Winds: as predicted, not as requested!

Mon 28 Jul 2014 12:57
Monday 28th July 2014
Position 44:31.3N 21:04.7W
We are approaching our first waypoint, a position north of the rhumb line to the Lizard, and designed to place us in the more favourable westerly airstream that is shown, historically, to pertain up here. So it is a little disappointing to find that we are barely moving along (2.6 knots as I write is as fast as we have gone all morning) and more botheringly we are no longer going in the right direction, our heading being almost due north. At least the sails are filled, and the boom has, for a while, stopped crashing about. Our VMG, the speed towards our destination is around a knot! Still we are not yet going backwards. We are in the company of another yacht, a bigger vessel, and he is now about to disappear over the horizon in front of us, faster then, but no more able to defy the laws of nature and sail directly into the wind than ourselves.
We are at peace with our lot today, and I can announce the result of yesterdays on board poetry competition. Judging was not too difficult, there having being only one entry, as follows,
Me and Han. are sailing home from Horta.
Names painted on the harbour wall:
keep Neptune happy, as we ought'a.
We set out one night on the wing of a depression.
Ah! the promise of wind, an indiscretion?
For a day all went well, but the second night out
Neptune visited a mighty clout.
"I'm not so good", wailed a green face at dawn.
Well, share my bucket, said the skipper, forlorn.
Oh, we survived OK,
tho' the sea was rough right through the day.
The barometer needle stayed well under its upper,
But morale was restored with 'Stugeron' and fried supper.
The following day was bright, sunny and cheerful,
Neptune outrun, we were much less fearful.
So, what do you do when you're no longer ill
But a thousand miles from harbour still?
And no facebook, Tumblr or Twitter to relate
your little scare to your best mate.
Are we nearly there yet? I feel this trip's a swindle!
"No" - terse from the skipper, immersed in his 'Kindle'.
But troubled: how to amuse this poor child?
She's bought Plinney and Jane Austin but they're far too mild.
She nibbles on an apple to pass the time,
An uneasy truce.
Nine hundred and ninety miles from home.