Steve Lee survives viscious attack by killer mullet.

We were pleased to welcome Roger and Steve Burrett who flew in last night.

An enjoyable night was spent catching up. But drama was due to strike today…

Report from Reuters, Cascais, Friday 30 October 2008

Pouring with rain today in Cascais (14C). Christine and Steve Lee (Steve L) took Steve Burrett (Steve B) on a tour of Cascais’ hot spots. No longer the summer destination we know and love, beaches now deserted by even the most hardy British tourist, so it looks like we have finally run out of summer weather. It is time to head south and migrate like every other sensible sailor.

But first we have to introduce Steve B to our favourite supermarket for reprovisioning. At Jumbo (pronounced CHUMBO) I am greeted by the security guard with his normal suspicion. He hasn’t forgotten the incident with Christine’s underwear ‘Ah, Senor Elastico, Bom Dia. Pleese you cannot take your backpack into the store’. Presumably he thinks I will attempt to smuggle out yet more ladies underwear. (For background, please see diary entry 1 November ‘It’s a Hard Life’.)

I am obviously a marked man at Chumbo.

We finish our shopping and struggle back to the marina, heavily laden (in my case) with a dozen bottles of various beverages. En route I have put Christine and my wallets in the top of my backpack for safe keeping.

Cat-like, I faultlessly execute my normal turbo leap from the pontoon to the boat. Something flies past my right ear and splashes into the water. It is my wallet. Buoyed up only by the 200 Euros I have just obtained from a hole in the wall, it is barely floating. I lean from the pontoon in a desperate attempt to rescue it, which I just achieve by my fingernails despite the nibbling attentions of the marina mullets who think my wallet is just another food offering from visiting yachtsmen. At the decisive moment of wallet rescue, the 12 litres of wine in my backpack shift their weight. I am unable to resist the force of gravity and tumble headlong into the murky marina water.

‘Oh christ, the wine pack has fallen into the water’, comes an anguished cry from the boat. Helping hands grab me and I thank the Lord for such loyal crewmates who are concerned only for my safety. Clearly the pack is dragging me under; it is rapidly stripped from my back. Meanwhile I feel a stabbing sensation around my knees and I realise the marina mullet are closing in, hungry for the juicy flesh of an English tourist. Adrenaline pumping, I brace myself for the rescuers’ hands to pull me from the water, but nothing happens. Looking up I see they are anxiously counting the wine bottles to make sure none are lost.

With great relief a full tally of bottles is announced. Meanwhile I am still in the water and the mullet are massing for the final kill, the ‘Coup de Mullet’ as it is known to marine biologists. But instead of anxious voices I hear hysterical laughter, the popping of corks and the clinking of glasses. Eventually I am hauled out, panting, cutting a decidedly undashing picture, sopping wet, blood-soaked legs, a couple of determined mullet hanging by their teeth from my right knee. I swat then off and take my injured pride and lacerated legs off to the shower.

Later we assess the damage. Christine’s wallet has disappeared completely, containing one credit card, a marina card worth 25 Euros, but fortunately no cash. However she didn’t miss the opportunity to claim 500 Euros, her claim not corroborated by the fact that she had asked me for cash 30 minutes before in Chumbo. My mobile is presumed dead, currently drying in the intensive care of the weak autumn sun.

On the plus side my own wallet containing 250 Euros, survived. It looks like the sim card from my phone can be used in a new phone. No cameras, laptops or other electrical equipment were immersed. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

I spoke to Marina wildlife expert Joao Do Bacalhao who said this was the worst case of unprovoked mullet attack ever documented in Cascais Marina. Thank God the nurse who gave me my travel jabs had the foresight to immunise me against mullet attack; without immunisation my cod piece might have been irreparably compromised.

Finally, it might be of interest to passing privateers that Christine’s wallet with cancelled credit card and one jumbo supermarket trolley token can be located in 5m of water beneath berth number K22. Salvage rights for sale. An additional concern of Marina staff is that mullets now can get through security gates by virtue of the lost marina gate card and could attack yachtsmen at any time.

So now I’m off to restore my lost pride by getting a neat haircut. But what style to select? A ‘Mohican’, a ‘Pudding Basin’, a ‘Vidal Sassoon/ Bob the Builder’, a ‘Foreign Legion/ Marine cut’? Of course, I realise there is only one possible choice – a ‘Mullett’. Picture of ‘Mullet Man’ Steve Lee to follow in due course.

Editor’s/Skipper’s note: Steve Lee would like to make clear that any reference to mullet, living or dead, is purely accidental and fictitious.

Meanwhile we look forward to the arrival of final crew member Geoff tonight, making a total of five. As I write, he has just arrived on board so the fab five are raring to go.

Our current plan is midday departure Monday, destination Lanzarote/Canaries.

END OF TODAY’S ENTRY.