We dined overlooking Windy so that there could be no chance of unplanned escape, still feeling very neurotic, at La Vague where an Indian gentleman served us good old avocado and prawns followed by entrecote steak and frites for Bob and half a lobster, with frites, for me.  It was tasty and washed down most pleasantly with a bottle of Muscadet sur Lie, when in France.  We pottered back to Windy, who had not moved an inch.  We fell into our rolling bed and Bob was spark out before even lifting a Kindle.  He woke in the night, the light still on, and got up to double double check that we were still anchored by St Pierre.  Fortunately we were.

We awoke to a very grey, drizzly sky, most un Caribbean like.  Reaching for the sexy cagoules, which we remembered to bring with us this time, we upped the anchor and were off.  There was not a breath of wind and the sea looked as if someone had poured oil on the trouble waters of yesterday.  We puttered north, pottering along the coast, me still earing my cagoule for warmth and waited in anticipation to pass the end of Martinique to find some wind out of the lea.  At least the batteries had a jolly good charge and were full to the brim.

The wind started at a gentle 10 to 12 knots so we whipped out the sails, the main right to the top to catch every little breath, and sedately set off at an unremarkable 5 to 6 knots.  As we left Martinique behind us, the wind gradually grew and grew, and we went faster and faster speeding up to 8 knots but at rather an amateurish angle with the wheel hard over to cope.  We took  several reefs in  the mainsail which got us nicely balanced but we still tanked along at over 7 knots over a mystifyingly flat sea.  We were escorted by 3 three white sea birds, the ones with very pointy tails that chirrup for no reason for miles until they were out of territorial waters at which point a pair of blue footed boobies took over ducking and diving for fish.  The waves started to be more manly, the wind got up to 24 knots gusting to 27 and we hurtled along loving the ride and giddily surfing sideways down the seventh wave.  It turned out to be an absolutely cracking sail after such an unpromising start and we cheekily overtook the little yacht that had left an hour before us just as we came to Dominica.

We decided to take a mooring ball, less neuroses inducing, and made a most pleasing approach allowing Bob to quietly and easily lasso the buoy without any shouting at all and no post mortems and proffered advice afterwards.  Hooray!  Indeed, so expert was this event that Marcus, the manager and money taker, stood idly by in admiration rather than interfering with any assistance. 

Our arrival beer was served with a tasty late lunch, one of my faves (pear, blue cheeses and walnuts), and we decided that after all our exertions and full on sailing over the last few days that we deserved a relaxing afternoon with our Kindles entertained by the occasional yacht arriving or departing including a battle ship grey Dutch boat with the number 18 painted in black on the side.  It can’t be military, the crew are as old as us!

So now it is gin and tonic time, looking out over an absolutely empty sea one way and the busy goings on of the Dominica capital on the other.  Cheers!