38:44.3N 1:22.4E

 Food. One of the most talked about subjects on a bluewater cruising yacht, the one most linked to the highs and lows of crew morale, and the one most susceptible to the vagaries of the weather. Indeed, what you eat on a trip like this ranges from sunrise breakfasts at anchor in somewhere glorious, right through to indeterminate brown somethingorother in a dog bowl at close to midnight. It’s the weather that determines the food.

 As I write, the sun is just rising and we are a mere 34 miles from Ibiza. We plan to be on The White Island for a couple of days, so I know that, somewhere in our schedule, there will be a little beachside tapas or sushi place with an excellent choice of rosé to work through. Food heaven. Frankly, we have deserved it, given the head-banging of the past 2 weeks, some of which has been jolly challenging. From a food perspective, a particular low point was in the Bay of Biscay and having my supper passed to me while one of our crew (who shall remain nameless) was shooting their supper out through both nostrils in to a bucket. The following night, I was passed two bowls – one had my supper in it and the other was the bowl of veg peelings that needs chucking over the side every day. In the dark, it is difficult to tell which is which. I chose the one with the spoon in it and kept my fingers crossed.

 Preparing food in a rough sea whilst going upwind is like a scene from the 1980’s UK show called The Generation Game. In that show, items slide past the contestants on a conveyor belt, which they later have to recount in order to win them. Here in the sea-going version, you may put something down in the galley only for it to slide off towards the person next to you, forcing them to decide if they want to use it or let it slide back your way. Very often, menus are determined by what falls out of the fridge door first, or what is pre-cooked and waiting in the microwave.

 Even if you manage to get a full meal prepared, you’ve next got to get it up the stairs in to the cockpit. We’ve developed a fool-proof technique for this now, but prior to that, the angle of heel and occasional sudden lurching ensured that you would trip over the top step. Three options then immediately follow:

1.     You land face down on the table with your dinner down your front, or down the front of the helmsman

2.     You land face down on the table having flung your bowl and its contents past the helmsman and straight over the side

3.     You judge the whole thing perfectly, and land exactly where you expected with all your cutlery in place

 The latter happens rarely.

 We’ve had enough of Options 1 and 2 over these past 1,600 miles. We are looking forward to option No.3 become a more regular occurrence, or better still, the surety of a non-moving table at the nearest tapas bar to the marina in Ibiza. Fingers crossed.

 (With apologies to those currently having their supper…)