Forty-three hours after walking out through my mother’s door I was back on Caramor. I no longer knew whether it was spring or autumn, day or night or even which way was up. I crawled into bed and set a timer for 4 hours. I woke up at 4pm and went back to sleep for another three. This time I felt a little more human.

Sunny had met me at the gate to the property he manages. He’d already inflated the dinghy, handed me the oars and watched me, seemingly concerned, as I rowed across the basin to Caramor. It was only later I understood why the concern, it was because he hadn’t realised the dinghy valves need to be locked so that air goes in and doesn’t come out. The whole time I was rowing, Arnie (dinghy) was deflating! Caramor was in good fettle, just a little bit of mould on some of the surfaces, Sunny had visited her every few days to check her mooring lines and kept her company for twenty minutes at a time. What an incredible guy! We were very lucky to meet him.

David, my crew, has postponed his flight because the wind in the wrong direction to sail to New Zealand for the next week. This gives me time to spruce Caramor up and wash the large pile of laundry that had piled up during Franco’s illness.

We, that is Caramor, all the inanimate objects onboard with names and I are missing Franco terribly. The worst is that I now have to cook AND wash up. He is staying with Lisa and Walter in Edinburgh and making progress towards good health.

A giant plane - the Airbus at Heathrow