Fuelled with gin, and me dressed all in black so that I could manoeuvre with stealth, we ventured across to the pirate restaurant and crept in under darkness.  We met the nice old lady who serves there, took a table and then acted perfectly normally ordering 2 Hairoun, samosas for me (only chicken ones left), a repeat of the prawn cocktail (which comes with the sauce in a separate pot) for Bob, and then barbequed pork and chicken respectively.  It hit the spot and, closely followed with a second Hairoun, we ended up having a deep and meaningful discussion about parental roles in child rearing (perhaps encouraged by the cute little baby tortoises).  We had an untroubled sleep and a good lie in which meant that we were the last boat to leave in the morning. 

We headed out under a less gloomy sky than we have become accustomed to, our anticipation of a sail soon dashed by absolute zero wind.  We motored along, chugging through a surprisingly bold sea considering there was no wind, any sunbathing out of the question because the driver was carefully shielded by the bimini.  Bob used the opportunity to make some water and I stared into space, nodding off now and then and nothing very much seemed to be happening.  A pleasant enough occupation.  As we rounded the end of St VIncent to cut in to Young Island the storm clouds gathered and chucked bucket loads more rain at us.  The wind was on our nose so it was pointless to put up any sails so we sat it out, me draped in the bat out of hell cape (which Bob calls the Darth Invader for some reason) and Bob hunkering behind the spray hood.  Fortunately it eased off when it came time to park so we were able to see our pilot boat that led us in to a buoy. We are tucked in behind Young Island in the hope that there will be less of a swell.  The boat anchored in the next door bay has a mast that is bashing back and forward like a metronome.  Kelvin, who parked us, made arrangements for a taxi tomorrow with Sam so that is done and dusted and we are on for some serious sightseeing. (With umbrellas, capes, invaders and whatever else we have to hand).

After our arrival beer and a bite of lunch, we went on a run ashore and were helped on to the dinghy dock by Skinny.  Help was needed because the dock was quite high up, the sea was quite lively and I am not.  The bay seems to consist of a row of hotels, restaurants and ex restaurants (sadly closed up and in various states of decay) and we were able to identify a decent spot for dinner which rather oddly has French Onion soup as its opening item.  We traipsed along the main road and dropped down into a resort to check out their dining room and menu.  We are guessing from their attitude and lack of helpfulness that they don’t care whether we eat there or not.  We booked, just in cases because it was the more promising of a bunch that were not very promising at all.  I made Bob walk back along the beach, but he is still talking to me, and we returned to Windy to bob in and out, as the rain kept passing by before giving up and going below which at least was nice and handy for gin and tonic time.