DATE: October 21st 1784, Feast of Saint Ursula WEATHER: Wet OUTLOOK: Wetter They that go down to the sea in ships and      occupy their business in great waters; These men see the works of the      Lord and his wonders in the deep.

And they’re welcome to them so far as Lightfoote’s concerned. If man’s Creator had intended him to live a life aquatic He would surely have equipped him with gills and fins. At the very least He would have made him palmipedous but, except in some odd cases He did not. I have heard it put forward, usually by one who has imbibed enough to float a battleship, that man is somehow descended from creatures of the deep that have, over eons, crawled up on to the land, learned to walk upright and gone on to write sonnets and open bank accounts. Frankly I find this fanciful.
    Easier to accept is the story of Saint Ursula, the daughter of a Christian king, who, having been betrothed to a pagan prince, was allowed a three-year stay of matrimony on the grounds that she wished to preserve her virginity. She decided to spend this time on a cruise – hardly a wise choice in Lightfoote’s opinion, but who am I to argue with a Saint? – accompanied by ten noble ladies, each in their own vessel with a thousand companions. Now: if one woman on a ship is deemed unlucky, how surprising is it that Ursula’s fleet of females was blown off course and that the enterprise ended in disaster? The lives of the Saints are meant to be exemplary. I should have learned from Ursula’s experience, but…
    Mrs. Lightfoote wished to visit friends at Teddington. Having admired the view from the top of the hill at Richmond (from which Richmond, Virginia is named), we descended, via the water meadows at Petersham, to the banks of the Thames and there boarded a skiff in order to cross to the other side. The tow path at Richmond is hardly the edge of a mighty ocean but on this occasion it proved a greater challenge than confronted Columbus. We were not twenty feet out from the bank when I realised that we were in serious trouble. I had assumed that the waterman’s lusty singing was part of the service, as is the case with Venetian Gondolieri, but it now became apparent that he was in an advanced state of intoxication. The tide was ebbing and in an attempt to hold his course he had turned upstream and was rowing directly against it. We were going nowhere, slowly. Reaching down for his jug he let go one of the oars which immediately left its rowlock and floated away. Seeing this, the fellow threw himself into the water and swam off in pursuit, followed closely by the other oar.
    We were left drifting downstream at an alarming rate. Mrs. Lightfoote suggested, in an agitated tone, that I do something. I cried for help but no help came, and so I cried for help again, and again, and again. I was still crying for help when we passed beneath Richmond Bridge, from which a trio of urchins dived like kingfishers and swam, I assumed, to our aid. A length of rope was attached to the boat’s prow and I offered the boys this cable with which to take us in tow (hence the expression) but instead of so doing they simply bobbed about us like otters until the most determined of the ruffians demanded what we might pay to be rescued. I was tempted to remonstrate, but his companions, taking hold of the side, rocked the vessel in a manner so alarming that I decided to offer them sixpence. We settled on a guinea, each, in advance, on payment of which we were propelled forcefully into the stinking mud just below the site of the old Richmond Palace. Having been deprived of all material wealth, I lost a shoe whilst carrying my wife ashore. There are parallels in all this but at the time I was in no mood for symbolism.
    If anyone ever proposes a scheme whereby those in peril on the sea, or indeed, the Thames may be rescued by a trained, volunteer force, funded by public subscription, I shall approve heartily having already subscribed…

I feel that a verse may be imminent;

I’m not going down to the sea again,
To the stream or the pond or the pool;
For one never ought to travel by water,
Unless one's a fish or a fool.