The whole of March spent at sea, almost 6,000 miles sailed and just 740 miles to Cape Town! We celebrated all of this, plus the fact that we have now officially left the Southern Ocean and the Roaring Forties behind us, with that elusive bottle of Jura which we yesterday found safely wedged in the box of toilet roll. (And, unlike Spirit of Sark, we are lucky enough not to have any shortage of that.)
On which note, it has to be said that although we are in pretty good spirits above decks - we have pulled away from those behind us and second place is there for the taking just 12 miles in front - the same cannot be said for life 'downstairs'. Here we have been having a pretty crap time of it (excuse the language). On starboard tack, it has for some time been impossible to use the starboard head (the one on the high side), because it back-pumps and presents the user with a nasty surprise about 30 seconds after use. This has never before been a problem, however. We have grown accustomed to long queues to use the bathroom but the simple solution has just been to only use the low-side head when on starboard tack. Unfortunately, yesterday, one of the beefier men among the crew (no names mentioned, and it was not their fault anyway!) was quietly sitting wedged in the port head when a massive wave hit. They clearly had not wedged themselves in tightly enough though, and flew up into the air (otherwise known in the trade as a 'heads bronco'). They landed back down on the toilet with such a thump that they completely cracked the bowl, thus rendering the port head totally unusable. As everyone knows, David takes his racing seriously and he refuses to tack the boat at intervals to enable us all to go to the loo, so whilst on starboard tack we have only one choice. Our safety rules include an absolute ban on relieving oneself over the side, thus we have now installed a bucket in the port head.
Use of the bucket is not a lot of fun! For a start it is not a very sturdy bucket, the handle came off weeks ago and it just has a rope as a carrying device. Short of someone being landed with the horrible job of emptying other people's offerings, the only option is for each and every crew member is to empty the bucket each and every time. The boat is beginning to smell. very, very badly. Wet, five-week-old socks have a note of bluebells and an English spring about them by comparison. We are not celebrities but, as we screamed out at our first passing ship late last night, 'please, PLEASE - GET US OUT OF HERE!'
Naomi Cudmore
No comments:
Post a Comment