more from the Galley
For the past few days we have been holed up in Moraira, a pretty little town in the province of Valencia – again, as seems to be our destiny, moored at the refuelling dock. But this time we do not have monster fishing boats throbbing past at dawn – the Harley Davidsons of the seas.
The howling westerlies seem to be abating, but instead of being replaced by howling easterlies, which would be nice, they might be replaced by no breeze at all. We shall see.
Just down the road is the town of Calpe (or Calp in the local language, Valenciano, in which we are now impressively proficient due to prolonged exposure). Calp is built in the lee of a monster rock called the Penon de Ifach. It looks a bit like Gibraltar but without the monkeys. I thought it would be a good idea for Spain to change the name of that rock to Gibraltar, so we could keep the other one, but local enthusiasm for the idea is muted.
Not much to report from the galley. I had thought that if we were in the Atlantic I would by now be lean and lithe from scrambling up ratlines and similar nautical activities, but massive dinners on board must have sent the scales in the opposite direction. Cutting toenails is now a struggle.
We hear of the weather in Blighty. For your information, dear readers, it is 26C in this sheltered spot, and I am wandering around barefoot in a T-shirt. I guess you would have to find a warm room to do that in London.
Apart from being critically low on whisky, our provisions are holding up well, and frequent trips to launderettes on shore have kept us fresh as daisies.
Must go chums, the crew are baying for their lunch, it now being well after 2pm.