"That sounds like the ticket," he exclaimed loudly to the surprise of those sitting near him in the public library.
Funsail were expanding their Greece operation. They wanted trained mechanics with sailing experience, who could lead their flotillas around Corfu and the West Coast of Greece's mainland. Each flotilla would have one mechanic and one hostess who would be responsible for looking after the boats and the holidaymakers.
"Sunshine, sea, and probably sex too," he told his mates at his local. "I'm definitely checking this out."
"Does it matter you haven't been further than the Isle of Wight?" someone quipped. "And that was on the Red Funnel."
"Can you actually swim?" asked another mate slapping him on the head.
Ignoring this negativity, he had arranged an interview the next day, and arrived at the company's HQ dressed in his best shiny suit, that normally only got an outing for weddings and funerals.
"So, you've completed your marine apprenticeship and so quickly too, impressive," said the interviewer, fortuitously getting the wrong end of Elvis' stick.
It felt disingenuous to correct him.
"Child's play, those maritime engines," he bluffed, "haven't found one yet I can't fix with my eyes shut."
Elvis couldn't believe his luck when he wasn't asked to provide character references and Funsail accepted what he told them about his mechanical skills without proof.
He was ecstatic when the offer arrived by post a few days later.
"There's one boring little detail," he told his mates. "The offer is subject to a suitable sailing qualification. I sort of bluffed this at the interview saying that I had loads of experience and had studied for my Day Skipper, whatever that is."
"How unsporting of a sailing company to want some sort of sailing qualification," a mate ribbed him.
"Don't worry Elvis, you're dream will not die," his friend Roland told him. "I know someone who can help."
Roland always seemed to know someone. He knew someone who could get any old heap of junk through an MOT without seeing the car. He knew someone who could get you a cheap BT extension at a time when BT had a monopoly. He knew someone who could sell you cheap tobacco and alcohol. He would surely know someone who could magic him a yachting qualification. And so it was. Before the day was out, Elvis was the proud owner of a Day Skipper certificate.
"Get a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Sailing," Roland suggested. "How difficult can it be?"
The job was his and Elvis gladly accepted the position. The wages would be rubbish but who cared. He had felt a million dollars.
"What is it darling?" said Naomi no more than half interested.
"Greece," Elvis shouted coming out of his daydream and back to reality. "Boats," he added as though this would make complete sense. "Sunshine!."
"Darling are you feeling alright? Greece, boats, sunshine? Yes, that's what we do. Says so in the brochure."
"But we don't. Can't you see, that's the problem."
Naomi was not a stupid woman. She was adept at keeping up with her husband's often disjointed thought patterns, but for now she was stumped.
"Greece was when we were happy, truly happy," Elvis went on enthusiastically. "Let's do it all again. Let's go back to doing what we loved."
"You are joking? Tell me you're joking, Elvis," replied Naomi.
The penny dropped like a boulder. The realisation hit her as sharply as if she had plunged her fingers into the electricity socket whilst standing in a puddle of water. Bernard had told her that two of the flotilla leaders had resigned and that there was an issue to resolve. He had also told her that he had the solution but as yet she was none the wiser. She hadn't given the issue any more thought, trusting that Bernard would sort things out just like he always did. Now her husband stood beaming in front of her like an overgrown, excited schoolboy. He had come to his own solution and Naomi knew she wasn't going to like it.
"You can't possibly mean what I think you mean, can you Elvis?"
"Why ever not? It's perfect. The company urgently needs two experienced flotilla leaders, like us. We need some excitement in our lives. It will be fantastic for us."
Naomi stared at her husband of thirty years.
"Give me one good reason why this is a bad idea," he challenged.
"One? One? I can give you five straight away. We are late middle aged. You are not in good shape. We don't know the area. We haven't actually sailed for about twenty years. Our experience is hardly recent. We are needed here."
"That's six," Elvis responded a sulky child's face having replaced the over excited one of a few moments earlier. "We're in our prime. You play tennis, I've got a gym membership and I'm only carrying a few extra pounds. They have satellite navigation on the water now, you know, nothing to it. We go boating as often as we can, motor or sail, what's the difference, it's all water based? The skills we had then never leave you. The company can manage without us, Bernard will be fine, and anyway it's only for a week or so."
Naomi sensed that the battle was already lost before it had been fought. If she stood firm she would have a sulking, brooding, moody Elvis on her hands and that was not pretty at all. His sulks could last for days, even weeks. In the end she would be worn down anyway. Perhaps they could both use a little sea and sunshine, and it would be useful to see the Nidri operation. Bernard could certainly run things at HQ, maybe even better without them.
"Say yes my darling," Elvis almost pleaded, sensing her uncertainty.
"Well," she sighed reluctantly. "I've got very real doubts, but I guess you do only live once."
"Oh Naomi, this is fantastic, you'll see this will be the best fortnight we've had for years," said Elvis almost jumping with joy.
"But Elvis, Marjorie is still coming to dinner," said Naomi.
Chapter Four
If Jock could have heard the airport announcement as he sat in the hot Nidri office Skyping with HQ, it would have brought a relieved smile to his sun kissed face. The Gods of Delay had smiled on him today.
"We regret the delay of flight FABA 8788 to...... PREVEZA and any inconvenience this may cause to its valued passengers."
"Blah, blah, blah. Oh better and better," muttered one of those valued passengers, feeling anything but. Richard did not look as though he was about to go on holiday. There was no carefree smile across his face, indeed Richard's bonhomie had been in short supply all day.
"It's going to be fun, you'll see," said his wife Anne hopefully.
"This is not sailing as I know it," he replied sulkily. "This is no more than a floating guided tour of the busiest spots of the Ionian. The idea of being shepherded around from one place to another like a group of Hi De Hi campers, fills me with abhorrence. Sailing is supposed to be about the feeling of freedom, not being tied to some pesky convoy."
The holiday had been a retirement present from his largely well-meaning, if indifferent, co-workers at the Falmouth based pump manufacturers that Richard had managed for the last fifteen years. Recently his management input had been limited as retirement loomed on the ever nearer horizon. With the new Chinese owners taking over last year his title of managing director had become largely symbolic.
"This was Joy's fault. The most misnamed person I've ever known. She's had it in for me since the day I inherited her from Dick. For the last twelve years I've heard nothing but how bloody marvellous he was as a boss. She's been waiting for this day, I tell you."
"Well you're free of her now. Think of all the time we'll spend together now you're retired," Anne said stony faced as she considered precisely that.
"A sailing holiday. How perfect," he lied to his audience as he opened the golden