Yacht O'Clock

I don't know about you, but I get a little silly during the holiday season. There's so much to do, so much to see, and I sign up for all of it, making the grandest of grand plans...and then tea and Scrabble somehow manages to win out.

Sadly, even one of my sneak peeks suffered that particularly shameful fate. Instead of basking in the Sydney summer sun on one of the most beautiful harbours in the world, sipping champagne and snacking on a picnic lunch whilst watching the start of the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race...I stayed at home and ate muesli. It was pretty good muesli too, so good that it managed to distract me until the start of the race was well and truly over and there was nothing really left to watch.

It's a Boxing Day tradition, but a strange one (as opposed to all those "normal" traditions). Like most Australian traditions of course, it's more or less just an excuse to drink copious amounts of alcohol. Because really, if you're actually on the harbour, there's a bit of a buildup, then the gun goes off, and then you see a whole fleet of yachts sailing away. Then it's either game over, or if you're really keen, you drink for the next 48 hours until the first yachts start arriving in Hobart, at which point the crews of the winning yachts take the alcoholic baton and run with it for the next few days. Slurred victory speeches are the best.

I think what I'm getting at is...it's not really a spectator sport. And I have to admit, the main reason I watch the start is to see what the lads on the Hugo Boss yacht are wearing...

[Images via Rolex, Getty Images, Christophe Launay, Jamd and mynameisluca]

A Boss suit can make any man look dapper, even a (highly overrated, overpaid, rival team) football player.

But perhaps what I'm really getting at is the simple fact that despite the gruelling 48+ hours, the treacherous oceans and the very real threat of death, I secretly want to compete in the Sydney to Hobart one day. Sure I've only been sailing twice (both times I sat and "observed"), but I figure I'm still relatively young, surely I can fit it into the next 40 or so years.

OR.

I could just do this.

Not so much the dress head to toe in leather bit, and especially not the be an international supermodel bit (although if Jean-Baptiste Mondino wants to photograph me, I'm down with that.) Mainly just the bit about hanging out on a yacht, being glamourous.

If that happens to mean being glamourous in designer threads, I'm down with that as well.

Once you excuse the atrocious image quality care of my terribly average scanner, you'll be admiring one of my all-time favourite Wallpaper* fashion spreads, dating all the way back to January 2004. To be honest, I'm not too fussed about the fashion, so why do I luuuuuurve these photos?

Because it lead me to Wally.

Wally, meet my lovely readers.

Lovely readers, meet Wally.

Or to be more precise, the 118 WallyPower super yacht. 36 metres of dreamboat material, with speeds up to 65 knots (sea-speak for fast!) Behold!

And so began my obsession with yachts. Initially, the dream was to design a few, but since starchitects and design gods like Norman Foster and Philippe Starck have made their way into the megayacht design scene, I don't really like my chances. I guess I'll just have to settle for owning one. Sigh.

One day, my pretties, one day. And when I finally have my very own Wally, you're all invited to the wedding.

Happy sailing lovelies, have a marvellous weekend! xx