As planned, we left Porto Santo at the respectable hour of 0900 hours
waking the cook who was still in bed sleeping off the after effects of too many
limpets. We had a fabulous sail, goose winging our way at a stonkingly
good pace, beating three yachts sailing by. As we approached Madeira the
wind really got up, wavering between 30 and 35 knots, and we were flying
along. Even the dolphins couldn’t stand the pace and decided not to come
Today’s entertainment was tying knots. I would say that Bob won the
‘tie a bowline behind your back’ by a whisker. Bob also demonstrated his
special farmers knots that don’t appear in any of the nautical books. At
one moment Bob and I looked up from our books to see Haley had tied herself up
as one post of a washing line and was drying the mats on it.
I have less hilarious news to report however. Pol Pot the dictatorial
pressure cooker who had suffered so catastrophically from the burning incident
(he brought it on himself, no sympathy at all) was consigned to the deep, 1,700
metres deep, at 1120 hours. Good riddance I say.
We arrived in Funchal at early tea/very late lunch time. We tried to
raise the harbour master on the radio as we worked our way into the tiny marina
but, as is customary in these parts, to no avail. We are now the inside
yacht forming a raft with the ‘three yachts sailing by’ from earlier who turned
out to be an exceedingly jolly flotilla of Frenchmen. Are we going to get
We are now off into town to undertake domestic duties including
replenishing supplies of money and fresh vegetables so that we are totally free
for a full touristy day tomorrow.