42o33N 56o12W

Throughout the race, crew members have taken part in schools visits, clowning around in foulies, showing classes a typical meal from the boat and trying to convey what it is we have been up to. "How many miles do you think it is to sail around the world?" we have asked countless primary-school children. Dozens of small, eager hands shoot upwards, fingers wiggling, their owners desperate to get picked. "A MILLION!" is one enthusiastic, wide-eyed suggestion. "Sixty-five," a girl suggests doubtingly. "Nine thousand and fifty six and a half?" queries another, looking smug. (Then there is always the web-wise child who has done his research. "Probably about thirty-two thousand.")

Forget the right answer; some days the child with a passion for huge numbers seems to have hit the nail on the head. The oceans have a knack for searching out your weaknesses and needling away at them like a chronic toothache. And just when you thought it was all over, there is more. This was how it was in the Southern Ocean. Weeks of freezing temperatures - the wet, the aching muscles, the violent motion - seem to take months, those last thirty minutes before being able to head for bed stretching into a MILLION! Even with over a month and almost ten thousand miles behind us since then, the memory is fresh.

But now we are experiencing an entirely different kettle of flying fish. After Leg Five we thought that the calms were over and done with, and we were optimistically expecting a sleigh ride directly towards the nearest patisserie and, in many cases, dearly-missed friends and families who we have not seen since October. But for the last few days we have been floundering around in light, fickle winds, thanks to a low-pressure system developing directly over our heads. This should have built further to the north and provided us with a jet-pack of good wind to speed us to Waypoint Charlie (still 296 miles away), but the weather has not behaved as it should, as is so often the case.

There are times when luck does appear to play a big part in the reshufflings of the pack - especially in light condition such as this - and this can lead to an unsatisfying feeling as a result, the sense of not being in control of your own destiny. On the other hand, you always have the option to deal with your lot as best you can and never give up. This is invariably the attitude we adopt; on BP Explorer I believe that we react well to change and that in this way we try to remain in the driving seat whilst recognising that if there is one thing we cannot control it's the weather. As Paul Theroux writes in Dark Star Safari: 'The traveller's conceit is that he is heading into the unknown. The best travel is a leap in the dark. If the destination were familiar and friendly what would be the point in going there?'

We have certainly taken that leap in the dark and it has stretched us in more ways than we envisioned. Our destination has been neither familiar, nor, at many times, friendly. But I feel sure that the excitingly blank canvas of our daily watery horizon, the constant opportunities to make the best of everything that is throw at us, and the chance to write our own story will be over all too soon. As Matt, our BP Crew from Leg Five, emailed us yesterday - 'Don't wish away your time out there. You will be back, stuck on the M25 before you know it.'