A light-hearted suggestion that we could always stop eating in order to solve the toilet paper crisis proved a bit close to the mark on Friday with the morale-sapping discovery that we had run out of gas. Which means that approaching the halfway point, we are now faced with the prospect of no hot food or drinks for about a week. Drew (who does not have much fat to spare) burst into a sort of scary, manic laughter, while the rest of us ranged from resignation to depression to ‘I knew that was going to happen’. I think I am slightly less alarmed than the guys, though they have all taken the news remarkably calmly. Personally, I will definitely be ready for a cup of tea when we hit land. Drew’s appearance is actually likely to cause somebody to offer medical assistance when we do reach civilisation, as, in addition to the air of recent starvation hanging over him, he has also been scattering most of the surface of his nose across the Atlantic following a bad case of sunburn earlier in the voyage. Leprosy or a chemical accident are the diagnoses which may be offered.

Anyway, ‘there is always a way’ has proved true enough as the guys immediately started on finding a solution for the hot food conundrum. A quick investigation into the insides of the microwave, which has not worked since we bought the boat, confirmed it was only fit to be thrown overboard (but we didn’t). So, the guys have resorted to putting ancient ration packs and cans on the engine so they can ‘enjoy’ lukewarm delights such as beans and sausage, spaghetti and chocolate pudding. We can only stare at the minced beef reserved for chilli, potatoes, soup, noodles etc and survive on cereal, nuts, biscuits and crackers. Which is actually what I do anyway. It has all added an increased sense of urgency to proceedings and the countdown to landfall is constant. Barra is obsessed by Cornish pasties and clotted cream, Drew by steak and all of them by alcohol.

At least currently we are not living at a 45 degree angle, which, thanks to a south easterly wind, persisted through Wednesday and Thursday. Spending the night pinned to a wall/table somewhere on the port side doesn’t make for restful sleep. In addition, we were treated to dull, chilly weather meaning the four of us were usually to be found moping around the main cabin looking for something to eat/read/drink/mend/clean or stare at vacantly. Despite doing very little, everyone is strangely perceptible to falling asleep at any given moment  - especially Barra, who is now dreaming of toilet paper. The situation got so bad that the highlight of the day on Thursday was losing an hour from our lives as we adjusted our clocks to just two hours behind the UK.

With new impetus following Friday’s bad news, Ricardo was up and down the mast like a yo-yo attending to the cruising chute halyard so we could crack on. It was changed, hauled down two hours later almost worn through and a new halyard rigged. We were speeding along at eight knots until 4am when a huge bang followed by calls for help from Drew resulted in Ian flying from his berth like a banshee and Ricardo running about the deck in his pants. The sail was successfully retrieved and there was no major damage apart from a broken halyard and wet socks for Barra.

We continued to reel in the miles on Saturday and, with less than 1,000 miles remaining, we all celebrated with a halfway, fresh water shower. Looking on the bright side, we have plenty of drinking water at least and a bit of deprivation never did anyone any harm. We just may arrive with signs of scurvy, some minor vitamin deficiencies and a hungry look in our eyes.

Jules