Category: Life

To the man who saved a nation, Happy Birthday!

“During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”

– Nelson Mandela, Rivonia Treason Trial, 1964

Madiba, you achieved more than anyone could ever imagine.

Many happy returns!

Big news on the western front…

A few big things are happening…

After a good run at Frogfoot Networks I’ve decided to move on to some new challenges. I used to think I knew Linux before I joined Frogfoot… Now I know how little I know, but certainly know a lot more than I used to. I’ve also made some good friends at Frogville and I’m sure we’re going to see a lot of each other in the future. Frogfoot has an exciting future ahead of it and I’m sad I won’t be around to see it all come together.

In slightly more scary, but incredibly exciting, news, Lynnae and I have decided to buy a house together. We’ve got our hearts set on a beautiful 100+ year old Victorian house in Observatory that’s been stunningly restored by a gay engineer… I only mention this because it dawned on me that there are few people more qualified to fix up a house than someone with an eye for detail who also knows how to swing a hammer. The only sad part will be that he’ll take all his gorgeous furniture with him. It’s got a lovely Victorian fireplace and high ceilings!

So that’s the news… If all goes according to plan we could be weber’ing on our patio in September.

God the stress is killing me.

Is there crack in the groundwater?

Every few months or so I begin to ask myself the age old question; Is there crack in the ground water?

This time it’s over the property industry, particularly the rental people. We’re looking for a nice cosy garden apartment and we have a fair sized budget, it shouldn’t be all that hard.

But there are forces conspiring against me:

Firstly, the steaming pile of web un-usability that is GumTree really needs to catch a wakeup call. My single biggest gripe is simple; now that all modern web browsers support tabs you really should allow users to open up a particular item in a new tab. Instead they use some nonsensical javascript navigation that even I, who remember, am the Elvis Presly (the fat narc’d up one) of javascript, can not make sense of… I mean, I understand how it works, I just can’t understand why they did it. Funnily enough, there are actually html anchors for regular links and they’re set up properly, but then they also have this javascript onclick event that strongarms the browser and forwards you to the same page the anchor tag does. You know in case your browser happens to support javascript but doesn’t support html.

(I know there are firefox plugins that allow me to selectively disable javascript for particular sites but as you can imagine, other elements of their site break horribly without javascript)

Secondly, it’s the lazy lazy property people who seem to be about as effective and hard-working as the employment agencies. Why would you be more than happy to have tens of potential customers drive out to some block of apartments, struggle to find the place, only to find that the place is a cesspit? TAKE A FRIGGEN PHOTOGRAPH AND PUT IT ON THE INTERTUBES!!! It’s free! It has got to that point where I no longer trust listings without photographs, but then the optimistic care bear that resides in the cockles of my heart says things like “maybe it’s a really nice place and the granny selling it pre-dates chemical photo-lithography“… maybe indeed, until I discover it’s a property agency with a website.

Thirdly, if you’re paying attention you’ll see how this is close to number 2. If you’re going to take pictures of your “apartment”, please include 1 or 2 pictures of, I don’t know, YOUR APARTMENT and not 3 photographs of your garden… and only your garden. I can think of only one reason why you would post 3 pictures of your garden and none of the inside of the apartment… 1960s decor!

Fourthly, NINETEEN SIXTIES DECOR! There was a lot of drugs being consumed back then… I think there must have also been a lot of crack in the groundwater because seemingly normal human beings thought that bright/dirty orange melamine kitchen cupboards (complete with plastic air venty hole things) were a good idea. Also, puce bathtubs. As much as I like the idea that someone named a colour puce, I don’t want to bath in that in case I fall asleep and wake up thinking I’ve accidentally overdosed on nutmeg and vomited in the bath, again.

Fifthly (I don’t care if that’s not a word). Please use accurate descriptions without making up new words that are left to interpretation. “Non-modernised” is not a widely used term. Google only found 411 examples of it being used, and mostly by ponsy antho students. Unless you actually mean that there is no flush-based-human-waste-disposal-system I think you might be better off using the words “Old” or “Dilapidated”. While I’m on the topic of descriptions “Near KFC” is not a selling point. Also, “Upmarket” and “Classy” are now terms exclusively reserved for woman in the service industry.

Lastly, (fine, sixthly), If you are in the business of selling property and you put ads for said properties on the internet please don’t be surprised when I get pissed off at you for replying to my email by asking me to call you. Firstly, (here we go again), YOU SHOULD CALL ME, I’m the customer. Secondly, PLEASE DON’T CALL ME, I like the impersonal vapid communication that is the internet. It means I can shoot up to numb the pain while I type my reply to you, you stinking crack addict.

Big Ideas

The internet gives everyone the opportunity to be surrounded by smart people. I think one of the tenets of being a geek, whether you’re a programming geek or a hair stylist geek, is that we love to surround ourselves with people who are a hell of a lot smarter than us. For instance, I would love to go work at CERN; a place where I am at a loss for an analogy to reference my relative stupidity. However, I would absolutely love every second of it… even if I walked around confused by everything I heard or saw… on some level I would take some stuff in and leave wiser. I think, as I said before, this is one of the differences between geeks and non-geeks.

I’ve found that a lot of my non-geek friends try and avoid situations where they might look dumb because they fear that it will reflect negatively on them. Perhaps true geeks have realised that there is always someone else who is a hell of a lot smarter than you, so there’s no point in trying to look clever. Obviously geeks revel in being the smart one and teaching others, but this is also part of being a geek: we love to teach because we make the world a better place by doing so. It’s also possibly why geeks are so incredibly fanatical about things like programming languages… because we believe that by convincing someone to switch from PHP to Python will make the planet a better place… and we’re probably right.

Which is all a very long introduction to the guy who made this:


Embedded video Big Ideas (don’t get any) from James Houston on Vimeo.

You want to jump to about 1.10′ for the music. Anyway, the guy who put it together has a blog, read it.

In his own words
Based on the lyric (and alternate title) “Big Ideas: Don’t get any” I grouped together a collection of old redundant hardware, and placed them in a situation where they’re trying their best to do something that they’re not exactly designed to do, and not quite getting there.

This speaks volumes to me. I like to imagine that the old hardware really all want to make music and this is their best effort an effort which, albeit rough around the edges, translates to something beautiful. Mankind’s quest to understand time and space is similarly rough, but we’re on our way.

Over and out.

Yes (they) can.

I am a big Obama fan. I believe he, while being humble of his own ability, sees no end to the ability of the human spirit. I believe that the world will be a better place if Obama becomes president of America.

[This post includes a video. Those people reading this in a aggregated form might have to click through to my site if they want to see the it]

Back to our regular programming.

I just have to say it, Python (and Django) are wonderful and I loved spending a small part of my weekend with them. Thanks Brad.

My weekend was as such:

Friday night we stayed in, drank Urbock (my new favourite beer) and watched Rocky V.

Saturday we had a nice little breakfast at home, then went wine tasting and lunching at Anura, then went to Kerry Anne & Paul’s for dinner. Then fell asleep because we had eaten too much.

Sunday morning’s breakfast was Avo on toast with grated cheese and lots of nandos garlic peri-peri sauce. Next we we went to Lynnae’s place and tasted her first batch of home-brewed beer… and then set up the fermenter for a second batch… (23 liters at a time baby!)

Then we popped in at my parentals because I love them. My dad hauled out his 1972 Scope Magazine so that Lynnae could read the story about *his* real near death experience at sea.

1972 Scope magazine is crazy! It’s full of ads for things that you can’t believe anyone would buy, like high-tech weight loss machines and anti-smoking pills… oh wait… Surprisingly enough there were only 2 ads for cigarettes and no boobies. Another thing I noticed is how so many of the ads mentioned how the product is being widely used in America as if to legitimise it. They had a “food section” which Lynnae was rather taken by. The “food styling” which, albeit in a dirty men’s magazine, was rather atrocious. I think I might borrow it and scan some of the more crazy stuff.

Then I spend the evening working on my new pet project (out soon) while Lynnae killed zombies on the xbox.

When in Rome homies… when in Rome!

Sailing Day 4 (The End)

This is the final episode in the saga… I promise.

————

Morning had just broken and we found ourselves staring at a rather treacherous looking shoreline in the distance, sailing past it as we made our way Knysna. Huge swells lifted the boat onto their tops where we raced along with the wind, only to be lowered into the trough of the swell where the wind was confused and the boat flopped around uneasily. This pattern continued for a few hours until we got our first sight of Buffels Bay and as the sun slipped patiently into the sky I realised how glad I was that we arrived here when we did. Jeremy said that Buffels Bay has a rocky outcrop that reaches quite far out to sea. As the sun rose higher and higher and the light got brighter and brighter I kept on seeing more of this outcrop and having to steer even further away from the shore to miss it. I have this feeling that Buffels bay is so named because of the sound the waves make crashing against her rocks… I can imagine that it might sound like a Buffalo stampede. The sight was quite awesome… and our first glimpse of how this sort of swell was breaking against rocks. The tiny houses in the distance seemed dwarfed by the swell and the spray.

Knysna was just around the corner. Which in sailors terms is apparently an hour. As we sailed Jeremy kept on trying to point out the faint outline of the rocks that make up the heads in the distance… With the sun rising directly behind them and the mist setting in it was quite tricky to see. Eventually we could make out the opening of the heads, but the closer we sailed to them the more nervous we both got. The swells were now about 6 meters high at sea, running in towards the shore, growing in size as the water got shallower, and then smashing the living daylights out of whatever was it it’s way in one huge mess of spray that made it impossible to see what was going on where. There could have been a McDonalds right in the middle of the Heads and we would not have been able to see it.

We had to go in for a closer inspection. We lowered the sails and started up the diesel motor. Cautiously we inched towards the Heads… it felt very much like what it would feel like if a tornado was stationary and you were inching your way towards it for a closer look. The closer we got the more dire the situation appeared to be. The roaring 6 meter swells broke violently and audible, throwing spray 15 meters up into the air… “There’s the channel” Jeremy said, “between that rock and the spike in the distance”… All I saw was an angry wall of water and deadly rocks. I imagined what it would be like, in the water, amongst all of that. It wasn’t a nice thought, but we were both desperate to get off the boat. We decided to motor further out to sea and put the boat hove to (sailing term for a complicated sail and rudder setup that has the net result of not going anywhere… it’s actually quite impressive)

Once we were safely out at sea bobbing up and down as the swells ran past us towards their ultimate goal of destroying Knysna, we found ourselves in a curious situation. The wind had died down, the sun was out and the swell was getting bigger. Luckily this close in to land we had cell phone reception. Jeremy phoned up some friends and was eventually having a conversation with an NSRI guy at Knysna. He confirmed the painfully obvious… we weren’t going to be getting in any time soon. Our only hope was that as the tide came in (we had arrived at low tide) the heads would settle and perhaps the swell would die down… I think we both knew what the chances of that was. We were a tiny sail boat with a tiny diesel engine… Not even the NSRI with their super-duper high speed, built for shitstorms, semi-rigid rescue boat, would try get through the heads.

Since the only other option was sailing 50 miles (between 50 hours and 10 hours away) back to Mossel Bay we decided to wait for the thing we knew wouldn’t happen… Just in case it did. We waited for about two hours before Jeremy got on the phone again. To add insult to injury the heads were now shrouded in mist. The NSRI guy gave us the bad news. Firstly, it wasn’t getting any better and secondly there was an even bigger storm behind us, heading for land. Awesome.

I got on the phone with Lynnae who’d been driving since early morning to come and fetch us in Knysna. I told her the situation and suggested she head home since we had no wind and were going to have to sail 50 miles to Mossel Bay, which for all intents and purposes (remember there was no wind) might mean we only arrive there in 2 days time. I told her we’d get a bus. Mother nature was already screwing 2 people around, no need to include a third. Lynnae said she would head home but would drive back and fetch us from Mossel bay as soon as we knew when we would be there… That’s a pretty big deal in my books. I was supremely thankful. Jeremy didn’t seem to believe me when I said what she’d offered to do. “You’re pretty serious then” he said… “Yes” I replied… “That’s how we roll”.

In what seemed to be automatic mode we rigged up the sails and started heading towards Mossel Bay. At first there was no wind, but every hour the wind speed seemed to increase steadily… So did the size of the swells. Jeremy went to sleep as I sailed up mountainous swells. Swells the size of 3 story buildings, 4 story buildings… Walls of water that you sailed up the side of for 60 seconds and then surfed down the other side in 10 seconds. These swells were so big that photographs can’t actually capture the size of them… they just look like water at a funny angle. Sometimes we would go over the top of a swell and the boat would see-saw over the top, the bow smacking the water on the other side with a thud. This thing that would have scared the shit out of me a few days ago was suddenly fun. It was hard work fighting the swells and keeping the boat heading in the right direction but it was fun. We were making headway… slowed down significantly by the mountains of water we were having to sail over, but we were heading towards Mossel Bay.

The boat was rocking a lot too… and her keel was making creaking noises that betrayed her Made-For-The-Vaal-Dam construction. At this point I should point out that both Jeremy and I were getting nauseous when down below. It’s most telling when you’re trying to do something like tie your shoelaces. Often someone would be down below and then would pop their head up out the hatch for a few deep breaths of fresh air to settle their stomach. Jeremy lives on a boat and was getting nauseous… I think that should give you an idea of the conditions.

At some point during the day we ran into a psychotic bird who would fly ahead of us and then sit in the water right next to the boat as we sailed by. He did this about 15 times, each time flying way into the distance and then back again, literally a meter from the boat. Maybe he was bored.

We also sailed past a shark, its fin just sitting there, just above the water as we sailed by. I guess he was bored too.

In the distance we saw the shoreline with these huge swells crashing, the wind running along the tops of the forming waves, ripping a spray of water 10 metres high above the crashing wave.

The wind got rougher and the sky got darker. We were still sailing towards Mossel Bay. It was about 6 hours since we had left Knysna. As night fell we realised how tough this was going to be. We strained for a glimpse of the lights at Mossel Bay and only occasionally saw them… usually we would see them after the huge swells had pushed us off course and we’d have to correct as quickly as possible.

Suddenly there was a bang. An earth shattering, heart stopping, BANG.

We had hit something. Time passed by in slow motion. My heart raced as I listened for signs of broken keels or rushing water noises… nothing. My blood pressure was through the roof but we were ok… We strained our eyes into the darkness to try and see what we had hit, but could see nothing.

A few minutes later we decided that the wind had got out of hand and we should lower our mainsail. That’s the big one… in this amount of wind we would find ourselves sailing just as fast with a third of the sail area.

We took turns sailing in what can only be called messy conditions. The wind had “dropped” but actually was just coming from us as all angles. With less wind we were sitting ducks being pushed around by the huge swells. Eventually Jeremy went to go sleep. I carried on, fighting the waves and wind and eventually got us 10 miles off of Mossel Bay, but uncomfortably close to a large trawler that seemed to be heading our way. I woke Jeremy up and suggested we just make a break for it and motor the two hours straight for the harbour. Jeremy, ever cautious, didn’t like that idea… if we ran out of fuel nearing the harbour we would be in trouble… not Knysna heads trouble, but still, sailboat on the rocks trouble.

We decided instead to just motor for a few minutes out of the path of the trawler. Jeremy took the helm and I went below to start up the engine. There is nothing more sickening than the sound of an engine that doesn’t want to start, at sea, with a trawler heading towards you. Eventually it started but sounded like it was going to die in seconds. Jeremy killed it. We needed oil. I fetched oil out the kitchen cupboard (Yes, engine oil) and Jeremy stuck his head under the engine cover looking for the place you put the oil in. Jeremy was facing forward and I was facing backwards. I could see the trawler… and I could see Jeremy faffing about trying to be as tidy as possible and not spill any oil. At one point he was wiping the can opener clean and I could feel my head about to explode.

We started the engine up again. This time it sounded better, but by no means healthy. The pitch kept on changing all by itself. Jeremy made comments about it seizing… not the sort of thing I want to hear at sea, with a trawler bearing down on us.

(In hindsight I must admit that the Death Trawler probably wasn’t even moving, but at sea, at night, with only lights to guide you, your brain starts to play tricks on you… tricks that are probably a good idea to be playing since they might occasionally save your life.)

We got out of the path of the trawler and killed the motor again. It was annoying attempt-to-sail-in-shitty-conditions time again. Jeremy went to bed. I tried to sail.

About 2 hours later we were closer. I’m not sure if we sailed or drifted in with the huge swell. We could see the lights of the harbour wall. 3 white lights… Jeremy’s instructions were to head towards them. As I sailed closer and closer I began to try and figure out just where exactly the opening in this wall of rocks was. Eventually I saw a red light. Red = Port = Left… I started sailing towards the right hand side of that. The only problem was that the only reliable inkling of wind we had was coming straight from behind that red light.

Another hour passed as I fought the boat towards that light. I swear to god I could have swum to shore and hour ago… and we didn’t seem to be getting anywhere closer. I woke up Jeremy and requested his sailor voodoo.

Jeremy tried his sailor voodoo for another hour. Huge swells smacked the boat from all sides, the sails would whip open and closed again violently. I was losing my patience and my cool. The boat was sounding worse (whether I was imagining that or not I am not sure) and I was afraid. We were closer to the shore than we had ever been but were still no closer to that red light. I looked behind us to make sure we weren’t mistakenly towing a whale, or a house.

I think at some point I got quite desperate I was willing to call the NSRI for a tow in… real sailors don’t do that unless you’re actually in the water with 2 broken leg and a shark bearing in on you. I exaggerate but you get the idea.

Jeremy laid out the options we both implicitly knew. We could sail out to sea and go “hove to” again for the night (taking turns at watch) or we could start up the motor and try and motor in, risking the chance that the motor will die on us at some critical moment and we would be well up shit street without a paddle. It was past 2am, i didn’t feel like spending the next 5 hours floating around, only to wait another few hours while someone figured out who was going to come and fetch us.

I voted we start her up and run for it. Jeremy readied the boat, tied on the mooring lines and put the fenders in place. Once we were ready we both spoke to whatever powers that be and swung the key. I wish I knew who the patron saint of engine lubrication was.

Once again the sickening sound of an engine not starting went on for what was probably a minute. I kept my eyes on the battery meter even though it always reads completely empty while you’re running the starter motor. Eventually she swung, spluttered and then started. As sick as that little engine sounded it was still a beautiful sound. She was spewing out thick smoke and sounding like death was immanent but we had to go.

Jeremy put her in gear and motored towards the red light. My nerves were shattered as Jeremy ran through the mooring procedure. The green light appeared… that’s starboard… the right hand side. We made a beeline straight between the two. The engine coughed and spluttered but it kept on chugging along. We entered the harbour and tried to spot the sail boats. We spotted the sail boats and I went up on the bow with a mooring line in my hand ready to jump. We spotted an opening but Jeremy said it was too small… At that point I really struggled to care but Jeremy motored us around the other side of the boats. Mossel Bay harbour is loud with machines running all through the night. At some point I stopped hearing our little motor and looked back, Jeremy was looking down… “oh crap” I thought, “it’s just died… what now?”.

It hadn’t, Jeremy was just trying to give me a heart attack by slowing down while we took the corner. We found some open spots and Jeremy shouted which one we were going to take. We motored gently into place and I jumped across to the walk-on (Jetty type thing) and tied her bow line. Jeremy jumped and did the stern lines as we spent a few minutes tying her up.

I think the reality of being off the boat, after almost 5 days at sea, only started hitting home once she was tied up. I was hot, I took off my jackets and harnesses. At some point I had pulled a muscle in my arm but I can’t remember when. I was for all intents and purposes utterly delirious. I found myself walking around, just for the sake of walking, my legs learning how to be coordinated again.

It was almost 3am. I sms’ed my parents and Lynnae. It felt like the Shawshank Redemption. I thanked Jeremy for getting us “home” safe. That night I slept on the boat, about 60 meters away from a 2 story ice making and crushing machine that runs all night. I slept like a baby.

The End.

(I will write a post about the “lessons learnt” at sea shortly, but for now this saga is done. Photos to come soon.)

Sailing Day 2

The problem with the sailing is that when the wind drops you get stuck. Luckily for us the wind hadn’t completely disappeared yet; we were still making headway. We were heading down towards Cape Agulus and would round the Southern most tip of Africa around 2pm. It isn’t nearly as glamorous as you might imagine since when you go around the peninsula you see other peninsulas nearby that annoyingly look equally “southern”.

We started the very very long broad reach run towards mossel bay. At some point during the day we saw a whale and marvelled at the flying expertise of the Sheerwaters (a bird) who fly along the swells with the very tip of their wings just gently touching the water so that they can keep their eyes looking forward for fish without worrying about taking a nose dive.

Boatfood is not nice. Jeremy is a far better sailor than chef, and I was okay with that. To be fair preparing anything on a boat that is rocking and rolling like a bad bon jovi concert is definitely not easy. We had bought a whole cooked chicken which we converted into chicken mayo sandwiches more times than I would like to admit. Exhaustion however was my undoing. You know that feeling when you’ve been horribly drunk and spend the entire night partying and then in the morning you can’t decide whether you’re absolutely ravenous or want to die? Well I think that feeling is somehow linked to your body hating you, and due to the rather severe lack of sleep that I had inflicted upon my mortal coil I suppose my body was reacting in a very similar way. It hated me and I really didn’t feel like eating. (Friends of mine will find this unbelievable… shut it!)

The day turned to evening as we struggled to make the most of the dying wind… but the weather also started looking quite bleak. It got cold and miserable and started to rain. As if we weren’t uncomfortable enough already, mother nature decided to throw us a little bit of water. Eventually I had all 4 layers of clothing completely and utterly soaked, right down to my undies. Being wet isn’t a problem, it’s being wet for 24 hours that really isnt’ fun. Here I was, sailing as evening turned to night, with driving rain somehow magically raining right in my face no matter how hard I tried to pull my hood down over my face.

It got dark and the visibility dropped. Moonlight was occluded by clouds and for the first time I felt very much “out at sea”.

Lighthouses aren’t just those red and white buildings with the light on the top… once you’ve sailed through the night they start to take on this all too well deserved level of respect bordering on adoration. Each lighthouse has its own flash pattern. Groups of 3 every 10 seconds etc. At night you can see the loom of a lighthouse that is literally 24 hours sailing away from you. In childrens storybooks you always hear about how the ships saw the lighthouse too late, as if the lighthouse was this terrible thing that protected some disastrous rocky evil. In reality you spend a large majority of your time at night navigating straight towards a lighthouse. I can imagine the relief of ye olde sailors from eras gone by when, while crossing the oceans, they would finally spot a lighthouse and know that they were nearing the end of their journey.

We took turns again. It was still raining and because getting undressed or dressed at night on a rocking boat takes too much time and energy you end up sleeping in your 4 layers of wet clothes, including bulking safety harness, jackets and soaking underpants. Yay! Eventually even the mattresses were soaked.

The rain stopped eventually and after numerous zombied helm switches at 4am we found ourselves at sunrise somewhere near Bredasdorp. There was absolutely no wind, the sun was warm and the sea was beautiful and calm. We were not moving at all.

I felt betrayed by the previous nights rainfall.

Coming next: “We probably should have gone with our gut instincts. Mossel Bay was *right* there and we were sailing directly away from it, directly into a shitstorm.“

Sailing Day 1

(I’ll have to upload photographs later, all I took with was the disposable cam pics and will get them developed over the weekend)

The boat that shall not be named (for reasons that will become clearer in future posts) is small. It’s 8 meters small and it is what sailors call “tender”. ie. It rolls side to side like a mofo at the slightest hint of a swell. But ours is not to ask why, ours is just to deliver the thing. The boat has 1 tiny cabin in the bow that was about half the size of the back of a bakkie with a canopy on. There are two other bunks. One bigger one that is essentially the “dining room table” (har har) and one tiny little wormhole bunk that you use when the sea is very rough. From the position outside where you sit and steer you can look through the hatch into the boat and see pretty much all there is to see. You’re in a small confined area.

It was only two of us sailing. Jeremy and myself. Jeremy is what I would consider a very experienced sailor. He lives on a yacht.

We start packing her and doing the safety checks. Inside she’s smaller than a caravan, a lot smaller. I can’t get my shoulders through the forepeak (the cabin in the very front) door… I have to push my body through side-on and when you’re all rigged up with harnesses and such you actually get stuck pretty easily.

One of her batteries is dead but the other seems fine.

We rig her, she rigs like a dinghy with winches. Once we’re all done we decide to rush out and try and catch the wind that we’ve been feeling grow behind us. We motor out, get the sails up and start sailing. Wednesday afternoon was a lovely day sail. The wind was pretty strong and we were going along at about 5 or 6 knots. That’s not blazingly fast but it’s as fast as this hull can go. Already my bum is starting to get a bit sore. The back of the boat is basically what you’d expect from a dinghy. Hard fibreglass seats that get wet pretty easily and various little bits and pieces that stick up into your back or ass. The actually positioning of the seating and the tiller made you wonder if the designer of this boat wasn’t perhaps some sick twisted sadomasochist. You just didn’t have enough leg room or your back was digging into a cable or your bum was digging into a latch. Not comfortable, even on day 1.

We sailed and sailed and at some point the sun started setting. We decided to start our shifts. By this stage the wind is a bit stronger and the swells are kicking the boat around like a tin can in the gutter. I go first (I think… it’s all a bit of a blur really).

I collapse, exhausted, onto the bunk and try to get comfortable. Again there are various things digging into me and on top of it all the boat is rocking so much that I have to physically hold myself in the bunk to stop from falling out. Needless to say, I spent three hours stressing about trying to sleep and not sleeping. Out of the darkness Jeremy calls my name. It’s my shift… I haven’t slept at all. Exhausted I climb up onto the deck and take over while Jeremy sleeps. The minutes tick over painfully slowly as my eyes drop and I struggle to stay awake. Luckily, unlike driving a car, the waves that smack you act as a great wake up call. You drift in and out of exhausted sleepiness watching the stars and listening to the sloosh sloosh sloosh noises as that boat runs through the water. The arm movement you have to make on the tiller in order to counteract the swell becomes automated. Bioluminessence (Glowing algae?) lights up the breaking waves and leaves a gorgeous path behind the yacht where the keel cuts its line through the water. This is not something that you can photograph. You have to see it. Occasionally we would sail through huge pools of bioluminssence that lit up the boat as if a yellow green sun was rising over the horizon. It was beautiful. My shift was up. Jeremy came back up to sail for the next 3 hours and I again tried in vain to sleep. I didn’t. Before I knew it Jeremy was calling me again. My 3 hours below had gone painfully by and now it was my turn to sail again. Jeremy was also struggling to sleep.

The swell was probably between 4 and 5 meters and the boat would sail up the one side and surf down the other… but each time you crossed the two valleys of the swell the boat would rock violently, emptying the sails and force you to strain on the tiller to keep her upright and pointing in the right direction.

I weariy sailed us to the early hours of the morning but never got the benefit of seeing sunrise… My shift was over, I was shattered and I crashed below. I’m not sure if I slept but when I finally got up the sun was rising on the horizon.

We were beating a line towards Cape Agulus… the wind seemed to be dropping.

— End of Day 1.

In the next instalment: “Jeremy is a far better sailor than chef. I was okay with that.“