We left St Barts and headed off towards St Martin having decided that it was probably the ideal place to get anything Bob could possibly need to mend everything as it is a hub for all things boaty and chandlery with super stores for super yachts.  it is also duty free.  It didn’t take long as we headed over on a broad reach with a much kinder sea, all the waves nonchalantly rolling in from the same direction, and a comfortable steady wind hovering around the 19 knots mark.  We had a little bit of a problem with the navigation, mistaking some rather boxy, ugly houses for tanks as marked on the chart but eventually anchored nicely just outside the entrance to the huge lagoon where all the big boys park.  The view is of some Torremolinos style resorts and a steady succession of aircraft noisily coming in to land and taking off over our heads.

As soon as we had arrived, Bob got stuck into the autopilot problem the first stage of which was emptying the Mary Poppins bag of a lazarette and getting a good look at it.  Being the clever chappie that he is, he of course had a spare activator hidden away that he had purchased, probably from ebay, for the Atlantic Crossing.  It was easily located using our anally retentive list of where everything was stowed.  He then had the fun job of replacing it reaching head and shoulders down right to the bottom of the lazarette, becoming increasingly sweaty and vocal when one obstinate pin refused to cooperate.  After a struggle it was replaced.  Job done.  He was rewarded with a cold beer and his favourite salad, Waldorf Slaw.

We were just planning to go ashore when an ominous black boat descended on us.  Three burly, uniformed in black and armed, Customs officers boarded without so much as a by your leave.  They searched the boat and seemed more interested in our safety arrangements than any booze or drugs, carefully checking when the fire extinguishers were last serviced and the use by date on the flares.  Sometimes the Dutch can be a most curious race.  I found it all rather exciting.

Having been boarded by Customs we thought we ought to go and check in fairly promptly but there was an even more pressing issue.  We had run out of beer, were very low on tonic and had no milk or bananas for breakfast, resolved by a quick visit to a Chinese corner shop.  We then went and checked in and encountered the fattest and most surly officials that we have met on our travels.  After such a welcome we returned to the boat and had a “quiet” read on deck, let Gerry do his thing (politely and with no fuss at all), and made water, before the sun set and I was allowed a beer.

I am not enjoying civilisation that much.  Take me back to Barbuda!