47o14N 19o05W

BP Explorer accelerates down the back of another breaking Atlantic roller, up to her gunwhales in a white, roaring din of water. Shuddering from stem to stern like the Memphis Bell taking off, she tops 20 knots and from the snakepit we turn to the helm, pumping our arms in an 'L' against the early-morning sky, mimicking a train driver sounding his whistle. Grins stretch from ear to ear; the speed is exhilarating and addictive.

It is also a beautiful sight. Under cover of darkness and a shower of sharp stars, the phosphorescence weaved and span in flashing skeins through our wake like fairylights. A liquid-bright sickle moon yo-yo'd in and out of sight between the silhouetted luffs of the headsails, and a trio of dolphins - two adults and a tiny calf - urged us on towards the pink dawn which broke above a bed of silver-blue stratus cloud capping the horizon.

Everywhere was movement and a drift of cobweb-like clouds scudding high in the sky seemed to mirror the motion of the spray smoking up the backs of the grey waves. The boat is alive with noise - as we gallop onwards towards France, we screw up into the surf, and the kicker being released gives out a prehistoric groan as the boom is freed from beneath the weight of tonnes of rushing water.

Yesterday lunchtime saw us being accompanied to starboard by a lone whale (either Fin or Sei), but it seemed that we were even too fast for him. One moment putting in a dramatic breach on the beam, the next the fishy aroma from his blowhole told us that he was astern - and then, after spouting several times, he was gone.

As evening approached and the wind dropped slightly, it seemed like the perfect time to return to more mundane tasks and get down to some extreme ironing. "The things they ask me to do on mother watch," grumbled John Bass, appearing from the companionway, crumpled clothes in hand. Having made it safely to the foredeck, he set up a board and iron which we had stumbled upon in Major's cabin, and set to work. He had clearly forgotten to plug the iron in though, as it soon disappeared over the side with the next big wave - luckily not before we had committed the memory to camera.

After David's familiar bellow of 'SPIKE IT! Get it down now!' in the small hours, we are back from our edgy kite ride through the night and safe in the realm of poled-out No.1 again - the flanker preserved to fight another day.

This is a relief for the sail-repair team as sail-makers Hoods will not be servicing the fleet in La Rochelle and both a visit to another sail loft and the hire of sewing machines are against the race regulations. So it is heads up, engine whistles blasting and keep hunting down those leaders - BG SPIRIT, SAIC La Jolla and Barclays Adventurer for now behind us, our next targets are Me To You and with that a return to contending for a finish on the podium.