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Deckhand: Subtitles included

For the past nine months I have been busy working on a side project. Many moons ago, when my hair was long and the nights were longer my friends and I delved into the netherworld of DJ’ing, party promoting, music production and the then very fruitless search for groupies. This was trailblazing stuff back in 1998, Vinyl was still king and we were using a lot of computers, midi keyboards, Fostex audio gear and fluorescent paint. Ultimately as someone who aspired to DJ the digital dream was still a ways off.

Six years later I dipped my toes and fingers again. Native Instruments had released Traktor, but you still needed two sound cards. Without a good controller system it was also still unwieldy. In 2010 I began to see rumblings that digital DJ’ing had matured. I would investigate things again.

My thought process was simple. I would invest in something easy to use, portable and cheap. I would try it out for a few months and if I was hooked I would get something more substantial. Practicing aboard boats is not without its challenges. During the med season I would take over the crew mess and plug into the boat sound system. During the Swedish Surfing Safari I played outside a tent dangerously close to the camp ground road. I dragged my mixer to the UK, it battled the English summer, sunbathed in Ibiza, danced across Spain, frolicked in France, indulged in Italy and then we got our current jobs.

Practicing aboard our new boat is nigh on impossible. Mixing sessions are often clandestine in nature. The engine room is good if the port generator is running. It has sound baffling, we have three generators in total. The laundry is good if it is the weekend. Hotel rooms are great but there is always that nagging feeling that we will have to leave soon. Late last week we moved into an Apartment and I was very glad.

It is worth mentioning at this point that Santa bought me a fucking incredible mixer for christmas. It is quite simply awesome and I am to this date using 2% of its capability. It is also worth mentioning that the fairy god mother presented me with a Mac book Pro for my birthday. I am blessed.

A good friend and one of the cooler chaps I have worked with in Yachting asked for a mix last year. So for the past 4 months I have been battling with fluctuating power, generator noise, interruptions, limited time and the most annoying problem. Putting together a good mix to a good standard is very challenging, time consuming and at times infuriating. Making things all the more consternating is I have a very fussy ear for mixes having listened to thousands of hours of them washing boats in the last two years.

Digressing slightly I have a bloody awesome DJ name Deckhand. Think about that for a few seconds. I can feel the admiration.

Anyway late last night, after another middling to my ears mix I had a revelation. With all of the energy I have been putting into recording a listenable mix I have forgotten these simple facts.

  • If I was going to be a DJ I probably would have been one already.
  • I am probably the worst self critic I could ever be.
  • DJ’ing is really hard.
  • Every hour I spend mixing could be an hour towards that elusive book which is probably more attainable than a perfect mix.
  • The mistakes that I can hear during this mix are like handwriting, they brand the mix as my own. No one else could make the same mistakes that I have.
  • I called the rise of Cowboy Trance the last time I was in New Zealand, there is Cowboy Trance inside
  • If someone gets really offended by this mix well I can write it off as ground breaking cyber terrorism.
  • Four months later is long enough to obsess about an offhand question. 

Finally I think I have something that selected people can listen too. It is what I would play to you if you were in the engine room, drinking bootleg rum and breathing questionably hot and contaminated air. If you want a copy drop me an email and I will send you a link. Matt do not ask me for a mix ever again! Well not this year at least.

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The Holiday Condition

The holiday condition is in my own words.

The semi delirious and ill advised state one can enter in foreign lands.

Yesterday was a perfect example of the holiday condition. With our island boat trip postponed due to heavy rain forecasts we decided to go to the beach. Think about that sentence carefully and continue reading. We got to the beach with the sun shining and set about getting loungers, swimming and drinking rum punch. The frozen cocktail lady strangely had the day off.

Just before lunchtime it clouded over and my  rain radar started picking up positive readings. It then began to drizzle. Not deterred we strategically moved our loungers to shelter from the rain, not sun and stayed on. The bar was still open and the temperature was at least 24 degrees. The rain increased in velocity and frequency and we were soon laughing, it never rains for long in the Caribbean. Unfortunately it did keep raining for at least two hours and I had an epiphany of sorts. What is it about being on holiday or in another country that makes you do crazy things like sit at the beach in the rain for hours on end? I’m not even on holiday but there is a link between this and strange behavior I am sure of it.

Naturally I did my best to try and brighten things up. This involved converting a lot of American currency into rum punch and playing some melodic electronic music at a very low(to my ears) level on my JBL speaker. This irritated a visiting American walrus so much he had the gall to request some Rolling Stones. I do not have any stones on my iPhone. I did offer better though, Led Zeppelin. He was not interested. Perhaps I could have played him some Beatles.

The rain did eventually ease in time for a volleyball competition that was put on by one of the evening entertainment venues. There were a lot of round objects bouncing down that end of the beach. What a strange sight. I blame it on the holiday condition.

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Placeholder blogging

Placeholder blogging is a technique I delve into from time to time. Never heard of placeholder blogging? Read on as phrases are minted before your eyes. Wracked with guilt and starved of meaningful inspiration a placeholder blog is my way of keeping my place on the internet and in your minds. They often kick start a slew of posts. Think of it as blog constipation medicine if you can stomach it. Understand? Good, read on.

Don’t understand? Clearly you need to read my blog more often. Read on.

Stranded on a quite inhabited island

Because we are in a state of perpetual readiness for our owner there is a blanket ban on traveling to other islands that are not a day trip away. This means I will not be going to Cuba in a hurry, it also means those other two big islands North and South America are out of reach. This is quite a shame, there are quite a few places I would like to visit on those large islands. Bugger.

Saint Martin is nice enough but I do feel like I have an almost normal extraordinary life at the moment. I work monday to friday, I go to the gym. I enjoy time with my digital extended family Macbook pro, iPad, iPhone and Nano. On the weekend I like to watch movies and drink pina coladas by the pool.

Why just today I had a lovely lunch on the aft deck, I was waited on by two stewardess’s. I enjoyed a snapper filet on top a bed of beans with a salsa topping. I then enjoyed a palate cleaning shot of vanilla vodka surrounding a dollop of lemon sorbet. The finale was a baked Alaska fit for someone as awesome as me.

Enveloping all of this was an unending supply of frizz-ante and red wine expertly poured into my glass. Having only recently learned how to run away from my own drink pouring this confused my poor brain most adequately. Why, I do believe my physical and cognitive function was impaired this afternoon.

Fugitives in Spain


In our haste to conquer Spain, we may have been a bit hasty especially in our rental car. Some three months later two speeding fines were delivered on horseback by a Vaquero to our New Zealand postal address. The fines were sadly in Spanish but with months of imagined Spanish learning I could make out  some key words. Loco, Gringo and Joder . Knowing that the Spanish economy is hurting and King Carlos would soon be on my trail along with the Spanish football team I sought out the expert advice of El Fuerte. El Fuerte was holidaying in the north of Spain but he was only too happy to help and with a few emails our fines have been paid and we should be welcome to return come summer again.

My first Hawaiian experience


On Friday past we took refuge in the local watering hole before Anna’s birthday dinner. I must have looked particularly friendly, interested, deranged or maybe a mixture of these. I say this because a  Captain latched onto me like a determined limpet mine and proceeded to explode upon me with a torrent of information some interesting and some gratingly annoying. It turns out this Captain was from Hawaii and was a little bit crazy. I blame this on being the sole captain for a Sailboat. He came across as the sort of sailor who had been at sea for year or so on a solo voyage. His saving graces were that he had been to New Zealand and was the first Hawaiian I had met. He did end up coming to our birthday dinner but promptly abandoned us for a table of girls who turned out to be strippers. Stay classy Hawaii!

What else?

I did have other ideas but they always come to me when I am not near my laptop or digital family. In somewhat good news our boss is not turning up this weekend. We hope to get off this island and visit…….. another island!  

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Ball’n

From what I have seen, America has left its mark all through the Caribbean. Some places more than others but if you want Oreo’s, KFC and a Bud to wash it down you do not have to walk very far. Actually you could say that about most of the world. Except for Cuba and North Korea, more about Cuba at a later date. I have no desire to visit North Korea.

Anyway Basketball is everywhere and I am glad. You can watch Basketball at every bar, hotel lobby, and shop front you visit. Basketball courts are everywhere as well. The oppressive heat means that people only really play at dusk time. We have a Basketball court minutes away and our incredibly fit engineer was quite happy to take me off playing a couple of Sundays ago. He had destroyed our first mate with a three hour run on the day before.

Apart from a few lazy games here and there I have not really played Basketball in any serious capacity since I was at school. The years and yachting have not been kind. During my first game I was stricken with a strange paralysis which stopped me from jumping. I blame this on social games of netball. I also suffered from periodic brain freezes which meant for some very silly passes. Luckily the team we played had a player just as talented and we won both games.

Our second outing was much better and worse. Since the new year I have engaged in a new fitness and diet regime (photos and statistics will be forthcoming). I have also gone out of my way to watch a lot of Basketball on TV in bars and hotels. I did a lot of jumping, took great pride in rejecting Greeks, Australians and suspiciously non descript characters. I was named the garbage man by an American because of my rebound prowess. Things were going pretty well until I wrenched my ankle unceremoniously. This has ended my balling for the foreseeable future. It did give me something to write about. Budding writers take note, self harm is a fount. Just don’t get EMO about it.

Now for the icing. Anna and I went to our favourite hotel last week. At 2am we got talking to some Texans in a bar. They were there on business. San Antonio was playing the Lakers. San Antonio won with 4 hundredths of a second on the clock. Turns out one of the guys was a CEO for a company and they have season tickets 5 rows behind the San Antonio bench. If we are ever in San Antonio we are welcome to watch a game with the guys. Got to love Texans and Basketball. 

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My Millionaire Playboy Lifestyle

A very respected fan emailed my wife the other day enquiring in to whether I was actually working in the Caribbean. To be fair the words written here do not dwell overly on my work or lack there of. Sometimes my life is quite incredible, take for instance my birthday month. Strange otherworldly forces are often at work. My boss who was supposed to leave on my birthday and left a couple of days early. This allowed me a monday off and a quite intense pre birthday celebration which left me thinking I was mortally wounded the morning after as I struggled to remember what I had been celebrating.

We went to an incredible beach. Lord Lovejoy and I had an underwater photo shoot.

That is me swiming towards the camera

Lord Lovejoy

 On the Tuesday, my birthday we started a four day jet ski course. This gave me a day of riding jet skis at breakneck speeds and all of the time, earning money.

After a busy day of jet skiing one of the fantastic chefs who live on board prepared me a marvelous pavlova to share with the crew.

I then enjoyed a dinner with the crew and was serenaded by the staff of the restaurant. Someone thought it would be wise to buy me a rose to use the very next day in our Jet ski course.

It has become painfully obvious that I do indeed have a millionaire playboy lifestyle. At least some of the time and usually around my birthday. Do not feel pity for me.

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Saint Martin, Saint Maartin, Sint Maartin

Authors preamble: I started writing this last year, it may suffer from mixed tenses but we are all adults and it’s been intense.

As inked earlier Saint Maarten the place to be in this part of the world if you are a super yacht or crew. Having been here for a week now I can safely scribe my own opinion. In a nut shell Saint Maarten is deliciously decadent. With filthy French and dirty Dutch hemispheres a wayward sailor is easily stimulated with very little effort. The three ways of spelling the islands name show the multitude of ways the island can be approached.

Witness photographic evidence of our very first night out in Saint Maarten. That is me and Lord Lovejoy sucking back on some premium Cuban cigars. Don’t we look postively chuffed with ourselves?

I love hot sauce. I met my match in Saint Maarten. This hot sauce blew my head off and made me cry.

Pay close attention to the label.


How do improve a sublime mojito?

Well, you freeze it.

With a very busy couple of weeks ahead Anna and I checked into a quite tasty hotel/resort for the weekend on the French/Dutch border. We had a few vague plans of what we would do but what transpired was about as rockstar of a weekend as we have had without throwing a television into the adjoining swimming pool.

Things started less than innocently with a couple of cocktails while we waited for our room to be ready. It continued with a free bottle of champagne which inspired us to head to the in house Casino. Did I mention the hotel was huge, Kiwi’s it was at least the size of a decent sized paddock.

We won a lot of money and started furiously socialising and tipping (when the icing of your disposable income comes from tips, tipping becomes very important). The free rum punches began to take hold and some less than astute bets were made. At two am it was time to retire to our room. Room service was miraculously ordered. I promptly fell asleep dreaming of frozen cocktails. Apparently when the room service arrived Anna tried to feed me, I responded in kind with a flailing arm much like a chaotic one armed bandit. Anna then achieved a masterstroke, she spilt a lot of San Pellegrino on her laptop.

The next morning I awoke to a few frights, the first of which was a rash covering my chest and legs. It appears my working class skin is averse to 300 count cotton sheets, that or the washing powder used in the hotel. I am going with former, it is far more dashing. The second was that the hotel room looked trashed.The third was that Anna’s beautiful pink laptop had died, was not going to be bought back to life and our planned shopping trip to duty free gadget land Philipsburg had taken on a new dimension. After some a therapeutic buffet breakfast wearing our darkest sun glasses possible we caught a taxi to Philipsburg.

Philipsburg is a cruise ship town, it literally throngs and fades with the entrance and egress of cruise ships. After some zig zag staggering and half hearted bartering with shops we purchased a nice shiney new iPad for Anna. Still feeling pretty rotten, we joined the dinner time rush and went to our first American style KFC. We was hungry. Deep perceptive impressions from this outing are as follows,

  • Meal deals do not come with moro bars or upsize options.
  • Fast food in the Caribbean works in another slow time zone.
  • The checkout lady was really funny, like hilarious.

Leaving Philipsburg our taxi was stolen by a family of Brazilians. We had waited half an hour for it at a stand, and this family stole it right before our eyes. Having not had many dealings with Brazilians we actually thought they were Italian, we looked so woebegone they thought we were American. This slight has been noted and I will be taking it up with the next Brazilian I speak to. Whilst I am at it, Portuguese sounds like Spanish spoken by a retard. Thanks Russell Peters.

The rest of the weekend was a lot less rockstar. We did some secret santa shopping in the foyer shops of the hotel. Got a late check out of 3pm and made our way back to our home with the satisfied feeling of having spent a lot of money; eating, drinking and sleeping. Ah the beauty of consumerism.

What else have I learned about Saint Martin. Well it is here that I must tip my hat to my roving reporter and cultural attache Lord Lovejoy. He has busied himself about the Island taking photos and making memories so I can be more selective about where I go.

The Saint Maartin Airport is a one of a kind, The end of the runway backs onto a beach and it is an unofficial tourist attraction to hold on the airport fence and get thrown back by the force of the jet engines.

©James Lovejoy

There are a lot of Casinos here, like 12. For someone that visits Casino’s once or twice a year I studiously doubled my quota last year and have already reached my goal for this year. Did I mention we are going to be here till April or May? Saint Maartin is a floating Vegas. If I did not have so many family members reading and was not such a prude I would rabbit on about vast array of Strip Clubs.

What I can do now is post a flyer for a party that is on this weekend.

Since the new year a sea change has enveloped our crew. 11 out of the 13 are engaged in some form of exercise and/or diet regime. I have thrown myself into this along with beautification. This evening I had a pedicure from a charming latino man who wanted to paint my toe nails. I reclined and gracefully declined. Maybe next time.

What next? Well work of course and there are some more traditional tourist attractions to engage in like zip lining. We are also hoping to get an apartment and live ashore. Imagine that!

I can feel the masses clamoring for more information on James. There could be a crew profile on the way.

Till that painted toe nail next time. Ciao.

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Technical Difficulties

Have hindered me putting up my latest masterpiece. I have not been able to upload an exceptional video demonstrating island life. I will need to seek refuge in a bar to upload it. It will be worth it.

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A very wealthy American Christmas in Saint Barths

In a year where I have driven a Lamborghini, eaten lobster twice and snacked on caviar it seemed fitting that I spent my Christmas period with the elite of America in Saint Barths. Let me gloss over the fact that I was working, that’s better.

Do you want to know the definition of snob? Seeing some facebook status updates about people being in LA and wanting to post “good time to be in LA everyone important is down here in Saint Barths with me”

What have I learned in my menial capacity down here?

Well……

Saint Barth’s is the Caribbean version of Saint Tropez. For some reason really wealthy people on holiday like to be in warm places where people speak French. It makes them feel cultured or something. I have never got this feeling but I am not stupidly wealthy or stupid for that matter. The French are laughing all of the way to the bank. An American newspaper costs about $15 US in Saint Barths. 

Saint Barths is far better than Saint Tropez in my opinion. The beaches are a lot nicer and WAFIS can still rock up in a dilapidated sailboat amongst the billions and pull fingers at the glitterati. Try doing that in Saint Tropez.

Speaking of billions our Chef counted 95 Super Yachts here last night for New Years. That is some serious money. I have clandestinely taken photos of said yachts on micro breaks.

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I got to swim in an amazing beach on our second day here. We swam supplies ashore for our charter and in a pinch I make a very convincing Labrador. The beach was full of silicon and impressive sun tans.

It is here I must moan about American television at Christmas time.  It is sickeningly sentimental. Every network has documentaries of terminally ill children literally dying trying to play American sports. All pushing the virtues of sport as a way to cure cancer sponsored by some cancer causing soft drink.

My Christmas day here was very tame. I received no presents. I did eat some turkey and there was a dire shortage of tropical mistletoe. New Years eve was in the same vein. I did get to have a couple of drinks on the bow watching fireworks before we were rained out.

Did I mention the famous people here? Why, I almost saw Ellen and Portia, and the red head from CSI. There were some crappy bands here. Rich people like bad music, Macey Grey and the Black Eyed Pigs(intentional typos)played private parties. I was not invited and I would not have gone if I had been.

I really should not talk about our guests but I suppose it is ok to talk about our guests, guests. Plus this is important fashion trend information on what is hot in Hollywood. We had a guest on board who was a rampant fist pumper and high fiver at the dinner table. Fist pumps and high fives are huge in 2011. Go out of your way to finish every sentence with a fist pump or two and toss in a high five every other second.

Huge.

Well that’s it for now. More of the different after the break.

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Happy Easter!!!

You know what sucks about being as smart as me? You write the meaning of life, Panic, Rage, Internet, Money and it comes to bite you on the ass. One day before we left Saint Maarten for an intensive two weeks of whoring ourselves out for charter the internet fell over. This meant the tales of our huge rockstar weekend in Saint Maarten were not published. It also caused a lot of panic and rage. Thankfully we are now in Saint Barths surrounded by billions of dollars worth of money. The internet is now working but I missed writing a Christmas message. I have had such a mental year that I will not be able to write a complete New Years message on time. I mean, look at all of the places I have been.

Prague
Verona
Malta
Egypt
Maldives
New Zealand
Tapora
Nice
Genova
All over the Cote d’Azur
Fucking Toulon
Biarittz
Paris
London
Barcelona
Ibiza
Zaragossa
Leon
Vigo
Florence
Milan
Tenerife
Various Caribbean islands

NOT SO SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE TIME

I expect you will have a happy Easter without this message and you will probably have forgotten about this message by then but have a happy Easter anyway.

Anyway, don’t worry I will be back. Bigger and badder in 2011. The world does not end until I say so.

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Antigua

Forenote (i have gone quite wild with parenthesis in this post. This could be a new fad or an annoying (b)racket)

Leaving St Thomas and the discarded toenail of America behind was a good feeling. As much as I love quality baseball caps, all you can eat meal deals and Radio shack. St Thomas feels a bit off, a bit forced and a bit ugly if you are not in the thin coastal strip that surrounds the scarier part.

Antigua promised to be more of the real Caribbean whatever that was. Sadly about two hours into our passage I discovered my Granny had passed away. This was a shock, as discussed earlier and I could not wait to see land.

Antigua has a chequered history. If you play Pirates! extensively you discover Pirates were forever attacking and overthrowing Antigua along with the French, English, Spanish and Dutch.

The history started at the end of our gangway , we tied up in Nelsons dockyard. That’s right Admiral Nelson of the British navy was stationed here for a couple of years, you might have heard of him.|

What did we do in Antigua? Well there was a boat show to get ready for so we did a lot of cleaning and detailing and other work stuff. The boat show was a big drinking swill fest and junket for a whole bunch of Charter brokers. I think I have shared my musings on brokers before. I do not have much more to say about them other than it would be a wise idea to run a hot air balloon festival here at the same time given the vast amounts of heated gas heading skyward every second.

Photographic evidence of how awesome brokers are.

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(if you can not read that. His name is Splinter Fangman. Who the hell calls themselves Splinter Fangman?)

On our first day in Antigua Anna and I ventured out to do some provisioning(shopping) . We had what was to be the first of many very eccentric taxi rides. If I was to sum up Antigua it would not be the 360+ beach Island (which it is) it would be the island of many vivacious and extraordinary taxi drivers. Our first taxi driver was a self styled island ambassador. He knew everyone on the island and was happy to stop frequently to chat with them. He was also quite fond of singing and freestyle rapping. I do have 24 seconds of his freestylin which may or may not make it online at some point.

After talking with some of the people who have decided to make Antigua home I have come up with the conclusion that Antigua is a magnet for the disenfranchised and skewed. A refuge for the daringly different as it were.

On our first Sunday here we went up a hill with an eccentric taxi driver to a place called Shirley Heights. Situated in a national park on a Sunday night you can have a BBQ, listen to live Reggae and Calypso music and generally have a great time. They also had some devilish rum punch which may have had some added witchdoctor spices.

SANY1285

Once the charter show started there was not a lot of time for sightseeing. I have been very restrained since coming to the Caribbean with regards to partying. I have a self enforced curfew of 12am and I have a few rules for going out.

If the DJ plays the same song twice I leave.
If there is any Karaoke I leave.
If there are any simulated sexual acts with a donkey I leave.

These rules have served me well and I am happy to say I felt positively super human all week during the charter show and into about two hours of our Sunday adventure.

The Super Sunday Sailing Adventure

Late last week James(James is quite a character and rest assured his personality and history will be explored in a crew profile soon), the other deckhand and I decided that we should hire a sailboat for our day off. Dedicated readers will know that my last sail boat excursion was not particularly memorable or in fact clever. I was determined to see things right.

On Sunday morning half of our motley crew assembled in the mess to go sailing! All of the crew except for Anna and I were in various states of drunkenness and hangover. We corralled everyone into a group and marched them to the next marina along where we would collect our sailing yacht. The safety briefing was quite simple and a bit shocking. There were three pertinent points. One of which would haunt us, The gearbox bilge was leaking.

With our briefing out of the way we were soon motoring into the wind on the way to Green Island. Our hope was to sail home with a favourable wind and live the WAFI dream. James was a very good instructor and was soon telling us important information and showing us how to drive a sailboat with our feet and look the part.

SANY1314

Foot steering.

SANY1317
Beer holding and sunglass modelling.

It took us about two hours of motoring to get near Green Island. We had to go quite close to some reefs and James decided to slow the engine down. We then had engine failure and learned how to sail a boat very fast. It is amazing how quickly you can learn how to sail when you have drunk a few Gin & Tonics and there is a reef close by. Any scientists that want to pick up that hypothesis I am happy to float some evidence your way.

Under James’s tutelage and gentle coaxing we soon had an anchor down and were enjoying the pristine waters of the Caribbean and not worrying about our engine at all. James rigged up a swing out of some rope and we were soon swinging into the water with wild abandon. Sailboats are full of rope and wild abandon

A tender came out to see us from a handily close restaurant and we decided to jetison our sailboat and go to a fancy restaurant.

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This is something guests do all of the time so it was nice to do it on a slightly less grandiose scale. The restaurant was memorable, it had an infinity pool.

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Very stylised photo of said infinity pool.

Fed, watered and a bottle of wined we retreated back to our sailboat we had abandoned to engage in some more swimming, drinking and a bit of snorkelling. Our engine was now working and we would be able to motor past the reef and sail home. We soon discovered that although our engine was now working our gearbox was not and we could only manage a lazy reverse. After some phone calls to our hireage company it was decided we would try and sail home without any engine. We then found that our anchor winch was not working. Hauling up an anchor for a 40 foot sailboat by hand is not something I would recommend after quite a lot of Gin & Tonic, some prawns, chorizo, steak and apple pie. Oo and two glasses of wine and a coffee to wash it down. We succeeded in hauling the anchor. I then made a substantial impromptue offering to Neptune.

The sail home was short lived. By now James had discovered that his crew were getting a bit tired and his commands were not being met with the same snap as before. Quite a few of his orders were being miss heard, or not done at all. We turned around and went back to our anchorage. We would radio for help. It turns our our radio was only a one way radio. This is not desirable in a minor emergency. James got on the phone again and the hire company promised to send a rescue party.

Another sailboat sent a tender to check up on us. He had been watching our antics and was very impressed by our sailing off and doubling back and knowledgeable looking crew. He also had a very wry smile. After some more anchor hauling and a bit of a push we had the Sailboat in a better position to abandon. Hopefully help was on its way.

Help did come and we were soon in a taxi heading home as the sun set. Not quite the way we envisaged our trip home but we did get to sensibly abandon that problematic sailboat and had a great laugh as well. There is some huge cataclysmic irony in that the two times I have set foot on a sailboat I gone from incredibly sober to incredibly unsober and vice versa.

We have now left Antigua and are heading towards the promised land, Saint Martin. Saint Martin is a fantastic place to be if you are a Super Yacht or crew member in the Caribbean.

Merry Christmas

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