Dusk falls and an air of quiet expectation has
spread throughout the ship. Even the generator seems to be purring under its
breath. Stuart is the man with the all important tuna line and the Skipper is
standing by with a sushi knife to transform the catch.
By way of an overcautious plan B, chilli con carne
is simmering on the hob. Containing the equivalent of no less than four spicy
Portuguese chillis, it is just as well that we're packed to the gunwales with
Your correspondant is feverishly wracking his brain
for a suitable menu for tomorrow. The Skipper has set the bar unfeasibly high,
and I'm not sure that my carpaccio of tomato on its bed of bread a la plancha
(tomato on toast) is up to the mark.
Fish count: you can probably guess
Let's try something more positive...
Wave count: 232,902 ...and 3 ...and