Ramblings of a madman... 14:07.93N 121:37.33W

Alex Belmont
Wed 13 Jul 2011 20:14
Martin wished to write an entry to this log, which I have included below. Some may pass this off as the ramblings of one too long on a small boat, but this is actually Martin in his most normal state of mind. Don't worry if you have no idea what he's talking about. I couldn't figure it out either. Enjoy...

Day 11. Or twelve. Let’s say 13.
After almost two weeks offshore the fish have long been successfully fed, but they are still not biting the lure. Either we go too fast, or two slow, or get disturbed by the roaring engine. Very sensitive they are. We might start playing Cindy Lauper and see if they hear The Call.
It seems like we are not going to make an acquaintance of the cyclone after all. No Youtube viral hit or amateur perfect-storm footage after all.
We started with movie trilogies. The Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. The Imperial March is the new regeton. Sadly Harry Potter was busy spending his hard earned galleons in his hocus-pocus version of a bachelor party and he couldn’t join us for the crossing. On his behalf it should be said that he deserves it after all he’s been through. His scar is the perfect ice-breaker too. He’s all-right Harry.
Diminishing veggie reserves. A cabbage, a cucumber, a bunch of leper onions missing Mother Theresa. A party of lemons who got the address wrong – there’s no Mojitos to be made for the time being.
Three boobies have been lurking on the bow. Father, Son & Holy Ghost. Father & Son had to leave for a global convention. Holy Ghost is used to lag behind. He’s part of The Family now. Not much meat on him. Self-control and fasting he says. And our anchor has been painted snow-white. Like the Russian Tundra, like a Greek island’s postcard. Gloss finish too. KFC is underrated really.
Course 245 degrees. Speed 4.8 Knots.
Last minutes of dawn. And lava is falling from the grey clouds and comes to die in a bed of endless sea – another day has gone by. The World keeps turning.
PS: Anna Karenina deserved the 1920’s. And NewYorkCity. And Scott Fitzgerald.