21o45S 2o10E

When the scheds come in every six hours, the numbers are displayed on our screen at the chart table in red and black - red for the yachts in front of us, black for those behind. "Please go downstairs and find out how to turn the red off," was David's wry request to Rich this morning. "It is a bit depressing to look at and I think that this is going to last a good few days."

By the time that the clouds parted out to the east at around seven, the sun had already crept a few fingers above the horizon; appearing to break on our day from above, it shot tentative golden brushstrokes across an otherwise watery dawn and illuminated a newly rolling sea. Thankfully, it also lit up Spirit of Sark's spinnaker on our beam - our primary adversary has failed to escape the same fate as us.

This is one blessing in the otherwise gloomy picture with which we are dealing right now. Yachts to the west and yachts to the north have got away from us and meanwhile we have been labouring in far less wind watching the red grow and grow. We are now in seventh.

Overnight, however, the wind did begin to build once again; twice in the darkness we have flown our kites to the edge and hurriedly changed up a gear, first to the 1.5oz and then to the flanker - amidst edgy-voiced commands as we realise that we are pushing our luck. But this is the name of the game - pushing things just far enough to be competitive but not overstepping the mark. We do, after all, have to nurse ourselves and our equipment almost 6,000 more miles to Boston and one breakage now could ruin our chances of storming back into position.

On a lighter note, as we struggle to keep one step ahead whilst the fleet is constantly reshuffled by the elements, we find ourselves invaded with alarming regularity. Whether arriving on the back of the gentle South-Atlantic waves, or spinning onto the deck with the aid of jet-propulsion, numerous squid have been making their presence felt underfoot and elsewhere. Their hideous blue-black ink does not go with our colour-scheme and those kite trimmers who lapse into that classic head-back, mouth-like-a-goldfish stance would do as well to watch out in case they find themselves dealt an unwelcome snack as the next squid whizzes through the air!