Skirmish at 34 degrees west
Cerys
Thu 20 May 2010 13:15
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37:28N 31:40W
Speed 5.8
Wind NW F4
156 N Miles to Horta
Some heavy rain today, the heaviest we have seen,
sun has broken through now and the day looks promising. As we get closer to the
islands we are seeing more and more shipping. Last night I came within a quarter
of a mile of a cargo vessel that was not altering course for us, we were the
stand on vessel. I spoke to him on the radio and he agreed to alter and pass
astern. He seemed very interested in our trip and destination and offered
assistance if required in any way.
For the rest of the evening I had a shearwater
circling us tightly over and over, this morning I spotted a large fin to port at
100 metres. It looked like a shark but then just disappeared. We had dolphins on
the bow for and hour and the number of P. men of war has increased
signifigantly. I would think we will pass up to a thousand of them today at this
rate.
These are all signs that we are leaving the desert
and getting closer to civilisation. We should make landfall sometime late
tomorrow.
We received a warning over the sat phone today. Far
worse than any navigation warning, far worse than any gale warning..........a
warning from my wife:
"Dear Cerys Crew. As you know I am the capitan of the capitan. And I have
an
order to give you all. No body is leaving Cerys until every single little thing is repare and in place. There is plenty tooth brushes under the sink to scrub.U. 2010/5/18 cerys " Skirmish at 34 degrees West - Battle of the Breads
Continue
Flanno took the high ground yesterday. I was
worried by his preliminary moves and felt he was going to outflank me when I saw
his artillary. He had requested olives and tomato paste from the gunnery
sgt.
He worked hard for an hour on his creation and it
went into the oven pre noon GMT.
What emerged was unexpected, not withstanding my
covert surveillance, this looked like a winning strategy. A battle winner at
least if not a war conquering manoeuvre.
Both russet and rustic, the early afternoon sun
glistened on its virgin oiled crust. David had gone for the farmers market
attack, something I had not considered. I was dumbfounded. It posessed a
mediterranian glow of tomato which contrasted with the grainy olive effect. It
was crusty, rugged and one might even say bohemian. Though it seemed a little
dense, the sonar proved otherwise.
I felt threatened, exposed and my position was
weakening. I tried to pull myself together and reevaluate my newfound
circumstances but all I could see before me was this market day masterpiece,
this pride of the village and country fair prize winner. It was almost possible
to see the wheat fields from it and many miles beyond the vine tomatoes and
miles beyond that again the olive groves of Sicily.
"But this ain't no country fair" I forced my self
to say. I decided to go lie down and regroup. I was awoken to
exclamations of "disaster!" coming from Flanno and I was out of my bunk and
in the galley quick as a bakers fart.
The sight I saw before me lifted immense weight
from my shoulders, at about the same time angels began to sing from the heavens
and one of them shone a beamy light on the centre of the first slice of Flannos
loaf. It was uncooked, raw, cold and damp. It was doughy, off colour and mushy.
The outside was cooked but the inside was a long way behind.
I was delighted as I comiserated with David, his
misery was gave me a warm feeling and I was back in the battle
again.
Keep it country Flanno
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