We all got up at a crackingly good hour, yes even me, and we were out of St Lucia, making a dignified and straightforward exit thank goodness with a multitude of pairs of ARC eyes staring, at 8am leaving one much needed space for the ARC boats that were still creeping in.  We were feeling elated to be off and on our way leaving behind the holiday camp atmosphere.

It was time to set sail and the mainsail was duly manhandled out of the mast while the person on the helm seemed to have forgotten how to steer into the wind and ended up doing a Dougal style circle.  We set the course and went to put up the genoa.  It promptly got stuck and unfurled only a measly pocket handkerchief before sticking fast.  Bob had to head up to the bucking prow and fiddle about with the ropes.  He managed to save his specs but not his cap as the prow came up to meet his face.  Bob fixed it and we settled to a gentle sail across to Martinique in glorious sunshine. Not having had a chance to find his sea legs he was rapidly turning green. 

It was annoying that the engine stop has failed again meaning that Bob has to rummage in the bowels of the bathroom to manually override it which didn’t help his hue.

It was rather tame sailing today with just a discrete puff of wind from 10 to 14 knots and we only met one decent, but short lived, 18 knot blow over the next 7 hours but it was blissful to be back on Wind Charger enjoying the view, seeing the flying fish zinging along and our first turtle of the trip that lazily raised its head before languidly diving out of sight.

Anse Martin beckoned and we anchored in a very rolly bay off a defunct hotel, with 40 metres of chain out just to make sure we stuck, and had a very late lunch.  Francesca then leapt in for her first swim and Bob and I launched the dinghy, dressed for dinner and headed in to the dinghy dock.  I say dinghy dock but it was more like a game out of Jeux sans Frontieres with a bizarre giant float instead of a pontoon that wobbled precariously. 

We headed into town, just the one street, and walked right along one side until we came to a lively bar on the beach with a fantastic band consisting of a singer, a saxophonist, a couple of drummers and two lads shaking balls with beads in.  A trio of beautiful girls in national dress danced with the punters adding to the gaiety and colour.

We dined at a nice enough trendy restaurant, think lighted wine coolers and tables changing colour, but were a bit put off by the surly French waiter.  We’d forgotten that particular French characteristic.

We found our way back to the dinghy dock, safely negotiated the wobble board pontoon to find that the front half of the dinghy had deflated itself.  Sigh.  We clambered in to the back and held the floppy bit out of the water and made it in one piece back to Wind Charger, the one with the red light, we still use this cunning ploy.

Back on board, and exhausted by a busy, fresh air filled day we were all ready for bed but this was not to be.  The lights were dim, the fans would barely turn, the batteries were flat.  How?  Why?  Before we can turn in we need to run the engine just to top them up.  Bob doesn’t want to try the unreliable Gerry. 

Bob is dozing off as I write.  Hope we can turn in soon.