9^th December, 1999

In my last mail, I think we were becalmed. Well, since then, we got a bit of wind - more like the beans we had for dinner than anything else - and then we got becalmed again. Despite a plethora of forecasts telling us that we will get a real blow, we’ve seen nothing - diddlysquat. And so we've become a motor boat with a big pole sticking out the middle to hang out the washing. Still, at least the washing won't blow away:)

Oh well, we're on our way but I think we'll be lucky to get there before the end of Sunday. And even then we can’t go in until daylight - reefs you see. Best avoided. The sun tan's good and I've read 6 books; oh, and I've written song about our adventures. We're all in good spirits and still having a lovely time (at least we were until I sang my song), even though it's not what was in the brochure (precisely the opposite actually). The next little challenge will be getting home: I won't make my Sunday flight. Although the prospect of being stranded in Antiga has some interesting angles to it, so does Sheffield - perhaps not the same, but pressing nonetheless.

One amusing little anecdote: in my last mail I told you we went swimming in the middle of the Atlantic – kewl. Next day, we stopped to do the same. With fender on a long line out the back etc, skip's on the toe rail about to make his entrance, so to speak, when he notices a twinkle from the deep: a large row of shiny teeth smiling at him with a four foot body attached! Whoa! Skip decides that neither he nor the crew would be swimming that day. We agreed - the prospect of entering the food chain was not very appealing. "Never again" was another phrase that popped into mind.

So that’s it from the Atlantic. I think this will be my last. I’ll see you all when I get back!

Danimal.

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