All aboard The Pasta Express (the Alderney Dash)

Published 12:22 on 23 Apr 2026

I had a dream.

I had a dream that on a cold April weekend, when the world still whispered of mankind circling the Moon and vanishing into silence for forty long minutes, a small band of sailors cast off from Portsmouth and entered a silence of their own. Not the silence of space, but the silence of disconnection - no signal, no tether, no comforting buzz of the everyday - only wind, water, and the unyielding laws of physics to carry them forward.

I had a dream that upon a vessel built stout and stubborn - built like it feared neither wave nor wind - there gathered a curious fellowship. Men and women not bound by sameness, but by salt and spirit. Guided by a captain, Adam, steady of hand and generous of heart. Watched over by Glyn, keeper of navigation's sacred mysteries, whose gaze could still a question before it was spoken.

I had a dream of watches divided - port and starboard - under the charge of Damian and Daisy, where time itself was measured not in hours, but in effort, fatigue, and the groaning song of winches in the dark.

I had a dream of Worthing sailors - each one a story, each one a force.

I saw Bob, called Blueberry Bob, steady as a ledger and twice as reliable.
I saw myself - yes, Simon - dreamer of dreams, disciple of sleep, smiling always, present in spirit if not in labour.
I saw Nick, new to the great boat, stepping into the unknown with quiet courage.
I saw Paul, defying gravity below deck, his balance a mystery even to himself.
I saw Neil, waging war with pasta and stove alike, stripped to the waist against the heel of the boat, a man convinced still that Hobies reign supreme.
I saw Graham, unshaken as bedrock.
I saw Eric, calm competence personified, irritating only in his effortless mastery.
I saw Celine - oh yes - I saw Celine, sick beyond measure and yet smiling still, a testament to endurance that no storm could break.
I saw Tammy, voice of reason and warmth, bringing grace where chaos threatened.
I saw John, quiet as the deep, speaking only when words truly mattered.
And I heard Dan - yes, I heard Dan - through the thunder of his snoring and the weight of his questions, seeking always to understand his place in the vastness.

And I saw Chris, one foot in the grave on his last ever voyage

I had a dream that this crew lived on pasta - pasta in all its forms - sustained by tea, coffee, and something far stronger: shared purpose.

I had a dream of 31 hours at sea - 19 hours battling outward, where progress slowed to a crawl and spirits were tested as the boat crept forward at two knots, and the horizon seemed unwilling to draw nearer. Where even the instruments whispered doubt, and time stretched thin.

I had a dream of heaving-to off Alderney, suspended between motion and stillness, where the sails vanished into darkness and the world became unknowable for a moment.

Ah, the return.

When the sea relented, and the boat flew. When the night sky opened in quiet brilliance, and the sails - though unseen in the dark - pulled with a power that could be felt in every bone. When exhaustion gave way to something like joy.

I had a dream of sailors learning again the language of lights upon the water - green for go, red for stop - but knowing, deep down, that such simplicity fades in the presence of a container ship bearing down in the night.

And yes - I must confess - I had a dream of a man named Simon, who lay in his bunk while others laboured. Who mastered the art of absence. Who woke not to the strain of effort, but to the echo of it. And yet, even he was part of the journey - for every crew has its dreamer, just as every voyage has its witness.

And when morning came, and the dreamer woke, the journey was done.

And then I woke and looked around me

At the five empty bunks which surround me

And I realised I was only dreaming

For there was Bob and there was Daisy

"Up on deck?" You must be crazy

But the dream remained.

A dream of wind and will.
A dream of struggle and laughter.
A dream of people bound not by perfection, but by participation.

And I say to you now: it is not only those who hauled the lines, nor those who steered the course, who carry the voyage forwardit is all who were there, in body or in spirit, in effort or in memory.

For in that small boat, on that vast sea, driven only by physics and persistence, there lived something greater:

A reminder that even in disconnection, we are never truly alone.

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