Sun 29 Nov 2009 18:26
The sun continues to blaze down affecting us all. Having turned the Commodore's head into a heliograph it seems to have penetrated further. This morning he bestrode the poop ordering anyone who would listen to "Engage the enemy more closely". He is quieter now that we have given him some j cloths to cut up. John, who belives himself to be the ship's chaplain, is still a bundle of irrepressible energy so bent on boat speed that we have determined that the very mention of the word "speed" earns the forfeit of eating one of our fast ripening bananas. Spriggs has turned his back on us all looking wistfully towards Africa whilst chanting his mantra "Feesh". Tim is fine of course apart from spending his time spotting imaginary butterflies whilst our skipper bursts from his cabin like Dudley Moore in Arthur when he wakes to find his bed full of bimbos rather than Gillie each morning.
So, after a week at sea, we have developed into a formidable racing machine.