Dank and rank
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Position: 26,45.22S , 5,29.84E
Speed: 10 knots, Course: 270 deg.
UTC Time: 12. July 2006 17:17
Sometimes it is too uncofortable to sit at table for any length of time.
It has been a bit like that for the past few hours. The sea is big and once
again the boat is being pushed and pulled and drenched in waves. It's fun
though. It has got a little warmer so last night's watch was lovely. Still
wrapped up in the oilies but the full moon was out and the boat was merrily
moving along in a straight line to St Helena.
The boat is beginning to get a very lived in feel down below. Clothing hanging
on the 2 rails that run the lenght of the cabin. The're to hang onto when
the boat is heeled but they are now the only place to hang clothes, gloves,
GPS, torches and what ever else we need to get of the floor. The floors are
now wet, due to the dripping clothes and the dripped water from the 50 5
litre water bottles. I know that I am smelling quite ripe and I have just
realised that I am getting a beard again. It hasn't begun to itch yet.
Meanwhile it is a lovely sight to see the wake of this yacht as it plows
through the sea. It makes up for the constant bashing about we are getting.
Got your message Claire.
Comments
Thinking of you
Dave & Ola xx
____________________
The sea was a breathless blue
And nary a breath stirred the watery sea
And I'd like to be there, wouldn't you?
The captain was taking a captain nap
The mate was astern with a beer
The mate was a-wishin' a breeze would blow
And feelin' a little bit queer.
The compass was doing a whirly gig
The 'puter was on the blink
But all was at peace and the fishin' was good
So we'd like to be there, don't you think?
The captain was dreaming of Timbuctoo
The mate was missing his missus
The dolphins were gay and the whales danced all day
But the mate thought "I'm pished, that's what this is."
Soon sprang a wind from the very south east
And our midshipman leapt to the wheel.
Their craft was a-zippin' at thirty five knots
And we'd love to be there, don't you feel?
With the wind in his hair and the sun on his back
The mate cut a fine dashing figure
In fact, viewed from below, if you got the right light,
You'd swear that he'd grown a bit bigger.
Lightly and fast sped the sails and the mast
And the rudder, the deck, and mate Brian.
For mile after mile, for hour upon hour,
He posed, at the stern, like a lion.
Then, after a year and a month and a day
And an hour and a minute or two
(During all of which time Brian posed by the wheel)
London, finally, hove into view.
Great was the pleasure with which he is met,
Copious the beer we are drinking,
Uproarious the tales which he's still telling, yet
I wouldn't have dared go, I'm thinking.
Cocanonvini