We ate on board last night, unscheduled so I served up Bob’s favourite salad, Waldorf slaw, feeling sorry for him that while we had feasted on a delicious lunch he had managed a meagre apple and a Hairoun.  Unfortunately the Gavi di Gavi wasn’t the only bottle of wine to be consumed and we became a very merry party talking complete and utter rubbish noisily, with great gusto and really very little idea of what the conversation was about, or do I just speak for myself?  When Bob and I made it to our cabin we were somewhat bemused (otherwise known as great giggles and hilarity) to find tucked up in my bed a pineapple and two oranges.  For why, who knows!  (Well actually Sara does as the joker and when questioned quite reasonably replied that “you couldn’t just have a pineapple could you, that would be silly”).

We awoke, delicately, and after a stomach lining hearty breakfast set off to the north, we are now on the homeward bound half of the holiday.  We had probably the best sail of the holiday, on a starboard beam reach, probably WIndy’s most favourite wind direction, the wind blowing at up to and around 24 knots under a blazingly blue sky.   We galloped along, taking great strides across the evenly spaced waves at a steady 7 knots, with the occasional rush of 8 knots, only tiring and falling off in the lee of St Vincent after an hour and a half of a blissful ride. 

We’ve been trying to pronounce it for days but now we are actually here in Wallilabou home to the remains of the Pirates of the Caribbean set of which there is less and less each time we come, the Governor’s house has fallen into a heap, just the uprights left of the jetty.  It is still a beautiful spot only marred by some annoying person’s need of a bonfire which has been wafting over us all afternoon.  It hasn’t stopped avid Kindle reading, a bit of a swim and then some more Kindle reading once we managed to disperse the insistent vendors after Susie and Sara very diplomatically and even handedly purchased jewellery from one, mangoes another, paw paw a third, nutmegs a fourth.  Meanwhile the chap who had won the race to moor us up,  (probably a candidate for the Oxbridge boat crew judging by his rowing skills in his colourful skiff) was sent on an errand to fetch water.  He disappeared for hours.  He returned exhausted but triumphant.  Having found the village supermarkets closed he had used his initiative, grabbed a taxi and headed to Kingstown some miles away, bless him.  So here we are, moored and very stable on a mooring buoy and stern to (attached to one of the remaining uprights of the dock), staring very hard at the setting sun hoping to spot that elusive green flash.  A gin and tonic has just arrived by my side, another day in paradise.