Half way through my watch, around 5 am, I went to the heads (toilet, for landlubbers). As I was pulling up my waterproofs, I heard Franco try the door. He realised I was inside so went back to bed. On auto mode, half asleep, he closed the outside bolt. I was locked in!

“Franco, Franco!” I called out, alarmed.

No answer.

The skipper was asleep, the first mate locked in the heads, leaving the good ship Caramor entirely at the mercy of that pile of steel and aluminium with a plywood head, that we call ‘second mate Aries’. His grip on the tiller and his sense of wind direction are second to none but he has no ability to read charts whatsoever.

Eventually my desperate shouts were answered.

“WHAT?” Answered Franco, clearly irritated at being woken up.