The video of that interview, conducted by presenters Gillian Joseph and Gamal Fahnbulleh is available here. 

But not today. Because today it’s finally here. Delivered to the marina reeking of newness- the GRP and carbon fibre glinting in the sun whilst the fumes still manage to provide an ever-so-slight legal high.

Today is a good day, a great day, if only because it marks the end of months of eye-watering bills from the boat’s build.

I’m stood beside the slipway at Fambridge Yacht Haven. Arguably the best marina and boatyard facilities on the South East coast of the UK, and lucky for me and Commonwealth Row, I’ve been kindly given the full use for free to allow me to train and get ready for the main event.

Delivering is Angus, not only fully proficient in reversing a boat trailer but a walking almanac on ocean rowing – himself having crossed a few and supported far too many.

He gives me a short brief on launching before all three of us – Angus, my Dad and me – stand back for a short while admiring the boat in all its glory- pristine, unblemished, and very if not too white.

New Ocean Rowing Boat?

I jump on in haste dragging a bucket-load of Essex mudflat with me, and that’s it, within fifteen minutes of being delivered, what was my nice shiny very white and very expensive boat is no longer new. That proud excitement of newness sinks immediately, leaving the GRP fumes billowing off in the 35 degree heat to to pickup the slack and lift spirits.

And so, the newest but arguably now the worst looking boat in the marina starts its unceremonious boat launch. No music, no fanfare, speech, cheering crowds or cheap fizzy booze to stain the bow, just the three of us and ‘it’ the boat.

Now I I say ‘it’, because ‘it’ – the boat – hasn’t yet got a name. But ‘it’ is now in the water, the rudder is on and Angus has given me a full brief and left, leaving me to sit, play around and ponder.

Ocean Rowing Luxury

It’s a cracking day, the sun is out, the marina is full of people on their boats having lunch prepared in their fully equipped galleys, drinking cold drinks from their powered refrigerators, ready to take a nap in their fun size cabins if need be and maybe even a cheeky cold shower if it gets too hot.

And then there’s me, sitting, burning and desperately dehydrating on a seven metre rowing boat that’s as sparsely kitted out as North Korean travel agents, which ironically has probably cost more than most here.

I can’t help but think that I could be sat there in luxury relaxing doing things the easy way, but then I can’t help but find the funny side of that.

You see, no matter how hard it was to get this far, how much it’s cost or even how much more there is left to do. Even if it was all harder, costly and consuming still, by hook or by crook Commonwealth Row would have happened.

But as I sit here watching everyone else swill cold beer and gin in comfort, two things are immediately apparent – I no longer feel like a naked, flaccid, age-bedraggled Berlusconi is going to appear any second mid bunga bunga, and that Mike was right – it really does seem smaller, much smaller.

You know the kind of hotel, one of those that tries far too hard, having strong beliefs that it’s wholly unnecessary to have a separate bathroom but feels it’s far more zen to do your morning ablutions right at the end of your bed, leaving you struggling to keep the Egyptian cotton dry whilst you wrestle with your undercarriage.

OK, now I’m closer, maybe a really big bath, a four, five, six or even seven person bath from an entirely different kind of hotel. Yes, you know the kind.

I thought it would be love or at least admiration at first site. After all, I’ve got to eat, sleep, live and haul it over 3000 miles across the Atlantic from mainland West Africa to South America. Just the two of us vs the ocean.

Maybe I was expecting to see something a bit more QE2-esque? Not a walk-in-shower, roulette and a masseuse on tap, and certainly not of that size but something that has similar lines. Something that looks like it would cut through the water as opposed to plough snow for the council.

I don’t know why I’m so surprised? I’d seen one in the flesh before I made the order for Commonwealth Row. Like looking around a car showroom, it was a simple case of ‘yes, I’ll take one of those please’.

Mike, head of the boat build calms my worries by reiterating that this is the very latest in ocean rowing boat design, the very thing that Sir Chay Blyth would purchase if he was doing it all over again today, before finishing with “anyway, it will look smaller once in the water, and feel a whole lot smaller once in the middle of the Atlantic”. Thanks Mike!

But I have the very basics of an ocean rowing boat, a carbon hull and superstructure. No electrics, solar panels, navigation equipment, hatches to keep the sea out and no oars with which I can propel it. No, those will all come in the next phase of the build and be installed by Mike and team.

So the SitRep for now: 3000 miles of the Atlantic ocean still laying ahead; me; no oars; and something resembling Silvio Berlusconi’s bunga bunga bath.

You best check back for updates!