After finally eating the easy supper, the last crumbs of the mince pies and final scraping of brandy butter, we slept, slept and slept again to catch up with our fractured night.  During a leisurely, sunny breakfast we thoroughly enjoyed watching two turtles meandering about, their little heads popping up every few minutes.  Bob claimed that they were polishing off the remains of last night’s easy supper that had been chucked overboard.  It must have been good.

This morning Bob did engine checks and decided that we could do with some more diesel requiring a visit to the fuel dock.  Since we were required to go into the marina, Bob decided that we might as well take a berth there overnight to save the tension of the toing and froing in the dinghy with the “will it, won’t it work, and abandon us in the middle of a dark, dark sea” outboard engine.  Our approach and alighting at the fuel dock straight into the wind was exemplary.  The next manoeuvre into our parking slot with a broadside wind was, on the other hand, rather flustered particularly as the powers that be have designed the marina with great big blue poles sticking up to divide the berths which tend to give the driver a bit of a scare.  We only have a tiny, tiny scraping of blue paint along the side.

Once recovered from manoeuvres with a nerve calming beer, we settled in and set off for a spot of sightseeing to the “must see” The Baths.  We took a taxi, one of those nice open ones with an awning, and arrived just in time for a brisk tropical shower so dived into the restaurant for a timely spot of lunch.  Unfortunately the service was less than timely, the place was packed out with nearly naked, very loud Americans, and an hour later we escaped to actually view the intended sight.  And what a sight it was.  The most incredible heap of enormous boulders all higgledy piggledy, balanced precariously on top of each other.  There was a marked trail which took us up and down, over and under the giant stones, through a sea filled cave and, after a slight diversion where the leader took the wrong path to a precipitous drop (it was me), ended up on two soft, sandy beaches surrounded by a wall of rocks.  I went for a lovely, leisurely swim, surrounded at one point by curious fishes, while Bob perched on a rock to avoid the sand.  I rejoined Bob expecting to relax for a while enjoying the amazing location but it was not to be.  Bob had arranged for the taxi driver to pick us up at 3pm and we were therefore duty bound to be back at our meeting place promptly, apparently.  Without so much as a chance to change, I hastily followed a bare footed Bob as he charged at twice his normal ambling pace up the path back to the car park.  We piled into the back of the taxi and headed back to the marina when I finally had my chance to change out of my wet bathers.  Fortunately I had a towel to cover most of my modesty but I am not sure how effective it was.  The taxi driver didn’t complain.

Back on the boat we’ve been chilling and just cracked open the last dribble of gin before we change for dinner, in the privacy of the cabin this time I hope.