ABOUT
MIKE RUFFLES
“Do, or do not. There is no try.” Yoda
Freedom, lifestyle, and peace of mind were never just slogans for Mike, they were decisions waiting to be made. Trained as a toolmaker, later serving in a British tank regiment, and eventually working as a project manager, Mike followed a path that looked sensible from the outside.
But routine has a way of tightening its grip. So he and his wife Ann did something most people only talk about. They built a 13.4-metre steel sailing yacht from scratch, five years of welding, grinding, problem-solving and stubborn belief, and sailed it into the Mediterranean. For 22 years they lived aboard full-time, cruising extensively from 2002 to 2017.
They crossed the Bay of Biscay, weathered storms, embraced slow living, and learned what freedom really costs, and what it gives back. A chance encounter with a well-known author in Fowey provided the final nudge to write the story down.
Those experiences became the memoir trilogy told through the steady, observant eyes of Mitzie, the calmest crew member on board. Ruffles Spray has since been sold, but the journey continues.
Today Mike and Ann cruise the waterways in their narrowboat Rasmunda, still choosing lifestyle before workstyle. Because escape is not a single act. It’s a way of living.
MITZIE RUFFLES
Mitzie is the unexpected narrator of a very human story. Observant, opinionated, and quietly perceptive, she watches the world from floor level and reports it with disarming honesty. From Christmas trees and teacups to welding steel in a windswept boatyard, Mitzie notices what others overlook: the habits, tensions, hopes, and small absurdities of daily life. Through her eyes, the grand plan to escape the rat race becomes something intimate and relatable, a tale of tea rituals, ladder-climbing determination, and two people stubbornly building a different future. Mitzie doesn’t preach, judge, or exaggerate; she simply tells it as she sees it, with warmth, wit, and a nose for the truth.
BUILDING THE HULL
Mike quickly discovered that building a steel hull was not a romantic idea but a relentless test of patience, stamina, and stubbornness. Every plate of steel had to be lifted, held, aligned, tacked, checked, and then welded, inside first, then outside, often in cold air that numbed his fingers and rain that halted progress without warning. After a full day at work, he would drive to the yard and work until the light faded, grinding back welds, measuring again, correcting small errors that no one else would ever see. There were no shortcuts, no applause, and no visible signs that this rusty, awkward structure would ever become a yacht. Days passed with nothing to show except sore muscles, grinding dust in his hair, and the quiet knowledge that if he stopped now, all the effort so far would mean nothing. It wasn’t inspiration that kept him going; it was the steady, unglamorous decision to return the next day and do it all again, and perhaps Ann's warning that if he did not complete the build, she would not be there anymore.
MIDPOINT
Finishing the hull felt, for a brief moment, like reaching the summit, until Mike realised it was only the first ridge of a much larger mountain. The steel shell might have looked impressive from the outside, but inside it was nothing more than an empty, echoing space that still needed to become a home, an engine room, a galley, cabins, wiring, plumbing, tanks, insulation, floors, bulkheads, and countless fittings no one ever thinks about when imagining a yacht. Every job led to three more, each demanding the same careful measuring, drilling, cutting, and fastening he thought he had left behind with the welding. The progress was slower now, less visible, and far more fiddly. There was no dramatic transformation, just a steady accumulation of small, necessary tasks that seemed endless. It dawned on him that the hull had only been about forty percent of the real work — the part people could see. The rest would be built quietly, piece by piece, in the unseen spaces that would one day make the boat livable.