Ah! So now we know who ate all the pies! Tuning into a very scratchy Radio 4 today, I discover that the big fat high is squatting right over England. How the tables have turned - while we are freezing our buts off in a mouldy old low there you are stoking up the barbeque! Well I can only hope the big fellow sticks around long enough for us to see a bit of sunshine in the Scillies so we may at least dry out our bedding (hark! the romance of liveaboard life). We are definately both ready to get there now particularly since the wind has turned Easterly two days earlier than forecast which sees us beating into an ugly wind with a bumpy sea to boot. Struggling to make supper last night, with the cabin sole bouncing vigorously beneath my feet, I was reminded of the one and only time I had a go on a trampoline. That had been fun - this was not. Later, making a hot drink, trying to align the unusually uncooperative trio of cup, strainer and pot, I was 6 again, running the egg and spoon race at school. No cheering crowds however, no promise of a sticky sweet prize at the end. Yet what can we do but make the best of it eh? For soon we'll be sitting at home (damp bedding and cold toes entirely forgotten) thinking 'you know what? I'd rather be sailing'.
We-hey! Sun's out and the barometer is UP! But dammit that wind is still on the nose and we are busy berating ourselves for having been sensible and climbed North early on. A dismal last day of tacking no doubt awaits us (which should be spent savouring ale at Saint Martin's Seven Stones). But Hell's Bell's at the time you just don't know do you?
Grrrmph. We've just crossed the rhumb line and can steer 65 degrees at best which is 20 degrees off course.
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