I just reread yesterdays blog.  Here we are in tropical paradise and honestly, what an old grump.  Bob definitively got me out of bed on the wrong side. 

The day improved with a beer back on board and a chillax before heading back to The Pillars, which was open.  We had a ringside seat overlooking the harbour, attentive and cheerful service and a delicious dinner washed down with a bottle of Gavi di something which slipped down very nicely.  My tuna tartare was smoothly flavoursome, Bob’s lobster bisque was richly delicious, and we both went for the home made fettucine with lobster sauce which was perfectly al dente and toothsome.  My molten chocolate pudding was meltingly gorgeous but Bob awarded the chef second place for his creme brulee after pure perfection in Deshaies.  We slept very well, very satiated.

Up with the lark, we negotiated our way out of Falmouth Harbour, cautiously bypassed the Cades Reef, gave the rocky bit on the south west coast a wide berth, turned north and sailed up the West coast of Antigua where we lost the wind and resorted to a bit of motoring all the sails flapping soggily.  The fickle wind then got up again and when it was dancing about at 30 knots we quickly took in a great slab of the mainsail before we got bowled over.  Then we were off at good pace.  To make it to Barbuda we were so close hauled that we were on a knife’s edge but we made solid progress across a bouncy but not particularly big sea, suitable for chef to serve breakfast and lunch in comfort.  Another fantastic sail.  Bob even got sufficiently into the holiday mood to remove his shirt to let some sun on to his “not so much a six pack, more a gin and tonic tummy”, his words not mine.

As we approached Barbuda we motored gingerly in to avoid a lot of very hard rocks and reefs, I had foolishly let Bob see the chart and he had seen how shallow and reefy it was, which makes him very wary and watch my every step like an over zealous hawk.  We anchored safely off the longest, emptiest beach I have ever seen.  Stunningly beautiful, but not too far from the Lighthouse Hotel, the only building for miles, where we have booked in for dinner tomorrow. There is not a dinghy dock to be seen along the whole length of coast so we beached the dinghy which is easy enough and strolled hand in hand romantically along the sand, Bob complaining all the while about how he hates sand. But getting off the beach is a different matter as the waves bash you back on to the beach.  We managed it with a great deal of kerfuffle and a near miss ducking and once the pair of us, both soaked to the skin, were aboard, Bob rowed like a dervish to get us clear of the beach so that he could start the motor.  He pulled the start cord, he yanked it as hard as he could, as he became more flustered he pulled it faster and faster, he was working up a good sweat and panic, he kept checking and rechecking the fuel tap and the fuel breather.  After this pantomime had reached nearly the end of the first act, Bob suddenly realised that he had not attached the kill cord, without which the engine will not start.  Oh how I laughed.  I am looking forward to revisiting this scenario over a gin and tonic, once or twice.