DAY 18 (Tuesday 1^st Dec)

A landmark day in many respects. We crossed into the Caribbean weather forecast area (how we jigged around the deck on hearing that news). There are only 23 more shopping days until Christmas. There was still enough cherry crumble left over from yesterday for tonight’s pudding (in the event we saved it).

Dawn comes around early at present (we’re working on Caribbean time, without actually quite being in the time zone yet). Colin and I were up at 5.30am to greet Captain K, who was just finishing off the 3am-6am night watch.

“Tea?” I ventured. “Urrghh,” said the skipper, which I took as a yes. Brews in hand, the three of us began to discuss the morning’s sailing plan. “I reckon we fire up the crazy chute straight away,” said Colin. “Agreed,” said I. “The wind’s perfect.” (not actually knowing what I was talking about).

“Today, gentlemen, you are on your own,” announced Captain K, the tea having flicked his on switch. “I shall be reading my book, relaxing and dreaming of Antiguan cocktails. Good day to you.” Before we had time to protest, he added: “Oh and by the way. I’ve promoted myself. From now on you will address me as Commodore.”

I glanced at the cover of his book. It was, of course, The Commodore by Patrick O’Brian (the skipper had started using antiquated nautical terms like “larboard” instead of port yesterday). Right you are, Lionel Ritchie, leave it to us.

Colin and I made short work of getting down the two foresails ahead of launching the crazy chute in record time. Well, it would have been in record time had we not had to spend half an hour untangling the snuffer rope, which is fast becoming my least favourite thing on the boat.

Once flying, the chute looked majestic and was delivering us 7 to 8 knots all by itself. It was great sailing, but just after lunch the wind dwindled to a feeble waft and our crazy friend began to crinkle and collapse.

It was late afternoon sunbathing and motor sailing thereafter. The lack of wind was becoming a concern. With only 5 to 7 knots of true wind to work with, even the lighter sails were struggling. We had been confident of hitting Antigua by this Friday. Now even Saturday looks at risk – unless the wind picks up significantly.

As we drifted towards dusk, the Scrabble board was called for. I had a second consecutive victory in sight when Captain K (who’d resorted to using foreign words) claimed he had a headache. Play was suspended.

The forecast for tomorrow suggests more of the same weather so patience may be the name of the game – at least for the next 24 hours.

Colin cheered us up by taking a photograph of our remaining rations (see picture). Kitkat has threatened to write to his MP if we dare eat Russell.

RWD

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