Paul gets a shock discovery when he learns about how the professionals obtain that super dazzling varnish finish
If Van Gogh can do it, why can't I? How difficult can it be to wield a paintbrush and achieve a work of art. The answer is, too difficult for me. I'm lousy at paintwork, always have been. I can't cope with one colour let alone Vincent's vivid palette. This explains why the last boat I dared to paint was over 40 years ago and I haven't touched one since. It was the first boat I owned, a little 17 footer of which I was incredibly proud and had bought for a suspiciously small sum of money. Once the flush of first love had passed, in the cold light of dawn I saw the topsides had that scuffed and soiled look of a rugby pitch. I can't imagine how determined I must have been to rectify that, given that I knew nothing about painting boats and had bought a sophisticated two-part paint system which required the expertise of a chemistry graduate. Well, I mixed it, more or less as instructed, and it did stick to the hull, but the finish was closer to that of a ploughed field than a mirror, and the streaks looked as though someone had dragged their hair comb over it.
I am telling you all this to explain why I now have a complete fear of varnish despite the fact that I love the stuff. I adore its intoxicating smell, the shimmer as it dries in the sun, the beauty it brings to every bit of timber that it coats. Except when I do it, the result always reminds me of my art classes in primary school – lots of energy but rarely a work of art to show for it.
I've watched professional painters at work in boatyards, and they make it seem so effortless. In one yard I was introduced to the 'finisher', the chap whose job it was to give newly-built boats those finals touches to remove any blemishes the shipwrights might have left behind. He was truly a master varnisher who could make any bit of wood glossier than a fashion magazine. I asked him the secret. 'I don't start work till five o'clock when everyone's gone home and dust has settled!' He was working with newly cut and shaped timber, though. He didn't have to scour out those nasty black scabs which lurk under varnish lifted by winter frosts. There's no point in getting out the varnish brush till you've got rid of those, but I could never manage it. It was like trying to remove the spots from a leopard – impossible.
This explains why, at the recent awards ceremony sponsored by our sister magazine, Classic Boat, I could barely bring my eyes to
