated dinghy from the deck into the water and then Dad swiftly jumped in and moved it to the bows where I dropped the anchor and a good length of chain to the dinghy's floor. Rope would have been easier to pay out than chain as Dad rowed toward deeper water but his his strength overcame our mistake and before long he dropped the anchor and rejoined us on Dumblebit, showing at the same time how his efforts had almost broken the lightweight oars.

With the anchor stopping us from being pushed further up the sandbank, within 20 minutes Dumblebit was afloat where we could put the electric outboard to good use - even though it did vibrate alarmingly on the track down which it had been lowered - and Dad hauled the anchor up by hand. That was just the first hour!

A successful day in these terms was finding the faults before they became major hazards to my safety a few months down the line. Where we didn't find fault was with Dumblebit's handling under sail. Some alchemy had surely been involved to change carbon-fibre into a boat that would not be denied her passage. She was stiff in that she did not heel too quickly to the 20 knot breeze, and going to windward there was a determination in the way she pushed aside the small but steep waves you get when the wind is against the current.

'The boys', Dad, Bill and Jack, were in their gung-ho element throwing the boat around like a racing dinghy and shaping the sails to the perfection that can be achieved with just the right tension from just the right angle until …

"How did I let you talk me into this?" I shouted from my position, suspended from the spinnaker halliard at the top of the mast. A bit more and a bit more tension on the jib halliard had stretched the luff of the sail more than I'd allowed for until the top of the jib roller system jammed at the top of the mast where it couldn't turn to roll the jib up at the end of our test daysail! Being the lightest, I had been 'volunteered' to be hauled up in the bosun's chair to prise the roller swivel free but the top of the mast of a yacht under sail moves around a lot and there is little to hold onto so I banged backward and forward like an excitedly running child's balloon on a string.

"You owe me you rotten sods!" was my proclamation as I stepped out of the bosun's chair once back in the marina. Just because I had successfully freed the roller and the sails could be furled didn't mean they had to let me down from the top of the mast which is where I remained until Dumblebit was moored in the marina and everything tidied away. "How could you Dad? You're supposed to protect me from idiots like these other two!"

The answer didn't come until I was stepping ashore with them already on the dock. The three of them faced me and in unison made a deep salaam, going down on their knees and touching their foreheads to the planking.

"Grandad don't!" I yelled leaping to help 78-year-old Bill back to his feet.

"Venus, my dear daughter. Welcome to the 'Brotherhood'"

"What on earth are you on about Dad? And you should have realised by now that I don't qualify for any brotherhood!"

"A technicality we have chosen to ignore following the example of the pirate Captain Anne Bonny, we invite you to dinner on Friday, that's a week from tomorrow, as the guest of honour of the Welsh table of 'The Brotherhood of the Coast'"

Book 2, Chapter 29

Looking in the mirror on Friday morning I wondered what I was playing at. My legs were bruised from trying to keep them wrapped around the mast yesterday; my hands would have looked perfect on a bricklayer, and my hair had taken up macrame while I wasn't looking! I'd even been late for dancing last Wednesday through stopping with Bill to get Dumblebit's sails on. Now there was this dinner thing in a week as the only woman with a bunch of men, most of whom I didn't know, and I didn't have anything to wear!

I did have friends though, and in particular female friends and I had an idea. First I phoned Kelly who I knew had contacts in theatrical costume departments, and then Serena, Jenny, Gwen, Martina, Penny and Philip to arrange a council of war. While I was at it I called Litara to let her know of my cunning little plan. "It will all end in tears" was Litara's response although she wasn't sure if I would end in gaol or the the mortuary. "If you must you must but you have to allow me a camera there if you are going to risk my whole career on a whim!"

I must have caught the mood of the times with my plan as that evening, once Philip was sworn to secrecy and they saw a photo of the costume Kelly had found for me to borrow - as last seen in the Christmas pantomime Treasure Island - everyone was in favour.

After an hour of scheming I was getting concerned that I'd been carried away with an over-the-top scheme so was relieved when the conversation turned to Jenny's modelling. The four modelling assignments arising from the casting we had gone to in Canning Town were complete but just this week she had spent two days doing one shoot and going to several more castings in London - all arranged by her newly-signed-with agency who even Martina, as the least fashion conscious of us, had heard. The competition was hot but it was beginning to look as though our Jenny was on her way!

Saturday was back to normal with our dance session in the early afternoon. Like the modelling I was feeling the effects of my regular dancing through the week in the way I moved and the music which even when I wasn't playing any, often ran through my head. Today John and Judy had extended their work a little by agreeing to coach a couple who were due to marry and wanted to stun the audience when they took to the floor with the first dance at the wedding reception. The dance would be 'Swing' and on seeing the way they worked at it I clearly recognised the signs of strong marriage ahead for them. Across the room Mum and Dad were also giving it their all with big smiles on their faces and at that moment , shallow of me though it may have been, the dance lessons for my future partner were as good as booked.

As arranged I met Serena and Jenny after dance class to concentrate our efforts on buying for the summer holidays which with luck could constitute a lot of my time during Dumblebit's voyage as I chased the sailing ideal of winters in the tropics and summers in the higher latitudes, which means I'd be sailing British waters, Cape Horn, New Zealand and The Cape of Good Hope during the kinder summer months.

Hats and sun glasses were the priority according to my blue-eyed blonde friends and I found I had a taste for hats with very broad brims which would be impossible to keep intact in a cramped boat so I settled for one able to survive crumpling, one sensible hat which I kept for a whole 30 minutes before returning it and one to dress up with scarves around the brim. I've heard about and can understand the shoe thing and the bag thing but nobody warned me about the hat thing!

So much to buy and so little time especially as it wouldn't be practical to have a freighter follow my voyage carrying Litara's wardrobes. I wonder if megarich women pay other people to do their shopping for them…?"

"Earth to planet Venus." Serena brought me back to earth with a bump as we headed to the café with our booty. "I was asking if you if you were on for some time at Barry Island tomorrow?"

"I've got my last pool session for my scuba diving course tomorrow morning but should be ready any time afterwards."

Afterwards turned out to be 2:30 as we all still lived with our parents and none of us wanted to miss out on a roast Sunday lunch, but by 3:00 the gang were promenading the the ghostly seafront of the peninsula resort town just west of Cardiff. It was April but it was the school Easter holiday so the local people must have been hoping for more tourists than the sprinkling that actually made it. While a city like Cardiff had economic swings that took decades smaller towns could boom or bust between one year and the next dependant as they were on the weather or a single industry…

Do other girls think like this I wondered? It was down to Bill's legacy of course because other girls weren't likely to find themselves in the position where they could buy a town like this!

"Time to spill the beans Venus." I jumped like a child caught with her hand in the sweet jar and on turning found it was Simon Snow and Litara. At lunch my devious sister had not so much as mentioned Simon but here she was and I didn't believe it was a coincidence.

"Magic fairy-dust Simon. I was thinking that Barry needs some magic fairy-dust to make it special and stand out from the other resorts."

"You're the one with the magic from what I've heard at City Hall, assuming you are the Delia Venus Williams who is the brains behind the Arianrhod Development that are the sponsors of a new Cardiff Bay summer race event."

I knew Simon was a journalist who job it was to sift gossip but to hear that people were talking about me was unsettling. "I don't do magic Simon. They asked what they should do with the land so I told them but any magic lies in how and why the others have moved ahead in their particular ways."

" If you say so Venus, but Litara told me that you were taking on 'The Brotherhood of the Coast' and my question is - 'What are you up to?'"

"The so called Brotherhood of the Coast is my Granddad, my father and my uncle Jack and their friends, who seem to fancy themselves as tough sailors like the original Brothers who were according to google a group of pirates in the 18th century. They gave me a tough time leaving me suspended at the top of a mast and thought they could buy my forgiveness with a dinner but I decided they're a bunch of chauvinists who need teaching a lesson so I plan to pretend to steal Bill's boat Dumblebit early on Friday morning and demand they buy dinner for all my girlfriends to get the boat back."

"Pretend you say?"

"Yes, I think I can fool them into thinking Dumblebit went to sea on the early morning tide but I plan to head in the other direction and hide her up the river Ely until we all bring her into the dock by the restaurant at 7 pm when they plan dinner."

"Your idea sounds fun Venus and I'm sure your grandfather would have coughed up the cash for a dinner except for one thing… The Brotherhood is worldwide and real, it is composed locally of all men who like to think of themselves of embodying the independent spirit of the old-time pirates and if you pull this off you and your girlfriends will have out-pirated the pirates!"

Chapter 30

When you find yourself in a hole it might be a good idea to stop digging and I was in a hole. Not my fault of course but that of three very silly males - I hesitate to describe them as men - with their juvenile pranks and their silly boys' club. In their eyes they must have thought inviting me to the dinner was a mark of respect and not a condescending offer to appease someone they thought of as a petulant girl. Still I didn't want to appear a total idiot in the eyes of my friends and a little revenge wouldn't go amiss… I needed a mole and the obvious answer was the man who had got me into this mess to start with. That's why after our Sunday afternoon outing the whole gang descended on our local pub where, with a phone call made while still in Barry, I had arranged to meet Bill.

"You want me to cooperate in the theft of my own boat?"

"Precisely, and of course phone the local radio station. I think we have the choir arranged."

"You didn't by any chance find yourself in trouble and are coming to your Granddad for help?"

"Heaven forbid Bill, this is an executive decision made as N.E.D of Arianrhod Development."

"The N. E. of course standing for non-executive?"

"Which is why any action you take will of course be as a private individual - I'd hate to put you in a compromising legal position."

"And do you have a bridge in Brooklyn you want to sell me as well."

"See, you're so canny about business I knew you'd recognise a good idea when you saw one Bill."

"I do remember enjoying Robert Shaw in 'The Buccaneers' on television in the 1950s and a pirate theme could catch on again for the Cardiff Bay Dinghy Race we're promoting. I even like that the theme you've thought up ties in well with the Brotherhood of the Coast who definitely should have had female members by now… Yes, it's an idea that I can definitely sell as worth backing to some of the members … Fancy dress… Pirate costumes … 'The Pirates of Cardiff Bay!"

"Don't forget our dinner." butted in Serena. "The whole idea was to get us a free dinner!"

I looked at Serena sternly but she continued… "Bill is my boss Venus and I also know he can see right through your scheming so I suggest that Friday marks the the day of the dinner to celebrate the joining of forces of the Brotherhood of the Coast with the Sisters of Venus for the promotion of 'The Pirates of Cardiff Bay Race'.

"And me. Don't forget me." chimed in Phil.

"You're definitely learning Venus," commented Litara as she watched me zap a few stray hairs in my bedroom later that night. "Most of the public recognise they are being fed sanitised dreams of a better world when they read something uplifting in the paper or watch it on the television but they give little thought to the subterfuge that is often necessary to turn those dreams into something concrete. Wales desperately needs some positive dreams to pull its people together or they'll have nothing but the nightmares that the racists, the homophobes and the other fundamentalists are always ready to feed them."

"That's a bit heavy Sis, or are you trying to distract me from asking about Simon?"

"I said you were learning little sister. Now even I can't fool you."

"Yet still you do not explain…"

"Simon is nice but it isn't a big romance so quit being nosey and accept the compliment, because I happen to believe your dinghy race is more important to Cardiff than whatever the chancellor of the exchequer got up to today." With that, the pillow she threw effectively drew a veil once more over Litara's love-life.

During the first few days of the week I did a very good impression of the dull-as-ditchwater section of the working population helping Jack with the carpentry inside Dumblebit and fitting a temporary clamp to the electric outboard's slide mechanism until the revised version arrived. On Tuesday and Thursday the gang met for a chat and I was surprised upon listening to Martina, Gwen and George talk to hear that they had little more idea of what to do after university than I'd had on leaving college last year. Gareth was the only one sure of a future with his father's construction company but he hardly sounded enthusiastic about the idea. To me it seemed that the generation Simon thought worth writing a book about were short of big dreams but were more than ready to make the most of the moment - like the couple at dance class on Wednesday putting in a so much effort to make their first dance as a husband and wife memorable for themselves , their families and friends. It was a case of not so much taking time to smell the roses but of making time to plant the roses, feed the roses, weed the roses, train and prune the roses just to have and to share the glorious flowering of the roses for a few weeks at the end of the summer.

Thursday as the gang split up after our evening in the pub was our moment. Serena took Philip and I back to her place for coffee before the three of us set off for the marina at 01:00. At that time there luckily wasn't a soul about and it took few minutes for Philip and I to cast off and head out into the harbour while Serena drove round to Watkiss Way to meet us at the other end. Such a short distance but combined with the spookiness of Dumblebit's silent glide through the water resulting from her electric motor running on pure battery power there was the pounding of my heart because this was the first time I'd ever been in charge of any proper boat and Philip was no sailor at all. 30 minutes was all it took to cross to the Ely River where I'd found an empty berth earlier that day and Serena was waiting to catch our lines and help us moor. All that was left was to get Philip settled into his sleeping bag as guard aboard then Serena and I headed off to our own beds for the remainder of the night.

"The yacht Dumblebit which was in seen on television being launched in dramatic fashion just weeks ago is back in the news. Her owner Bill McLeod has received a message that she has been stolen by a group calling themselves 'The Sisters of Venus' and won't be returned unless a rocket is fired from the harbour entrance at 7 this evening indicating that Mr McLeod and his associates, known as The Brotherhood of the Coast, capitulate to a series of demands regarding the newly inaugurated dinghy race to take place crossing Cardiff Bay Harbour on August Bank Holiday at 2 pm - That is Monday, August 27th at 2 pm. Entries applications can be made through this radio station or through Arianrhod Development."

"What the hell???" Mum, Dad and I were eating breakfast listening to the local radio on Friday morning when the news about Dumblebit broke. Dad grabbed his mobile and I guess was trying to call Bill when more news came.

"The following demands have been received:-
1. Full pirate costume is compulsory for each team the race, the teams to be composed of a Captain and one crew;
2. The crew will propel the dinghy by oars while wearing two eye patches - one covering each eye;
3. The Captain may shout instructions but at all times while racing must carry a cutlass between their teeth;
4. The Brotherhood of the Coast will host The Sisters of Venus at the Cardiff Bay Marina Restaurant this evening and henceforth hold men, women, lesbian, gay and transgender equally eligible for membership.

To be continued

Chapter 31

"What sort of games have you been up to young lady?" The broadside came from the flagship of the fleet known as Joy Williams or Mum. "Sisters of Venus indeed, as though I didn't have enough on my hands with you and Litara."

"Mum, I am nearly 19 and Litara is 28 so we are hardly on your hands. In any case this is about Bill, Jack and Dad."

"So you've taken their toy but what can they have done to annoy you that much?" Mum continued, totally ignoring the fact that Dad was listening.

"Just leave it to the men Mum, and I'm sure they will do the right thing." I said to Mum while looking directly at Dad and nodding to get his agreement.

"All I know is there's plenty of other work to be getting on with so like it or not you are in circuit building today Venus" and with that he headed to the car.

"I'm sorry we pushed things too far last week, leaving you up the mast but taking Bill's boat as revenge on is an epic over-reaction. What will you do if she's involved in an accident while you have her?"

In the passenger seat I was blushing. "It isn't how it sounds Da. Admittedly I got a bit carried away, wanting to teach you Bill and Jack a lesson but that isn't what it's about about any more. What were your ambitions when you were my age Da?"

"Are you sure you want to ask that Venus? I am after all a 'baby-boomer', an antique, a 'wrinkly'!"

"You're also nobody's fool Da. You went on day release from work to college rather than go to university even though you were definitely bright enough and the government would have paid you to do it. Grandma Tina and Mum would be a handful for any man but you've held your own with them for years and I don't think there's a man in the city who doesn't respect you. You also raised two wonderful daughters and the younger one is asking a serious question."

"Well then. Like a lot of 18 year olds in 1968 I wanted to make the world a better place. I wasn't a 'hippy' because this is Wales after all but I thought I could do my bit starting from our home patch and with the people I knew. The world has changed a lot since then and I'd be a lot richer if I'd gone to work in London and bought a house there but I wouldn't have been happier and I wouldn't have my family and friends around me now."

"I'm not much different to you then Da. People are richer than when you were 18 but we've lost a lot as well. Lost the idealism that the baby-boomers had, lost the sense of community and lost our innocence. We don't expect to make the world a better place by making a house and a car affordable for everyone. My feeling is that the sense of community went with the big employers in the mines and factories but we can get it back in a new form by creating community projects. They don't have to provide paying jobs directly but things like the last half-marathon race and the dinghy race I've proposed bring people together where they are likely to come up with new ideas that do create local services and maybe even in time new jobs. Without that, the next time there is a major disaster or a recession, women like me will be at home with our babies surrounded by neighbours we don't know and prey to anyone who might help them put food on the table!"

"Wow! That I wasn't expecting! I thought this was no more than a teenage tantrum but you're really worried aren't you sweetheart?"

"A lot is happening in my life Da but for now it will help that you know that Bill is in on the ransoming of Dumblebit and that Arianrhod Development and your Brotherhood of the Coast friends are going into the 'making the world a better place' business."

Having arrived at the yard I hurried to put the kettle on to give dad time to think before I tried asking him to let me leave work early to prepare for tonight's grand meeting between The Brotherhood of the Coast and The Sisters of Venus. The local radio station was turned on with the news that The Pirates of Penzance were going to sing on the dock outside the restaurant that night at 7 pm in support of The Sisters of Venus - maybe one of our gang had used their theatrical connections to pull in a Gilbert and Sullivan production to promote the cause but my hope was that the event was snowballing.

At 10 am the Cardiff Hells Angels called the radio station pronouncing they would be there on the dock in solidarity with the Sisters and my sweet Da threw up his hands in defeat announcing I'd better clear off from work after lunch and sort out the mess I'd created.

It was Grandma Tina's timely intervention that provided the oil that finally set the wheels in motion on a grander scale. My idea was that I would change into my pirate costume on Dumblebit then Philip and I would sail to the dock by the restaurant where we would rendezvous with the rest of the gang and Bill for the handover. Having heard our scheme from Bill, Grandma phoned to offer her house for everyone to get into costume and the magic bus to ferry first all us girls to Dumblebit then all the boys to the dock where they could remain hidden in costume in the bus until Dumblebit came alongside.

Honestly, I had no idea of the forces I was unleashing! At 7 pm Dumblebit, unlit, was just around the corner from the dock with Serena, Kelly, Gwen, Jenny, Martina, Penny and cousin Beth aboard. Hidden in the magic bus parked by the dock were Evan, Philip, Andy and George with, in addition, cousins Matthew and Mark. On the dock were half of Cardiff with the Hells Angels revving the engines of their bikes when exactly on 7 the engines stopped and from the harbour entrance not one rocket but a whole barrage of ships' maroons went up so the coastguard and police must have been in on the event because the noise as they exploded would have woken anyone sleeping within 2 miles. The Pirates of Penzance had brought an orchestra with them and they struck up 'I am a Pirate Queen'

then Dumblebit's deck floodlightlights came on so that the crowd caught first sight of The Sisters of Venus in full pirate regalia on deck as we silently coasted up to the dock and secured our mooring lines. Only then did Bill graciously bow, offering me his hand as I stepped ashore.

Book 2, Chapter 32

‘I must be crazy!’ was the thought going through my mind as I pounded the streets next morning working off the Pirate Banquet of the night before. I'd had no idea that the scheme would prove so successful or that I could eat so much suckling pig. On an evening the restaurant was booked to cater only to The Brotherhood of the Coast they threw open their doors to everyone for what the restaurant owner (who was also a member of the Brotherhood) described as the biggest night since the restaurant opened. I wouldn't have thought Hells Angels would be welcome in the place but the Cardiff chapter included some enterprising individuals not short of a few pieces of eight (how else could they afford those enormous bikes) and even two more members of the Brotherhood. Bill, true to his pledge, picked up the bill for The Sisters of Venus, including the male members, and we included amongst us in the form of Martina, Evan, Philip and myself our LGBTQ sector whom he formally recognised and included with an extra toast.

I did later 'out' myself as having been disqualified by surgery from the LGBTQ sector but Serena would have none of it insisting after several drinks that I, possibly uniquely, could be described as L & G & B & T & Q & Straight according to which part of my body you addressed and maybe on which day of the week.

I think I'm going to have to kill Serena. She might be my BFF but she knows far too much! On the other hand it might be best to question her beforehand on how I came to be running along the waterfront this morning with, beside me,… Jean Luc!

I hadn't slept with Jean Luc or had sex with him last night but I had done worse! I'd talked with him! I'd even joked with him as much as you can with a person with Asperger's. He reciprocated because he does have a sense of humour, just one that dances to a different drummer. Maybe my dance lessons, dancing to different beats, were having side effects because last night he made me smile much more than when we were in Bilbao.

Jean Luc came to Cardiff in response to an urgent call from Litara to film my first trip as captain of Dumblebit. I didn't doubt that he got some good footage and 'the local media' were also there in force seeming very happy with themselves which is why I aimed to take my run past Mr Patel's paper shop in case anything had got into the national press. Normally a Cardiff event wouldn't make it to the nationals but tonight the BBC were broadcasting Litara's friend's exposé of the Model School that had given Sarah such a hard time. Things were brewing for a perfect media storm. The news of the BBC programme had only come to me when I joined Litara, Simon and Jean Luc at their table and it had seemed natural somehow for the conversation to continue as though we were two couples and for Jean Luc to ask to join me when I mentioned my plans for a morning run.

"You'll be wanting these."

"Good morning Mr Patel; I'll be wanting what?"

Without waiting for an answer Jean Luc picked up the Guardian from Mr Patel's offered pile of papers and leafed through the media section where there was a photo spread on what the journalist described as a new art form, a 'Flash Mob' created when, seemingly unconnected , the Cardiff Coastguard, a yacht, 20 motorcycles, a motorhome a choir and an orchestra coordinated and congregate to provide a full dress rendition of Gilbert and Sullivan Operetta. The instigator of the event was named as one Venus Williams who was also a leading figure in tonight's Panorama exposé of modelling school scandals on BBC at 9:00 pm. As well as showing me in full pirate costume there was another still photo taken from the BBC programme that made me look like a magazine cover model.

"Dr Carter is going to have a fit!" I exclaimed knowing that Mr Patel and I shared the same GP. "She told me to keep a low profile!"

After breakfast Jean Luc left for London in his campervan and I had to bow to the inevitable. My family wanted to watch the Panorama programme with me, Jenny's family with her and our friends with the two of us together. The only house available big enough to solve the impasse was Bill's and when asked he immediately offered to get in caterers to make an evening of it. I objected to the extravagance until he asked just what I thought I'd need for 40 guests. I then suggested we all go to a pub that had a widescreen television but he pointed out that the event clashed with the football on Match of the Day and no such pub would be available. Trapped I agreed that caterers could supply and deliver the food but any waiting on people would be done by me and volunteers. List making started and with Litara's help I contacted Blanche who had been in London with us and accepted an invitation. Also I rang Sarah from Yorkshire, the model school student focus of the exposé about whom I was frightened that she would be alone and hate us for showing her vulnerability. I couldn't have been more wrong because she was having a party with her Yorkshire friends to celebrate and, despite Bill's conclusion, had booked a local pub for them all to watch it on the big screen TV - I suspect that threats might have been involved!

Even with this big event planned for the evening my life involving other people was still going on and Saturday afternoon was a special dance class for which I'd borrowed a dress so that I could try the Paso Doble. I couldn't imagine anyone getting a chance to dance it anywhere but a class or competition but having watched videos that John had lent me I didn't want to miss the opportunity for some expert tuition. Mum and dad were still Saturday regulars but even they had never tried this bullfighting dance. The reason John included the Paso Doble only became clear in the main class when the sheer drama of the dance carried those with little sense of rhythm. Afterwards I couldn't not invite John and Judy to the evening's gathering as we'd been through so much together and there was the couple whose romance had blossomed in the dance class who I felt didn't get out much…

Just how 'normal' is it for 45 people to gather to watch a one hour programme of investigative journalism? Maybe the English are too sophisticated for such things but in Wales there is an enthusiasm for gathering waiting to be tapped. Even at the moment Panorama started, after the throng had already spent an hour getting into the party spirit, Jenny, Blanche and I would have happily watched it on a small portable TV hidden in a bedroom to save our embarrassment but Sarah who was on the mobile phone to me from Yorkshire would have none of it.

"You are who you are and don't have to apologise for that to anyone," she emphasised. "You are not a victim because whatever you do and whatever you feel you are the one who willingly takes responsibility for it."

Book 2, Chapter 33

"Jenny darling, you're on your way!" There was around of applause at the cry from Jenny's father and she gave a curtsy.

Nobody in the room had known until the television programme just how good Jenny would look on film. The film had been edited to portray Jenny as the dream come true for every girl who entered a modelling school. Sarah wasn't shown as a victim but as a young woman making mistakes but learning and coming through the trials a stronger and wiser woman - every bit as credible as the reporter whose project sparked the exposé. The men were caught on camera several times in compromising situations but would only deny any willingness to be interviewed when confronted directly. They were in real trouble as, although I doubt they could be convicted of any crime on the evidence offered here, the programme left no doubt to the viewer that they were drug dealers and dangerous, abusive sexual predators of underage girls. They could only sue the BBC, run or await arrest by the police, which surely must come after Sarah's onscreen challenge. I naïvely imagined the scumbags hastily packing their cases.

Sarah and I said our goodbyes on the phone with promises to keep in touch and I got back to the party.

"You're going to be a great mother one day Venus," said Jenny.

"Oh no! You look fashion model great on screen yet already you tell me that even though I'm only 18 I look 'Mumsy'"

"No, it's seeing you on the television that emphasised for me how you show that joy thing when you like something or a particular someone."

"So I'm not Mumsy, just like my mother Joy?"

"No! Joy joy, not Joy Joy the name of you mother!

"Clear as mud!"

"I breathed a sigh of relief at the end," was Litara's summation. "I'd not seen the final footage and was afraid that it you would show you as being too young to carry my documentary series. You are my baby sister and this film showed you in any number of crazy situations from catwalk pratfalls to dancing queen to blushing bride yet somehow you openly enjoy them all without coming over all giddy or naïve. That's impressive! It also showed you seeing through Sarah's self-protective front to the pain she'd gone through and that you were immediately ready to protect her. What I want to know is what happened to the wallflower costume you wore until last year?"

"Are you really afraid that you've chosen the wrong person for your project Sis? I'll pull out if you want."

"God, no. This programme shows even more that you are the right person for my documentaries, my nervousness was just from knowing that film makers have agendas that shape the image of a person they they want to project and I didn't know what this one would bring out in you."

"Just so long as you don't take me for someone with hidden depths Sis. I really am this shallow!"

"Who's shallow?" asked the giant enfolding both Litara and me. "My lovely daughters are my pearls not my tinsel. Now come and sit with your Mum and Grandma for a bit so I can get some peace."

It was midnight before the party broke up and only at the end did we admit that it was a party at all. Laying in bed back home going over the evening I thought the best parties are the impromptu ones and that explained why this one went so well. I was particularly pleased with how Aunt Sophie's daughter Beth got on with my friends seeming to have matured so much in the short time since I'd had to take her to Doctor Carter for a pregnancy and STD check. No reason why she wouldn't seem more mature of course as she was further along than me in sexual development…… that's when I heard the noise coming from Mum and Dad's bedroom and broke into tears at what I didn't have before finally drifting off to sleep.

Only at 9 am after my morning run did I take tea up to mum and dad's bedroom, carefully knocking before I entered. "Time to get up sleepyheads, there are devilled kidneys for breakfast but only if you are down for 9:30."

Back downstairs I laid the table and prepared breakfast with my headphones on listening to one of John's mixed dance tapes. I was well into a quickstep when Latira tapped me on the shoulder.

"Where are the lovebirds then? You'd think they would be past it by now or at least a bit quieter."

"I don't know what you're talking about and the fact that I had to sweep up plaster in the lounge that had fallen from the ceiling under their bed is a complete coincidence."

"Actually it's all your fault," Litara stated to sum up the situation concerning rejuvenated parents. "At the start of last week you were in their, or at least in Mum's eyes, primarily a juvenile source of worry but after watching Panorama and listening to so many people talking to and about you the line has been crossed and they now see you as a responsible adult."

"Wonderful! No more complaints about my clothes, the hours I keep and how I should be careful to make the right impression."

"Yes, and with luck it will last until you set sail for Madeira and points south. It won't last in the long run of course as this is just a stage until Mum starts nagging you for grandchildren and, according to my friends further down the line, in the stage after that mothers are continually pointing out what a mess you are making of your career, your marriage, your home and raising your children. It is known technically as being a daughter doomed for ever to hear your mother's voice in your head!"

"You shouldn't talk about your mother like that ," came my Da's voice as he entered the kitchen. "It might be true but it's part of your Welsh heritage. Now where are these devilled kidneys you promised."

Over breakfast arrangements were firmed up for a family expedition to Bristol. First it was planned to go sightseeing along the river Severn waterfront area through the city centre and then drive up to the new shopping mall at Cribb's Causeway about 5 miles to the north. I can't deny that Mum does drive me to distraction at times but it was her, Sophie and Grandma Tina that put the idea of a family day out together at the party - maybe the programme made them particularly aware that there wouldn't be too many future opportunities for large family get-togethers. Much though the sunshine said it was summer the calendar said it was a brisk April day and we dressed accordingly. Even in Cardiff the ever-so-practical pashmina had died the fashion death by 2001 but Litara showed me that by re-cycling it as a big scarf we could still enjoy the warm benefits.

It was tempting to a use Bill's magic bus but eleven family members plus Serena would have been too much for it so we headed over the Severn Bridge as a three car convoy and by noon were gazing at the work being done on the SS Great Britain. Bill it appeared had some sort of special dispensation to allow us to see the progress being made inside what was in effect to become a glass-roofed museum built around the largest ship of its time in the world.

"Is this your work Bill?" I asked.

"No, I have connections that got us in but I really just wanted to give encouragement by sharing this with you. To show how what was once an innovative commercial vessel became a wreck in the Falklands then a tourist attraction for Bristol but soon, as the centrepiece of a new museum, it will draw visitors from everywhere for them to learn about a wider world with more history than they ever imagined. So no, the project isn't my doing but it is being done by people who care about a future beyond the end of the tax year. Without them your children wouldn't be able to see this ship at all in 25 years because it was falling apart from rust."

I looked across at Serena and replied to Bill, "I suppose I'm a bit like this ship. If it weren't for Serena and my other friends I could have ended a wreck, ignorant of who I was, just like my late great-uncle Juan in the Dominican Republic. On the other hand, although my friends saw something in me when they came to my rescue they had no idea that just months later I'd be appearing on television and preparing to circumnavigate Dumblebit ."

Book 2, Chapter 34

Just around the corner from the SS Great Britain was Bristol Marina and an opportunity to let Mum, Grandma Tina and Aunt Sophie see something of the world I was working in. Most of the boats were lying untouched this being a cool Sunday in April too far from the sea to attract weekend sailors but some were being lived on. There were river motorboats and canal boats as well sailboats. There were boats being maintained, repaired and redesigned while neighbours passed 'helpful' comments and there was the general sense of a ‘stuff going on’ coming from an active community.

Growing up I'd known well only my own homes and the homes of a few friends, whose parents' lives were probably quite similar to my family's. Now I'd got to experience more ways of life through work but Mum was today presented for the first time with evidence that within a few miles of her home were people, who I treated as normal, but whose lives were as physically different to Mum's as that of some tribe read about in an old copy of National Geographic. Mum didn't seem to be able to imagine why anyone would live on a tiny boat and I was hard pushed to come up with an explanation.

"They can anchor off the most beautiful gardens in the world without having to weed or mow the lawn," was the best I could come up with.

"Yes, but with no hot bath or flush toilet," was Mum's very reasonable reply.

The marina living locals were friendly and we were getting thirsty for tea so when the captain of a narrow boat called Dottie B invited us aboard it was tempting - that is until I saw his wife and what I guessed were their 4 offspring. In a soft Yorkshire accent she explained that they were a newly formed family, not liveaboards and that this was their first time hiring a boat together. They'd booked a Disney cruise for July but her fiancé thought as a newly joined family it would be a good idea to first learn to get along together with a short trip. They'd successfully motored the River Avon from Bath to Bristol but on their last day aboard, while by then Al knew huge amounts about the area and canal boats, he still hadn't noticed there were only 8 cups on board their boat and that they were all packed ready to go home. They also knew that while they were getting on wonderfully together, Avril and her daughters Kate and Victoria were ready for shopping therapy while Al's two children, who were younger, wanted skateboarding opportunities - something they'd found sadly lacking along the river banks.

As hosting the dozen of us for Al's offered cuppa was clearly impractical we told Avril we were heading to a close-by Mecca of shopping and so it was that in a convoy grown to 5 cars we headed to Cribbs Causeway. Only 3 years old, what was soon called a ‘Cathedral to Consumerism’ lacks one thing that the churches had to make it a social hub - you need a car to get to it so it is really a ‘Cathedral to the Automobile’. Once we got inside though we were spoilt for choice and after a quick ‘cuppa and sandwich’ we split up with pledges that we would all be back at the cars for 16:30 - for Avril's family to head north to Yorkshire and for us to make the trip back to Bill's for the dinner that was slow roasting at this very minute.

Serena, Litara, Beth, Kate, Victoria and I headed first to Oasis because although she didn't know it Litara and I really wanted an opportunity to spoil Beth. Serena declared herself arbiter of suitable fashions for 16 year olds and all was going well until we noticed there were customers waiting to be served while we had three assistants running round flattering Beth outrageously. I'd been recognised! Not wanting to spoil Beth's moment because she was lapping up the attention, I called over the most senior looking assistant and whispered in her ear, "There are no hidden camera's."

In the end it was Kate who found, according to Beth, the perfect tangerine dress even suggesting she team it with a grape belt, bag or boots. I was impressed no end as Kate herself has brilliant red hair with very green eyes so is very different in colouring to Beth. My only reservation was that while it wouldn't annoy Aunt Sophie it might be a little tame but Beth vetoed my choice as asking for trouble, and my moment of thinking of myself as mature and sensible was squashed by my now ever-so-sensible 16 year old cousin.

Time flies when you are having fun. Al's daughter, once she became ‘skateboarded-out’, joined our group after a while and his son joined the men examining the power tools and electronics I think of as ‘boys’ toys’. Litara disappeared with Avril to scout better shoe shops than I could afford and Mum, Aunt Sophie and Grandma Tina took the opportunity to do some money-saving bulk buying in the supermarket. Together we must have given the economy quite a boost and it was a satisfied crowd that gathered around the cars at 16:30.

The men were doing the heavy lifting of groceries into the car boots while space was being found inside the cars for carrier bags of treasures when glancing across I noticed Aunt Sophie had gone unusually quiet. Concerned I moved toward her noticing as I did that her skin looked drained of colour and there were beads of perspiration on her face. Almost in slow motion her legs seemed to give and Sophie slid down into a sitting position with her back against the car where I caught her as she began to fall to her left.

With me as quickly was Victoria who, face close to Sophie’s, questioned her urgently about any pain while taking her pulse at the throat.

“Somebody call all an ambulance!” demanded Victoria. “Tell them it's a heart attack. Has anyone got some aspirin?”

While Grandma Tina rummaged through her bag for the pills Victoria asked my Aunt and Uncle Jack if Sophie was allergic to aspirin.

“Just keep it in your mouth and suck,” Victoria told my Aunt on being reassured that aspirin was no problem and the panic eased as we listened to my Da talking to the emergency services explaining where we were and what was happening.

"Catch her!" Victoria shouted at me as Aunt Sophie's eyes closed and she slipped sideways.

Very quickly we had Sophie flat on her back and, after checking Sophie's pulse again, Victoria took up what I recognised as the classic position with the heel of her hands, fingers interlocked, by Sophie's sternum she started administering CPR. Although we had been shown this at school I was amazed at how quickly Victoria had recognised the need and started treatment. Watching her my mind couldn't help but run the music our training video had used to help us time the compressions - 30 compression followed by 2 breaths to ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees.

Book 2, Chapter 35

The ambulance seemed to take forever to arrive but with traffic being light it was less than 10 real minutes and it was after the professionals swung into action that we had to face the more mundane problems of who went where and when. Although Victoria might have saved Aunt Sophie’s life she now happily relinquished responsibility to the ambulance crew telling them that she had given Sophie 300mg of aspirin before her heart stopped. She clearly felt her work was done. That's when Avril told us Victoria was a medical student who had to get back to Oxford for the morning so it would be best if she and her family headed off home. Litara, who was by now fast in with Avril, swapped details and promised to get news to Yorkshire.

We'd been told the ambulance was going to Southmead Hospital but there was no need for all of our group to go to the hospital so we insisted that Bill and Grandma Tina head home taking Serena, Litara and Da with them. It all made a kind of sense as our other two cars followed the ambulance's route to the hospital. We didn’t know what to expect but the news came through the system as we waited helplessly that Sophie had suffered from something called a ‘ST segment elevation myocardial infarction (STEMI)’, and had been taken straight into a specialist unit for a ‘Primary percutaneous coronary intervention (PCI)’. In terms I could understand her aorta had become blocked and they were doing what they called non-invasive surgery with tools that were inserted through an artery in the groin and threaded up to the aorta to unblock it. Her saving grace might be the speed of good emergency treatment and of getting her straight into surgery because such a heart attack could easily have killed her or left her with severely damaged her heart muscles.

For a change in a hospital I wasn't the patient but I soon realised that didn't make hospital any easier to bear. We waited. We got foul drinks from machines, walked backward and forward and waited more but only after 4 hours was Uncle Jack eventually called and told he could see Aunt Sophie who was awake. What I wasn’t expecting was that she wanted to go home! Medicine is not as I imagined where first you get sick or injured, second the diagnosticians make their decisions so that third the medicine men and scalpel wielders can do their work and only after a period of recuperation would you be sent home. The reality it seems more like taking a car to the garage where it is plugged into a computer which says which parts need replacing. At worst the car is promptly scrapped but if worth saving with parts that are available the car is quickly fixed and back on the road good as new. Difficulties arise if the car is salvageable but the parts are from discontinued lines for then although the car is still quickly patched, cobbled and bodged to put it back on the road it is not fixed. Aunt Sophie it seems was in the last category, quickly back together but a lifetime of the wrong food and little exercise meant she would never regain her previous performance levels.

Thankfully despite Sophie's request it would be at least 3 days before they let her out. Matthew, Mark and Beth were too relieved that their mother was still alive to worry about the changes her heart damage would make to their lives but those changes started when Sophie asked Mum if Beth could stay with us for a few days to ease the load on Jack. It made me very aware that being sisters doesn’t stop when you become an adult and I wondered if Litara and I would ever share the load of raising children.

Despite not getting to bed until midnight I was up at 6 for a run and not alone - Beth was with me having been frightened that she was following in her mother’s footsteps on the road to a heart attack. It did slow me because I didn't want to discourage Beth by ‘going for the burn’ and she seemed to enjoy the way I and other early risers swapped ‘Hello’s’ as we passed each other.

"Can I have a photograph of you for the shop," asked Mr Patel when we popped in for our paper. "I saw you on Panorama and you are now my most famous customer!"

I thought he was joking but he pulled out a camera from beneath the counter and asked me to pose out in front of the shop. Beth joined in by taking a second of Mr Patel and I together but couldn't stop herself from giggling once we got back to our run.

"Imagine, I've got a famous cousin! What does it feel like to be famous?" It wasn't an easy question to answer.

“Weird even though I'm not very famous. It's as though the whole thing it isn’t about me. In my head I know I’ve been doing things that are unusual in the eyes of others, but in my heart I’ve just been getting on with my life, which means I feel the same as you would if the next person we met came up and asked for your autograph.”

The last half mile to the house we took very gently as I emphasised to Beth the need for a warm-up and cool-down period when exercising. She took it well but when after showering she came down to breakfast and I insisted she try some of my muesli mix with yoghurt and added fruit and nuts she teased with "Whatever you say Mum."

My own mother looked at me quizzically but it was Da on the way to the yard, after dropping Beth at her school bus stop who put me straight.

"On top of everything else you've gone through recently Sophie's heart attack is just one straw too many for you isn't it?" and just like that I dissolved into tears.

Once Da pointed it out I had to acknowledge that I hadn't followed Dr Stanhope’s advice on having outside interests. At the time I stunned Dr Stanhope with the image I gave her of myself as a modelling, scuba diving, dancing and kick-boxing Wonderwoman but circumstances meant I'd been doing less and less of those things that I enjoyed while at the same time taking on more and more responsibility for satisfying, helping or like in the case of ‘the parrot man’, just protecting myself from other people.

"How long do you think it will be before I can start practicing sailing Dumblebit alone?"

"Too long. If you wait for that before then you will have turned into your mother trying to control everyone! Bill's Molly is several weeks away from launching as well but I'll have a word with Ian about using his boat, Cyflym. You might not have noticed but he has a soft spot for you and I'm sure he would be glad to help. The more practice you get the happier I'll be and it will give you an escape from the situations your crackpot family and friends draw you into."

Book 2, Chapter 36

My life went on after the tears because being a minor media character with supposedly great things ahead was buttering no parsnips for me in the here and now so Ian decided I needed to gain some confidence throwing a dinghy around the harbour for a couple of hours straight after work on Tuesday before he would let me lose on Cyflym. Ian was right as sailing the Worth's large luxury cruising catamaran was as much like dinghy racing as driving a truck on the motorway was like riding a motorbike through a shopping centre. Sensibly I remembered it was April in Cardiff so thinking myself clever I wore a wetsuit. Foolishly I had not recognised that wearing that particular wetsuit would ensure that after the race most of the men in the club would want to buy me a drink.

Finally back home I caught a glimpse of my wind, wave and possibly wine ravaged skin and made an emergency call to Jenny declaring that my inner Naomi Campbell needed rescuing from my outer Morgan Freeman skin. Jenny had no suggestions for an immediate cure so I took heavy teasing during Wednesday dance class for my wind-burned cheeks but Thursday evening was devoted to a heavy pampering session with Jenny and Serena which somehow Beth invited herself to. Have you any idea of the music that 16 year olds listen to on a night in? Not long ago, that morning in Jenny's case, we had been paid to strut our stuff on the catwalk and yet here we were with face-packs and curlers, hairbrushes held like microphones harmonising with Atomic Kitten singing Ladies Night. The indignity of it - but it was fun!

After a long discussion on where our lives were heading a pattern became apparent. Over time the hours devoted to work and duties grew while those spent on fun shrank. There didn’t seem to be any way around it. Human beings become dull and isolated with age and friendships whither from neglect.

"No, it doesn’t have to be like that," Beth butted in after a long period in the role of the frustrated young onlooker. "I’ve been enjoying my morning runs with Venus but even though I want to keep fit know I won’t keep it up when we're not together so I’m going to join some sort of exercise group."

"Don't even think about joining a gym Beth," Serena told her. "My parents and their friends pay a fortune in subs and rarely go, let alone take any exercise."

"If it were me I’d go for dance exercise," was my two-penn’orth worth.

"But it could be you." explained Beth, as though to children. "It could be all of you. Exercise is a duty but by making it dance it would also be fun and if you all agreed to do the same class it would keep you meeting in a way you could only avoid with a good excuse!"

I grabbed Beth and kissed her on the nose uttering "You're brilliant! I'll call John and Judy Hart as I bet they either know a class or can organise one."

By the end of the evening after a lot of phone calls the seed of ‘Dancing Fit’ was sown, watered and fed and Beth was it's first member.

Behind my back the world was still surviving with Aunt Sophie coming home and Jack looking a little less like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders - there was as yet no indication though of when Beth would move back in. Dad and I fitted the new track that allowed Dumblebit’s electric inboard/outboard to be lowered down or lifted up the vertical cylinder in the stern and took Dumblebit out for a spin. It seems obvious now but even with both generators running Dumblebit only had 20hp of continuous power available so I wasn't expecting startling performance from her but I had forgotten that she had a huge battery bank and two 30hp electric motors fitted which could draw directly from those batteries should Dad decide to throw both engines to full power simultaneously…

The siren on the Harbourmaster's launch eventually caught Dad's attention reminding him that there was a 4 knot/no wake speed limit in the harbour and that he had started out with a daughter who was no longer aboard but calling him very unladylike names from the water 200 yards astern where she had been deposited when Dumblebit’s acceleration threw her off the back of the boat!

It was Saturday morning before Ian let me join him aboard Cyflym with warnings that I was on no account to jump ship the way I'd done from Dumblebit with Dad aboard. Sailing with Ian was a revelation. This rough rigger with a dirty mind sailed with the grace of a ballet dancer a boat as delicate in appearance as a ballerina. he had hand-built her from mahogany veneer, making her lighter and stronger than fibreglass and she was immaculate.

I'd thought of wooden boats as something from the past knowing only plank on frame vessels like Bill's Molly but as Ian described Cyflym’s construction I realised she had most in common with Bill's high-tech carbonfibre dreams. She was indeed an example of natures carbon fibre. We pirouetted, we glided and sometimes even seemed to leap into flight as Ian instead of steering Cyflym from A to B introduced me to the art of sailing. The plan was for me to take Cyflyn around the harbour myself next day but I persuaded Ian to give me instead another lesson taking her out into the Bristol Channel where I could learn to dance the waves.

What with sailing Cyflyn and reprising in dance class during the afternoon the most romantic of waltzes it is no surprise that choosing my clothes for the evening, even though it was only a pub meeting with the gang, I went OTT with a floaty boho chic feel.

That my sister Litara and Simon were there was a surprise but why with them was there Jean Luc?

Book 2, Chapter 37

As I approached them Jean Luc stood, pulled out a chair and beckoned me to take a seat at their table. It was clearly a windup! I checked the seat for traps, lowered my backside gingerly in anticipation of the chair being snatched away, then grabbed it firmly as I sat. There was a clean glass in front of me which Jean Luc filled with a Frascatti wine chosen I guess to complement the basket of scampi on the table. Looking across at the bar my friends were clearly not seeing me in a way reminiscent of not noticing the elephant in the room.

"Who do you want me to kill?"

"I don't want you to kill anyone yet but would you be up for a trip to to Greenwich with your sextant? There is a documentary being made on navigation from early man on the African Savannah to ships and maybe soon cars steered by autopilots that get their position from satellites. Cook's voyages were part of the development as were Harrison's chronometers which have been in the news thanks to the movie Longitude. Cook took a chronometer on his second but not his first voyage; the Americans have just made accurate GPS available to the public and you will have a GPS unit on Dumblebit, plus you can use a sextant. You're a natural for it!"

"From that hodgepodge of facts I guess it hasn’t been written yet but you want to see it made?"

"Yes but before the writing is completed I would like a little more from you than you originally signed up for. I want you to present the whole program."

"A little more! You hired me as a link item, not a presenter. I'm an 18-year-old black girl while documentary presenters are middle-aged or even old white men! What makes you think I could possibly do it?"

"It's the 21st century Venus and the world is changing. The new breed of documentary presenter is likely to be a good-looking young woman with a doctorate. I just want to take that a step further and this is a unique opportunity to do that."

"You're the boss Litara. I'll try my hardest to do it if you think I can but I presume you don't want to film tonight so what brings Jean Luc here?"

"I was in England. There was no work this weekend so I thought I would be a tourist," offered Jean Luc by way of an explanation.

Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth as he said it but I was getting better at reading his strange motives and that is when Evan crossed the room to stand beside Jean Luc, put his arm round Jean Luc's shoulders and kiss him on the lips!

I looked at the pair of them. I looked at Litara and Simon. I looked across to the bar where my friends stood and only then did I spot the giveaway, Philip was there and smiling…

"You rotten sods! You're here to watch the rugby!"

The place erupted. I'd been set up as Jean Luc's favourite dupe. "Stop fighting it Venus. We are going to make wonderful films together so just accept I understand you better than you understand yourself."

Is that true I wondered trying to bring my blushing under control. He knew how to push my buttons but did he understand what the buttons did? Why did he seem to enjoy embarrassing me?

Litara spent a few minutes explaining that in the new programme they wanted me to be an interested person that viewers could identify with rather than a teacher but soon I made my excuses and joined the rest of the gang who were talking about prospects for a September holiday on the island of Madeira. They knew the World Big Wave Surfing Championship had been held there in February and earlier Litara had suggested that her travel arranger could get the whole gang a tremendous flight deal if they could look after themselves on the island. No mention was made of the fact that Dumblebit and I were due to be there at the same time as that would have been uncool…

Jean Luc also joined our group and stood just behind me where I sat on a bar stool that Andy had given up to me on my arrival - for all the women's liberation over the last decades we still without thinking dropped into stereotypical behaviour, with girls sitting and boys standing protectively. What would Germaine Greer think of us? Tired of talk about holiday packages I asked a leading question.

"Which of us are feminists?" I got blank expressions all round. "Madeira is Spanish and I think of the Spanish culture as macho so what does that mean for us?"

"I've been to Spain and had no trouble," volunteered Evan.

"So have I and I got beaten up," countered Philip. "Face it Evan, very few people would risk giving you trouble even if you wandered the most homophobic neighbourhood in the world in a tutu!"

"I think I know what you mean Venus." Jenny contributed. "I started to count myself as a feminist when depending on a man in New York got me in a mess so I wouldn't want to be a Spanish wife but then the male models don't get paid like the top female models and I haven't heard any complaints."

"The old feminists are a bunch of nutters," countered Martina. I've read ‘The Female Eunuch’ and ‘The Whole Woman’ by Germaine Greer and they made no sense. You can't define people, their rights and how they are to be treated on the grounds of gender any more than on race, religion or class. People are people and don't belong in boxes. Now I think of it, since reading The Whole Woman I've learnt that Greer and her friends got it wrong in thinking their is such a thing as genetic gender unless our Venus here is a new species."

"Are you sure this isn't France in the 1950s?" asked Jean Luc. "In the bars there it was popular to talk about Jean-Paul Sartre and Existentialism."

"I’ve read a bit about them Jean Luc but we are different." I contradicted. "They fretted over the meaninglessness of life and did nothing. We know that what we do might be meaningless in the grand scheme of things but believe it is worth doing as well as we can just the same. Like the others I've been to Spain where I saw Antoni Gaudí’s La Sagrada Familia Cathedral in Barcelona. Go and look at that and at the way the architecture has affected the whole city and tell me that Antoni Gaudí and the thousands of designers and builders involved since 1882 have wasted their lives.

Not every Saturday night can be the stuff of movies: sometimes it is just a group of friends getting together for a drink and a chat. Well make that a drink and a chat and a song because Gareth turned up late with his guitar which Litara borrowed so that we could teach everyone a very old song I learnt growing up, Melting Pot.

Book 2, Chapter 38

When a 16-year old is pounding the streets of Cardiff at 7 o'clock on a Sunday morning it is tempting to look for other omens of ‘the end of days’ but Beth keeps glancing at me with a cheerful smile. Maybe the smile isn't for me but for Jean Luc who is running at my other shoulder playing out in his mind, for all I know, some fantasy of happy families.

I flashed back on the moment in the showers at the tennis club last year when I'd first seen a girl in the mirror and realised that today's image was not Jean Luc's fantasy but mine, seeing myself for the first time as a prospective wife and mother.

"Last one home washes up breakfast!" I exclaim, by no means ready to play mother to a 16 year old daughter.

I did get the shower first but that meant I was the one to help Mum prepare breakfast. Sharing breakfast with our normal family plus Beth plus Jean Luc, who slept in his campervan in the drive, did have something of a party feel. The day's plans were discussed with Dad planting out vegetables and Mum cooking two dinners, one for our lot and one to take up to Sophie. I had arranged to meet Ian at 10 am to go sailing on Cyflym so made up a packed lunch to take with us while Litara with Jean Luc decided that, the weather being good, a trip down to the harbour to watch me make a fool of myself before the rugby match was an idea not entirely without merit. What is it with that man?

Luckily I didn't make a fool of myself, at least not within range of Jean Luc’s camera… I thought. Within the harbour and with Ian's guidance I manoeuvred deftly but once we got out into the Bristol Channel I was in trouble. Boats built for ocean sailing, even if small like Bill's Molly, are not easily pushed about by the waves but Cyflym was a lightweight easily driven by the wind but with no inertia so easily knocked back or swung off her course by a wave. Having tried and failed to tack her bows through the wind I turned to put the wind on Cyflym’s stern and gybe so that the mainsail boom swept across the boat and while ducking to reposition myself I knocked our incautiously stowed lunch over the side! That we weren't quite out of range of Jean Luc's telephoto lens he demonstrated by leaving under Ian's car windscreen wiper a copy of the photo of me, backside in the air, fishing our lunch back into the boat.

Despite my inelegant start the sailing lessons went well with Ian settling himself in a corner to read and sip mugs of tea while shouting orders for me to make the trickiest manoeuvres he could devise. To cap it off when the wind dropped I got a lesson and practice in how to scull a yacht with a single oar over the stern.

Monday morning I found Ian had pinned up Jean Luc's photo in the workshed at the boatyard with underneath it the caption ‘Does My Bum Look Big In This’. Maybe the men had a point and Jean Luc had been doing me a favour because I smiled rather than blushing. So much of my life in recent years had been taken up with appearance from first hiding my breasts as Dai to then dancing and modelling as me; from being seen as a boy with a bit of behind-the-bike-shed experience with a girl to being seen as a girl clearly attracted to boys. Inevitably I'd become self-consciousness about my appearance and sexuality so I was glad to have friends who thought me easy on the eye and socially ok but now that I was coming under more and more public scrutiny the confidence that my friends and my classes had given me could easily bite back if I took myself too seriously.

In retaliation for the displayed photo I turned my back on the men, languidly stretched my arms then gave them from my dance class lessons, my ultimate booty shaking best.. With my Dad, Uncle Jack and Ian watching it was not an image I much wanted to be associated with but when the opposition fights dirty it is sometimes necessary to fight fire with fire.

Whatever the means my Monday morning display did seem to give the week an added oomph and we got more completed on Dumblebit than I would have thought possible yet I still managed to take Cyflym out for a sail each evening straight after work. Litara had talked with Dad about my soon needing time for filming and he took it in good spirit. Both of us had enjoyed working together over several years but it had always been vaguely unofficial with neither of us expecting it to continue much beyond student days. We appreciated that we had been luckier than most having work that could be shared unlike most jobs, such as Mum's accountancy, that couldn't be done by parents and their children together. Now though, somewhat wistfully it was coming to an end.

I was determined not to let myself slip back into a dutiful drone-like way of behaving once Litara or her director started putting on the pressure for me to perform for the camera. They were going to get and have to learn to live with a salsa dancing, Naomi strutting, kick boxing Venus who preferred harmonising with her friends to furthering ulterior motives no matter how noble they appeared.

Beth had got lucky on her idea for an exercise class as Evan's rugby club had time they weren't using booked in a Community Hall near our regular city café so, Judy having offered to lead the class, we could test the waters seeing who signed up for a few weeks without committing to a long term contract for the hall. That was my Thursday's fixed for some regular exercise with socialising afterwards and the preparations for my trip to Greenwich simply meant phoning Bill to ask him to loan me his sextant and booking time on Saturday morning for a trim of my hair and refill of my eyelash extensions. I did make more of an effort than usual to wear gloves at work so as to look a little more delicate if the camera zoomed in on the sextant in my hands but otherwise there was no clue from my behaviour of the coming change.

It was Kelly on Sunday afternoon, as the gang wandered through the RHS Flower Show in Bute Park, who had the final word on what I would experience once the filming started.

“It will seem as though everyone blames you for everything that's less than perfect. Just let them because the blame doesn't mean a thing. One day I'll be sitting with my daughter watching the television and I'll say, ‘Look, there's your Aunty Venus.”

Book 2, Chapter 39

Looking at the Old Naval College at Greenwich from a water taxi out in the river Thames I felt a fraud but then I imagine so did people like Admiral Nelson. Impressive buildings can do that to you. At least I wasn’t shivering in the chill wind thanks to the foul-weather jacket I'd been bought by the wardrobe assistant. I was in the middle of London yet wearing that jacket and deck shoes because I was told it gave me the right image, and as the water-taxi came alongside Greenwich Pier I jumped ashore with a bow line to secure us. It was such a small thing; something I'd done many times back in Cardiff but according to the director that shot was going into the opening credits because it gave me credibility.

This was my real introduction to documentary making. Before I had been a subject shown as myself and hoping that I didn't appear too ‘cringeworthy’. Now as a presenter the object of the exercise was to give the documentary credibility and as long as that happened it didn't matter about discrepancies between Venus the Presenter and Venus the Person. Kelly had been spot on! Not that I didn’t like the black jacket and the cream shoes were comfortable but why such dull colours? Why not pink!

Filming the expert’s explanation of sextants and their earlier incarnations, like the backstaff, was easier than I expected. I was given a very few words to say then the museum expert ran with it. I soon learnt that for much of the programme's filming I didn't even need to be there. At about 5:30 pm I was wanted however when we all made our way down to a launch moored at the pier and headed out into the Thames Estuary. The idea was to show me taking a star sight at dusk, when both the stars and the horizon are visible to measure the angle between the two however, when I opened my sextant box, it was the expert who took out the sextant and held it up to his eye. Wondering if he didn't trust me I gently took it from his fingers, turned it upside down and replaced it in his hand.

"Point the telescope at the star and adjust the arm until the horizon reflected in the mirror comes up to the star… it's much easier that way than finding the star in the mirror while the telescope is pointed at the horizon. Once you gave got close to the proper angle you can turn the sextant the right way up to make a last fine adjustment."

The expert went through the steps I'd described with me beside him and at the end as I closed the box on Bill's safely stowed sextant I thought the director was going to kiss me - she definitely wasn’t my type!

Back in the flat at Victoria Docks, which I was glad Litara still had access to despite her friendship with Simon in Cardiff, we went over my day. Litara hadn’t been on the boat with us either time and laughed as I described taking a star sight.

"The best documentaries often have lots of accidental nuggets. It's like at school where the best teachers were prepared but often a bit scatty. It was their scatty ways that got us involved in the class."

As we cooked and ate our risotto together our chat ranged further. I had a hospital checkup appointment next day and Litara planned to play guitar and sing at Thursday's folk club meeting down at the pub. Wednesday I would be filming in the countryside with a 'very sexy' Special Forces type of man who specialised in 'natural navigation' and Litara bet me I would have trouble keeping my hands off him. The age difference between Litara and I seemed to be evaporating and she seemed almost to forget there had been a Dai, even when I talked about the hospital.

Curled up to watch a movie that night in our nighties and dressing gowns after long hot baths (yes there were two!), I couldn't have been more relaxed. We gave each other pedicures and the only dark cloud on my horizon was the question I hoped to have answered next day. Where were my periods?

"You have a choice Venus, whether to continue trying to let mother nature take its course or to try to chivvy her along with some extra œstrogen."

My consultant Charles Pitt and I were alone together after a day with all the tests I had come to expect but even larger audiences. My own Frankensteinian research scientist was, I thought, revelling in his audience of students and visiting colleagues while my surgeon,… ? It has been suggested that just maybe God was a woman despite the distinctly male lavatorial humour evident in many creations but my surgeon before her entourage was in no doubt that she was god and had created, through me, woman in her own image!

"Give me some facts to work with Charles. Is my body maturing or is it frozen in some perpetual pre-pubescence?"

"Your body is definitely not frozen. Even in girls without your childhood problems we don't think of late menarche as a problem until past 16 years old and it can be delayed but quite healthy up to 18 years old. You know that my speciality is in healing mechanisms and growth is part of that. Your body has healed particularly well since the operation which was only 16 weeks ago. Whereas in February I described you as like a 12 year old internally, now, other than you only having one ovary, you look as healthy as a late developing 16 year old on the brink of maturity."

I didn't have an explanation for the way I felt but while a large part of me wanted to say ‘Give me the injection or pills or whatever!’ another part was saying ‘Don't rush.’ I wasn't ready to have a baby even if I could so why rush?

"My 19th birthday is on July 5th. Can I hold on until then, Charles?"

"The body is yours to choose but I would be more than happy to back that decision. Your genes are unusual, not only in being chimeric but also in your racial mix yet despite that they have kept you alive and fitter than most so let's give them the opportunity to do their own work."

Book 2, Chapter 40

"Close your eyes, stretch out your arms and tell me what you can sense."

I'd been picked up by the wardrobe assistant who had what amounted to full hiking gear for me to wear complete with a woollen beanie. A warm spring day was forecast, my hair is my best feature and I'd had lots of practice in using clips, pins, slides and combs so, having determined I wasn't expected to climb mountains or fight my way through jungles I decided my hair was fine as it was and there would be no beanie wearing today. Nor unless it started raining heavily an anorak either. Kelly and the modelling classes had taught me more than most about presenting an image for the camera so I'd already done my own makeup and was wearing a white cotton sleeveless shirt over a warm cami with combat trousers and trainers. Picking up my flower printed sling bag which held everything I might need for the day I told Jeannie, the assistant, that I would take the blame and change if the director wasn’t happy with my appearance and that I was ready to leave. An hour later I was in Epping Forest sniffing the air, feeling the breeze and keenly aware of every sound.

"I can hear traffic over to my left, smell what seems to be cattle on the breeze and am aware that you are standing by my right shoulder with an aroma of the shaving soap my father uses." I opened my eyes and he pointed out where the road ran and the farm buildings. The shaving soap comment summed up why I would win my bet with Litara; he was way too old for me! Even older than Jean Luc who although not the 30 I thought was almost 28!

I thought that nature navigation came down to knowing on which side of a tree trunk the moss grew and we did do that but he also showed me how to keep walking in a straight line; how to avoid missing the place I was aiming for by deliberately aiming to one side and how the sun, stars and even prevailing winds had been used to navigate for thousands of years.

The most fascinating idea to me was that maps might be made not based on miles but on the time it took to travel between places. What a different world picture the users would have, in its way as radically altered a view as that of those Londoners who use Harry Beck's underground map every day without being sure where those stations that they pass through really are. As we talked the camera's kept rolling as even though there was light rain I'd pulled a bright flowery umbrella from my bag and the two of us stood under that declining the offer of a large golfing umbrella from the film crew - it felt the right thing to do.

Eating dinner with Litara that evening she admitted defeat on my immunity to the natural navigator's supposedly irresistible charms but homed in on my mentioning that Jean Luc was 27.

"It was Jeannie who had told me in the car on the way to Epping Forest but I can't remember how it came up in conversation. Would you like some more lemon cheesecake, there's still some left?"

Litara let me get away with my blatantly distracting tactics but she had left me with very strange dreams that night about umbrellas, bus stops and Jean Luc.

My hands flew up in front of my face just moments before the car hit a wall. Luckily the car had no windows to break plus impressive bumpers to cushion the impact while I was wearing a full racing-driver's safety belt with a crash helmet yet the urge to put my hands up was probably motivated by the urge to stop my eyeballs popping out!

The day had gone very well up until that point as the new higher accuracy GPS was put through its paces steering a driverless car. While I understood how the new levels of GPS accuracy that the Americans have recently opened to the public could improve navigation the idea of mixing normal and driverless cars on the road seemed a non-starter. Driverless trains yes, maybe driverless planes but not driverless cars.

My expert guessed that the system failure was down to a passing vintage motorbike emitting enough electromagnetic noise to block the GPS signal and I suggested if driverless cars became popular mischievous children would soon learn to make their own EM transmitters. That did rather put a damper on the day although similar territory was being covered when I would be aboard a ship on autopilot going down the English Chanel.

My work for the day having finished early Jean Luc had a suggestion; he wanted to perform at the folk club that evening and would like to do a duet with me. The idea of getting all romantic in public with Jean Luc was frankly appalling until he explained the irony. Most of the people in the club would have seen us fighting on my last visit so what better choice than a duet between people who can't get on?

When did he get so reasonable and so persuasive? Back in the flat was a keyboard, which of course he played well, so before Litara got home we spent a couple of hours working on our harmonies. That done Jean Luc stopped for dinner with Litara and I explaining that we were both going to perform that evening and in a moment of inspiration he threaded a string of onions together to exaggerate his French heritage and I found a silk rose to show if not my English Rose character at least my Britishness. I wasn’t sure whether in modern multi-cultural London the English/French antipathy would play out but it was worth a try.

Surprise, surprise at 8pm the doorbell rang and I opened it to an unexpected caller in the shape of Simon from Cardiff. He explained that he'd been in London to see his publisher so was just passing but my look at Litara carried I hope the message ‘treat him gently because he’s falling in love with you’.

The mood down the pub was less boisterous than on my last mid-winter visit with evenings now getting lighter and spring in the air. When Litara and two of her friends took to the stage, although it must have been accidental, their song, Ready to Run originally by The Dixie Chicks, was taken I hope as a warning by Simon that not all girls want marriage. Then it was us…

There were a few whistles when Jean Luc walked up and sat on the piano stool with a string of onions around his neck. Those turned to wolf whistles when I with the rose stem held delicately in my fingertips took my place by the piano. We held still for a moment to catch a silence from the audience then Jean Luc opened and I came in with the harmonies to Ebony and Ivory.

Book 2, Chapter 41

At the end of our song, as Jean Luc was turning toward the audience, I kissed him on the top of his head then he rose to bow while I curtsied. It didn’t go as I expected for the audience didn’t laugh and I recognised that our voices had harmonised particularly well. By design or by accident we’d presented ourselves as a couple without the slightest hint of irony detected by the audience and they applauded accordingly.

Back in our seats Litara’s only comment was a long, drawn out "Well…" and I couldn’t help but blush, my only other recourse being to pretend it hadn’t happened. I don't think I said much more during the evening but luckily(?), although Simon did stop the night on a spare bed, Jean Luc like a gentleman left at closing time to return to his man-cave wherever that was.

By next morning I had almost persuaded myself that last night definitely hadn’t happened. Litara explained that it didn't matter what I wore to work as I would be spending the day in a recording studio from where we would drive straight home to Cardiff.

The work was something completely different to my previous experience - voiceover links. I hadn't given a lot of thought to what it meant to be a documentary presenter. My mind had vaguely pictured something between David Attenborough playing with gorillas and the stiff studio shots of explanations in Tomorrow's World.. The reality was something very repetitive, very boring and clearly something for which L had no natural talent.

This was ‘acting’, acting and required a level of mental gymnastics much more sophisticated than I’d used for my dancing or modelling. The plus side was that Jean Luc wasn’t there to compound my embarrassment but the downside was that I frustrated the hell out of the director who up until then had thought I was a ‘one take wonder’. To cap it off, at the end of the day I had to listen to the director blow up at Litara for hiring a presenter who couldn’t act.

Driving west down the motorway towards Wales Litara was silent and I was fit to burst until…

"Susan Cartright! That's who we need." Glancing sideways at me Litara must have caught my expression because she then added, "I’m sorry but I've been trying to think who could help you with the voiceovers."

"According to the director I don't need help; you need a different presenter."

"Rubbish, she wouldn’t be happy if she had Meryl Streep. You don't need to become an actress but you do need to learn how to be the same you in the recording studio that you are on location.”

From that moment the mood relaxed as we chatted about our quite different weeks. While we were both making the same programme we had in fact seen very little of each other as Litara’s input was very far offscreen arranging finance, locations and any number of details like insurance and backups. Trying to understand what Litara does as a producer meant trying to understand what the CEO of a company does then multiplying that by the number of productions she has online or in development. I have one very smart Big Sister.

Of course once the details of film chat were out of the way Litara wanted to know if my intentions toward Jean Luc were honourable and I had to remind her that, as a still non-menstruating girl, having sex would likely damage me. On the other hand I did admit that my thoughts and dreams did increasingly wander off into the romantic or even erotic. Luckily by the time I had got to that point of confession we were pulling up outside our house and our minds turned to what to have for supper.

My big sister doesn’t hang about. On Saturday morning I was over the road, chatting and planning with Serena when my mobile rang and Litara informed me of an address in Bristol to which I was to present myself at noon tomorrow. It was the home of Susan Cartright who was an voice coach and I needed to take with me DVDs containing all the video footage of me taken over the last few months. Serena wanted to go with me but I said if Friday was anything to go by it would be boring to watch and embarrassing for me to be watched. Instead our fun for the weekend was clubbing tonight to which I readily agreed.

Lunch was eaten in the lounge watching television. That would normally have been a no-no under the rules of the ‘management of Mum’ but during the morning Litara had burnt a DVD that included as well as the television footage, also that of all of the video taken of me while sailing. Some of it, taken by Alistair during the Blue Horizon trip to Bilbao plus Dad and Bill's in The Dominican Republic, we had seen but newly arrived from WorthIt II in the Bahamas was Bruce's video with scenes I wasn't comfortable to share with Mum!

“So you were well behaved and didn’t take risks on that trip?” Mum pressed me accusingly.

Which was worse? Was it me up the mast, which I was expecting, or me precariously walking out aloft on a spinnaker pole in mid-Atlantic, which I wasn’t? Was it me dancing provocatively on various islands, me doing CPR in St Thomas, or me almost getting crushed between WorthIt and the sinking French yacht when I went in to rescue baby Emily?

“At the photo printers in town they are always getting people's holiday snaps mixed up; I expect it’s the same with video,” I offered unconvincingly.

“Joy. No complaints. Our daughters will face lots of risks in their live and we can be thankful to have witnessed how well they cope. Now let's get ready and go dancing!”

Dancing there was aplenty that weekend. First there was practice time before Jon and Judy's main class in the hall and more embarrassment when they wanted me to try something in preparation for what the main class would be doing. With all the help they had given me I could hardly object and could see the benefit for the main class of modern interpretive dance.

Maybe it was that experience or maybe the devil in me but in the club that night when I was castigated for not turning up for Thursday's exercise session I said "Fine, I'll do it now!"

I hoped it was meant kindly when my friends made a ring round me shouting "Give it some wellie Venus!" and my uncertainty calmed when Serena, Jenny, Kelly and Penny joined in with the boys clapping in encouragement.

Book 2, Chapter 42

Knocking on Susan Cartright's door made me feel like a child. What was a voice coach? Would she try to get rid of my Welsh accent and make me talk posh?

"Hello, you must be Venus, Litara's sister. I'll put the kettle on."

An hour later we were chatting as though we had known each other years, sipping tea, starting and stopping the DVD so that she could ask questions. I’d have guessed by appearance she was about 60 but in manner she was a woman in her prime.

"You were a bit of a tomboy growing up, weren't you? "

As the facts were public knowledge I admitted I'd lived as a boy until less than a year ago.

"I've known and helped people who have transitioned but you don't have any problems in that area. What you do is charmingly use a few phrases that a boy or tomboy might use but you also have a confidence in the way you speak that comes to those who have successfully stood up to physical and verbal threats from others. You have that without the arrogance of the Queen Bees and Street Kings of your age so having already seen you on television I'm not at all surprised that Litara wants to develop your potential. Watching and hearing you sailing, dancing and just talking with me I can't see you without a lot of training making it as what they call an actor's actor who can play any part, if you don't break your neck however, which seeing your video you might, I think the public will love you if you can fake in the studio the Venus I see here and on film.

Concentrating on the the video footage in front us Susan got me first to repeat what I said on screen. Next she asked me to describe what I saw and felt at the time it was taken and only then to describe the scene as an observer. Simply put it worked. It wasn’t fluent as I was making it up as I went along but it did sound natural.

At 2:20 pm we sat down to the roast that Susan had been cooking as we worked. Admittedly most of the preparation had been done before I arrived but chatting as we ate Susan explained that although I would be in a soundproof booth during voiceover work I would be aware of things going on around me and today would help me cope with that.

After dinner we set to work again but this time using Susan's DVDs of other people in action. First re-phrasing what they said as I imagined I would say it, then describing the scene as though I were the person on screen and only then did she give me the voiceover script to absorb, re-phrase into my own words and finally read out in sync with the video while she recorded. It was arduous and time consuming but Susan reassured me, no more so than getting an actor to do the same thing.

Over a final cup of tea Susan came out with something outfield.

“When some people hear that you have worked with me they will say that I hypnotised you but I haven't. What you have learnt is a self-hypnosis technique to take yourself out of the studio and into the scene filmed. When it works it stops people tripping themselves on the paradox of being in two places at the same time and from what I've seen it works for you.”

“Are you sure you’re a voice coach and not a psychotherapist?”

“Is there a difference? Just teasing. Acting is being one person while portraying another but that isn't so different to picking a particular side of your own character to show at a time and place it might otherwise not appear so I do help for instance knowledgeable but shy people with public speaking."

My goodbyes when I left with more practice DVDs and scripts in my bag were both sincere and heartfelt. I felt that if I grew up to be halfway as decent a person as she was I'd have done well.

Sitting on the train on the way back to Cardiff, half-reading a Sunday paper somebody had left behind, I went over the things Susan had shown me. Like in my dancing and like in my modelling, Susan was giving me permission to fake it. Not to fake who I was but to fake where I was. Just like the line I had heard in a television play, ‘Imagine they are in their underwear and they won’t seem at all intimidating.’

"Hey! You're that bird off the tele?"

"Pardon?" I looked up at two boys of about my age. They had sat a few seats away from me when we got on in Bristol but they were now standing over me menacingly.

"Bet you're not short of a bob or two working on the tele. Show us what ya got!"

The dark haired spokesman was reaching inside his jacket letting me see his hand on the hilt of a knife.

"Come on. Ya don't want that pretty face messed up.”

I unzipped my sling bag and pulled out my purse †. It only contained cash and my train ticket as I'd been taught by Serena to keep my credit cards and driving license separate from my cash. My mobile phone also was in a side pocket where I could get it easily and that proved fortunate.

The boys had chosen their moment to coincide with their arrival at Newport station and grabbing my purse they shouted "Stay put!" and headed for the door. I never was very good at doing as I was told so pulling my mobile from its pocket I headed down the train in the opposite direction dialling 999 ‡ as I moved. Feeling the train braking I chose my moment, pulled the Emergency Cord and immediately the train went into full braking mode. Luck was with me as I saw both the men thrown forward down the carriage at the same moment as the police answered on the phone asking for details. Being prepared for the train's jerk I was holding on tight as I said to the police, “I’m on the train at Newport Station. I've been robbed by two men and at least one has a knife. They're getting out onto the platform now!"

I think I heard "Stay on the line" from the phone but by then I too was heading out onto the platform. We were not the only passengers on the train because the lead carriage had evidently been full and it was rapidly emptying onto the platform and the robbers would have to go through these people to make a quick exit.

“Stop those men!” I shouted. “They've robbed me with a knife!”

I can't vouch for what the reaction would have been elsewhere but this was Wales, the men were in good spirits, and so they broke into song. Surreal doesn’t begin to describe the scene but a Welsh Male Voice Choir in full flow ranks up there with a regiment of Scottish bagpipers or a Maori Haka when it comes to the ability to intimidate. The thieves chose the lesser of two evils and turned to an alternative route off the end of the platform but unfortunately I stood between them and their escape. Being a coward at heart I stepped behind a platform trolley but it was one with a large red button by my hand and I couldn't resist…

Eating breakfast with Mum and Dad next morning the local television news was on showing some of the ubiquitous CCTV video footage we see. This morning's pick was taken yesterday evening and showed an unnamed Cardiff girl charging down Newport station platform with an electric trolley and skittling two men who are now helping the police with their enquiries into a robbery that took place on the train at the platform…

† In the UK a purse is a small, usually clip closing pouch, women carry for cash. It is not a handbag/pocketbook/bag.
‡ British emergency services like 911 in USA

Book 2, Chapter 43

“I'm just off to Bill’s place. I promised to help him relaunch Molly today.”

Beth looked at me questioningly but didn’t spill the beans about recognising me on the television so I was out of the door before Mum registered the news, calling an inquisition into session, and enjoying the bicycle ride over to Bill's house. He was already waiting for me when I arrived and it was obvious from the smile on his face that he had seen the news and thought it a hoot!

“Life is a lot less predictable since you became my granddaughter. Have you anything you want to tell me?”

“I’ll tell you if you explain why you moved into Grandma’s small house rather than have her move in here.”

“My Litara’s, that is your Grandma Tina’s house is her home. She raised your Dad there and everybody knows her. That isn’t something she wants to swap for a house with more rooms than she needs and where she doesn’t even know the next door neighbours. Your turn.”

“The trolley shouldn’t have been unlocked but it was and I thought there was less chance of them hurting me if I ran behind it, straight at them. They were running very fast and might easily have swerved to their right and gone around me but instead when I swerved to my right they ran straight into me.”

"And that is what you are going to tell the judge?”

“Oh, I don’t need to go to court as they are pleading guilty and will be sentenced just as soon as they get out of hospital.”

Towing Molly down to the launching ramp went smoothly and I could see why Bill understood Grandma so well. Here he was, a billionaire but with a relatively tiny yacht that was certainly outdated in design and materials but he used her more and treated her better than any of the large status symbol yachts that rarely left their marina berths. Just like Grandma and her house really.

As the two of us raised the mast I noticed that, like Dumblebit, the foot of the mast sat on the coach roof, supported underneath by a post. It was unusual but made our job easier and was one place less to leak. There was much that was new, even radical, in Dumblebit’s design but not everything. That in turn made me wonder about last night with the thieves. Increasingly I tended to forget that Dai Williams ever existed but without him I wouldn’t be here today and even now… How many girls would have become a trolley jockey in that situation? While Venus would risk life and limb and I suspect kill to protect her own, maybe Dai was the calculator, ready to use physical skills to protect me, Venus.

The plan had been just to move Dumblebit into her marina berth today but with the engine running smoothly, the weather beautiful and the tide just right the temptation was…. Bill looked at me with raised, questioning eyebrows and nodded toward the sea-lock. I followed his gaze and nodded my assent in return.

It was 5pm when we finally took Molly to her marina berth and Dad, Jack and Ian were there to take our lines having been working on Dumblebit.

“Pirates to the last!” Jack exclaimed.

“I think this calls for an extraordinary meeting of The Brotherhood of the Coast. Gentlemen and Venus; please use your phones to making whatever apologies are required before we adjourn to the bar.”

We only had an hour together at the insistence of Mum, Gran and Sophie on the phone but it was an hour well spent. As soon as he got to work Jack and Ian had let Dad in on my escapades on Newport station and Ian even had a recording to share on the old workshop television. Any anger that Dad might have had dissipated during the day leaving him glowing with pride at what his little girl had done. Secretly I wondered if I had been able to use my kick boxing lessons to effect whether he would have been quite as comfortable with my behaviour but having my Da affectionately proud of me was a very special moment. While we were chatting I also learnt something that Bill hadn't thought to mention while we were sailing which was that Arianrhod Development, the radio station and the Brotherhood of the Coast had all received several applications to enter the Cardiff Bay Pirates Race on Monday 27th August. The event seemed to be off to a good start and that prompted a quick phone call from me to Litara in London to add that date to Cook's departure from Plymouth on the 25th or 26th of August according to whose version of history you believe.

Back home I was glad that Beth was still with us as it made Mum rein in her desire to rip me limb from limb for risking my life in Newport. Quite how she reconciled the paradox I'm not sure but from what I learnt when at school it is fairly normal maternal behaviour and not entirely a joke. As I had to prepare and be up early next morning for film work I did have a good excuse to flee the dinner table and hide in the bathroom for nearly an hour before choosing my clothes for the next day and packing a change of clothes. I was in bed by 10pm when there was a knock on the bedroom door and Mum asked to come in.

“I apologise for being so angry with you,” she offered. “With you and your sister living such different lives to mine I get lost. I imagined being a grandmother by now and you having a career like mine or your Dad's but it is turning out so different and the world is changing so fast…”.

For the very first time I looked at Mum and saw signs of age and tears in her eyes. She had always been so sure and so strong but underneath there was a woman who had lost both her parents, who just days ago had almost lost her only sister and who could do nothing to protect her own children. We hugged and cried and said sorry to each other before she tucked me in and kissed me goodnight like a child. As I drifted off to sleep I was aware that as well as Dai there was a part of me that wanted no more than to have a nice home, a secure job, my friends around me and even a husband and a couple of children, a boy and a girl…

Book 2, Chapter 44

I skipped my exercise run this morning but Dad joined me for an early breakfast then drove me to the station for my 05:55 train to Southampton.

“I wish I was coming with you today,” said Dad as I described the plan to join a freighter at Southampton on the south coast and sail to Sheerness at the entrance to the Thames Estuary. All told it was about 200 nm through the busiest shipping channel in the world. I tried to nap a little on the train knowing I would probably be awake all night but it wasn’t to be. Whoever said the English don't talk on trains was either from a different era or was never an 18 year old girl!

Luckily when I changed trains at Reading station I was given some peace to get into Tracks by Robyn Davidson which I'd borrowed from Litara’s bookshelf. By the time Jeannie met me at Southampton station I felt much better informed about the idiosyncrasies of camels and travelling solo across deserts which might or might not help me on my journeys but had kept me absorbed.

Jeannie checked me out as we walked to her car: my hair I'd put in a simple tidy French twist as I felt life on a freighter was probably like life in the Royal Navy and pretty formal. That was the limit of my naval aspirations as though I carried my foul weather jacket and wore my deck shoes for grip aboard ship my trousers were yellow and I wore a cream Guernsey jumper.

Jeannie gave me an inspection which included a twirl then handed me a gift wrapped package. Opening it gently I had no idea what to expect when under the paper appeared a box and a card saying ‘To my Navigation Teacher from her friend at Greenwich’

“Go on! Open it!” Jeannie was if anything more excited than me when in the box I found a beautiful Navigators Watch. I quickly put it on my left wrist noting that the off white of the strap matched my jumper then turned to Jeannie for an explanation.

“It was delivered to the producer yesterday and she asked me to pass it on to you.”

I imagined it was a gift from the expert who had gone out into the Thames Estuary with us last Monday evening but I couldn’t think what I had taught him to deserve such a gift - I didn’t even know his name to thank him.

Do you want to feel like a god? All you have to do is arrange to stand at the helm of a large ship in a narrow waterway. Failing that stand on the roof of an apartment block and imagine steering it down the road. Although Jean Luc was kept busy with his camera I was very much a passenger as the container vessel made it's way down Southampton Water, through the Solent and into the English Channel heading east.

Except for relatively small cruise ships I’d never seen a large ship next to something that conveyed a sense of scale. This one was mind bogglingly huge compared to an ant like creature like me. It couldn’t even enter most ports and those docks it could use were in very industrial areas and not the sort of places people wandered at will. I guessed our height above the water on the bridge as at least 100 feet but it could have been much more - I tried to imagine my local 50 metre swimming pool as a guide and it felt close. The containers I saw were the same as those I saw carried one at a time on trucks but here there were… I made a rough count of containers along and across the ship and multiplied those by my guess as to how deep they were stacked… 1500? Could that be right? The equivalent of a convoy of 1500 trucks!

As we moved up the English Channel the navigation officer tried to explain all of the equipment while at the same time comparing what the screens showed to our course as kept up to date on a series of paper charts in the same way I would have plotted a yacht's course.

“Charting the oceans has been going on for centuries but modern instruments using very accurate position data from satellites are enabling us to bring the data together in a way we couldn’t have dreamt of a few years ago. To give you an example you could easily make a useable map of the street you live on but to turn a collection of such maps of individual streets into a city map takes more accurate measurements. When I started navigating with a sextant there were still islands in mid-ocean placed miles out of position on the chart because without good clocks the early navigators couldn’t accurately measure the latitude and longitude of such an island: that’s why it took so long to find Pitcairn and the descendants of the HMS Bounty mutineers. Now with GPS we can measure our position to within a few metres so that the many local charts can be corrected and joined together to give an accurate world chart. Our own position and velocity can be shown on that chart and the result displayed on a computer screen like this.

“Why are you still using paper charts if this electronic chart is so accurate? If what the screen shows is true then the electronic chart is much better than your paper plotting as it’s updated continually. We can even see on the computer screen moment by moment if the wind or a current is pushing us off the course we’re trying to steer.

“It is accurate but the electronics isn’t as reliable as people yet plus, of course, I would get out of practice if I only plotted our course when the electronics broke down. Just as important in a way, we wouldn’t be insured if we hit something while relying on just an electronic chart.”

I hadn’t even considered the matter of insurance. Was Dumblebit insured for me to sail?

“If the insurance companies aren’t ready to accept chartplotters do you think they see them as something likely to cause problems?"

“It will take some years before chartplotters are reliable but I imagine one day the insurance companies will accept them and eventually ships will be run like aircraft are today with a ground control ashore and fewer or even no people aboard. Before that though I imagine there will be ships sunk while cutting too close to hazards through overconfidence and even collisions between ships caused by two vessels both being able to stay on the same identical, supposedly perfect route.”

It was spooky to think there might one day be ships this size sailing the oceans unmanned to make their deliveries. How would yachts cope? Although they were not easy to spot at any distance, we’d seen several yachts crossing the shipping lane as they sailed between England and France and the thought that we could swerve to avoid hitting a yacht or anything else seen at the last moment was clearly ludicrous. How good would an unmanned ship be at spotting yachts and other uncharted hazards in time to avoid them?

“That’s Beachy Head,” called the navigation officer breaking me out of my morbid thoughts of collisions. It was nearly dusk but the white, chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters marching East toward Beachy Head glowed, warming my heart after too much technical talk.

“Do you mind if I take an evening sextant sight,” I asked.

“Of course not if you will let me join you with my sextant.”

The planet Venus being an evening star that week, as dusk fell on a perfect day we made a game for Jean Luc's camera of the two of us taking our sights. I used my new watch after a check against the radio time-signal proved it to be correct to to within a second of Greenwich time and, Venus in the sky together with the watch on my wrist felt like good omens for my sailing days to come. Today, although I was beaten on the speed of my calculation by the navigation officer as I wasn’t as used as he to making the adjustments required when travelling at 20 knots 100 feet above sea level, when I did eventually complete my sums, the perfect conditions resulted in my marked position being within 2 miles of where the electronic chartplotter had us positioned when I was taking my last sight. The navigator's fix on the other hand was 3 miles off so I claimed victory in extra time.

Through the night we moved with ships’ lights moving everywhere as the channel between England and France became narrower. The captain was on the bridge right through the Straits of Dover and my prediction that I would get no sleep proved true. ‘Thank goodness I’m not in charge,’ I thought as I listened to the captain talking to other ships and the Coastguard on the radio and as I looked at jottings made regularly on the chart updating the speed and direction of other ships seen on the radar screen. Twice high-speed ferries crossed our paths and I couldn't help but admire the professionalism that kept both the ships and the masses of people on the ferries safe from harm.

Eventually on the chart I could see the channel widening again as our course became first more northerly then easterly as we made our way up the Kent coast and, with dawn, felt our way into Sheerness docks on the Thames Estuary. This was where the film crew and I had to leave but the experience would leave a lasting impression that a yacht in a shipping lane was taking its life in its hands and I would be steering Dumblebit as far clear of big ships as I could.

Jeannie seemed to be combining her wardrobe duties with taxi driving on this shoot because she was waiting for us at the dock. Our thanks to those with whom we had shared the ship's bridge were completely sincere as, for me at least, it had been a window onto a world an utterly beyond my imagination which is why I looked back and waved as we sped toward London.

The director had claimed by seniority the passenger seat but I could have slept anywhere which is why when an hour later I was woken at the Victoria Dock apartment of Litara’s friend I found that I'd been warmly snuggled into Jean Luc’s side with his arm around me.

Book 2, Chapter 45

I looked up into Jean Luc's rich brown eyes and he lowered his head to kiss me…
On the nose!

Banging the door behind me, I stomped into the apartment. How dare he treat me like a child! It’s not as though I wanted to kiss him, with that stubbly chin unshaven since yesterday, but on the nose!

"Had fun?" asked Litara looking up from her laptop. “Ah, Jean Luc…”

“The man is impossible. He kissed my nose!”

“And you wanted him to kiss you where exactly?”

Instead of answering I put on the kettle and prepared a bowl of muesli with all of the extras I could find in the cupboards like almonds, hazel nuts, dried fruit, a banana, coconut flakes, fresh grapes… Other girls comfort eat with ice cream or cake but my body craved the contents of a health food store in preparation for war on the male of the species!

“I have seen Jean Luc in action and as you would expect he’s had a whole string of girlfriends that I've seen. Without wanting to put you down, if he wanted you that way you would have slept with him by now.”

“Oh fine! First I don’t want him but now you leave me feeling that because I haven’t had sex with him I must be too ugly!”

“There are alternatives. I employ him and you are my baby sister so maybe he doesn’t want trouble from me.”

“And? You said there are alternatives so at least two reasons.”

“He might want more from you than a quick shag!”

Eating then going straight to sleep is not recommended and I only managed 4½ hours asleep before waking in need of therapy. I was alone in the apartment and Litara had given me a credit card but, beyond medical costs, we had not talked about the money I was to be paid during Dumblebit’s adventure and during the preparations so I had been treating the whole media experience like an unpaid internship. As I'd managed to get by on my earnings, the promise of a billion pounds to come from Bill made me uncomfortable about pressing my sister financially. Sometimes though a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, which is shop!

I went out in skinny jeans and a boho top but the apartment was in an area being developed at great speed where although there was a lot of mess there were also some new shops and a few shops from the old days selling West End goods to the newcomers at East End prices. What the rest of the world knows as first-class knockoffs were made in the same workshops as the designer originals and that is where I found my dress for spring, going on summer. Someone more sophisticated than I would have carried it home but the need was strong so I changed in the shop and set out to explore Canning Town.

A lot is made of the distinction between tourists and travellers seeking an authentic experience of another place, another culture. The difference is bogus as I can now verify having twice during my walk been stopped and asked for directions by those who assumed I was local and then I was asked like any tourist what part of Wales I came from when I ordered a pot of tea and and a slice of cake in a café.

Looking about me as I drank my tea I was seeing urban regeneration on a scale even larger than that I'd grown up with in Cardiff. What was the difference between this and the work done by Bill's billion pound trust? Governments could pass laws to force the owners to sell them slums and derelict industrial sites at a low price. Government schemes should benefit from economies of scale where a billion pounds was peanuts compared to the whole. On the other hand governments were rife with corruption and they were manned by people who wanted to be re-elected. To provide short term jobs and lucrative contracts for their friends governments built infrastructure that either nobody wanted or was so expensive to maintain that only the rich could afford to live there. They too often produced the two G's. Ghost-towns and Gentrification. Even when a really successful regeneration occurred, in time that pushed up property prices so far the next generation couldn’t afford homes in the same area they had grown up, at least until their parents died and left them property. Maybe not even then.

Naturally when I resumed my walk the rain gods were tempted by my new dress and April lived up to its showery reputation but ducking into a charity shop those gods that look after those of us that naïvely leave home unprotected provided the perfect solution at a charity shop price in the shape of a white flower-shaped umbrella to match my new dress.

There is so much to see in a new part of town when you have time to explore. I picked up two baguettes and pâté from a newly opened delicatessen and grapes from an old greengrocer’s but I did have to finally circle back toward the apartment as the streets filled with people making their own way home after work. Some were old Eastenders some recently arrived City types. I did stand out rather from both groups in my new dress among everyone else in work clothes which may be why I subconsciously slipped into Naomi mode with something of a strut and a twirl to my umbrella until a wolf-whistle pulled me out of my reverie to seek out the perpetrators; a small group of roughly 16-year-old schoolboys. I gave them a wave and a smile for their politically incorrect deed because life can be just too dull with only the industrious and do-gooders around.

Our timing was perfect as Litara and I arrived at the door to the apartment block at the same time and my big sister immediately picked up on my new acquisitions and much improved mood.

“Soon I’ll be raiding your wardrobe little sister the way your eye for clothes is developing. Do I smell fresh bread too? Race you up the stairs - last one in does the washing up.

Book 2, Chapter 46

On Wednesday morning Litara insisted I wore a business suit with ruffled blouse from her wardrobe, despite my protestations that I was too young for something so prim, then drove me to the studio for more voiceover work, staying with me as I think she wanted to gauge for herself how poor my efforts were. My job for the day was to drop titbits of information about the Longitude Prize, offered in the 16th century for advances in navigation, into the video footage taken at Greenwich. The director first gave me a script which I was to read exactly as to her instructions.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do this however if you give me some time alone with the script and the video for which you want me to do the voiceover, I'll do my best to make something close to this script which works. You know it can't be worse or slower than my last effort so please let me try.”

The look from the director was one of complete exasperation but having checked with Litara that the expense of a delay wasn’t going to be blamed on her she left me to it. The video was wonderful to the extent I found it difficult to believe it could have been created from the filming I'd seen on the day but the script was appalling and clearly written by a technician who had never heard a Welsh accent.

“Ready when you are,” I called sticking my head out of the sound booth just short of an hour later.

Litara was still there working on her laptop and I think the director was editing so they hadn’t been twiddling their thumbs waiting on me and in their opinions the results once the director recorded them were worth the delay. The whole thing only took three takes. The second take was made to incorporate a small change to the script that I had in all honesty completely re-written and the third because that change I found difficult to enunciate in the second take. The final result was I knew was the best I could do

"In future I'll make sure you have the video and script to work on before I book studio time but for today. That’s a wrap!”

“What’s ‘a wrap’?” I asked Litara as we tucked into ravioli and salad in the canteen of the BBC television centre in Shepherd's Bush.

“Nobody knows for sure and the expression is even older than I am. Maybe ‘Wind, reel and print’ from the early days of film?”

The voice was familiar but until I looked up I couldn’t believe who it was. “So good to see you again Litara and from the resemblance this must be your sister Venus about whom I’ve been hearing.” A hand was gently placed on my shoulder as without volition I rose to acknowledge the voice.

“I’m sorry I can’t stop to chat as business calls but it’s been a pleasure to meet you Venus.”

“A pleasure to meet you too Sir," and with that I was looking after the back as he moved across the room of a man I'd been raised to think of as a saint.

“Ah Litara, we arrived early but as your friend has just left maybe we can join you for coffee before we get down to business?”

The newcomers were strangers to me but Litara soon obliquely let me know which one was the producer of a proposed New Zealand wildlife documentary. They were here to decide whether and under what terms to join Litara’s project. I was ‘the talent’ to be inspected like prime beef.

“Litara, please give me their details as I really want to thank the experts at the Greenwich Maritime Museum for this Navigator’s Chronometer they sent me,” I said baring my wrist so that Litara and the others could see my watch.

Litara inspected the watch in a complimentary fashion as though it were the first time she was aware of it then replied, “I’ll email the details to you later today Venus. It seems that the Captain who used your sextant really appreciated the way you made him look on film.”

That was the sum total of my BBC experience and time for me to leave Litara as I'd brought my carry bag from her car into the BBC with me and she had given me a train ticket home to Cardiff

Once on the train from Paddington I phoned my Mum to ask her if she would take the time to pick up my dance class outfit from home and take it into the hall with her. She was surprised as she hadn’t expected me home from London until much too late for the class but agreed and accepted my gentle brush off when she asked how my time away had been. That left 2 hours on the train for me to learn the full family history of a woman in her 60s who had been visiting her children and grandchildren in London.

“You’re looking very smart dear,” was my mother’s greeting as I entered the hall - with it came the unspoken but implicit criticism that I usually looked like either a tramp or a tart but I rose above it. Gently I took my mother's hand and, because I really love her dearly, I placed it on my shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Where your hand is now, three hours ago was the hand of a man who knowing my name said ‘… a pleasure to meet you Venus.’ His name was Sir David Attenborough.”

“Joy, Joy, what’s wrong Joy?” My Da’s concern was very real when I had to support Mum as she staggered. I’d seen old television footage of hysterical 1960’s girl fans but never associated them with my mother but it seems that while other girls of her age screamed for the Beatles my mother was potty for a young David Attenborough.

Once Mum had recovered my Dad had a word with John and Judy and in a change to the schedule they agreed to teach the dances from the 1960’s,

Book 2, Chapter 47

Life as a television presenter was proving to be less than spectacular. A section of the documentary on the development of navigation was about Polynesian methods but the director informed me in London that she felt no need to fly me to the Pacific for filming so no free exotic holiday for me this time. Instead I was back in Cardiff helping with the fit-out 0f Dumblebit, taking up any opportunities to sail that I could but always on-call if needed for voiceovers in London.

Serena and Penny came to see me in the marina during their lunch break on Thursday looking very summery compared to me in my dungarees. “‘Ne’er cast a clout ’til May is out,’” I warned at their skimpy dress.

“What planet are you living on Venus? May is the may tree which has been blooming for two weeks and in any case it’s the 3rd of May,” teased Serena.

“We mostly want to check that you’re coming to Beth's exercise class this evening and to ask you for a tiny favour…”

Friends! What are friends for? Getting you into trouble is what they’re for! Penny's family had turned to traditional Indian customs regarding men after the trouble she had with her boss. Things would calm down eventually but for now her friendship with Andy was on the back boiler and she wanted to go out with her cousin's friend. In the eyes of Penny's parents they couldn’t allow it without the cousin going along as a chaperone which meant finding a date for cousin Jay, for which I became a potentially useful proposition.

Pretending to weigh my options I considered that although much had happened since my transition somehow I had still not ever been on a proper date and this might be an opportunity to learn. Just as likely however it was a chance to be humiliated.

“If your family is traditional Indian there is no way your cousin will want to go out with me once he knows about my past and I don't want a date with someone who doesn’t know.”

“Jay is a post-grad architecture student so he saw you on the Bilbao program and he is very keen to have a date with you.”

“I haven’t got anything to wear and I’m doing my hair that night!”

“Thanks to your sister, your modelling and your eye for a bargain you have the best wardrobe of any of us plus friends to borrow from. As to your hair nobody washes their hair on Saturday night.”

“I am; so that it will look good for a special occasion on Sunday.”

“Great! The date’s on Friday, which is tomorrow! We’ll pick you up at 8:30 pm from your house.”

I did get to the exercise class that evening and found we had two new girls from the University wanting to join. They made me wonder how Martina and Gwen were getting on in their student life and whether they would ever come back to Cardiff or even Wales which in turn made me nervous about what I would do afterwards, if I did succeeded in circumnavigating with Dumblebit…

Thank goodness for exercise. I've read it releases endorphins but the biggest benefit for me is it stops my mind going in circles as exercise has a beginning a middle and an end - things ‘real life’ often fails to deliver. Showering afterwards we invited the new girls, Kimberly and April, to join us at the café - I know we were curious about them but I wondered a bit why university students would feel like socialising with locals like us.

“We’re LUGs,” explained Kimberly. “‘That’s Lesbian Until Graduation’ because we both want to get the best degrees we can and not leave university up to our eyeballs in debt. Neither of us come from rich backgrounds and as university social life can get out of hand we agreed to be a couple for self-protection, at least that was the theory.”

“Does that mean you’ve accidentally become a couple for real?” asked Kelly. “That would make such a great movie script! Who would you like to see playing your parts?”

“Jessica Simpson for Kimberly and Kate Beckinsale for April, ” suggested Jenny before the girls could begin to answer.

“No we’re not in love like that,” April answered, “and the truth is university life is pretty dull if you are constantly playing a part to keep out of trouble. That's why we thought of your exercise club as somewhere we could be ourselves.”

“But we're all undercover agents for MI5 and not real people at all,” apologised Serena. “Beth is our boss and although she looks 16 she is really Stella Rimington and 66 years old.”

“Shows you how good the classes are that I look like this!” Beth concluded.

Our ‘social evening’ broke up about 9:30 pm as it was a Thursday which meant that Beth, even if she was a disguised 66 year old, had to go to school in the morning and all of us would be up early. Serena did however, once she'd dropped Penny off and Beth had gone upstairs to do her homework, stay a while with me in the kitchen to chat about what our futures would bring and what to wear tomorrow evening…. The important stuff.

The word had been passed, times set and our coice of film chosen, Bridget Jones's Diary. Why I was so nervous I don't know but when the doorbell rang I jumped and found it took all my nerve to slowly leave my bedroom a minute later and walk down the stairs to the hallway where my father was chatting to Jay with the charm of grizzly bear having his domain threatened.

Jay was not only handsome but taller than me, which was a relief for most of the Indian men that I knew were shorter and Penny was no more than 5' 5". Being a student Jay might have been an impecunious but looking toward the road through the open door I could see that his friend, Penny’s date, was not short of cash judging by the Lexus which awaited us.

“Home by midnight or never darken my door again,” Da declared, I think in jest but there was no way Jay could tell.

Even on the short drive to the cinema I began to get an uncomfortable feeling about Penny's date. He was older than us at maybe 30 and behaved more like an employer than a friend to Jay but there isn't much you can learn about someone two seats over in a cinema. It was afterwards that things turned nasty. Without doubt at the top of the star ratings in Cardiff the selected restaurant was evidently very popular with Indian businessmen showing off their wives and girlfriends. Not my first choice of dining place feeling a bit overly formal but the food was first class and Penny, very much a diamond in appearance to be shown off, was lapping up the flattery until her date leant over and whispered in her ear…

Plates, glasses, assorted cutlery and the palm of Penny's hand hit him in the same instance.
Up on her feet she took my hand. “Time for us to leave Venus.”

I don’t know what her date had done to upset her but I was ready to back Penny without hesitation. Jay stood but remained at the table looking backward and forward between his friend and Penny uselessly. We were magnificent sweeping through the restaurant for as much as Penny was shining like a diamond I glowed with the fire of a ruby and it was impossible for me to look less than regal wearing the sari Penny lent me.

The taxi waiting conveniently outside the restaurant dropped us 5 minutes later back at my parents and we waited for Penny's parents to pick her up for the longer drive to her home.

“What on earth did he say Penny? He must have insulted you pretty badly.”

“He insulted both of us. You he called a Dalit which is in India an Asprushya or untouchable.”

“So what? That just means he’s a snob and maybe hung up on race. I’ve heard worse growing up.”

“But what he said was that once he and I were together I wouldn’t have to put up with Jay’s Dalit, hijra tart.”

I put my arms around Penny to hold her tight because she had started to cry. “He’s an idiot on so many counts,” I said, “but mostly for thinking that you were like him. I’m so proud to have such a brave and loyal friend as you.”

Book 2, Chapter 48

Saturday morning I changed the engine oil and the filters for both fuel and oil on Bill’s boat, Molly. Admittedly Bill was there the whole time giving me instructions but he did make the tea and I did complete the job. Sitting in the cockpit drinking our tea Bill questioned what I had against engines.

“They’re not fixable and that doesn’t feel right. Organic things I can sew or stick; metal I can bolt, screw or even weld thanks to Ian but if an engine or bit of electrical equipment breaks I know I’ve had it unless I have the right replacement part.”

“We did mend engines with things to hand more often when I was young but then they broke much more frequently! The world has changed but we haven't changed in our trying to bend it to our will; we just do it differently now. When you sail from Plymouth I promise that what can't be fixed with the materials and spares you have on board will have a backup system to see you through to your next port.

I took off my gloves and holding my palms away from me inspected my nails allowing Bill a look too. “Pretty good considering this morning’s work but we’d better make sure I have a ton of nail care products aboard.”

“Feeling pretty good about yourself today aren't you? I think it's time for a sailing exercise by popping over to Uphill and back. You plan and execute the whole thing and I’ll be your passenger and cook.”

“When?”

“We can leave tomorrow, or as soon after as you decide for the weather, and take as long as it takes. I've already okayed it with Isaac and your sister as they haven’t any urgent work they need you for. That means we don't need to hurry back and all the charts and tide tables you need are here aboard. Now it’s time for me to get back to your Gran’s for lunch and I’ll expect a call from you later.”

Anywhere else in the world but the Bristol Channel would have been easier for me to have my first experience of skippering and in effect, if Bill just cooked, single-handing. Cardiff was limited by tides to when we could lock in and lock out but Uphill although only 12 miles away, was a port out of history. Now a few yachts were kept there but in its heyday schooners would sail up the river at high tide; sit in the mud being loaded with stone from the nearby quarries and then leave when an incoming tide floated them free. To arrive at Uphill near high tide when we could get up the river meant sailing against the tidal currents then coming back the currents would have turned against us once more slowing us so much that, sailing direct, the tide would be out at Cardiff and we would be unable to get into the lock.

My first thought was that it was impossible and much mental gymnastics only improved the voyage to being arduous and dangerous as I considered a meandering course to get the timing right. It wasn't until until I was in the middle of a tango with John at dance class that the solution hit me. I wasn't an old-timer sailing for a living with time pressing; sailing for me was a choice and to be enjoyed as much as possible. Straight after class I phoned Bill and said, “Pack your walking boots, your fishing gear and your glad rags because we are overnighting at Uphill with stops at Flat Holm going tomorrow at 9 am and again on Monday's return trip to be home about 6 pm.”

I shared my plan with the gang at the Student's Union that evening and Serena was all for driving round to meet us at Uphill until Evan reminded her that she was already pledged to drive him to Swansea for a rugby match. Philip swore that he would be there with his camera to record our departure in the morning and, if I phoned with a time, our return on Monday evening. Easy for Philip to say at the start of a Saturday night (minus Jenny who was away in Birmingham modelling for a fashion show at the NEC) but he proved true to his word.

Sunday morning Bill picked me up at 8:30 and was somewhat surprised to find that Beth and I had already been out for a run. In the back of his truck he had, beside his bag and fishing gear, a rope ladder and
drying legs for Molly, for which he apologised.

“It’s such a good opportunity that I phoned a friend of a friend and we have permission to go ashore at Flat Holm if you want. The anchorage there isn't somewhere to leave Molly unattended but we can let her dry out on her legs if it’s calm so she’ll be safe while we wander.”

“Sounds like fun which is what I want from this trip. I had no idea it would be so difficult to plan.”

“If you can sail here you can sail anywhere. What have you planned as a backup to Flat Holm?”

“Weather isn’t a problem today according to the BBC radio and we can heave-to † if there is too much swell by the island. Tomorrow morning we don't have to leave Uphill if the weather turns and we have the same option of heaving-to on the way back.”

Good to his word Philip was waiting for us at the marina and gave a hand with the extra gear so that we caught the falling tide as we motored SSW out of the seaward side of the lock and I could set about raising the sails as Molly gently motored down the channel under auto-pilot. With just a 10 - 12 knot westerly breeze once her sails were raised I span Molly through 180° back toward Philip to give him a good shot of Molly under sail as in my time watching Jean Luc film I'd learnt that those eye-catching shots don't usually happen by accident.

Turning Molly again I kept her on a southerly heading parallel to the coast while Bill payed out a lure on a handline behind us. I had no idea what he expected to catch but the morning was perfect and Bill had a broad grin on his face so my course to Flat Holm was meandering to give him 2 hours fishing before I dropped anchor off Jackdaw point on the East coast of the island. If this had been Sint Maarteen in the Caribbean I might have risked anchoring under sail but as it was I doused the sails and inched in under motor and, it being low tide, anchored in no more than 8 feet of water where it felt as though we could step ashore we were so close.

“I believe that merits lunch,” Bill offered holding up the small bass with which his efforts had rewarded him.

I'd brought a book to pass the time but after lunch when I settled to read and Bill to fish I nodded off only woken maybe an hour later by the noise of Bill landing a fish. The fish was a nice cod but it was also time to leave and I felt guilty for sleeping with no alarm set in a vulnerable anchorage. To make up for my dropping off to sleep I grandstand end. Without starting the engine I took the anchor warp to the stern (using chain and rope rode this was easy) and let the light westerly breeze take the bows downwind before hauling the light anchor aboard and unfurling the jib. Only when clear of the island did I bring Molly round putting the wind on the beam (sailing on a reach) to make it easier to raise the mainsail before turning once more downwind toward Uphill.

It wasn't far and the breeze was light but I already had the engine running when with relief I spotted the buoys marking the channel into Uphill. In my earlier imagination the onshore breeze and current was going to leave me helplessly stranded on the marshes when the engine failed to start. The channel was winding but clear so that an hour before high tide we took a berth by a floating pontoon where on the phone on Saturday, the berth manager had assured me that Molly would dry out more or less upright as in this berth the keel would sit in a vee-slit in the mud. Having the drying legs with us taking precautions seemed sensible so I asked Bill’s help to set up the legs as I'd heard of boats appearing to dry out upright only to suddenly fall on their sides when the tide was out.

It was surprisingly easy and when nothing was said about dinner I thought that I would have a shower in the nearby campsite facilities then turn in for an early night but Bill sprang his surprise taking a smart jacket and trousers from his bag.

“You said glad rags so I hope you brought something suitable to wear as I've booked dinner and tickets at the Playhouse Theatre in Weston-super-Mare.”

What's a girl to do? After showering and returning to the boat I sent Bill up to the marina office to hold the taxi when it arrived and went into action. Even though I'd never been a girl guide I knew their motto, ‘Be prepared!’ and I was, thanks to Litara’s crumple resistant emergency standby. When it comes to making an entrance regardless of the occasion, nothing beats a little black dress.

† Heaving-to is a way of slowing a sailboat's forward progress by fixing the helm and sail positions so that the sails oppose each other. As hove-to the boat does not have to be actively steered it is commonly used for a "break"; this may be to wait for the tide before proceeding or to wait out a strong contrary wind.

Book 2, Chapter 49

"It’s disgusting! She's young enough to be his granddaughter!”

Spraying my wine all over the tablecloth through my nose did not add appreciably to my air of mature sophistication…

“Do you ever get the urge to, for instance, buy this restaurant on the spot just for the pleasure of throwing customers out?” I said loud enough for the adjacent tables to overhear.

“If I did that each time it happened where would I take my mistresses?”

“‘The evening was sublime. At the theatre we partook of an old-fashioned farce and the farce continued in the nearby Italian restaurant where we repaired for our repast.’” I pretend wrote in an imaginary diary while reading it aloud as the taxi took us back to Uphill.

“Why do people behave like that Bill? It’s as though they live their lives in front of an imaginary audience, talking in clichés and using words that don’t belong in the real world.”

“You’ll have to watch some Harold Pinter plays. We all slip into roles when we stay with one group too long not realising how we look and sound to outsiders. You are going to hear a lot of it in years to come because although you are like everyone you are clearly not exactly like anyone. You will, I suspect, always feel something of an outsider in any group.”

Back at the boat Bill let me go ahead to prepare for bed. Molly was tiny with no privacy so I was glad of his consideration and while cleaning my face and changing into my pyjamas I made hot chocolate drinks for the both of us while he waited outside.

“I don’t want to always be an outsider Bill. My Cardiff friends mean so much to me and I want us always to be friends.”

“I do understand Venus. At your age I was fighting a war with friends I depended on for my life but in the years between then and now many changed to become almost unrecognisable. They are nearly all dead now but they will always be part of me, both as they were at 18 and as they became. The money from our trust and the status the media gives you will protect you to some extent in years to come but don’t lose your friends even when they change; they are what will prevent your protection from becoming a cage.”

Brrrr! It wasn’t like sailing WorthIt in the Caribbean as I peed, washed and generally got ready for the trip ahead in the campsite washrooms. I'd set the alarm for 5:20am which was approaching high tide and time for the BBC Shipping Forecast. Lundy, Fastnet, Sole and Plymouth were the local weather regions and told of the wind backing to the south, force 3 to 4 which was only slightly more than yesterday's. It was ‘a go’ for Flat Holm and Cardiff. As Molly was afloat again I removed the drying legs and secured on deck rather than take mess below; my check of engine oil and water levels showed they were good so I crossed my fingers and hit the starter. Success! Ashore when a car engine doesn’t start there are garages and buses but afloat things are trickier.

Molly isn't magnificent under engine but she puttered along happily down the river in the wind shadow of Brean Down to the south of us. Looking at it I remembered talk of running a barrage from this promontory across to Wales producing huge amounts of hydroelectric power from the tidal flow.

“I don’t know whether the Severn Barrage is a good thing or not Bill. It’s clean power which is good but the wildlife people are complaining. It could fill a large part of Britain's power needs but after our talk about the Dominican Republic I'm not sure that is good for the people in the area in the long term.”

“I’ve created a monster! I don’t know any more than you do but I do know I was hoping for a sail today, not a motor.”

I took the hint by raising the mainsail, unfurling the jib and shutting down the engine as soon as we were clear of Brean Down’s wind shadow. Immediately it became clear that, making 5knots through the water, with a little luck we could get back to Cardiff and through the lock on the last of the tide but looking at Bill enjoying the early morning sun I didn’t want to cut our day short and steered due west to take in the island of Steep Holm. Looking aft, back toward the mainland I saw the water was taking on a little chop as the outgoing tide met the southerly breeze but it was no discomfort and was soon passed through. Although vaguely aware that there were WWII defences and a ruined house on the island I was totally unprepared for Rudder Rock where battlements stood atop cliffs pierced clear through.

With our cameras clicking Molly rounded this western cliff and running downwind against the current made our way the 3 nm to to East Beach on Flat Holm’s NE corner.

“Are you sure you want me to try this Bill? I only thought to anchor and let you ashore by dinghy.”

“Go for it girl! I have confidence in you.”

With the engine running again I dropped the main, furled the jib and set up the drying legs. Then, judging where I was clear of the underwater cable hazard that the chart showed, I dropped a stern anchor, made sure it was holding then inched toward shore until we were aground. I've never been so frightened in all my life! What if we were balanced on a rock? When the tide went out Bill's Molly could fall on her side and might be stove in. Wrecked to be broken up by the next incoming tide.

“Scary isn’t it?” said Bill. “In reality most of Molly’s weight is in her lead keel so she's almost like a roly-poly toy and the legs don’t need to take much weight. Our hearts look at the volume high up and feel a fall is inevitable and that’s why, when I was young, they showed films of London double-decker buses leaning over without falling just to reassure passengers.”

Molly did settle a little in the shingle of East Beach but in almost no time the outgoing tide had left her clear of the water rested on her keel with props stopping her from leaning. With us high and dry the island's warden walked down to check us out. You can visit Flat Holm for a tourist day trip by ferry but I don't think many yachts did what Molly had so I don’t know whether it was Bill's phone call which smoothed the waters or the normal way of things. Either way the warden made us welcome and we not only got a guided tour of the seabird nesting sites, the lighthouse and the old gun batteries but we had lunch with him. Bill supplied fresh salad and a cod dish which he had prepared on the way into Uphill and marinated overnight in the ice box. The warden supplied the oven and a healthy appetite for fresh food.

For some reason the warden was reluctant to see us go. It could have been Bill's charm or perhaps despite the beauty of his surroundings he was missing female company but the now incoming tide left us no choice and all was not well. I knew that with the South wind there was a low pressure to the west-northwest of us but with only light winds hadn’t thought that the approaching system would bring an ocean swell into the Bristol Channel. I asked Bill to forget the single-handing test for a moment so he should coordinate the use of the engine with my winching on the stern led anchor rode.

A swell came in, I turned the winch handle, Bill revved the engine in reverse Molly lifted and… Crash! as the water level dropped. Again a swell came in, Molly lifted and… Crash! but this time a little further out. A third time a swell came in, Molly lifted and…. we were afloat with me now hauling in the anchor rode by hand as fast as I could while Bill reversed Molly into deeper water. The warden waved from the shore as Molly's bows pointed out to sea as though what he'd seen were an everyday event. Perhaps it was as I had no other experience to measure it against.

Time for tea said Bill leaving Molly in my dubious charge as he went below. Mainsail up, jib unfurled and I put Molly on a reach pointed west-northwest confident that the now strong incoming tide would make our course over the ground north-northwest straight toward Cardiff. I grabbed my phone from below, hit the name and on hearing my call answered said, “6 o’ clock at the lock. We’re coming home Philip.”

Book 2, Chapter 50

Bill made a point of sitting in the cockpit reading and sipping a mug of tea while I motored through the inner harbour and moored Molly in the marina to the accompaniment of a round of cheers and applause from Philip and Evan, Penny and Andy, Serena, Jenny, Kelly and my Da. This was a Monday straight after work so I felt very flattered that, on what must have been last minute calls from Philip, they all turned up to make a welcome committee. There aren't many, if any, moments of approval in a person's life and I'm not sure why. The Cardiff to Uphill return voyage was scarcely epic but maybe that’s it; serious competition leaves no room for respect.

“How were the foreign lands?” called Evan, referring to England

“Maent yn siarad yn rhyfedd yno.” They speak strangely there.” I replied repeating a joke Evan and I had used many times since childhood after trips across the border.

“You netball girls never did as well over in England as us rugby boys,” taunted Evan, conveniently forgetting that I had played wing at rugby and I’d never played netball in my life.

“How much has she broken?” My Da asked Bill.

“Well her and the warden on Flat Holm did make a great big hole in the cod I prepared to take home for my Litara!”

“Flat Holm? I’m impressed. Did she take the fish and leave you on Molly at anchor?”

“She beached her as sweet as I've ever seen in done. My reputation as the sailor of the family will soon have to be passed to our Venus. You'd have been proud of her Isaac.” With that Bill reached in the icebox and pulled out a bottle of champagne. The purists might have winced at the mugs and paper cups we used but it’s the thought that counts.

A tougher girl than I would have run after the celebration to her kick-boxing class but single-handing a boat is tiring so I settled for ringing in to offer my apologies and going home with Da for dinner. An early night after a bath was called for but although I'd only been away 36 hours and wasn't expecting any news I did check my emails to find an unexpected message from Milford Marina, which was about 100 miles west of us by car. All I knew about Milford Haven was that it was a major oil terminal that looked to be on the way up until the Sea Empress oil spill disaster about 5 years ago. The loss of wildlife, fishing and tourism had knocked them back seriously but according to the email they were fighting back, even trying to promote the port as a start for the Tall Ships Race in 2005. In the shorter term they planned an event for Saturday, 9th of June and I had come to their notice as a local media personality and model who was sailing a revolutionary new yacht. Would I and my yacht be available to be in their marina on that date?

I printed the email and ran downstairs to show Dad who was straight on the phone to Bill while I phoned Litara in London. Three way phone conversations between four people tend to get confusing but put simply Dad thought Dumblebit could be ready, Bill liked the idea of his pioneering prototype getting publicity and Litara muttered about lawyers and insurance and schedules before asking us to give her time but promise them nothing!

Excitement doesn’t get work done and next morning while Jack was fitting a section of cabin sole I tightened all the toe-rail bolts by ½ a turn. That sounds ridiculous with over 60 bolts on each side running the length of the boat but it was a lesson to me in building. Bill had explained that hard-used yachts leak and all of the beautiful interior woodwork and upholstery plus the very expensive electronics got ruined in a very short time. It wasn’t inevitable in Bill’s opinion and as a Scot he was determined the solution did not have to be more expensive.

Normally it seems there is an inward facing flange at the top of the hull which is covered in adhesive sealant. The deck is put on top is that and then a toe rail made of aluminium put on top of the deck. Finally the three layers are through bolted together. There is so much to go wrong he'd complained. The adhesive first sets then cracks. The bolt holes leak and you still have to drill more leaking holes in the deck for the stanchions and to fix a track for the jib sheet car.

I'd taken Bill's word for all this but tightening each nut inside Dumblebit the whole thing made a kind of sense. First he had the boat builders use a newly approved butyl tape instead of adhesive: it’s sticky but never sets so slowly over weeks, under the pressure of the through bolts it had crept into every crevice sealing the joint completely. Secondly he had one of his ‘interests’ make a toe-rail that incorporated a jib track and, thinking ahead, had used countersunk through bolts with Allen key heads instead of screwdriver slots making it easier to hold the bolt still and tighten the nut rather than hold the nut still and turn the bolt which would break the seal. Thirdly the company that made the toe-rail/track made stanchion bases that clamped on the track so no extra deck holes were needed to fit the upright stanchions which held Dumblebit’s lifelines.

The job was a salutary lesson that nothing about boats and sailing is as simple as it looks but while it should have taken me all day working alone - climbing the companionway, clamping the Allen key into the bolt, going down the companionway, turning the nut half a turn, moving to the next bolt and repeating 130 times - in reality I called Andy who was only too pleased to sit on deck reading a book while holding an Allen key for a couple of hours for the price of 4 beers that evening.

Having finished the tightening job Andy and I headed into the city to trawl charity shops for furniture to fit his new flat. Despite being NED of Arianrhod nobody had told me Andy would soon be moving into a flat that had been rushed to completion so that his presence would discourage thieves and vandals while the development was completed. I say we bought furniture but there was some small collateral damage to my purse in the form of a couple of tops and a hand-tooled leather messenger bag. As I told Andy, it’s all in the wording. What’s one person's used tat is another's antique or art work investment. It was still early in the afternoon so we popped into the café and as Andy relaxed I could ask the question that I’d been bursting to ask since the previous evening.

“What’s happening with you and Penny?”

“I’ve no idea. We get on well but nothing was happening beyond friendship because her parents don’t approve of me. Yesterday though, just before you sailed in, she rang me to meet her at the marina and it was like she was a new girl.”

I still didn’t understand what it was Penny saw in Andy but my pickup on her body language had been spot on. After our double-date disaster it looked as though instead of joining a convent she was staking her claim to Andy and if that were the case it was up to me to help things along so when Andy dropped me back at the boatshed I asked him to come in and meet my Dad.

“Dad, this is Andy who you’ve met a few times but probably you didn’t know that he’s a sculptor in metal who cuts and welds rather than casts his works. Andy this is my Da, Isaac who is an electronics genius and boat fitter who often needs one-off pieces of metalwork to house and mount his creations. Andy I know isn't looking for a job Da and my Da isn't looking for an employee Andy but it struck me you might be able to help each other out sometimes.”

Quite why I did it I don't know as Andy, though a nice guy in lots of ways, had been as long as I'd known him, one of life's drifters. Woman’s intuition?

That’s when my phone went and it was Litara. I listened for a minute then turned back to the men…

“Da, I hope you meant it when you said you could have Dumblebit ready in time because she and I have a modelling job at Milford Haven on the 9th of June.

Book 2, Chapter 51

It took very few seconds before Andy, risking Dad’s wrath, made a typical male joke about me and I promptly phoned Litara back.

“I don’t know what you promised but there’s no way I’m prancing around in front of a crowd on Milford Haven dock wearing a bikini!”

My paranoia was clearly unfounded if I’d given Litara’s protective interest in my public image even a moments thought but by the time I realised Andy, Ian, Jack and even my Da were laughing at my self-righteous indignation.

There seemed to be no end to the jobs requiring my limited talents that Bill and my Dad could come up with in the preparation of Dumblebit. Bill had found inflatable fenders advertised and thought it would save on stowage space so bought six. Of course when they arrived they were grey so he wanted me to sew white ‘socks’ to cover them. My initial idea of buying and using socks for real people seemed good until I realised that the fenders were about 10 inches in diameter. Then I wanted to buy three more fenders and sew the letters D U M B L E B I T to each sock in turn but in the end sense prevailed and I got stuck in. There were a lot of frustrating moments like that where I initially over-complicated the problem or fantasised impossible solutions. Having been told to arrange for a ladder to climb back aboard after swimming, I wanted something elegantly fixed on deck that would deploy or fold away in moments but Dumblebit actually got a simple ladder that clamped onto the toe rail in use and stowed in a locker otherwise.

There were satisfying moments when I got something particularly right. With the experience of Flat Holm fresh in my mind I chose a simple roller on an arm in the centre of the transom to hold when stowed and guide in deployment a stern anchor - thereby making an unexpected added asset of Dumblebit’s unusual twin rudder design.

Those were my day to day concerns but the fun came after work hours. Evan’s rugby match on Sunday had left Serena in Swansea with time on her hands and she signed Arianrhod up as an interested party to attend a talk on tidal lagoon power being given at Swansea University.

This was not the tennis playing Olympian level shopper BFF that I'd come to know over the years. Serena was far from dumb and her run-in with the dubious methods of property developers connected to her father had made her keen to see Arianrhod Development follow a different path.

“These new eco-friendly power generation plans the tree-huggers want and the scientists say we need, may come in the same way as when the railway and canal systems were built. Leave it to money-motivated builders and developers and the result will be schemes that displace people and destroy jobs without creating anything but a power plant in a wasteland. I don't believe that's the only way and I want to make sure that when you and I have children there are jobs and homes for them here in Wales.”

“But how can a power plant create jobs and homes?”

“Why shouldn’t it? If you build a lagoon of protected water people will want to boat and fish on it. They may even want to live on it! A lagoon might be big enough to build a floating town or city on it with no need for roads as boats would move people about. There wouldn't be the danger of flooding from the rising sea levels they talk about… ”

“OK! OK!” Serena was getting over-excited and I was seeing her in a different light. She was spending her days working with Bill and Alistair Dougan and their influence was rubbing off. Maybe by the time our children were the age Serena and I were now she would be my ‘Alistair’, running ‘The Welsh Office’ of the trusts interests. “As NED of Arianrhod Development I will expect you, Serena, to deliver a paper to the board on the potential created by Welsh plans for new renewable power generation.”

I wanted to laugh as I said it, feeling as I did like a kid playing at grownups, but we were the future as I was already an NED and there was a lot more to Serena than the cute little designer coat she'd been wearing when she joined us in the café after exercise class on Thursday evening.

That Thursday chat in the café had also led to plans for us to join a ‘making music session’ on Saturday evening. Kelly was the instigator as she had a finger in every pie connected to the entertainment industry in Cardiff. It came out in conversation that she was playing keyboards with friends on an evening that sounded similar to Litara's film folk evenings in London but with more instruments and less karaoke. When she heard we all sang and played various instruments she wouldn’t take no for an answer - we might have slightly exaggerated our abilities but it's a narrow divide between blowing your own trumpet and false modesty and we only agreed when she accepted that we would do just one song to show willingness but no more.

Luckily my part in the song on which we agreed was some simple guitar chords and harmonising to Evan's lead vocal but practicing on my guitar back at home later I missed playing with Litara so rang her in London to see if she would be in Cardiff at the weekend and if she was would she like to join us. Disappointingly she wouldn’t be home Friday to help me get my part right but thought she could get there directly from London on Saturday so we left it at that and I got back to my practice.

Friday was our opportunity to practice properly at Serena's house, chosen because her parents were out, and to my mind we got our chops spot on before heading to the local pub for the last hour before turning in for the night.

“Right you lot. Shut it!” announced Kelly firmly when our turn came on Saturday night. These are my friends and it’s their first time here so be civilised or at least as close to it as you can be. I present Arianrhod singing Dancing in the Moonlight.”

I think we did alright and the applause had started when big sister Litara walked into the bar and caused a stunned silence. Because she's my sister I presume her appearance caused the shock because much as I liked Serena’s coat it was way outshone by Litara’s hand-painted leather creation, straight off some New York or Paris catwalk. Almost anyone else not related to Litara would have thought it was her company… Simon I'd come to expect but there was a couple with them of which the man was instantly recognisable and was in no way expected to be found in a local pub. The Prince of Wales might have been expected but not this man.

The Welsh don't like to be upstaged and quickly the conversation restarted as though nothing had happened and didn't even get out of hand when just before the couple left the man and Litara got on stage to do a karaoke duet with Litara taking the Kylie Minogue part when they sang Kids.

Book 2, Chapter 52

‘Why is the world so weird?’ I thought while pounding the streets of Cardiff on Sunday morning. Running next to me was Beth, who despite being less than three years younger seemed to look on me as a substitute mother figure. Last night my sister sang with Robbie Williams in a local pub when everyone knows that people on the television aren't real. Robbie Williams? Williams? I had only just met my great-aunt Gabriela Martinez and great-uncle Tao Taulapapa; was I going to meet more of the Williams tribe? He didn’t sound Welsh but he did sing, which was very Welsh.

Back home, as I cooked breakfast, I worked out my plan for the day. In the afternoon I would be taking Molly out for a sail alone inside the harbour. Bill thought it would be a good confidence builder for me but to make it, in his words, more interesting, he and Ian would race me sailing Cyflym. The more devious side of my nature wanted to go down to the boats early and tie an anchor to the bottom of Cyflym but she was so sleekly built there was nowhere to attach one in a way that it wouldn’t be seen. It took until my second slice of toast for inspiration to strike!

After a visit to Dad's garden shed I collected Serena from across the road and we put my simple plan into effect down at the marina. Less than an hour later we went to see how the alterations to Mrs Clark's house were coming on. I liked the idea of people and business living side by side so Serena pointed out to me the modified plan for industrial and residential plots and their access. Having grown up playing on the site I did have in mind for the area something in short supply when a younger me wanted them; trees. Serena knew enough to suggest that London plane trees might be best to cope with the compacted soil conditions they would have to endure and my memories prompted me to ask if some trees for climbing could be fitted in anywhere.

It was relaxing to wander with Serena, chatting of a far future when the saplings we planted would be full grown. We’d been friends for years but were even closer now with a clear gender in common. There were differences between us however, especially in that Serena was in no hurry to settle down and have children whereas I, despite possibly or even probably being infertile, was already getting twinges of broodiness.

“I think it’s the hurdles to you having children that’s making you broody. I assume I can have children because nobody has told me otherwise. My birth certificate says female which means I can marry a man and even adopt children if I want. You have none of those things and it must feel as though you’re being told you can't or you mustn’t have them. It’s not right. It's ridiculous! At the least you should be able to change your birth certificate. Forchrisake! If it weren’t for Litara’s skills you'd still have a passport with an M on it!”

It was humbling to have Serena so angry in my defence but I didn’t feel like a victim and the last thing I wanted was to be the focus of more attention as a case for special treatment.

“It’s not just me though, is it Serena? What about Evan and Philip; what about Martina when she finds some girl to settle down with?”

“But your not a lesbian or gay or whatever. You’re different!”

“Am I? What about if I suddenly realise I'm a lesbian and want to adopt?”

“That's silly. I'd know already if you were a lesbian, or at least you would…”

Serena’s words kept going through my mind as that afternoon I prepared Molly for the race. I had diverted her by bringing up the red herring of same sex couples but the real issue for me wasn’t marriage or adoption. It was that even if I were pregnant I could be locked up in a male prison if found guilty of breaking some law. “It's not right.”

I've heard that mothers defending their children are the most determined battlers but not heard of prospective mothers defending their as yet un-conceived children. Regardless my mood was to dare all and give no quarter for the race and I was going to do it in front of everybody who had been at our last family outing to Bristol, including Aunt Sophie. It was to be a figure-eight, 2-buoy race with the start line between the dock where our family was gathered and the nearby downwind buoy. From there at the hooter we would tack our way to the upwind buoy on the other side of the harbour, round it clockwise to return to the downwind buoy which we would round anti clockwise and re-cross the start line to finish.

I think Ian, the racing expert and Bill the ocean sailor, expected me as a single-hander to sail conservatively right up until they saw me preparing the spinnaker pole and spinnaker. Using the engine I had no trouble leaving the dock to get out into the harbour where I locked the propellor shaft to allow the propellor to feather and reduce drag before raising the main and unfurling largest jib which I'd put on the roller. The 5-minute hooter went and Cyflym had only just got off the dock under sail ( she had no engine) and was having trouble manoeuvring so that as the minutes ticked down and I could finally approach the start line at full speed with the wind from the starboard, Cyflym was almost dead in the water on the start line to my port. The hooter went off as Cyflym started to accelerate with the wind from their port but at the last moment I shouted at the top of my voice, “Give way to starboard!” which is the first rule of racing, and skimmed straight across their bows, leaving their sails to flap uselessly in dead air for a moment.

I couldn't keep my advantage long because Cyflym could, by design, sail closer to the wind than Molly so needed fewer tacks before reaching the far buoy but Cyflym was also today marginally the slower boat through the water so we found ourselves fighting neck-and-neck for position to be first to round the upwind mark. Cyflym was first but luck was with Molly and I for a brief lull in the wind let me hoist the spinnaker fully up very quickly by hand, then locking it off, furl the jib before the wind returned.

Most of Cyflym's lead was soon lost when the wind came back from a slightly different direction and they had to jibe which left them only slightly in front of me and no faster because even though their spinnaker was larger, Molly being upwind stole their air. Back across the harbour we flew as the wind was increasing to the point where dousing the spinnaker would be frightening. By the time we were just upwind of the first buoy with the wind on our starboard quarters I'd unfurled the jib and positioned Molly to leave Cyflym in dead air with her boat speed dropping rapidly.

It was my chance and I adjusted course to put the wind dead astern and let fly the spinnaker halliard and its starboard sheet. That actually released the clip attaching the sheet to the sail which flew free into the wind-shadow of the main from where I hauled it into the cockpit out of the way before jibing the mainsail while frantically hauling in the mainsheet and starboard jib sheet!

I'm not very strong and I'm not particularly talented in anything but when the gods bestowed their gifts what the must have given me was luck and perfect timing. That I didn’t break any gear was luck but that Molly cut between Cyflym and the buoy rounding up into the wind to cross the line first was nothing less than perfect timing. Litara might have Robbie Williams on her side but I wasn’t without friends among the stars.

Back on the dock I was flattered extravagantly by the audience but as Cyflym limped in my guilty conscience got the better of me. After securing Ian's mooring line I took a long boat hook and fished about with it under Cyflym. It only took a moment until I got hooked in and unceremoniously hauled up the square of netting that Dad used to protect from birds the strawberries growning in our garden with one of Bill's fenders tied to each of its corners. Serena and I had hauled the assemblage under Cyflym' keel where two fenders straining upward on each side of the hull held the net in place and created an enormous drag on her progress.

I'm not sure that I felt very repentant but I faced Bill and Ian with my elbows tucked in and palms faced up to shrug and offer, “Sorry?”

Book 2, Chapter 53

If anyone, it was Bill and Ian who were red-face at being caught out by the trick which cost them the race. As much as my family didn't want me to be an embarrassment they did also enjoy seeing me standing up for myself and ‘dishing it out’ appropriately on occasion.

“Next time! Next time!” said Ian inspecting carefully my arrangement that released the windward spinnaker sheet free from the sail ( I'd replaced the short hand-pull release cord with a longer one tied to the boom end so that releasing the sheet transferred the strain to the quick release cord.) “You didn’t learn this trick in Cardiff.”

I had to agree with Ian that there were things to learn from other places than Wales (like Bilbao for the quick release tip).

Having the family together allowed Beth and Aunt Sophie time to chat and I wasn't surprised a little later to see Beth in tears being cuddled my her mother. The experience of violence and near death seems to effect people differently and there are arguments in the papers about any number of conditions given medical names like PTSD and CFS that I thought might develop on the return from a brush with life’s harsh reality to a domesticated world that naïvely insisted that all problems could be dealt with by hard work and enough money.

Had seeing Sophie’s heart attack made Beth aware for the first time that she could lose her Mum at any moment. Might cutting herself off from her mother been her way of protecting herself from further pain? Seeing them together with Aunt Sophie looking much fitter and not a little lighter and Beth smiling made the theory persuasive.

I didn’t lose my running partner though because after the race we combined forces, including Ian and Serena, to have dinner at Bill's house where Mum, Sophie! Litara and I came to the conclusion that being away from home was, at least for now, doing Beth good. What with our runs, the exercise class she had instigated and a generally slightly more helpful attitude around the house we were relieved to find she was now growing up without getting pregnant or STDs as far as we could tell.

Looking at our rambunctious, extended family gathering it felt comfortable in this rambling house. Too big for Bill and Grandma Tina alone yes but for a couple with several children and lots of friends who liked to visit…? I looked at Litara and wondered why she hadn’t made a deposit on a house for the future. The flat I’d stopped at with her was large and beautiful but she insisted it belonged to a friend and surely she couldn’t afford anything that luxurious. Jean Luc lived on a boat when he wasn’t travelling, Rupert, aka Bruce from WorthIt II, told me he bought when prices were low, as an investment, but in truth I couldn’t think of anyone near my own age ambitious for the middle-class dream of a semi-detached house with 2.4 children. It wasn’t even faintly financially possible for most of my generation, even in a booming economy, without a mortgage that would become a millstone for life come the next depression which we’d learnt at school inevitably came. Dreams cost nothing though.

The week ahead was to be busy for me as Dumblebit neared completion. Bill came up with the idea that I would singlehandedly sail Molly to Swansea, about 40 miles to the west. The distance was too great to guarantee being completed in daylight hours so the plan was that I leave Cardiff on Wednesday evening and arrive on Thursday in daylight. There’s a lot of shipping along the coast and no way I would be able to sleep en route or devote much time to cooking so I planned to thermos-flask-cook a stew and porridge for the morning. This was a tip I'd picked up in the Caribbean where those on cruising boats sometimes didn’t want to use propane heating their boat for hours in the already tropical heat. As well as work and preparing Molly I did have to ring and apologise to John and Judy for missing a dance class but they were more than happy that my Mum and Dad had become permanent enthusiastic helpers.

Knowing my working day on Wednesday would be short and that I would need to sleep after arriving in Swansea on Thursday I did as much work as possible on Dumblebit early in the week which included picking up the cushions and seat backs from the upholsterer. Something I had noticed with yachts is the very drab, usually blue or grey upholstery, chosen by men for men. Dumblebit’s upholstery was very different and grandma Tina's hand was very clear in the vibrant colours, the palm trees and the pink flamingos. I'm not sure whether Bill winced or not when he came down to see the effect but as he said, I was the one who was going to have to live with them.

"You forget Bill, in three weeks you and I are sailing her to Milford Haven where you will have to justify the choice to visitors."

"I’d best ask your grandma to tell me what I think about them before then!"

At 4:30pm on Wednesday Molly and I slipped out of the marina and into the lock. The breeze was light and from the North-east making the manoeuvring very easy as we dropped to sea level and motor-sailed first South toward Flat Holm and then West past Barry with the setting sun. Bill had told me that there were often wind changes at dawn and dusk and with the light from Barry Harbour flashing of Molly's starboard beam a wind gust of about 30 knots hit us out of the North.

“If in doubt, reduce sail,” Bill had repeatedly told me. The sky was still clear and the weather forecast unthreatening but it wouldn’t hurt to lose some boat speed so I mostly furled the jib and put a reef in the main before thinking further.

“Come on Molly, what should I do?” I asked looking up at the sails pulling well in 20 knots of wind still from the North. A gust of 25 knots answered the question and I completely rolled up the jib and went forward to raise the small staysail. Molly had an unusual rig having both a jib and a staysail like Dumblebit but with luffs that weren’t parallel so they couldn’t both be set at the same time. A single masted yacht with one foresail was called a sloop, if it had two like Dumblebit it was a cutter and Molly being somewhere between was called a slutter.

That was the sail-plan going into the night until 2 hours later when I put a second reef into the main so that sail area was reduced as much as was possible while still having enough to make progress. Bill had maintained Molly as well as any yacht reasonably could be but she was small and sailing close to the wind to make Swansea in the North-west. That was asking a lot of her until I remembered that Cardinal Vertue, a yacht just like Molly, had circumnavigated via Cape Horn . Bill had shown me the details but what stuck in my mind through my night on Molly was that Cardinal Vertue was dismasted at one stage during her voyage.

I thanked my lucky stars that I had pre-prepared the stew when I ate at midnight because although the seas close to the coast were small, they were very steep and nothing would have stopped on the stove. The drawback to hot food and tea from another thermos highlighted a problem that all women sailors know… going to the toilet in foul weather gear is almost impossible and even when squatted it was all I could do to prevent being thrown off the seat. Back on deck I made a mental fortune from my invention of drop-seat foul-weather pants.

All nights end, assuming you live through them, and at 7:30 am I was on the VHF radio to the Swansea harbour master asking permission to enter. There were two locks to traverse getting into the marina but being close to high tide made it easy and an hour later Molly was secure in the berth she'd been allocated and I had the kettle on for a fresh brew of tea to warm me before crawling into my sleeping bag…

“Ahoy Molly!”

Book 2, Chapter 54

“Are you Venus Williams?”

I allowed that I might be, wondering if anything good would come of it

“A Cardiff friend of mine phoned to ask me to keep an eye open for you on a boat called Molly. He said you had done all of the pool courses but, as you were leaving Britain soon, you were desperate for open water qualifications before you had to go. So desperate that he volunteered to pay me to take you scuba diving today.”

What could I say? This man had made a special effort to seek me out on the promise of paid work and I didn’t want to disappoint him but this was not the Caribbean; this was Wales in May and the water would be freezing.

“Your Cardiff friend, what is their name?”

Oh, didn’t I say? Ian.”

My excuses ran out when he said that the fee covered not only scuba gear but a wet suit and that the others were expecting me to join them on the dive boat mid-afternoon to go out to a local wreck.

With such an impossible to refuse offer I managed scarcely 5 hours sleep before finding myself hanging on for dear life as the divers RIB (rigid inflatable boat) zoomed along the coast to the dive site but the teachers knew what they were doing and knew how to get the most of their frightened charges. Stepping back ashore 70 minutes later I felt a fresh appreciation for the land but also for the underwater world. There is no way I would earlier have imagined volunteering to go diving the icy water today and visibility was nothing like the scenes on the television but the experience was eye-opening as we descended through the murk, where the only way to tell up from down was that air bubbles rose, until there appeared closer than I expected the partial remains of a wrecked ship.

The wreckage wasn’t interesting in itself but it had been colonised! While all about was flat, featureless mud the metalwork played host to all manner of plant and fish life. It was nothing short of a garden! Naturally I signed up for more lessons, I hoped at Litara's expense but at mine if it had to be and then I had to dash back to Molly to secure her and pick up my bags before catching the coach back to Cardiff.

“Wake up cariad (sweetheart).” The journey from Swansea to Cardiff took 65 minutes of which I spent 64 minutes out to the world and possibly snoring loudly enough to ensure nobody else on the coach slept.

Once at Cardiff coach station I was closer to Beth's dance/exercise class than to home so that is where my friends found me asleep on a chair in the entrance to the hall when they arrived at 7 pm insisting I get changed and take part. Dad told our family, on the first day that Litara had asked if I could sail a yacht to Tahiti, the fundamentals needed were, luck, money, stamina, a dynamite immune system and more luck. I joined the exercise class and felt that I deserved a medal for my stamina over the previous 36 hours and also that luck was with me as, whatever Ian's intention, his gift of a dive lesson was a lucky bonus. My friends might disagree about the luck as in the café afterwards, once they had heard those details of Molly's trip that were actually interesting to them, they were the ones who had to endure my second by second account of the dive.

Kelly rescued them and in particular pleased Beth no end as Kelly had been sent an accidently doubled order of cosmetic samples. The cost of manufacture of these things is so low that it wasn’t worth returning them and Beth was the major beneficiary. Who says there's no such thing as a free lunch, unless it was Jenny who was exhibiting a pinkened face from a day modelling during which she had to change her makeup several times? My face was a little red to but from embarrassment because I was so full of myself I'd been treating my friends like a fan club and they had lives of their own.

Once back home I phoned Litara to share my day and ask advice about getting a wetsuit of my own. We were the same size and I thought she would have one or know a source but heard she’d always had to borrow a man’s as 6 foot skinny girls weren’t well catered for by dive shops. As a double blow my dive lessons would have to be at my expense too but if I kept the receipts it might be tax deductible and there was a possibility I could get a made-to-measure wetsuit out of the Milford Haven modelling job so all was not gloom if I didn’t question too closely what I would have to actually do to get the wetsuit.

Despite all my previous exertions Beth and I had our morning run on Friday although Beth did boast that she'd been faster alone on Thursday, and as a result at breakfast Mum complained that there ought to be a law against teenagers with energy to burn which could be better spent on housework and mowing the lawn, which she heavily hinted needed doing. The more things change the more they stay the same Dad, Beth and I joked in the car on the way to Beth's school bus stop but after she got out Dad quietened.

“Your Mum is going to miss you when you leave home,” Dad said gently. “You and your sister might not realise it but you are more like your mother than either of you might like to admit.”

“She does like things done her way.”

“And you don’t? Your Mum wants the best for you but the world has changed so much since she was your age that she doesn’t understand what you might feel is for the best.”

I looked at Dad and felt so lucky that he understood but then thought about Mum and wondered what it would be like to raise children only to have to wave them goodbye.

Book 2, Chapter 55

My mind was full of Mum and my lack of ambition as I worked that day sewing the letters D,U, M,B, L, E, B, I and T onto each side of the mainsail cover - at least it was shorter than The Transit of Venus. Part of the reason that I got into Litara’s project, beside to pay for surgery, was my lack of ambition in any other direction - something that I saw as a personal shortcoming. Maybe I'd been looking at it from the wrong angle and I was simply unwilling to give up my freedom for status or a particular career.

I did want family and friends and I wouldn’t give up on that. ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ Well leaving aside that I wasn’t a man and found the thought of an eternal soul more frightening than reassuring, the sentiment resonated with me. To have family and friends meant my future life had to be more than travelling all over the world making films; more than being an instantly recognisable television personality; more even than saving thousands of lives with Bill’s billion pounds.

Litara was going to have to give me time of my own in the places Dumblebit sailed and pay for regular flights back home! Why should she? Then I remembered that Litara, despite he own travels spent her weekends in Cardiff whenever she could. Maybe I was learning what she already appreciated. It might be ok for some to sacrifice all for the pursuit of happiness but I, my family and my friends weren’t built that way. Even Serena, the fashion lover who is in no hurry to settle down, appreciates the urge to plant trees. To see them grow and accept that pain is an unavoidable part of life, especially when dealing with her parents.

Party, party, party!!! We had nothing special on for Friday our finances being precarious but we did go down to the local pub where just before closing time Penny somehow told Andy that it was time for him to propose to her. Forget anything you thought you knew about marriage proposals because in real life women decide not only whether to get married but when the man should propose.

“What on earth are you up to Penny? You two are much to young to be getting married!” I asked in the ‘Ladies’ a few minutes later.

"You know that and I know that but Andy needs some sense of purpose in his life and getting engaged is something for him to commit to.”

“Does he know you don’t want to marry him?”

“Oh we’ll get married and have children eventually - I’ve known that since we first met. It may though take a little more time than he anticipates before we actually tie the knot . Like 10 years more.”

Who am I to argue, especially when there's an excuse to party, which is why we agreed to gather next night at the same place where last week we saw Robbie Williams making music with my big sister.

Before that there was a lot of running about to do. There must have been something in the air because Bill’s plan to sail Molly back from Swansea to Cardiff had blossomed into a romantic weekend for Bill, Grandma Tina, Mum and Dad. Saturday morning I drove Bill and Dad to Swansea where they set sail with Molly for Porlock 25 miles to the South-east across the Bristol Chanel on the English coast. Somewhat later Mum and Grandma drove over to Porlock where rooms and dinner were waiting.

Meanwhile I was being measured for a wet suit by the Swansea dive instructor. It takes 25 different measurements he explained which is one more than for a man. Bust size was my guess for the extra measurement but predictably for the sailer of Dumblebit it was bum. It was his job to pass these measurements to the manufacturers who would deliver the completed wetsuit to Milford Haven for me to collect during the publicity assignment.

Back in Cardiff for an early lunch and a practice session with Serena for the surprise song we had chosen for the party then a rush over to the hall for the dance class. I think by this time John had changed his teaching tack from new dances to new moves because it rather shocked Litara and Simon who had come along to help as replacements in the main class for our missing parents. Litara was the most surprised I think because she was still thinking of my dancing as a provincial adjunct to the modelling course I'd completed, forgetting that I'd been having two serious dance lessons a week for several months assisted by John's practice tapes at home. It would be false modesty to deny that although Litara might have sung with Robbie Williams and won the pole-dancing competition in the Dominican Republic, when it came to dancing salsa I was in a whole different league.

Preparing our evening meal together after I’d showered back home I caught Litara watching me…

“What?”

“Have your periods started yet?”

The directness of her question stopped me in my tracks and all I could do was shake my head ‘No’.

“I just wondered because when I watched you on the dance floor you weren’t the same enthusiastic youngster I saw dance in London but a seriously hot woman.”

I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed because I was still physically juvenile or flattered. I settled for flattered and gave her a hip shake to emphasise my abilities.

The round of applause and cheers that Penny and Andy got was honest and heartfelt. They might have only been 19 but when you see real love it can’t be doubted. Andy sang his proposal to a karaoke backing track but he had also been practicing with Evan and Philip as his backing singers so when he went down on one knee and sang ‘I Swear’ Penny blushed and accepted as sincerely as any man could have wished and I wondered how long her resolve to wait 10 years would last.

The evening was long, well lubricated and enthusiastic with several other musicians selecting more romantic themes than they might have another night so that when the time came for Serena and I to do our song there was scarcely a need for the backing track because everyone knew and joined in with ‘Lean On Me.’

I apologise that my posts will be a bit erratic for a while as I am travelling and will have a lot of work and few internet connections. Venus, Book 2 is drawing to a climax that I can almost grasp and hope will please - I really want to know for sure what happens to Venus next.

Book 2, Chapter 56

“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine!”

“You must be kidding Beth; it’s Sunday and the middle of the night!”

“I went for my morning run over an hour ago while you were snoring fit to shake the walls of the house down.”

I had silenced my alarm clock and radio alarm but for some reason it is illegal to strangle terminally cheerful young cousins…. At least she had brought me a cup of tea so I might eventually forgive her….

As I sipped my tea and looked at the hands of my clock pointing accusingly at 10, I gathered my memories to better plan the day ahead. Last night we’d celebrated Penny and Andy’s engagement with song and rather more alcohol than I’m used to. Mum and Dad weren’t at home as they, with Bill and Grandma, were probably having a slap up breakfast in the Hotel in Porlock before Bill and Da in Molly sailed while Mum and Gran drove back over the border to Wales, Cardiff and home…. Job number one then was to sort out dinner for their arrival at about 6 this evening.

That was enough thinking for now my body announced so I finished my tea and headed for a shower. With the water gently massaging my bruised brain cells I visualised the wreck dive I’d made off Cardiff which had amazed me with the richness of growth on the wreck compared to what appeared to be the barren mud it lay on. There wasn’t much time before I set sail with Dumblebit from Plymouth toward Madeira - about 3 months or 13 weeks I calculated - but once I modelled the wet suit I’d just been measured for it would be mine for a knockdown price and I determined to use it to complete my open water diving tests. The modelling job in Milford Haven was less than 2 weeks away so I could complete my qualifying dives.

Brunch is an ugly word for what is a very civilised meal when not spoiled by a looming list of jobs to be completed. Beth, despite having already had a bowl of cereals earlier, joined me nibbling whatever fruit and toast she could snaffle from my plate and looking at her cheeky smile I couldn’t object too strongly.

“Have you any plans for this summer’s school holidays?” I asked, not expecting too much in the way of constructive response.

“Well the Thursday night fitness class is going well enough that I wondered if I could copy it and earn some money giving my own classes.”

“If this were London or Los Angeles there would be rich people wanting personal trainers but in Cardiff the idea of being bullied into exercising by a 16 year old might be an option before its time. The careers advisor at your school will almost certainly be able to help you find a paying job at a gym or fitness centre or it might even be possible for you to be a ‘busking’ fitness instructor around the city. For instance, do you think you could do zumba sessions around the millennium centre or in Bute Park? That would need council approval of course but I'm sure your school could put you in touch with the right people to get permission."

Why I thought of those suggestions I don't know but they did seem to be received enthusiastically by Beth. It would be her first summer trying to find work and maybe any idea was welcome to someone faced with the blank impenetrable wall of the adult work world.

Paying work was something I too still needed so after breakfast I cycled down to the marina to see what could be hustled. With my head cleared I felt both on top of the world and ridiculous. Here I was off to hustle hourly manual work while being both a television presenter and the Non-Executive Director Of Arianrhod Development. That didn’t include the work I did for Da or the odd bit of modelling work. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this!

Without knowing if it were realistic I had been tempted to see if I could create a job for Beth with Arianrhod but was dissuaded by already feeling uncomfortable with the authority I had over Serena and Penny. If I were my mother I might have suggested Beth apply for an office job over the summer that offered support to those going on to study accountancy. Then again I'd read much accountancy work these days was being done by computers so that might not offer the secure path it had provided for my mother.

Luckily by the time I ran into the brick wall of the inherent contradictions of capitalism I'd reached the marina and volunteered myself to help a harassed mother of two over-excited young children push a wonky-wheeled provision-filled trolley down the floating walkway to meet her husband on their yacht where he was trying to stop their dog jump overboard to greet his playmates. Synchronicity is a wonderful thing as my need for work coincided with their realisation that to prevent future disaster they needed to create a a safe netting cage using the yacht’s lifelines.. If it had been the job of replacing the lifelines I would have had a conflict of interest as I worked for Ian the rigger but I could after my normal work custom weave what amounted to a fishing net around their boat for the cost of suitable line and my labour. Result!

A phone call to Mum's mobile was answered by Grandma Tina as the two of them were at that moment preparing to take a break on the drive home by stopping off in Bristol to see an old friend.

“Bill says that he and your father might be late getting back but I’d like to surprise him with a get together for as many of the family as possible at the marina restaurant for dinner at 7 o’clock.”

“Do I detect news Gran? Did you enjoy Porlock so much that you are immigrating to England?”

“It was a lovely place but the dinner is just because seeing how much Bill enjoys being part of a family was a wake up to remind me we should all make the most of our family. Can you make it and get Beth to come too?”

“We’ll be coming Grandma. I assume Mum will come here first to change and pick us up so I’ll make sure we are both ready for 6:30. Will you phone Aunt Sophie or shall I?”

Gran pooh-poohed any suggestion that she couldn’t handle one of the new fangled mobile phones and I wasn’t brave enough to argue. Luckily that morning I had only taken some homemade minestrone soup out of the freezer and arriving back at the house I found Beth was more than happy to share it with me for lunch although she couldn’t resist commenting that it was the only soup she had ever seen that required a knife and fork.

Straight after lunch Beth disappeared to ‘go hang’ with her friends while I lay in the garden listening to a radio program about James Cook. His father was an educated but not rich Scot and he himself was born in North Yorkshire so not part of any monied or aristocratic elite. Early sailing was as an apprentice on sailing colliers running coal between Newcastle and London as well as trips into the Baltic and only when he completed his apprenticeship did he join the Royal Navy where he made a name for himself through his navigation skills based on his interest and skill in mathematics.

I got the feeling I would have liked the man and he did in time become popular with his crew as he made their health a priority loosing far fewer men to things like scurvy than was usual at the time. On his first circumnavigation made, as far as the navy was concerned, to both observe and get precise readings of the transit of Venus across the face of the sun as seen in Tahiti, and to search out a theorised southern continent; he was joined by the very rich botanist Joseph Banks. It was a perfect match. The ship Endeavour was one of the colliers Cook had started out on and Banks put together a team of the best botanists in the world who were stunningly successful in their observations while Cook was literally mapping the world. When they returned to England it was Banks who got the acclaim (money talks) but between them they had utterly changed the picture of the world for European eyes.

I couldn’t help but draw parallels between Banks and Bill but I was no James Cook having only marginal sailing skills. The best I would be able to do was bring a fresh eye to the world and share that view, if possible, through Litara’s documentary series. As a presenter I doubted they expected any input from me as to the content but listening to Cook's story I determined to report what I saw as honestly as possible instead of just letting script writers put words into my mouth.

Sunday afternoons run on their own time line and only after Mum and Grandma returned, effortlessly managing their change of clothes and titivation while shuttling backward and forward between the two houses, could I push Beth, who had got back home later than she promised, into wearing something more suitable than jeans. I on the other hand was definitely feeling summery after my afternoon in the garden and ready to make the most of a dinner out so my choice was a long boho summer dress.

My father it seems was in on the surprise dinner and, using a level of subterfuge on Bill of which I did not know he was capable, he managed to get the two of them to look presentable on entering the restaurant only a minute or two after the rest of our motley crew including Sophie, Jack, Matthew and Mark.

To be continued

Book 2, Chapter 57

We all stood, raised our glasses and gave a cheer as Bill entered the restaurant closely followed by my father. I wouldn’t swear to it but I think Bill was close to tears as it’s in the nature of even short voyages to open sailors emotionally to the world about and those we love in particular. Grandma explained to Bill that this was her way of thanking him for a romantic weekend and to let him know that just because she was now a McLeod, that didn’t contradict that she came as a ‘job lot’ with the rest of the family.

Chatting away over our meal made me appreciate how tough it would be sailing alone, cut off from my family. Even now there were family members missing so I went to the manager and arranged for a photo to be taken of us all together, glasses raised, with a card behind us saying Hello from your Williams, McLeod and Bach family in Wales to Anna, Tao, Gabriella and Aarón †.

Monday meant work but when the sun is shining on a late spring morning working outside felt to be no hardship. With my Da’s permission I alternated varnishing inside Dumblebit with weaving netting on the yacht I’d visited the day before. Although it made for a long day it meant I didn’t have to breathe fumes from the varnish between coats and I could pass the time of day with other people around the marina.

“Anyone for tennis?”

A voice from the past broke into my concentration as I finished a section of netting. Mr Harding, as I'd known him as a gym teacher in my secondary school from ages 11 to 16, and at the tennis club for the the last two years, was standing on the dock watching me. There was no doubting that he recognised me but I found his expression unsettling, and ‘not in a good way’. My experience of men as sexual beings was very limited but he wasn't looking at me with awe as Jay had on the disastrous double date with Penny, nor as an exasperating child in the way Jean Luc often did. This look was the look of a man who wanted something.

His attention certainly wasn’t drawn by the way I was dressed in my pink work- dungarees so I kept to my boat-worker character rather than turn on the modelling grace or sexy dancing sizzle. “The weather is certainly warm enough for tennis Mr Harding but as you can see I’m rather busy.”

“I couldn’t help but notice your appearances in the newspapers and on television so wonder which team will you be trying for this season, the men’s or the women’s?”

I wouldn’t have time to play tennis for any team this season but I did suddenly realise where his interest in me might lay - the media hadn’t mentioned my surgery so what he was seeing was, I supposed, a chick-with-a-dick’ or a ‘she-male’ and that for him was an attraction.

“As you know, even if I had time, the rules won’t allow me to play for the women’s team no matter what the doctors know and do. Would you take my bag for me a moment as I must finish work now if I'm to be on time for my kick-boxing session.” With that I swung my legs over the lifeline to stand on the dock and, although I couldn’t be sure of Mr Harding’s original intentions, as I now felt reasonably certain that he knew I wasn’t interested in him I felt comfortable about closing the conversation by reclaiming my tool bag and heading up the dock towards my bike.

It might have been a coincidence that Mr Harding chose to walk up the dock with me but there was no mistaking his effort to prolong contact when his arm went round my shoulders…. A sophisticated a woman would have cut him down with a well chosen phrase like, “…????… .” , but I being technically an only just pubescent virgin, I ran. It was a stupid thing to do as Harding was hardly likely to attack me on a public dock in daylight but it was less stupid than Harding’s reflex action in giving chase, tripping over a dock mooring cleat, bashing his head on a yacht bowsprit and dropping unconscious into water!

It was the ‘Thunk!’ of skull hitting unyielding wood that stopped my flight and the ‘Kersplash’ that made me turn back to see Harding floating face down in the water. I've no idea how long it would have taken for his body to sink as the air left his lungs but in those seconds I'd grabbed him by the back of his collar and finding myself too weak to haul him out of the water passed the loose end of a mooring line under his arms and lashed him to the very cleat over which he must have tripped.

Thank goodness for mobile phones which have cut the time to call for an ambulance enormously so that the only person who arrived earlier than the paramedics was my father who must have some extra-sensory perception to hear my yells for help from where he was working. I was so grateful for Da’s arrival as although my efforts to pull Mr Harding’s legs onto the dock had started him coughing up water as he became horizontal the makeshift plans I'd been formulating to lift him completely out of the water using a nearby yacht’s mainsheet were likely to be more damaging than helpful. Da in contrast simply plucked Mr Harding out of the water, holding him like a baby as I undid the rope lashing, then Da lay him on the dock where I knew enough to arrange him in the recovery position thanks to watching Yorkshire medical student Victoria deal with Aunt Sophie’s heart attack a few weeks before.

“Do you know who he is or how he came to be in the water?"

“He's one of my old teachers but although I heard it I didn’t see him go in. Looking at the blood on his forehead he probably tripped and hit that bowsprit an almighty bang… "

That’s when the ambulance men arrived who, lifting Mr Harding onto a stretcher, asked me to follow them to the hospital A&E department when they realised I knew who their patient was.

“I’ll call round to his house on the way. That way I can inform his family if any and note the proper address.”

I'd known where Mr Harding lived, if not the house number, since school days but ringing the doorbell felt odd. It felt odder still when it was answered by a youngster of about 11, wearing a dress, who was either a girl with a boy’s haircut or a boy dressed as a girl. I shivered at the thought that Harding might be some sort of paedophile. I was glad my father was with me but happier still when a middle-aged woman came through from the kitchen and placing her arm protectively round the child’s shoulder, looked at me and said, “But you’re Venus Williams; how did you know we wanted to see you?”

† Gabriela Martinez……….Joy's Aunt in the Dominican Republic
Aarón Martinez…………… Director/Joy's cousin
Anna Williams………………Sister of Grandfather
Tao Taulapapa……………...Brother of Grandmother in Samoa

Book 2, Chapter 58

Within 10 minutes of our calling at George Harding’s house we, Joan Harding and their child Arwen had been sitting in A&E at the hospital waiting for George to get back from X-ray. Fortunately George had recovered consciousness but there was at least concussion and possibly a skull fracture so we waited anxiously with nothing to do but talk. Arwen I learnt had been named Arthur at birth but recently changed from occasionally suggesting that she was a girl to insisting on being called Arwen both at home and by her friends plus choosing her own clothes. She was to put it bluntly, one tough cookie!

My ‘reading’ of George on the dock seemed to have utterly got hold of the wrong end of the stick. George and Joan were what I thought of as a liberal but quiet Guardian readers confronted with being forced into the vanguard of those seeking better treatment for transgender children through a group called Mermaids. One of their difficulties was that people who transitioned then wanted to get on with a regular life rather than be seen as the public face of those associated through media coverage with sex scandals. Having seen me, someone they knew in everyday life, appearing on the television, in the newspapers and even being talked about by colleagues and neighbours without being held up to ridicule gave them hope that Arwen’s future was looking up.

They didn’t know my home address as we’d moved after I left school but guessed from the news clip of Dumblebit’s dramatic launch that I was a regular face at the marina and George had several times dropped by there in the hope of making a casual contact that might lead to a mentor for Arwen, talks with Mermaid parents and even changes in policy at George’s school where Arwen or Arthur expected to attend come next autumn. Looking across the waiting room at Arwen, who’d found better company than her mum and I in the shape of another girl of her own age to gossip with, I doubted she needed much in the way of mentoring but I made a date with Joan who in turn promised to phone as soon as she had news of George’s condition.

Driving home Da occasionally looked sideways at me .

“What?”

“Looking back, life before you came on the scene seems pretty dull. I like it this way better and I’m very proud to have you as a daughter.”

“I do feel at times that I have cheated you out of your having a son.”

“Nonsense. We’ve worked together; sailed together and even partied together. How many fathers and sons can say that. Plus we have the advantage of even being able to dance together. Just never steal my razor to shave your legs!”

Da knew I didn’t use a razor but I took it as intended and gave his hand a squeeze before we entered the house and had to go over all the details of the last few hours with Mum to explain why we were late.

Over the next few days my savings grew from Da’s, Ian’s and the yacht netting jobs as long as I ignored the undeniable fact that due to the physical nature of the tasks I really needed to lay aside some of the money for a reparative manicure so my hands didn’t look too much like a bricklayer’s for the modelling work to come. Our most important project was coming to a climax in putting finishing touches to Dumblebit in readiness for the sail to Milford Haven and as it was to be public debut for both Dumblebit as a paradigm shift in yacht design and for me as a self-employed local model so we both need to look good.

To an onlooker I hope I presented a calm face as I fitted in work, kick-boxing, dance lessons and Beth's keep fit classes but inside I was having kittens. Serena and Jenny spotted it after the keep fit class on Thursday night and prescribed a shopping expedition for the coming Saturday but in truth just having time to be silly with my friends was all I needed.

“You need to find your inner Naomi?” Jenny prompted. You’ve been so busy keeping other people happy that a bit of ‘queen-bee-time’ is called for.

Jenny was right that I had found life easier when concentrating the modelling course even if I did while doing it have to regularly apologise for parading the massive ego that it took to look unperturbed while centre stage. In 9 days I was going to be selling Milford Haven and its retail outlets to the public with nothing more than the image that if I was there it was ‘the place to be.’. Similarly Dumblebit was the culmination of a lot of work by a lot of people whose future prospects as a design depended in large part on how I looked single-handing her into Milford Haven Marina.

I made a start by phoning the man whose shop was promoting the made-to-measure wet suit that I’d been measured for. “The design is attractive but the colours could be better for the young women you want to attract,” I suggested. “White is good but the blue and the black feel cold so you might want to try light and dark pink for those parts.”. For all I knew the suit was already made but I spoke with the confidence of someone close to being the target buyer.

“Did you like that?” I asked my gang who had gathered to witness me trying to be assertive. “I hope so because Dumblebit is being lifted out of the water for a few hours work on Sunday. The weather forecast is good and I could do with some helping hands to buff and polish her in the afternoon in return for cold beers.” Friendship is good but bribery is more reliable for some things.

That was the moment my phone rang with Joan Harding saying that no major damage had been found to George and as he had just come home from the hospital would I mind joining them at their house next Tuesday at 7 pm for a get together with other families in similar circumstances to them and Arwen? Just at that moment I felt to be one of life’s experts so I agreed - naturally however, as soon as I put my phone away I felt totally out of my depth.

Imposter syndrome is, my friends reassure me endemic in modern life. No matter how well qualified we are or how much we’re reassured by those we respect, a belief that our supposed expertise is an illusion has become a regular part of our lives. Luckily I sometimes get things right as in when on Saturday morning I was called by the shop that had measured me for a wet suit. Dropping into the shop later that morning with Serena and Jenny I got to try the suit on finished in the very colours I had suggested…

"That is sooo hot!" pronounced Serena with Jenny nodding madly. To celebrate I bought 4 small sealable, waterproof bags for things like papers and camera that would slip into my shoulder-bag and hopefully prevent a disaster when I next proved my ineptness as a sailor by falling in the water.

Book 2, Chapter 59

“Duck!”

Just how much difference good friends make was made clear on Sunday afternoon. The main work of the day was replacing the track which allowed Dumblebit’s electric powered outboard to slide up and down in its cylindrical well - very much a job for those more skilled than me so I left that to the men while I got on with polishing the Coppercoat™ antifouling on Dumblebit’s bottom. This antifouling was another of Bill's ideas and would reputedly last 10 years before it needed to be replaced saving money and expensive haulouts in obscure parts of the world. The downside was that it had to be regularly lightly sanded, presumably usually underwater, to bring fresh copper to the surface deterring barnacles and seaweeds from growing on it.

In search of cold beer that afternoon Serena, Jenny, Kelly, Evan, Philip, Andy and Penny all turned up bearing rags, sponges and chammies to clean, polish and buff Dumblebit to an immaculate gleam. All went well until Dumblebit was dropped back into the water from where Bill, Da, Jack and Ian took her off on a meandering motor back to the pontoons leaving the gang of us with idle hands but armed with hoses and dirty rags as ammunition… !

“Duck!”

By the time we’d exhausted ourselves and collapsed into an giggling heap it was clear that we might be sceptical imposters in the adult world but with each other at that moment we were completely unmasked and trusting as children. Trusting I say but that was relative once we noticed that Philip, instead of joining the water-fight, had been filming it! Evan as Philip’s protective boyfriend did take the camera to keep it safe before the rest of us played ‘let’s see how far out into the harbour we can throw Philip’.

Soaking Philip was not the brightest of ideas because we then had to find him something dry to wear. As we were close to Da’s workshop that meant my clothes. I do hope Philip didn’t have any cross-dressing fantasies as the only things available were the dirty work dungarees I was wearing or my street clothes which were safely hanging inside and there was no way was Philip getting into that dress!

Gossiping over drinks in the pub that evening the subject of gender came up with Philip’s called into question but interestingly, not Evan’s sexuality. A few years ago such a conversation if it came up at all would probably have been very derogatory toward gay relationships so I asked, “Has the world changed in its attitude toward sexuality and gender or is it just us?”

“Seeing you transition has been a game changer for me,” stated Serena. “Spending the afternoon working on Dumblebit it struck me how much more relaxed you are now than when you lived as Dai. Don’t take that the wrong way as I liked Dai but you are somehow more real… more rounded now!”

“So you’ve noticed her bum’s grown too!” opined Andy, who, with Penny’s permission, I really must kill one day.

Simon who had also dropped into the pub asked whether performers like Marc Bolan and David Bowie had been an influence but none of us had heard of Bolan and associated Bowie with the music of Ashes to Ashes more than anything else. Evan didn't think that public figures led social change so much as their survival while showing themselves honestly encouraged others to follow suit. “For years there were camp performers who were ridiculed and seeing them on television gay people of all types continued to hide because they didn’t want to be ridiculed. It wasn’t until respected people stated they were gay without losing face that the tide changed.”

“We've all moved on so far since last year that the labels seem trivial,” offered Jenny. “So many of the changes that have happened seem accidental that I no longer think who we appear to be at any moment is a matter of choice. This time last year I never thought for a moment that I would be modelling again. The fact that I am is down to Venus and Litara, not to me.”

“You could have said no Jenny. At any moment you could have pulled out but you didn’t. You made the most of the opportunity and along the way helped me too. Chance plays its part but you more than anyone are the person responsible for your new career.”

“What about you then Venus? You’ve done so many things recently that you’ve seemed more like a flitting butterfly than anything else but seeing you with Dumblebit this afternoon highlighted that in a short time you will be sailing off around the world and even if you do come back you’ll never be the same person we grew up with.”

“None of us will be the same by the time I get back but we’ll all still have shared history we can tease each other about. I’ll for instance remember Andy’s gybe about my bum when he has a beer belly and is going bald."

Change was very much on my mind on Tuesday evening faced by the Harding’s self-help group. There were three traditional pairs of parents and three parents who were either single mothers or had a husband who hadn’t joined us. There were no gay couples to confuse things further but nine children as some brothers and/or sisters had come along. The children thought it was great meeting their friends, swiftly dumping their parents in favour of fun. Looking at them I didn’t have much idea which children were gender confused as they simply got on with playing and gossiping without a care in the world. Luckily I had been able to have a phone chat with Marjorie Stanhope, the psychiatrist so it was with her advice that I started.

“My doctor’s personal view is that what she calls gender dysphoria isn’t an illness. The problems occur when the behaviour of a child exhibiting GD contradicts our preconceived assumptions as to a child’s likely path through life.”

I went on to give them Dr Stanhope’s details so that they had at least one friendly specialist to whom they could refer their own doctor if necessary but not all my information was welcome as I had to confirm that in the UK in 2001 it was medical policy not to prescribe any hormonal treatment for gender dysphoria let alone surgery for those under 18. Two parents did each say their child was pressuring them for hormones to stop the developments accompanying puberty but I could only warn them that not all the drugs people bought in from abroad were as they were advertised. All I could really do personally was to allow them to talk to me as an individual. None had ever met someone of my age who had transitioned both socially and through surgery and one of the fathers when he learnt of my unusual medical situation felt cheated.

“ You were just a tomboy type girl who had her clit trimmed! We came here expecting to meet someone who had successfully changed gender.”

“That isn’t too far from the truth. I didn’t grow up believing I was either a boy or a girl although as everybody around me, including my doctors, believed I was a boy I assumed they must know. My path has been one of, at a rather later age than most, coming to accept that, at least in part, I’m a girl.”

The looks around me made it obvious that my explanation was as clear as mud so I tried again.

“I don’t believe I’ve changed gender, merely grown into the person you see in front of you. It’s happened without any intention of mine despite the expectations of the people around me. Luckily however, when they saw things about my appearance and behaviour that didn’t fit their expectations instead of trying to get me to change my behaviour they gave me space to grow.”

“So Arwen isn’t like you?” asked Joan Harding.

“Certainly she seems much more certain of feminine aspects of her gender than I was at her age but maybe there are masculine traits that haven’t developed yet.”

“Does that mean you can’t help her?”

“You’re already helping your children enormously. The law and institutions like schools haven’t caught up with what we’re learning about those who don't fit in a neat gender box. That means your children desperately need your acceptance while they learn about themselves. Try to think of gender as similar to being left or right handed. That’s no problem now but in Victorian England in the cause of conformity all children were forced to write with their right hands resulting in some left-handed children developing stutters. In my case I might have been able to live conforming to male expectations but since being accepted and learning to accept myself as predominately female my life has blossomed.”

Book 2, Chapter 60

“Are you ready to sail Dumblebit to Neyland Marina?”

“What?”

Despite being perky, having been for my morning run and had a shower, I was unprepared for Da’s question.

“Bill phoned to say the weather forecast is perfect to sail Dumblebit to Neyland Marina leaving this morning. He also said if we leave leave it until tomorrow there will be headwinds and we might not get to Milford Haven in time for the show.

Business and the sea, I was learning, are uneasy partners. “That will leave John and Judy’s dance class desperately short of helpers this evening. How about you and Mum do the class, letting Bill and I double-hand Dumblebit up the coast?”

As this was to be Dumblebit’s first significant passage of over 100 nm the original plan was for Bill, Da and I to sail her over Thursday night to Neyland, which was up a side river close to but out of sight of Milford Haven Marina. There I would tidy Dumblebit on Friday ready to sail around to the show, making an elegant entrance on Saturday. The wind gods clearly thought differently!

While I went upstairs to get my sailing gear Da phoned Bill about my suggestion of double-handing and lo and behold, two adult men agreed my idea was ‘not entirely without merit’. That is their way of expressing it so that, by making a few small changes, they can claim an idea as their own. Rather than waste time going to the supermarket I next raided the larder, fridge and fruit bowl for provisions still only just remembering as we were heading for the door to add tea, coffee, milk and sugar.

Bill was already at Dumblebit by the time we arrived with his idea of provisioning, a bag of Kendal mint cake and muesli bars. I guess when you are 78 a sugar rush can be useful! Luckily Dumblebit’s shore-power line had been plugged in and the refrigerator was already running so I swiftly stowed my somewhat healthier options.

Although it was the end of May the breeze was a bit chilly and looking at Bill, for the first time I was a bit concerned for his health. If everything on Dumblebit worked properly there was little to do once the sails were raised but she was largely untested and despite being fit I was not that experienced a sailor so would make mistakes. I felt embarrassed asking but whispered in Bill's ear so Da couldn’t hear, “Are you sure you are ok with this Bill?”

His returned smile warmed me. “Thank you for asking hen but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Four hours later I was singing away with not a care. The breeze was light and had warmed despite being from the East. Bill had encouraged me to raise the spinnaker with my little quick release trick incorporated, then settled with his feet up down in the cabin with his choice of music on the sound system - what else could it be but Sloop John B by the Beachboys. All was well with the world.

I expect Bill slept and with the autopilot steering I was definitely daydreaming because I didn’t notice that the wind was rising and Dumblebit speeding up until she started to roll. The next stage could be a crash gibe and the bows under water so I called Bill urgently and he stuck head out of the companionway taking in the situation.

“Make sure the halliard can run free then let the spinnaker go!”

“But it could rip and it cost a fortune…”

“Just do it!!"

I let the spinnaker guy go forward until the quick release shackle let go allowing the sail’s tack to blow forward free. Next I released the spinnaker halliard which whistled up the mast and followed the head of the spinnaker into the sea. Dumblebit was still running forward under mainsail so the spinnaker disappeared under the hull and I held my breath until we’d passed completely over the spinnaker and it was being towed behind Dumblebit by its sheet, which was its sole remaining attachment.

I was shaking like a leaf as I hauled the sail back on board shoving it into its sailbag but Bill just watched smiling.

“Well done lass. When you've finished doing that just put a reef in the main and pole out a bit of jib to windward while I make the tea.”

Did Bill let me get into trouble on purpose? I doubt it but he did seem to enjoy seeing me sort out the mayhem my inattention had brought about. ‘If in doubt reduce sail!’ How many times had I been told that yet still failed to dowse that spinnaker before it had got out of hand. “Never again,” I said to myself… again.

Except for that moment of excitement the rest of the voyage went like a dream. Dinner was a real beef stew from Mum's freezer with added dumplings that I made on board as we sailed west into the sunset and through the night, taking turns to keep watch. The breeze veered to the south and south west but never again reached 20 knots so with the dawn we were perfectly positioned off the Pembrokeshire coast to make a controlled gibe, passing on our starboard side the battlements of Thorn Islandto sailback Eastwards to Milford Haven and Neyland just beyond.

Tight manoeuvring of a yacht under engine can be awkward as the rudder needs water flowing past it to work. Bill had prearranged that we could use the visitors dock but insisted I brought Dumblebit alongside judging the current and windage as best I could. With many boats I would have messed it up but the outboard style motor allowed me to fine tune our position by steering with the engine instead of the rudders until Bill could easily pass the mooring lines to the dock master.

“I can tell you’ve done that a good few times,” the dock master offered as a compliment and I was guilty of nodding as though it were an everyday event. While he was there I asked if I might use their facilities to rinse a sail and he pointed me toward a sink behind the wash-house.

“Do the spinnaker halliard first so we can reeve it,” Bill suggested. “The sail had best dry after washing so will take more time.”

Really all I wanted to do was go for a stroll bathing in the glow that comes at the end of a voyage but Bill was right to push me to get the work out of the way first. As compensation after reeving the halliard, which meant winching me up the mast to feed it through the block, we repaired to a bijou local transport cafe which offered sausages, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding, beans and fried bread washed down with tea in pint mugs. What’s the use of being a billionaire if you can’t splash out sometimes?

Book 2, Chapter 61

Over breakfast Bill and I discussed the logistics of getting the whole family to Milford Haven for Saturday with Dumblebit entering the marina at noon. The final decision was that while Bill would catch the train back to Cardiff after breakfast, I would stay aboard at Neyland until Bill and Da came to cast me off on Saturday morning. To make the most of my time in the area, Bill suggested I hire a car for a couple of days as a bonus to my pay for work on Dumblebit. Now car hiring had always been outside my budget both because I didn’t have much cash and because hire companies didn’t like young drivers. It turned out though, that through Bill, the Non-Executive Director of Arianrhod Development had no problem in hiring one of the cute new Smart Cars.

Watching Bill arrange the car was like watching my sister Litara with the solicitor and bank manager. Where I would have gone to a big, well known hire company and explained to whoever was on the desk that I was 19 and didn’t have a proper job, Bill chose the manager of a small local company ready to bend over backwards to accommodate an out of town developer here to help with the promotion of Milford Haven as a yachting centre. To cap it off as he was handing over the keys the manager asked for a photo of me with the car. Luckily, as I knew I would be going in to see the marina promoter, I was dressed appropriately and my experience with Litara warned me to say that he would need my publicity manager’s approval if the photo were to be used for advertising purposes.

That image of myself as a go-getter that Bill and the car-hire manager pushed was quite seductive so while in the mood, after dropping Bill off at the station, I drove over to the Milford Haven marina development to introduce myself and spy out the land concerning where I would have to dock Dumblebit. It helped enormously as, by the time I left, safe, simple routes had been laid out to get both Dumblebit into a suitable berth and people onto her who were interested in new yacht design. Even the modelling of sailing clothes got adjusted to what I could reasonably demonstrate to the customers in the time available. Nobody was pretending that the nearby town was picturesque as it’s a major commercial port but the surrounding country is beautiful so my professional duties done, like booking a manicure for Friday afternoon, I did a bit of sightseeing and visited Pembroke Castle before heading back to the boat.

Dumblebit lurched and I braced myself against the walls of the toilet looking in shock at the knickers around my ankles. “I’m not ready for this!” I shouted, but there was nobody there to hear. Everything had been going so smoothly. Over the Thursday afternoon and Friday morning I washed, shined and generally put Dumblebit into boat show condition before indulging in the manicure I’d booked then joining the promotor’s family for dinner on Friday evening. Saturday morning my family and friends arrived to see me safely on my way from Neyland and to greet me as I stopped Dumblebit precisely on the perfect spot in Milford Haven Marina for Bill and Da to take my mooring lines and make us secure. Photographs were taken; guests were entertained, and the curious had their curiosity about Dumblebit satisfied before I slipped into Naomi mode to show off the latest in clothing for sailing and messing about by or in the water. Not only did it go smoothly but the feedback was good with customers ordering on the spot. Bill and Da were still busy handing out specifications and explaining options on Dumblebit’s design when I took my little car back after which we all had a slap-up tea where it was agreed that we’d all done well and I would single-hand Dumblebit overnight back as far as Swansea while my family and friends drove home.

The sailing wasn’t as smooth heading East with a following breeze and an ocean swell as it had been sailing West but it was fast and I was just South of Port Eynon, on the Gower Peninsula when a visit to the head disclosed that my knickers were full of blood!

I knew this might happen sometime - indeed I desperately wanted what it meant - but why now? I did have a change of knickers, one sanitary towel and a mobile phone but what I didn’t have was my mother to hold me and tell me everything was as it should be and everything would be alright.

“Pull yourself together. You’re a woman now,” I coached myself while cleaning up and re-dressing. Then I got out my mobile phone which fortunately had a signal and texted Serena - ‘SURFIN CRIMSON WAVE. SWANSEA @ NOON’

The last miles were fast, even with two reefs in the mainsail, the staysail and just a scrap of jib Dumblebit was easily making 7 knots through the water proving my estimate of a noon arrival pessimistic. The wind was fresh but the sailing not uncomfortable as we swept past Mumbles Head into Swansea Bay. Lots of scenery to see but my mind was full instead of what it had seen in my knickers and what it meant!

Should I have been so dramatic over something that every other woman I knew had gone through? I felt both a terrible drama queen when I spotted Serena on the dock waiting for me and extremely thankful that she had come. Taking a leaf from Bill’s book I did make sure that Dumblebit's mainsail cover was on and that she had been hosed down with fresh water before going below with Serena to make a cup of tea. That done however, the tears flowed…

“If ever I thought about gender before all this I’d have said it was a matter of character, looks and body language. Even if everybody had said they saw all of those things as being very feminine in me I still wouldn’t have chosen surgery and changed my name just for that. The deciding factor in the beginning was that I want to be a mother. Now, with the experience of how much more complete I feel as Venus, I wouldn’t want to live as a man even without children but the desire is still strong to have children one day.”

So with me laying my heart out, what was Serena’s first reaction?

“Just don’t rush it!! I’m not ready to be an aunt.”

Book 2, Chapter 62

With Dumblebit secured in Swansea Marina I phoned Mum to let her know I was in safely then Serena and I wandered into the Swansea city centre where Serena was keen on doing a behind the scenes tour of the Grand Theatre.

“Are you thinking of redeveloping it as another shopping centre I teased?”

“I’ll have you know there’s much more to me than money and shopping!” she snapped back with such vehemence that I knew that what I’d meant as a gentle gybe had struck a very sore point.

“I’m sorry See. We’ve been friends for so long because you can tolerate my stupidity and because I know there is more to you than meets the eye. So spill.”

For some reason it embarrassed Serena to admit that acting on stage appealed to her. The idea of joining an amateur theatrical group led to her wanting a look round a real theatre - especially one where she wasn’t known - and she’d seen the ‘Behind the Scenes Tour’ advertised. It was fun and a bit spooky with just a few of us backstage of the otherwise empty Grand Theatre and Serena’s probing of the guide produced information about the Swansea Little Theatre Company, who were an amateur group based in the local Dylan Thomas Theatre which was back by the marina.

Serena’s luck was on a roll as that theatre was also open for rehearsals and before she could chicken out she was invited in to meet members while I wandered back to Dumblebit so as not to cramp her style. I must admit that the Naomi side of my character kicked a little at the wait as she’d had several days of being centre stage and liked the attention. Still having a friend who was literally centre stage could be fun and was almost certainly an opportunity for Serena to blossom as more than the business woman she was also becoming.

Serena reappeared almost an hour later but she was so bubbly and flushed I didn’t have the heart to complain so we strolled slowly to her car for the drive back to Cardiff during which I learnt that Serena had taken her first steps as an actor. Getting in about 6 pm Serena joined my family for the late dinner they’d planned and I thought how different our families were. There was a constant flow between the homes of my parents, aunt Sophie’s, Gran’s and more recently Bill’s house while, although the Johnson's often ate out or invited business acquaintances for dinner, they didn’t seem to casually socialise with family or friends. Maybe that was why Serena had taken so long to come out as a thespian.

"When I have my own home I’ll get a huge expanding dining table so there will be space for everybody who visits,” I declared.

“Do they make them that big because to listen to you this morning you want to have at least a dozen children…”

Serena looked around the table, aware of the sudden silence from the others, then at me … “Whoops! They don’t know.”

Litara was first to guess. “Aunt Flo has come to visit Venus?”

I blushed and nodded. Why I should blush is a mystery but then I also felt proud although I'd done nothing special. Crying was also an option but not at the dinner table so maybe a blush was the best compromise. Wrong!! Mum started crying for me then Aunt Sophie and Grandma Tina came round the table to give me a huge group hug while Da went to the cupboard reappearing with two bottles of wine. Maybe my family is the strange one not Serena’s.

Today was lighting the blue touch paper on my new life. OK, there were still 3 months to go before I left England but not knowing had deterred me from dreaming of a personal future. Naturally my various doctors would want a poke around as I might be bleeding for other reasons. Then it hit me…

"Bill? How do I get to see my Member of Parliament and how do I lean on them?"

"If this is a PMS joke it had better be good because I don’t want to be any part of threats, bribes or blackmailing of an MP……. Lobbying-with-menaces on the other hand can be ethically condoned. What do you want done.”

“A few days ago the Hardings asked me if I could help their daughter and her friends in Mermaids. At the time all I could think of was to give the children support and room to grow but what if I had a child with Gender Dysphoria? Despite being a mother with all of the physical disadvantages that entails; I would be liable for all of the legal disadvantages of being male and none of the legal advantages of being female. Would I want a child of mine to go through life like that just because of a Male or Female mark on their birth certificate? Why shouldn’t birth certificates be changed? Why shouldn’t Arwen go to school as a girl even before she has surgery? Is it for our protection or is it because Arwen and I are such a threat to others?”

There was silence and only as I finished did I realise I had been standing; pounding the table with my fist. Aunt Sophie rose…

“Anyone for tea?”

Nothing happens overnight, even if like me you spend an hour on the phone after dinner calling members of Mermaids to offer help as a public figure and businesswoman with a publicly known relevant medical condition. I had no new ideas that the members of Mermaids hadn’t already looked at, refined and improved upon. There was already pressure being applied through the European courts as it wasn’t enough to change just British law. What I could do was present the relevant material, which they would give me, while trying to persuade my MP to be amenable to or even to promote, changes in the law.

Book 2, Chapter 63

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised summed up how I felt making my morning run with Beth. It was June 2001 and race discrimination, sex discrimination and homophobia were on the back foot - not destroyed but no longer protected by law in the practical world of jobs and services. Now, I was convinced it was my duty to add my weight to the fight for the right to chose my own gender without, in those same areas of jobs and services at least, being crippled by discrimination.

“Do you think that you would be feminist if in 1970 you were an African- American, civil rights campaigning man?” I asked Beth as we walked up the garden path at the end of our run.

“You really need to get laid Vee. No 18-year-old girl should be thinking of that sort of thing at this time of day!”

Physically I might have shrugged at Beth’s flippant dismissal but I suspected that those born transgender women were no more likely to receive help from feminist activists than were women of colour from their activist menfolk. We can each only cope with one fight at a time.

The day’s work with Ian, fitting new roller furling gear to a yacht replacing everything after being dismasted, focussed my mind away from the medical in blustery conditions but at the end of the day I had an appointment with Dr Carter.

“The formal word for a girl’s first menstruation is ‘menarche.’ It doesn’t show that ovulation has occurred as about 80% of a girl’s cycles aren’t accompanied by ovulation in the first year after menarche but that drops to 50% in the third and 10% in the sixth year. Normally the NHS doesn’t recommend a fertility test unless women have trouble conceiving but in your case, with your surgery, only one ovary and a strong desire to have children, I would like some blood to do an AMH, that’s an Anti-Mullarian Hormone, test. When the results are back I would also like you to see Dr Stanhope.”

Dr Carter seemed more business-like than normal during my visit and that gave me an inkling that as a patient she viewed me as one with whom she didn’t want to be seen making any mistake. Of course one day she might be on the 9 o’clock news as the first doctor to deliver a baby to a man! This was confirmed when she then phoned Dr Stanhope on her private line.

“Marj? It’s Jane. I have Miss Venus Williams here and wonder if you would fit in a consultation with her regarding the results for an AMH, fertility test?” A pause was followed by a smile then a look at me while saying, “Friday at 4 pm ok with you?”

I nodded agreement and started to rise but the doctor held up her hand while putting away her phone. “Your number one fan saw you on Saturday, sailing single-handed into Milford Haven.”

Remembering an earlier request to add an autograph to a photo of me that Dr Carter had ready in her desk I recalled that the misguided fan was her niece.

“Just how old is this niece because she does seem to get about?”

“Eight with parents who thought they were having a weekend trip to Oakwood Theme Park until my niece Chloe saw a poster advertising you nearby with Dumblebit.”

“If I’d known I would have been happy to invite her aboard. How about if her parents bring her to visit for afternoon tea aboard on Sunday afternoon in Cardiff Marina? I’m bringing Dumblebit back from Swansea overnight on Friday and it would be no problem.”

Why I offered I don't know but I gave Dr Carter my mobile number and said that Chloe was lucky to have her for an aunt before again starting to rise. Again Dr Carter held up her hand.

“You forgot something.”

An armful of blood later I left.

During the week Da and Ian did find me some work to do but my biggest earner was bilge cleaning a big yacht whose engine had been removed after disintegrating with a parting gift of oil spread everywhere. Life seems to be determined that I not ‘get above myself’ but there are days when I wish that life were not so emphatically ‘grubby’! I mention that because despite my best efforts to look at least half attractive by the end of the work week when I called in on Dr Stanhope while still in my work-clothes with a battered holdall of sailing gear on my shoulder I was not at my best.

“I guess the pink princess persona was a passing phase,” Dr Stanhope commented as I entered her office.

“You must be thinking of my sister,” I replied. “And I see you still haven’t got a proper job.”

Pleasantries satisfied we got down to the test results. “Dr Carter asked me to go over these with you in case they were bad but I'll start by saying that they are not bad and you stand a good chance of being what we technically call a ‘baby-making factory’ unless you take care. Your London specialists will be in the best position to make judgement calls on contraception but given your past I imagine that they might advise against using anything but barrier methods by which I mean condoms and caps.”

She went on to spend nearly half an hour discussing the temptations and dangers I would face first as that almost mythical beast, a 18-year-0ld virgin and then as a woman wanting some control over when she had babies. It was embarrassing but I appreciated her effort. By my age other girls had lots of practise in keeping out of trouble while I was in experience still relatively a child.

The conversation continued going through my head as travelled by train to Swansea, prepared and set off on Dumblebit, sailing East along the coast, then went below to make dinner. It was only well into the night as I relaxed in the cockpit keeping watch in busy waters that I took proper stock of the sailing conditions. It was a beautiful clear night. So close to civilisation I couldn't see the multitude of stars I'd seen far from land but I could see that the city of Swansea behind and larger towns along the way each lived under its own dome of light while smaller villages showed groups of twinkling lights. Occasionally, on darker stretches I would see an individual car making its way along the coast road.

So many people getting on with their lives unaware that I was sailing by but I could imagine what they were doing so I didn’t feel alone. Even among those ashore who led very suburban lives there were those for whom it was important that somebody takes the road less travelled be it up a mountain, into the depths or sailing around the world. In part Dumblebit and I would follow the path of Endeavour and James Cook for those people. Some of them would dream of doing something similar while others would feel superior knowing their choices were better. I say ‘in part’ because this night was good and for my own pleasure I was beginning to look forward to many more days and nights on Dumblebit wherever she took me in this wide world.

Book 2, Chapter 64

I came into Cardiff at 10 a.m on a rising tide after being awake all night.

“You stupid bitch!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve moored.”

At the best of times boats are difficult to manoeuvre with wind, current and even whether the propellor is right or left-handed all likely to throw unpredictable elements into the supposedly simple task of turning to port or starboard. The misogynist who’d shouted hadn’t made life easier by leaving a fishing rod sticking out over his stern quarter but then if I’d been more awake I might not have reduced the rod to carbon fibre shards.

Admittedly it was another 10 minutes before I’d berthed Dumblebit safely and returned to the scene of the crime but anyone who knows boats knows that berthing one takes longer than parking a car and I never expected him to swing for me as I approached. A boxer he’d never make as the punch was telegraphed but unfortunately instead of swaying back out of reach and running I stepped inside the roundhouse punch and brought my foot down on his instep. Rather than stop to argue while he hopped and cursed I placed my newly printed business card in his jacket pocket and retreated swiftly while offering to replace the rod if he would give me the details.

A couple of minutes later I was in the marina office reporting the incident when my red-faced neighbour with a broken rod burst in demanding I pay him £250 as recompense.

“You can demand all you like but I don’t have £250 here and in any case I’ll only replace the rod, not give you the first ludicrous amount you thought of. If the rod was so valuable to you perhaps you should have considered not leaving it sticking sideways out of your boat.

That’s when the office manager called security who asked us both to leave the marina until we’d settled our disagreement or at least calmed down.

Trudging back home I felt utterly helpless. The sailing had been so satisfying but all it took was one idiot to remind me that everything of my material life ashore only survived by, if not complete tolerance, then my neighbours at least not resorting successfully to violence. Clearly I wasn’t going to please everyone when it became generally known that I was pressuring for the right for everyone to choose the gender they would be considered for the purposes of the law and services but the unanswered question was would I or my family be materially attacked? While at sea I would be safe but objectors could try to get at me through my family and Litara in particular would be vulnerable to business pressure for using me as the prominent face in her work.

Once home I explained to Mum, Da and Litara what had happened over the broken rod at the marina then asked them to consider the threat to them if instead of annoying a rod owner I annoyed to the point of attack someone opposed to my lobbying for a change in law. I didn’t have to explain my position on gender laws to them because they’d all witnessed my tirade at the dinner table the previous Sunday so I simply offered to keep a low profile until I left for Madeira if they felt it advisable and asked Litara to consider any extra suggestions she might have before I headed up to bed for a couple of hours sleep.

I never got the answer I was waiting for when I woke as Mum and Da insisted that , no matter how unreasonable it felt, I was not going to skip the Saturday dance class. As is the way of these things, once there I found dancing was a great way to lay my concerns aside especially when John and Judy switched from the formal ballroom dancing warm up lesson to a more modern interpretation for the main class of the Cha-cha.

Back at the house exhausted, it was Mum who unexpectedly shepherded us into the lounge because she wanted to say something.

“It was kind of you to offer to delay your lobbying Venus but I think you’d do better to make the most of what little time you have remaining ashore to meet politicians and the like… Litara told me she has some options for you on that. Before I knew about your medical condition I wouldn’t have given any thought to the children like Arwen that you and Isaac met but now I’ve been confronted by the problems you will have in the future I agree entirely with your decision to join forces with them. In fact I’m proud that you have made that choice. When I was growing up in Wales the only people of colour on the television were on precisely because they weren’t white but now people like Trevor McDonald are as representative as anyone of being British. When I saw you on the television doing the exposé of modelling classes it was because you could do the job well and I don't want you held back by laws and attitudes toward the those born transgender that are all to similar to the racist and sexist laws and attitudes of the past.”

I was stunned. Mum is no saint, in fact it was no accident the she didn’t mention homophobia because despite knowing Evan and Martina well she didn’t support gay marriage in Church. What Mum is could best be described as the powerhouse of our family. With physical problems Dad is the one I want beside me; if I wanted to throw a party in Timbuktu I’d turn to Litara but if I wanted to conquer a country Mum is the one who’d get it done.

Next afternoon I had good reason to be pleased at the way Mum had explained her position. I made some effort baking on Sunday morning and took the results, along with my guitar, down to the boat. Jane Carter arrived with her brother and sister-in-law promptly at 4 pm as I'd asked. Holding her daddy’s hand because she was very shy came Chloe who Dr Carter hadn’t thought to mention was born a Tutsi and adopted at the time her new parents were doing medical work in Rwanda. Luckily children, or at least Chloe, are generally drawn to bad singing and Chloe relaxed as she instructed her family and myself how we should really sing ‘Row, row, row your boat’ fueled by orange squash and fresh baked Welsh cakes.

ps There might be delays with my posts over the next few days as I am touring

Book 2, Chapter 65

Pounding the pavement on the morning of Monday 18th of June, 2001, I worked out that as Captain Cook set sail from Plymouth on the 26th or 27th of August, 1768, according to who I believed, there were only ten weeks to go before I left England but nearly three years before Litara’s project reaches its conclusion with me back in England for June 8th, 2004. That seemed pretty good job security when some entire careers hadn’t lasted as long. Earlier in the year there had been a television series, Popstars, about a businessman finding singers to mould into a group, like the Spice Girls, which he would then market. Suspecting that the musical careers of the winners would be at best ephemeral the format struck me as a cynical and brutal way to play on the dreams of people my age. I was doing better I thought than the failed singing wannabes if not better so far than the winners of Popstars who were now called Hear'say and making hit records. My tennis-playing namesake was having a wonderful year with promise of many more to come but comparison to her no longer made me feel inadequate. Indeed while a year ago I felt that I was falling behind her and those of my friends with jobs or lines of study chosen, now I view things differently. Money and fame now seem to be the sum total of what a job could give me or anyone else yet I’d already learnt, since leaving college, that both are a pain in the neck without a specific target for the excess.

Pain! I’d been enjoying my morning run. The sun was shining and my mind wandering when this idiot opened his car door straight into me. The irony that the idiot was the man whose rod I’d broken and because of our inattention my tooth was chipped was not lost on me, particularly as by synchronicity he was a dentist outside his surgery.

“Life is ridiculous,” Robert stated, that being the idiot’s name - I was inspecting my repaired tooth for invisible flaws while he rambled on as dentists do. “I’m sorry for shouting at you in the marina office on Saturday but I do get het up and I was annoyed at myself as much as you.”

“Think nothing of it. It was as much my fault,” I replied for, despite being an Afro-Carib Indian-Hispanic-Polynesian-Welshwoman who had put several offenders into hospital, I had grown up next to the English watching their television so had a default reaction of being ready to take the blame for everything.

And so our conversation meandered on as I somehow agreed to meet him that evening in my regular café where my friends gather on Churchill Way. ‘Because my tooth repair is not yet completely hard he’s even cost me the pleasure of my my breakfast,’ I thought to myself a little later as I showered and changed into work clothes back at home.

I told Da of my morning’s adventures but after checking how my tooth looked he just laughed and gave me a work schedule for the day that while full was uneventful giving me plenty of time to fruitlessly ponder why I'd agreed to meet Robert. I could have saved myself the effort because when Serena and I finally did get to the café it was to find Robert and Andy deep in conversation about sculpture with Andy's drawings all over the table so we joined Penny, Kelly and the boys to catch up on news.

Jenny was up in London and her modelling career was taking off so the conversation went round to who she would meet and who she would date when she was rich and famous. At the moment the publicity parties are all built about Big Brother contestants and groups like Hear'say, was Kelly’s view of the London scene as observed from Cardiff. None of us thought Jenny would give them a second look so maybe she would have to go to the USA for Johnny Depp whose film Blow was on at the local cinema.

“You think that Jenny will make it big but don’t underestimate Andy? He was playing on the table with a model he made when that man came in,” Penny said, pointing at Robert, “and the next thing the man is talking about financing and jointly building a huge mobile with Andy.”

Looking across at Andy and Robert, still both intently working on a drawing, I felt for a moment as though the gods might have arranged the chipping of my tooth for no good reason other than to bring those two together. No, the world doesn’t work like that. Does it? I did finally talk with Robert and he accepted my offer to replace his rod for a similar second-hand one while making it clear that it wasn’t very urgent now that he’d found Andy. That did confuse me until he explained that he went into dentistry both to help people and also because he had a talent for sculpting. Helping people unfortunately, he now knew, meant hurting them all day every day while creating crowns and dentures was a limited sort of sculpture which was any case becoming increasingly mechanised. His job in short was driving him mad and while he couldn’t afford to give it up totally, working with Andy might just save his sanity.

As I waved goodnight to Serena later I remembered that like Jenny, Penny, Andy and Evan her plans of a year ago had also veered - before her plan was year in her father’s estate agency followed by university but now in theory she worked for me and seemed more interested in the theatre and flying to exotic places to meet me sailing Dumblebit than in going to university. All of my friends once had seemingly sensible plans and expectations that went out of the window in less than a year while I, who a year ago didn’t have the faintest idea of my personal future, was the one person whose life was beginning to look as though it was running to a plan. Viewed objectively I was like a character in a novel working my way through the plot but from my viewpoint I was simply dealing with problems as they occured while making the most of unexpected opportunities.

Up in bed I looked at my non-work schedule for the week ahead:- kick-boxing, dancing, exercise with Beth's group, karaoke night, Saturday afternoon dancing and Sunday free. There was my morning run to consider and my share of the cooking and housework but there was something missing…

As I drifted off to sleep it finally came to me. I needed to make a phone call in the morning to book a dive for my qualification as an open water diver. I knew just the spot having seen advertised in Milford Haven the temptingly named Blue Lagoon. I also wondered if I could interest Serena in an internship, for which read unpaid, as my appointments secretary.

Book 2, Chapter 66

I did choose another route for my run next morning but Andy and Robert’s idea of a big mobile sculpture had stuck in my mind - perhaps a mobile standing in a child-friendly reflecting pool would work well. There’s a similarity between public art and events like The Pirates of Cardiff Bay boat race that Arianrhod Developments was sponsoring - the critics might dismiss popular art, and hipsters dismiss fun public events, but without them to draw people together local cooperation withers. For me art and public events are the grit around which the pearls of a healthy culture can grow so it could even be that my own ideas had been influenced by a local artist’s work - he was after all becoming famous worldwide for his graffiti known by his tag, Banksy.

With the mobile sculpture and pool in mind I phoned Bill wondering if such a mobile could be fitted into the development.

“Admit it. You want to build a playground ready for your children, don’t you Venus?”

“Rubbish!” I answered reflexively, because I honestly hadn’t thought of that. “Even if it is something suited to children, does that mean adults won’t appreciate it too?”

“We’re all children under the skin and I’m sure adults will at least enjoy arguing whether it’s an asset or a waste of money. Of course the health and safety people will make it difficult but we can try to make it work. Speaking of work, your member of parliament is holding a local surgery on the Sunday after next so you can introduce him to the changes in law you want.” With that he gave me the phone number for the MP’s secretary and asked my permission to put on some clothes because, in case I hadn’t noticed it was still only 7:30 in the morning.

Later in the morning I made an appointment to see my MP, or to be precise I phoned at 9 am which is when experience suggested an office would be open rather than at 8 am when we manual workers start - why is that? Being unsure of the reception a random 18 year old would receive I gave my details as Ms Delia Williams, Director of Arianrhod Developments residing at …… within the MP’s constituency and had no trouble getting an appointment. Describing myself that way did sound underhand, especially standing by the phone in my work dungarees, but at least I didn’t follow my first inclination and pretend to be my own secretary.

With the appointment made my mind went immediately not to what I would say but what I would wear. The ‘Mermaids group’ were much more knowledgeable than I about which changes to the law would be helpful and feasible so my contribution could only be to present their suggestions as persuasively as possible. My member of parliament was a middle-aged, educated member of the labour party and the right suit I could see in my mind’s eye hanging in Litara’s main wardrobe. I’d never seen her wear it but instinctively felt her red suit carried the message ‘proud as an individual of who I am yet also of the people’.. Perversely maybe, at the same time it struck me to wonder just when I became a person willing and able to knowingly manipulate a man for my own ends?

Being a potential member of the power-broking classes didn’t noticeably change my lifestyle through the proceeding week. In my kick-boxing class, while surprising myself with my improving abilities against an inanimate bag, as soon as I was put up against a real person I came over all coy not able to convince that I was even trying to land a kick on the teacher. Dancing on Wednesday resulted in a few bruises when my jive partner’s enthusiasm exceeded his ability to balance. Friday’s music night song with Serena, though well received, was almost certainly overambitious as we took liberties with an old Otis Redding song, ‘Try a little tenderness’. All in all, despite my eccentric past as a member of the female gender and potential as one of the more influential women in the country, any person seeing me would have only seen a typical Welsh girl who laughed and blushed a lot.

That is how my image stood until Sunday when the Cardiff and Swansea scuba clubs cooperated on transport to get six of we open-water learners, with our instructors, to the Blue Lagoon on the West coast of Wales for a qualifying dive. We were warned that, although no competitions were scheduled for that day, the old slate quarry at Abereiddy was a favourite site for cliff divers and we would always need someone on shore to alert any coasteering groups or individuals against jumping on top of us. That is how, after completing my dive with the first group, I came to be posted as a lookout at one of the favourite jumping spots; and that is why I was the one well positioned to see that in the path of the line of ascending bubbles from the divers were several large jelly fish.

Signalling to a dive group which is underwater is fairly easy with a horn or by banging a metal stick against a rock which is what an instructor did when I yelled a warning to him. The divers quickly surfaced and started swimming toward a landing place but shouts and waved signals failed to direct them away from the jelly fish. Without thinking I jumped into the lagoon to lead them in the direction I could see was clear and it went perfectly except that it meant I had to jump on jelly fish. I did have on my wet suit and my hands were over my face as I jumped but the irony that I was the only one stung wasn’t lost on me. It could have been worse though if I hadn’t remembered a comment made by Jean Luc - he wasn’t there of course but his words spoken in Bilbao saved me from a terrible fate when one of the divers wanted to try a home remedy to ease the stings on my face but I forcefully explained that urine as a cure for jellyfish stings doesn’t work!

Jelly fish stings, at least the ones I had on my face, were not enough of an excuse for time off work so I was up and running early on Monday morning as usual. How I wondered, remembering my friend’s inclinations, will I cope with next Sunday’s meeting with my member of parliament when the day before, Saturday the 30th of June, is my 19th birthday?