Last night we were so sad to see Francesca go that we lost all enthusiasm for going too far afield so shouted across to Rainforest Hideaway “Table for 2 please” and duly dinghied the 10 or so yards across to their dock. This time I managed to make a more elegant entrance and remained upright, to Bob’s and the waiters’ distinct disappointment. Bob had so enjoyed his sea bass coated with coconut, fig and salt fish croquettes on the last visit that he decided to have the same again, having learnt to avoid the very very hot indeed chipotle this time, and the rum bananas for afters too. I was allowed an extra spoon but only one go with it. It was a lovely evening accompanied by a desultory jazz band that crooned gently in the background.

We set off this morning, wiggling our way out between the other boats, avoiding the multitudinous mooring buoys and busy bee ferries and were hailed by an exuberant rasta man who, seeing me at the helm, shouted “Hey, Lady Captain!” and was very over excited. I raised my arm in salute trying to look very serious and in charge.

We headed out to a classic sunshine laden Caribbean morning with light winds of 12 knots and a gentle, soporific sea. Rodney Bay was right into the wind, why does that always happen, so we veered off to enjoy a cosy little relaxing sail, every sail out to its maximum, poddling along leisurely at just 6 knots, so relaxed that we couldn’t even be bothered to read. Just one tack and we were heading into Rodney Bay.

We decided to go to the dinghy dock and fuel up after 4 weeks on the go and having to use the throaty thirsty thrumming engine instead of the uncooperative sullen Jerry, whose only saving grace is that he drinks far less. Remember that the bow thruster battery had burst into noxious fumes and been summarily cut off so the helm had to rely entirely on driving skill to get in so was feeling a little bit nervous. We queued while a catamaran and a yacht fuelled up, another yacht circling like a shark for his turn. We began our own little circles and defended our position against incoming arrogant Frenchmen who looked as if they were dying to jump in front of us in our very own Waterloo. Eventually we whispered in alongside the fuel dock, at least an hour later, and filled up. It seemed awfully slow for the fuel to run in until we realised that the gauge was measuring full litres not tenths. What is a bit of overspill between friends. Our tanks full to the brim, we went to spring off the dock, having no bow thruster, and the irritating Frenchmen hovered in our way and shouted “go out backwards”. We were jolly well not going to and he soon sped out of the way as we loomed up to him. Ha! The spirit of Nelson lives on.

We docked at berth D28, discretely and without any fuss, the very same place that we came into almost exactly a year ago, much relieved to be on the end of a pontoon. Getting parked is not so easy without a bow thruster, again an echo from last year.

We are wondering if Ulrich will have lined up electricians to sort us out tomorrow and what time they will arrive. Caribbean o’clock no doubt. We will see.