Older than time, but ever hopeful

I called again on the bakelite VHF and repeated: “We have white topsides, peeling varnish, patched, faded tan sails and a bearded old derelict on the helm who looks like Catweazle.” “It’s no good,” said the race officer. “I still can’t identify you.”

I could see his point. After all, this was an Old Gaffers’ rally – which for the sake of foreign readers, I should explain is a Morris dancing convention on water, and quite frequently under it