Our entertainment with the gulls took a nasty turn on Monday when two of them proved their stupidity beyond doubt by managing to hook themselves firmly on both lines in quick succession. ‘Chicken for dinner’ was Ricardo’s sensitive response, but Barra and Drew soon reeled them in to try to cut them free as humanely as possible. One was slightly more worse for wear and, after a rest on the stern step looking bemused, fell rather than flew away. I’d like to say they have learned their lesson – but they are birds. And what’s more, they are birds which are even more stupid than fish, which still refuse to bite. We had previously spotted a suspiciously shark-like fin cruising off our stern, meaning I will be slightly more careful with my fingers when next filling the bucket.

Calm seas and perfect downwind sailing allowed Drew a quick trip up to the cross trees to check the deck and steaming lights. But, following an idyllic, sunny evening when we raced along, it all kicked off after sunset. That’s what happens when you whistle for the wind. With gusts of up to 28 knots, the spinnaker came down in a hurry. A dubious decision by Ricardo to put it up again in the middle of the night only lasted for an hour or so before Barra was raised indignant from his berth to bring it down again in even more of a hurry than the previous time. I also got up and tried to look useful by holding a torch. A friendly Barrowclough rant then followed, about not being allowed to get an hour’s kip what with bangs, giggling, winching and pots clanging. I think he felt better for getting it out of his system.

A lumpy day from hell followed on Tuesday on a rough, confused sea – making it difficult to do anything practical without pitching headlong somewhere dangerous. Thankfully, there is not a hint of seasickness amongst any of us – and today was certainly a tester. There was an alarming discovery with the news that our toilet paper supplies are not as plentiful as one may wish. In fact, the rough estimate is 30 sheets each per day. Seems like enough to me, but Ricardo has already informed us of the practice where a round (or rectangular!) knot is fashioned on the end of a rope and trailed off the boat to use for the job. I really hope it doesn’t come to that. This all means that now not only is everything a foot short, but all items are now a candidate for a toilet paper substitute. Book pages are being assessed for suitability, Ricardo was eyeing the old charts, while cutting up clothes has also been muted. Even flagging down passing shipping has been mentioned, which may be a tad dramatic. We do have plenty of silver foil.

Uncomfortable it may be, but still winds averaging 20 knots meant we made excellent progress and we have now done roughly 2000 miles since Solomons with 1300 remaining.

Jules