admin Date , February 22, 2026 Sailing Previous Blog New Years Day Race Comments (0)
We set off for the RYA Dinghy & Watersports Show at Farnborough in the sort of rain that makes you start browsing kayaks “just in case”. Miraculously, we ended up parked so close to the entrance that I briefly wondered if my sat-nav had quietly upgraded itself to “VIP Mode”. First thing we clocked: the show had a big Sunsail presence, and yes—Ros and I absolutely did the responsible thing and sat in the deckchair like we belonged there.
Inside, the hall was a glorious overload: boats of every shape and attitude, from practical club workhorses to shiny speed-machines that look like they’ve escaped from SailGP training. One minute you’re admiring a clever folding wooden boat, the next you’re staring at a three-masted whaler with a price tag that made me blink twice (“just £3000” is either a bargain or the start of a very specific lifestyle). And then—foilers. The kind of boats that don’t so much sail as politely ignore gravity.
As we wandered past the Sunsail stand they were running a “win a holiday” competition, and I casually mentioned (in the humble, understated manner for which I’m famous) that I’d already won a Sunsail trip—Croatia, competent crew, 47-foot yacht, the whole “please don’t ask me to coil the lines in front of professionals” experience. The lovely Lucy on the stand smiled and said she knew it was fair because she’d been the one who pulled our names out of the hat. That prize was organised with Steve and Judy from Sailing Fairisle (excellent filming and editing—go and watch and see if you agree), and the best bit is that the whole thing has sparked a “let’s make Sunsail’s videos even better” mission. As a man who owns far too many cameras for someone who still occasionally ties knots that resemble modern art, I approve.
A big theme this year was birthdays. Everywhere you turned, someone was celebrating an anniversary, and the Merlin Rocket Association’s 80th was wonderfully hard to miss—there were big “80” signs and a proper gathering, complete with cake and cupcakes. We joined Stuart (the Chairman) and a crowd of happy Merlin folk for the ceremonial slice, which is the only kind of racing start I’m guaranteed to time perfectly. While we were there, I also noticed how many boats are now fitted with GNAVs—which, if you’re new to the term, is basically a kicker arrangement that frees up cockpit space and reduces the chance of your crew performing accidental yoga while tacking. (A noble cause.)
Naturally, we also performed the traditional boat-show ritual of trying on sailing tops. We tested famous brands, admired the 2026 “I’m here to race but also to look vaguely competent” look… and then bought nothing. This is what personal growth looks like: me walking away from expensive kit while whispering, “You already own two perfectly good waterproofs,” like a man talking down a dragon. Paul and I, meanwhile, were doing a more dangerous kind of shopping: quietly eyeing up what might one day be a successor to the Toura—not today, but “a few years’ time” is how all boat purchases begin before they sprint towards “why is there a new trailer on the drive?”
My favourite discovery (because I can’t help myself) was joining the Amateur Yacht Research Society (AYRS). If you’ve got even a slight weakness for the history of boats like the Thames A-Raters—the wonderfully bonkers designs that helped push dinghy development forward around the turn of the 19th/20th centuries—then AYRS is a rabbit hole lined with diagrams, foils, and deeply satisfying technical detail. Trapezes, sliding seats, sail development, waterline length and speed… all the stuff we now take for granted in modern boats, born from people asking, “Yes, but what if we made it faster?” It’s right in the overlap of sailing + science, and the journal alone is worth it.
And then there were the big names: RS with a fleet (the RS200 caught my eye as a possible “Toura-ish but racier” future option), Ovington with a new Phantom that had “Paul might like this” written all over it, and the Wayfarer stand which completely reset my brain. I arrived thinking a Wayfarer was… a Wayfarer. Turns out there are racing flavours, weekend flavours, cruising flavours, and even a keel version that’s basically “capsize-resistant by design”. We also had a proper play with the “hands-on” bits: the SailGP foil setup where you can try grinding (and discover new muscles), plus a mini sailing challenge with big air pumps making wind so you can practise hoisting sails and tacking indoors—proof that sailing people will happily recreate the outdoors inside a building, just to get more sailing.
’ve come home with enough notes (and photos) to spin this into several posts: GNAVs and cockpit space, boat-spotting and future upgrades, why 1946 explains so many anniversaries, plus a proper round-up of the free seminars (weather reading, strategy, and the slightly comforting reminder that everyone else is also guessing what the wind will do next). For now: Farnborough delivered. Even in biblical rain. And if you see me in Croatia looking confident, just remember—there’s a strong chance I’m only holding the rope because it was handed to me and I panicked.
