Remember that glorious summer of 1995? That skin-sizzling, sun-dancing, tar-melting month of June? Even as the country took to the beaches, this reporter remembers being becalmed at sea and praying for some decent wind. Forget about heat. We had deadlines to meet - photographer, Frank Miller, myself and the crew of the yacht, Gulliver. Around midsummer night, when we were facing the final leg of a sunwise circumnavigation for this newspaper, British travel writer, Peter Marshall, was setting off on a much more leisurely cruise.

We never caught his voice on the VHF radio, but we did hear about him from the proprietor of Inishvickillaune. Granting us permission to land on his Blasket island en route, Mr Haughey remarked that we wouldn't be alone. He had received a similar request from this man, Marshall, who, he thought, was working for the BBC.

Marshall's sea voyage around Ireland had actually begun eight months before, when he left a home in north Wales that was "halfway between heaven and earth" after the break-up of his family. The former P&O cadet and teacher-turned-writer had embarked on a circumnavigation of Africa in 1994 which was the subject of a six-part television documentary. He survived, but his relationship did not.

Planning his Irish circumnavigation, then, was a way of retaining his sanity. Ireland had "long beckoned" and "its mysteries beguiled" him. What's more, he had a paternal Irish grandmother. The 28-foot sloop which he purchased for the journey from a chandler in Porthmadog could not have been more appropriately named: Celtic Gold.

Though he had spent a lot of time at sea, the author had never skippered a boat or sailed alone. For parts of his journey, he did have crew, including his 16-yearold daughter and 12-year-old son. His navigation instructor was encouraging, but warned him that it was a serious trip. Most insurance companies considered the Irish west coast to be as great a risk as the full Atlantic.

Marshall plotted a clockwise course with the help of the Irish Cruising Club's nautical almanacs, and Wicklow was his first port of call. His account of a "Celtic golden sun" and dancing on the quay offers a taste of what to expect - extremely competent background research, spoiled somewhat by a touch of Celtomania. Not quite leprechauns in lighthouses, but close enough.

But the author is not completely infatuated. Local pollution in fishing ports like Castletownbere comes in for criticism, and he had a close encounter with the wreck of the Bardini Reefer in Bantry Bay. He had problems getting out through the lock gates at Kilrush - no 24-hour duty as promised. And he wasn't impressed with some of the modern architecture in the big mackerel skippers' port of Killybegs.

Marshall was taken by Mr Haughey's style, however. Although he admits to having "no faith in governments and politicians", he could not help warming to the man. "Perhaps I was in danger of becoming another victim of his Celtic charm," he writes. "I had come ready to sup with a long spoon but quickly threw it away." Having left Dingle - where the harbourmaster, Commander Brian Farrell, and his wife, Elizabeth, fed him with carrot cake and stitched a torn sail - he was greeted at Inishvickillaune by a barefoot boss himself. He was afforded every hospitality: French white wine, a tour of the island with son, Conor, a swim. Haughey shares a few experiences with him. He gives his account of the infamous shipwreck at Mizen Head - "we'd had a few drinks", he tells Marshall, and he and his crew took to the life raft with a bottle of brandy. And he gives his views on Margaret Thatcher - "a woman who knew her own mind and could take risks".

Inevitably, an account like this has to be compared to the 21-yearold bible, Sailing Round Ireland, by Derry yachtsman, Wallace Clark. Marshall, who linked up with Clark during the journey, doesn't have the Derryman's lyrical writing style, and the text does carry some careless typographical errors - i.e. "gardia" for "gardai" and "Coningberg" instead of "Coningbeg". It strength lies in clear and simple technical detail, avoiding the sort of nautical jargon that can deter the general reader. And, as with any such journey, it is made all the more enjoyable by the author's warm accounts of the many wonderful people he meets.

Lorna Siggins is marine correspondent with The Irish Times