That’s how one race official described our finish when finally arriving in Portimao yesterday morning. After slogging our guts out for seven days to keep ourselves in the first three placings, the end was, indeed, brutal for us. We turned left somewhere in the Atlantic to head for our destination and sailed straight into a wind hole. And we sat there, totally impotent, for hour after hour watching boat after boat sail past us (avoiding the wind hole we had so nicely marked out for them). Frustration just doesn’t cover it.

Actually we had a brutal start to the race too. All the boats did. We were beating (heading into wind) all through the English Channel and the pounding that both boats and crew were subjected too was beyond belief. Almost immediately seasickness affected just about all of us to varying degrees, on Bermuda (and I’m told other boats too) belowdecks looked like a cross between a war zone and a refugee camp, water leaking in from absolutely everywhere just to make things even more miserable.

We had crew strewn all over the galley floor clutching buckets and sick bags, the boat was heeling over a good 45 degrees as we powered through the waves which were very choppy and kept dropping us from great heights to hit the water below them with a force like concrete. I couldn’t help but be in awe of the amount of punishment these racing yachts can take.

Unfortunately the crew aren’t quite as tough. We lost Fabian, our AQP (additional qualified person) on the second day when he was flung out from his bunk (on one of his rare rest periods) and hit his head quite badly. Never one to make a fuss he said he was ok, despite the cut and bleeding, but later on deck he fell again and this time it was very clear he wasn’t very good at all. Ronald, our on board medic rang up our medical support “Praxes” by satellite phone and followed their advice which included confining Fabian to his bunk for the next few days with frequent monitoring. As this phone call was taking place another crew member, Phil, was brought below with a very severely cut leg. This clearly needed stitches but in the conditions there was no way at all anyone would be able to thread a needle never mind do anything with it.

All of us are recovering from numerous bruises, with some crew having very severe bruising, and this was mostly caused just attempting to move around the galley, every little movement likely to cause an accident if the boat lurched even harder at just the wrong moment. Going to the heads was something I imagine even Houdini would have struggled with. Taking off our life vests, wet weather gear (which we mostly ended up sleeping in…it wasn’t worth the effort to attempt to take it off just to put it on again three hours later) then trying to “sit” on a toilet which now, instead of being on the floor, was actually sticking out horizontally from the wall as the boat was at such an angle.

With all the sickness and injuries we were now down to a skeleton crew, which meant twice as much work for the few left standing. On the plus side there were no meals to cook…no one ate anything for three days.

My most abiding memory of this time is on deck, during the night in the black of night putting in a reef. I was on a winch on the low side of the boat (luckily) as I was grinding on the winch…and throwing up (bile) onto the deck to my side…but as the waves were crashing over it was washing it straight off. I also remember thinking how shell shocked everyone looked, and wondering if I looked the same. This just wasn’t what we thought we’d signed up for!

Well. Things did improve. Once we turned the corner out of the channel and had the wind behind us the sickness (mostly) cleared up and we started eating again. I even MADE BREAD! First time ever!

And the downwind Sailing was absolutely fantastic…I can’t describe how great it feels to be surfing down the waves at speed, I have no words. We had dolphins, even a whale (I missed that, but there will be more as we head further south). It was such a wrench to go off watch for our much needed sleep. We did have one very exciting moment- Callum at the helm, thoroughly enjoying helming…I was belowdecks and I could hear him excitedly shouting “Whoopee” as we surfed off a wave, quickly followed by OH F**k…as he lost grip on the helm and we broached.

Our first broach, it was pretty exciting, the first of many no doubt. I wasn’t frightened, I have such faith in Bermuda and in our Skipper Wavy (who never slept, I told him he was a machine, I’m not sure he took that as the compliment it was meant to be), and my fellow crewmates.

We make a pretty awesome team, and we just know we will get the results we deserve…we just need to keep clear of those bloody wind holes!

A change of bedroom…I checked out of my hotel this morning fully intending to move back onto Bermuda, but then I thought about the heat belowdecks and I caved in and booked into the Tower hotel situated immediately next to the marina entrance, not 100m from the boats.

Air conditioning, a comfortable bed, the large tv, a bath (and a loo that flushes), room service…on the whole it wasn’t really a difficult decision, I reasoned that I’ll be having it rough for a few months, may as well enjoy some comfort while I can.

Yesterday was mainly spent at the O2 arena (millennium dome). I started my wanderings and thought I would hop onto a river bus, and that happened to be where I disembarked. A very impressive building on its own, you can actually now walk/climb over the top of it if you feel inclined, but the surroundings too are very futuristic – the only word I can think of to describe it.

Tall glass and ceramic covered flats and offices, no cars and very few people walking over the large expanses of concrete with glass sided walkways and lots of stainless steel. Look up and you can see little capsules of people travelling through the sky to and fro across the Thames.

The dome itself houses an “outlet” shopping centre. These outlets seem to be popping up everywhere nowadays, it’s where you can buy expensive “designer” clothes and items for something a little nearer their actual worth instead of the exorbitant prices on the high street. Then there’s usual miles and miles of food chains that we cannot escape from.

Their creators build shopping centres like we farmers build our sheep pens…everyone carefully controlled and herded exactly in the direction they want us to encourage maximum spending. Or in the case of the sheep it’s to get them to a place to worm them or trim their feet but it’s the same principle. And like sheep we follow.

If this is the future then I’m so pleased I was born when I was, I found the whole experience very impersonal and very weird and I was pleased to hop onto my river bus and return to St Kat’s.

So that was yesterday. Today was different. I went onto Bermuda to see what everyone was doing today (nothing) we all had another day off, so I wandered along the many restaurants/cafes immediately above the pontoon and decided to go for a coffee. I was stood ready to order when I had that feeling of being watched…I turned to see Sam, a now friend I had met some weeks ago in Cowes, sat looking at me.

I suddenly remembered he said he was coming to London and would call into St Kats for a catch up today! I’m so pleased I stopped in that particular place for a coffee…he had been attempting to contact me but I’d left my phone on the boat. Duh!

So I took him onboard and introduced him to Bermuda. Strangely enough he has actually done the race TWBL (The Whole Bloody Lot) as another friend calls it. He did it in 2011/2012, but that was on what are now the training boats, the old 68’s, so he was really keen to see the layout of the later race boats. So we had a lovely afternoon in the sunshine (well in the shade when we could) swapping stories, his obviously a lot more interesting than mine.

I do enjoy talking to the “old” crew a lot of them are here to help in the Clipper dome and showing the public around our boats. They have so many stories, and some really helpful tips. Absolutely everyone is just so friendly, I’ve been wished well and had my motives for doing this questioned by so many strangers, all eager to know what drives us…

As one crew said “we are not pop idols, we are not top athletes, but it almost feels as if we are”

London, love it or hate it? I actually love it… Jane my daughter in law hates it. We are both very much country born and bred and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else but beautiful, stunning, wild Northumberland.

But then I love cities too. I had a lovely morning in ‘Clipper Village’ – the marina hanging out with crew, and then I set off. Just walked. I took the river path past the Tower – So much history in that building…

When I was a teenager I was strangely addicted to Samuel Pepys diaries, he brought 16th century London to life for me, sadly that’s the only bit of history I really took on board, but whenever I’m in London I remember the London he knew and described. I must have covered miles, seeking out the old buildings nestled together with the new, I love the sheer energy, the people, the chaos – absolutely everything!

In another life I would want to walk all of London, and learn all of its history. It’s fascinating. Eventually I wended my way back to St Kats via an Argos store… as I walked through the pontoon gate, past the queue of visitors waiting to tour the yachts I heard a voice “Well, can’t be that bad on board – they have hairdryers”. I turned around to see a most stunning and very well dressed couple, the woman had noticed my Argos purchase.

Yes I was carrying a hairdryer. And yes it’s for our boat. And no we haven’t suddenly become looks conscious. I laughed and felt I had to explain that this large powerful hairdryer would never get near our tangled locks… well those of us that still have hair…many don’t (but thats great by me, I’ve had a thing about bald men as long as I can remember…testosterone or something?)

I bought it out of our crew fund. The hairdryer. A necessary item for sail repair. It’s much easier to mend a torn dry bit than a torn wet bit. Actually we ended up talking for ages… the very pretty girl was just so interested, she really could not believe that this race is open to everyone…including people who have never sailed. Her partner was laughing at her interest and her questions at first, just at first. Then I could see him becoming a little concerned…yes that’s how it starts.

A seed is planted. I have no doubt she will be back. As part of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race 21/22 crew.

Well here we are in London. St Katherine Dock right under Tower Bridge, and what a beautiful place it is. It’s Clipper “village” and it’s absolutely buzzing, it’s such a tremendous atmosphere and we were given a hero’s welcome last night even though we haven’t even started racing yet!

I had meant to stay on Bermuda for the duration but I’m writing this from the Tower Hotel – I found the whole thing rather intense for many reasons, though mainly one and I’m not going to go into that here.

Hopefully that issue is now resolved and we can all concentrate on doing our very best to have fun and win this race. And even if we don’t get placed but all return safely and happy in the knowledge that we have done our best… then that’s a win in my book.

Looking around my hotel room I can’t believe I have all this space to myself! Air conditioning, king size bed, room service! And a bathroom – a large one with separate bath and shower.

It’s a refuge for me as Bermuda is open to the public tomorrow and Sunday. A normally crowded boat will be even more crowded so I think I made the right, if expensive, decision.

Sometimes, I really do wonder why I’m doing this.

• 

I’m feeling so emotional today. My last day at home for three months and it’s flying and it’s dragging. I think I’m packed. Such as it is. Most of my bag is taken up with my Ocean Sleeping Bag.

Ordinary sleeping bags won’t do. We will be living in a consistently wet atmosphere, both on and below deck. A normal sleeping bag would very quickly become wet through and become useless. So the Ocean ones are double lined with very thick fleece, which will keep us warm and dry us out when we climb in wet, sweaty or both. The outer is a very tough, breathable but waterproof fabric.

Great bags but downside is they are very bulky and quite heavy. And that leaves very little room to pack much else.

Last night was a “surprise send off” for me – organised by friends at the Royal Northumberland Yacht Club last night. I almost feel guilty I’m coming back in the middle…but then again maybe it’s a good excuse for another party before I leave for Seattle next April. The very best thing about sailing is the people…I have made so many new friends in this last year I’ve lost count. But I do feel truly blessed.

There’s me getting emotional again. I’m heading back up to the farm see the granddaughters now, via the cemetery to say bye to Chris and take him some flowers.

Right, I’m signing off now before I flood my iPad…normal service will be resumed soon!

Here again. Lenny Henry’s favourite hotel chain. I really don’t know why he’s so fond of it, they maybe push the boat out a bit when they see him coming, but I’m obviously not him.

One towel between two of us? Really? I can’t even pick up the phone to contact room service because there isn’t one. So clothes back on and a trip down to reception to try and find someone with a key to the towel cupboard. This is obviously located somewhere in Southampton, or maybe Portsmouth…but not here in Gosport, unless he’d stopped in the cupboard for a little sleep before returning.

So back up the stairs to find I can’t get back into my room. We had only been issued with one keycard and I’d had to leave that in the “electricity slot” as Dianne was watching tv. She’d given up on waiting for my return and had taken the one original towel and was having a long (very long) shower, so couldn’t hear my knocking (so she said).

Anyway, eventually we were both clean and in our beds. I’ve had about two hours of sleep, I could blame the lack of air con… it’s stiflingly warm in here…but it’s mostly because my mind is on overdrive. That and my phone pinging away with postings from the the rest of the crew. So much still to do, I’m aiming to get to the boat straight after breakfast, I want to finish lacing the new safety netting to the guardrails before we get down to the the enormous task of food packing and labelling. All hands on deck for that one (I’m hoping)

We shamefully abandoned our work on the boat Monday afternoon to catch the passenger ferry over to the Isle of Wight. I really wanted to see my relations in Cowes while I could, but firstly we had planned to stay with sailing friends Sarah and Paul on the Monday night.

As it’s Cowes week there had been talk about us accompanying them to the champagne evening held at the Island Sailing Club, and we had actually packed our posh frocks for this purpose, but we stupidly we agreed to leave them in my car (parked in Clipper car park) as we decided we just were not going to make it to the sailing club for a 6pm start, and being late wasn’t an option.

We had miscalculated. And when it became apparent if we used the skin on our teeth we MIGHT just get there in time….the taxi driver at Ryde entered into the fun, and he was more than happy to drive like we’d just robbed a bank at gunpoint.

Though I doubt many bank robbers have been attempting to apply mascara and eyeliner as they screeched around corners. On arrival we jumped out, threw our thanks and money at him, ran into the house to be grabbed a dapper looking Paul who literally chased us upstairs to where Sarah had a load of “cocktail dresses” for us to try. Dianne hit lucky first attempt, I struggled a bit. Sarah has a figure. I haven’t. I’m a bit lacking in the boobs department, but we managed – with lots of safety pins she managed to pull the top in far enough so my belly button couldn’t be seen from the top. I had brought a long scarf, so I covered up the pinning arrangement with that. Unfortunately it was bright green, the dress was bright red. It wasn’t until I saw the photos I realised I looked like a gladioli in full bloom.

But what a night! How lucky am I? Not only to have good friends…but to keep meeting new ones. The champagne flowed…and flowed…and didn’t really stop flowing, our waitress Becca was very good – every time we took a sip of champagne the glass remained magically full. I’m sure we’ve all been there – when you think you haven’t had a full glass yet, but in reality you’re on your third or fourth bottle…

So. We eventually tottered out of there (after changing into “proper” clothes) and went in search of a boogie. We were spoilt for choice but settled on a band on the seafront and the serious business of letting our hair down.

Just as I was thinking that things couldn’t be better, the rather fit guy I’d been chatting with in the sailing club appeared…he’d come looking for me…

Oh well, after a large cooked breakfast to sort the hangover (Thank you Sarah❤️), we had a lovely afternoon with the “rellies”, and now it’s back to VIBS (Very Important Boat Stuff) .

More soon.

Their parents are going to kill me.

But we’ve had a good night, we always do. But maybe the pink and green nail varnish wasn’t the best idea, at least not without bringing nail varnish remover too.

It was meant to be pink and blue, Bermuda’s colours, and we were giving it a practice run. But the green is definitely not blue, and Emma has a green foot. She seems happy enough with it though, and is off to bed with her jar of ginger.

It used to be Lamb Lamb, but what remained of him (he’d had a very tough paper round) went missing a couple of weeks ago and has been substituted. Not by one of her many cuddly toys…but by a jar of ginger spice. Now she’s always loved ginger, everything we cook or bake together has to be ‘improved’ with a substantial amount of ginger.

I know some people think I’m odd, but granddaughter Emma takes the (ginger of course) biscuit. Poor Adam, caught in the middle of us both.

Tomorrow I’m off on my travels again, it’s boat prep week and I’m driving down with a friend who’s coming along to help. I was supposed to be attending a media training course on Monday…and heaven knows I need it! But that’s my job on Leg 7, my job on Legs 1 and 2 is the victualling…so lots of food shopping and bagging and labelling and storage to do. And let’s face it if we don’t eat then the racing updates and crew blogs pale into insignificance.

I can’t wait to see Bermuda in her glorious colours – she was plain old CV21 when I saw her last. And she’s doing great! As CV21 we won our practice race in the dirty bottom class. As Bermuda she won the practice race overall last week despite a crew injury at the start (again).

I was watching the race on a marine app that shows the yachts positions, but it also showed Bermuda turning around and being approached by Bembridge lifeboat. We (the crew not on board) were messaged by our skipper and told that there had been an incident, details to follow. In the event, all was well, a moment of inattention resulting in a fall and a bang to the head causing unconsciousness and a spell in hospital.

Strangely enough a similar thing happened not a week week before. I was being “an official” on the rib – committee boat, at The Royal Northumberland Yacht Club. We (Di and me) laid the start flags just out of Blyth Harbour in very lumpy seas… we went up, the yachts dropped down…we went down into a trough and the yachts went totally out of sight. We dropped anchor and sounded the 10 minute countdown.

All the boats were milling about, rising and falling (if ever I was going to be seasick that should have been it), when one “Auf Weidersein Pet” (don’t you just love that name? and not a shabby boat either!) came powering straight towards us and two of the crew shouting incomprehensibley at us.

In a trice they were alongside, they were going up as we were going down, we were rising as they dropped, a pair of legs appeared under their guard rails, the feet belonging them half touching the side of our rib, and then a body being unceremoniously shoved off with the instructions “Grab Her”.

Luckily we did. Though a little warning via the radio would have been nice. Why Jackie had been so forcefully ejected wasn’t apparent until we had her safely astride the rib seat. It wasn’t a domestic over race tactics or what rope to pull…no, she’d been hit on the head. Quite hard, and by a sharp edge on AWP’s (I’m not attempting to spell that twice) boom.

There was a distant shout of “You all right Darling?” as they rapidly disappeared to find the best spot to sail into the start line…but they didn’t hang about for a reply.

Luckily she was ok. Lots of blood which turned her hair red, (the colour really suited her) but she was game enough to stay out long enough to allow me to have a play on rib once the race was underway. What fun! Like driving the quad bike at speed but even more exciting!

Oh no…I’m in even more trouble with the parents…while I’ve been writing this the puppy has sh*t in the dining room…

Perhaps it’s time they got a professional in…

There is a Chinese curse. “May you live in interesting times”

Now I do like to peek out of my comfort zone occasionally, I’ve always liked to push myself, but now I feel I’m most definitely living in Interesting Times…

Stress! My body feels on high alert constantly and my sleep pattern is all over the place. Alcohol (for medicinal reasons of course) can help me sleep…or pass out. But then feeling ten times worse the next day totally negates any benefits.

Mindfulness works, but I never seem to have the time nowadays to sit still and “calm my mind” Besides my mind has developed a mind of its own and it has no intention of being calmed. It seems to be addicted to adrenalin and races ahead of me refusing to let me catch it up. I’ve only myself to blame I suppose, I ought to have been much tougher on it in the first place.

The “Interesting Times?” Well, never ending. From stressing over my mislaid passport (I’d put it in a ‘safe’ place after last race training), to racing around from the Travel Clinic to the District Nurse, being stuck with needles so I comply with all of the necessary vaccinations for each country visited. Then there’s my American Visa. I’ve left that a bit late.

Apparently the usual ESTA won’t do it, I need a “non immigrant” visa, and I can only get that by filling in numerous forms online, and then making an appointment for an interview at the American Embassy in London. Ok, I thought, I can ask for an interview while I’m on the boat in London before race start. I was feeling pretty chuffed at my organisational skills when the embassy contacted me to arrange this.

Two hours later, enjoying some rare relaxation riding round the hill, I remembered it’s Embassy policy to keep your passport for a few days…or in some instances weeks! And of course my passport still hadn’t come out hiding! Nooo! Poor Jim, he was plodding along enjoying the sunshine and suddenly the lunatic on his back wanted a flat out gallop back home…or at least until we found some phone signal.

Then there’s the twenty four hour online chat with the rest of Bermuda crew, we are constantly making lists and consulting with each other on crew fund purchases, boat improvements, food quantities, delivery dates, prices, menus (and then changing them again) and zillions of other things. Clipper crew hub, Facebook, What’s app, Instagram, Email, and then different threads for each subject…

Female concerns figure greatly we have our own private fb page for this – though the male crew are not happy, and have been asking to join.

The current discussion is underwear, what material is less pongy considering we will be living in it for quite a while. Like me, they aren’t keen on the advice to wear none at all. And some better endowed ladies will be positively dangerous on the coffee grinder if all is not strapped down safely.

Personally I’m very happily happily sorted now. Fine merino wool knickers and tops, medium weight for socks. I even managed to find woolly knickers with lace on…keeping them just on the right side of industrial. My underwear packing is now divided into three dry bags – “Offshore”, “Onshore” and “Might get lucky”

As for the passport. I couldn’t wait any longer for it to surface, the stress was climbing up the existing stress hill. I applied for a new one.

Of course the very next day it was laid in full sight in my toiletries bag, and I really hope I’ve ordered enough bread mix.

What a strange year. So many have commented lately on how lucky I am, and how happy I always look. I wouldn’t disagree, but this year so far has contained a tremendous amount of heartbreak and tragedy too.

Dad had come to stay for Christmas, he said he would stay two or three days although he hadn’t been feeling well for a week or two beforehand. He managed to get through Christmas Day but then became progressively weaker and more unwell after that. To cut a long story short he stayed for several weeks until he could no longer cope with the stairs and he was in so much pain he was finally admitted into hospital.

He died late February, just a few days before I had to leave for Gosport to start my Level 1 Clipper training. I did think about not going, but there was nothing to be gained by staying home, so I arranged the funeral for my return, let the rest of the family know, and off I went.

I remember that week as surreal, as if the whole experience was happening to someone else. Learning to sail on an unfamiliar boat with total strangers on grey inhospitable seas, icy rain and penetrating winds. It was both demanding and exhausting, but it held my grief at bay. There was just no time to think to deeply.

So I came home and the very next day we held the funeral. Strange that one of the pieces of music he had requested was the theme from The Onedin Line, he had always loved the sea. It was little over a year since we were in the very same place for my Mums funeral….and with her wicked sense of humour she had requested that the curtains closed on her coffin to the tune of Duelling Banjos. That caused a few giggles amongst the congregation…exactly as she had planned.

Most of us, if we haven’t already, will have the miserable business of sorting through our deceased parents belongings and having to make heart wrenching decisions on what we can realistically keep and what must be let go – either given to charity shops (in my case it was Tynedale Hospice at Home) or binned. They were both hoarders and the task was never ending.

Between that, going up and down the country for Clipper Training and of course lambing, it was physically and emotionally a very difficult time for me. And the paperwork! It seems nothing is easy, but I waded through it and even managed to get the house onto the market and sold.

Things seemed to be levelling out again.

Dad has a brother, Uncle Malcolm, who lives in Cowes and they have always been very close. Uncle M took it really badly when Dad died, and one of the bonuses of my frequent trips to the South Coast this year means it’s a short ferry ride to the Isle of Wight to see him and my many relatives who live there. I last visited him in May, and we shared some very precious memories of Dad and I promised to bring him some mementos over when I returned in July.

The day before I set off back down south I was thinking I’d better ring Uncle M to let him know which day we’d be sailing past Cowes – he loves to know so he can come down to the seafront and wave. We don’t usually sail close enough so I can pick him out, but it’s always comforting to know that he’s there, we have become so much closer since Dad died.

This was what was running through my mind when my phone rang. Cousin Catherine. Uncle Malcolm had been killed earlier that day in a car accident, Aunt Christine was in Hospital, bruised but ok.

I was numb. I was shocked, but felt nothing. I was concerned that I felt nothing. I reasoned to myself that I have experienced so much tragedy, especially in the last few years, that my system must be used to accepting such news now. I packed my things, I drove down to the New Forest, I had a really enjoyable team building weekend. Every now and then I reminded myself that he had died. Not “just” died but killed. A horrible, violent and unnecessary death. But no, nothing. I honestly didn’t know whether to be grateful that I was learning to take loss in my stride, or concerned that I could feel so little.

A day later, I was strolling around the shops at Gunwharf Keys in Portsmouth when my phone rang. It was my cousin Simon, calling to bring me up to date, we talked for a long while, and without warning something triggered and I broke down…

Totally broke down. In the middle of a crowded street. Some people stared, some looked the other way, and one kind stranger led me to an outside table, sat me down and brought me a cup of tea…with milk and sugar which I usually detest. I gulped it down gratefully. And he brought paper napkins to soak up the tears and the inevitable snot that accompanies such an outpouring. He didn’t ask any questions, and he only left when I reassured him I would be ok. I don’t know his name, I’m not sure I would know him again if saw him, but I will forever remember his kindness.

Nothing lasts forever. If you love them, then tell them.