The fog has finally lifted, and we´re sailing under a very temperate and pleasant sun, but there's still no wind. As English sailors enjoy to quip, if the wind were blowing any less, it'd be sucking. The sun is good enough to roll up my trousers into makeshift shorts and enjoy watches sitting atop the doghouse, not unlike Snoopy.
On this leg of the journey, I have taken to eating like a horse. As well as quantity, I've developed
a penchant for rolled oats, with cold milk and a touch of sugar. I
don´t care if they are made of Chinese newspapers. If I could find a
feedbag, I wouldn't have to use a spoon like a sucker.
Steve
has replaced Gaz in my rekindled childhood habit of
scoffing tea-drenched biscuits. I had forgotten how much I liked biscuits. I like biscuits very, very much. All buttery and chocked full of sugar. And tea.
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