“We actually had right of way,” said Jane Kelvey, a little crossly, though keeping it civil. “But we weren’t going to argue with a warship.”

The dramatic standoff in the Channel on Tuesday morning between Admiral Grigorovich, a 125-metre (409ft) battle-hardened Russian frigate, and Bright Future, a 12-metre (40ft) pleasure yacht owned and helmed by Jane, 69, and her husband, Alan, 71, has rather caught the nation’s imagination.

It was a David and Goliath clash on the high seas, and one with some irresistible ingredients: a seemingly savage Russian foe meeting middle England’s implacable conviction in its own common sense – even if the couple ultimately beat a hasty and sensible retreat.

As with so much in the British national story at the moment, it had the advantage for some in the British media that it also ended up making Keir Starmer look a bit bad.

The Ministry of Defence has let it be known that it regards the matter – involving no less than warning shots being fired by the Russian warship just 20 nautical miles from the Isle of Wight – as a mere “nautical incident” for which the fault can most justifiably be said to lie in the foggy weather, and perhaps some dodgy sailing.

The Kelveys are insistent that the government is letting the Kremlin off the hook – not quite getting away with murder, but with a damned cheek. “The British are trying to shut it down by agreeing with the Russian comments on it,” complained Alan, who claimed Starmer’s government wanted to avoid a diplomatic incident.

Quite who has the better arguments is not entirely clear as yet – but the broad-strokes of the matter are at least largely known. And what is certainly evident is that Anglo-Russian relations are at a dangerously tense moment. For all the farce of what occurred in the Channel, these are serious times of genuine peril where minor incidents can turn into major disasters. “We don’t want world war three to start because of this,” Jane told the Guardian.

The Kelveys had set sail from Lymington, Hampshire, at 4am on Tuesday, destined for the French port of Cherbourg. It was to be the happy start to a two-month sailing trip that was a repeat of a dream adventure they undertook in 2024, after retiring from the successful signage business they had built from scratch in Uxbridge, west London.

The couple, who knew their route well, were about halfway across the Channel and going at a leisurely 5 knots (about 5.75 miles per hour) when they spotted a vessel in the distance.

It wasn’t showing on the automatic identification system (AIS) that tracks ships via their transponders. But as Bright Future got a little closer, it became quite clear what was in front of them – and to whom it belonged. “We saw the Cyrillic lettering on the side,” said Jane, describing with admirable reserve what must have been quite a moment.

They heard the warship sound its horn and swiftly changed course. A further five loud blasts were followed by what Jane described as a “whipcrack” sound. “You can tell when a gun’s been fired,” she said. “You know that noise.”

Moscow, of course, has its own account. It says that what the crew of Admiral Grigorovich saw was a vessel proceeding under engine power on a direct course towards them – even after multiple efforts were made to establish radio contact and signal flares were launched.

The horn was sounded to alert the boat to a risk of collision, but when Bright Future, closing in at a distance of 150 metres (500ft), failed to respond, the frigate’s commander ordered warning shots to be fired across its bow using small arms. The sailors, the Russian ministry of defence said, had acted “in strict accordance with international navigation laws” to prevent a maritime incident.

A pack of lies, according to Jane. “They had plenty of opportunity to warn us off, if that’s what they wanted,” she said. “They didn’t fire flares, they didn’t get on the radio to us. They just gave five blasts from their horn to let us know they were there. We acknowledged by changing our course and then they did another five blasts, and then they fired the warning shots … But we weren’t in the way, we were not about to collide with them at all.”

She added that they were also sailing at the time, rather than running on engine power, and their AIS transponder was on.

The shots certainly did the job they were intended to do. Jane cowered down to the floor while Alan put on the engine and steered 90 degrees to port with the intention of getting away as fast as possible. The couple considered calling it in on the VHF maritime radio, but reckoned the Russians would pick it up.

Instead, Jane called 999 and asked for the coastguard. Half an hour later, HMS Tyne, an offshore patrol vessel, came by to see that they were all well. After that, they headed on to Cherbourg for an hour-and-a-half debrief with the French gendarmerie. Next up was a glass of rosé for Jane and a beer for Alan, as they have every intention of carrying on with their holiday. “Too right,” said Alan.

Speaking at the G7 summit in Évian-les-Bains, France, Starmer described the Russian action as “reckless” if not “sinister”.

“What happened in the Channel is obviously deeply concerning, and I obviously feel for the couple on the yacht,” the prime minister said. He also had to address the conviction of two men, seemingly operating under the instruction of an online handler with links to Russia, who had carried out arson attacks on a property and car connected to him.

Starmer told reporters the attacks on him should be seen in the “broader context” of Russia’s war in Ukraine. Deeply concerning all round, then.

Back home in Iver, the Buckinghamshire village that the Kelveys now call home, friends and neighbours’ surprise at seeing the couple in the headlines for tangling with the Russians was tempered by their reputation for having an adventurous spirit.

“I wasn’t surprised to see Jane was drinking rosé after being shot at by the Russians – she’s a hard nut,” said one local resident. “Don’t mess with her.”

Indeed, the incident in the Channel isn’t even the Kelvey’s first walk-on part in great geopolitical matters. In 2022, the then prime minister Boris Johnson visited their business, the day before Russia invaded Ukraine.

“We got a heads up [war] might be coming,” said Daniel Murphy, the production manager at the couple’s sign factory, “because suddenly Boris’s aides surrounded him and got him into a corridor where he took a call from [the then US president] Joe Biden.”

Murphy said it was “typical” of the Kelveys to take their brush with the Russians in their stride. “They have a good way of looking at life,” he said. “They brush off things, they have a stiff upper lip.”

They have, in other words, a wartime spirit.