It was as if someone had flipped a switch: the day that August rolled into September – even after one of the hottest summers on record – temperatures changed. We still had 30 degrees plus in Athens/Attica in the afternoons, but suddenly evenings were only 20 degrees and everyone started wearing jeans and jumpers. It felt weird sleeping under covers and not having a fan whirring at 100 miles an hour and blowing directly on me in bed, after 3 months of hot and humid nights.

Then on the 11^th of September it rained for the first time since June. ‘Autumn is a second spring, when every leaf is a flower’, wrote Albert Camus and nowhere is this truer than in Greece. The longed for autumn rains give all the plants a growth surge and trees take on the fluoro green of new shoots, while all the plants’ colours brighten as the summer dust is washed off their foliage and petals.

Autumn in Athens, means that it might be a bit chilly to swim in the mornings, but it is still nice and warm enough to take a dip off the beach in the afternoons. The die hard senior Athenians, who swim every day of the year, get in the water no matter what the weather – they have their regular time and place and swim with fins, hats and sunglasses – they might not be swimming that hard and taking much exercise, but they are swimming daily none the less and the water will most likely make them live forever. Every New Year, there’s a report on local television, interviewing Athenians who swim year round and it generally features the same folk.

The shops are full of wintery clothes in dark shades and heavy fabrics, which seems a bit farcical when it is 30 degrees outside and everyone is still wearing shorts and sandals. But the shopping in Athens is amazing. And in a financial crisis is seriously competitive – bargains are to be found all over. If you want edgy looks at keen prices, you browse the racks in the boutiques of the backstreets of Pireaus. For designer labels, high art, antiques, Greek and Euro-chic it is downtown Athens – Kolonaki and Plaka. For the hip musos, clubbers, media and contemporary crafts it’s Gazi and Psirri. And if you just want an up-market high street on the beach, you hit Glyfada.

It is sad, however, to see so many businesses go to the wall in these tough times. Pireaus, the port of Athens and traditionally its much less glamorous neighbour, has been hit very hard, with shops closing down, buildings left empty and renovation projects remaining near derelict. Even in the wealthy beach suburb of Glyfada, I was shocked to see a really good eaterie disappear within 6 weeks of my discovering it – I was dismayed when I suggested going there one Sunday lunch time to find that it had closed for good.

While on the subject of food, I have been living all summer on a fairly staple diet of souvlaki – classic Greek sandwiches, which we would call kebabs in the UK (but are far nicer than those horrific things you buy late at night after the pub and you are too drunk to care what they taste like). Souvlaki is traditional Greek fast food/barbecue: there’s a number of variations on the theme, depending on what meat you want (lamb, chicken, beef or pork – on a wooden skewer or cut from a gyro or meat balls) and how you want it (wrapped in pitta bread, on its own or with salad), but it is all fresh and tastes great. I love the fact that McDonald’s doesn’t make a profit in Greece – the Greeks much prefer eating that which is Greek and traditional.  Some souvlaki shops, such as Bairaktaris in Monstiraki, downtown Athens, have been in business for 100 years and attract local and international celebs.  Souvlaki, it seems, will never go out of fashion in Greece.

There are such wonderful things to buy here and at such incredible prices (particularly when I think about returning to the high French Alpine economy) that I have gradually been doing my Christmas shopping – ideal for the family in Australia, with their upside down seasons and beach lifestyle, I can get much more appropriate pressies for them in Greece. While for myself I have picked up cowboy boots for 60 euros, stunning jewellery and body adorment for less than 50 euros apiece in precious metals and with real stones.

The jewellery traditions and culture of hand crafting it are very strong in Greece. There is a jewellery museum down the road from the Akropolis, the Ilias Lalaounis House, and hundred of shops where you can buy directly from the gold and silversmiths who have made every unique piece thay are selling. Very inspiring if you are into jewellery – which I am. Late in life, I’ve had an elegant and exotic ear piercing – done in Pireaus, which is most appropriate for a wannabe pirate…

My confusion over Greek men continues, however. After some research and particularly painful mind games, I realised that much of their odd behaviour in relationships, is to do with Greek women – many of whom have similarly tricky temperaments to French women. French men are persistent because French women say ‘non’ a lot; Greek men are persistent for similar reasons. In France it is seen as coquettish and charming for women to be a bit bad tempered – in England the men would write off such behaviour as being a stroppy bitch. In Greece, women like to cook for their men, make the house nice for them and dote on children, but complain endlessly if they are not given the opportunity to do this and are terrible nags. But then Greek men are hopeless in the mornings, unable to get up early unless a lady is gently waking them and brewing fresh coffee. Which explains why the women become so nagging: they have to ask men over and over to do things for them or questions or whatever. Greek men hate being nagged, but obstinately ignore what women are trying to communicate, until they are good and ready to respond – usually after the 10^th request!

Where I come from, girls generally just lie back and think of England – it was bred into them during the world wars of the last century. Although, while many Greek men are encouraged by this, I think they might be a bit scared off by the ladette behaviour illustrated by Brits in the popular resorts on Rhodes, Kos and Corfu. And strong, self-starting girls who get up early in the morning, do chores and work out – all before breakfast – completely freak them out. So I’m a little stymied.

But then, Greece has largely gone out of fashion for many British holiday makers – it is quite far, it is nothing like as cheap as it used to be when the drachma was the currency. Although, this year that has changed with the country being near bankrupt, it is bargain central. But Greece will always be in fashion for the Greeks – particularly those who live abroad (mostly in the UK and the US). At the kiosks here I can buy all the English newspapers, English Hello, Tatler and British Vogue. A lot of what is shown on the telly is in English with Greek subtitles, which is great for practising my reading of Greek.

Athens might be 2000 km farther East from home than Chamonix, but it feels a lot closer. I shall miss it.

Well, it sure is a long hot summer in Greece this year – no regular Meltemi winds to cool Attica and the islands, means that temperatures have topped 40 degrees Celsius on several occasions.

But if you want fresher airs and cooling breezes you go to the Northern Cycladic Islands, such as Tinos – home to the legendary cave of Aeolus, god of wind. And if you are on a Greek Islands sailing holiday, then everyone wants to go to Mykonos – the island where anything goes…

The trouble is, is that sailing around Mykonos and Tinos is not easy. Some superstitious Greek skippers won’t go to Tinos, because they don’t want to rattle Aeolus’ cage. Yet, all guests and bare boat charterers want to go to Mykonos – a decision many regret as their endure a bumpy ride to get to the island. Then after that, they are struggling to tie up in the marina in a Force 6 or 7, often 8, with anchors are getting tangled, boats being blown on to walls and each other. The rush hour around 6pm in the evening in high season at the marina in Mykonos is better than any TV soap opera, as small sail boats, big stink pots, ferries and fishing boats jostle for some kind of pecking order and a spot in the crowded port.

Once you are tied up, though, it is all worth it: the beach bars and restaurants on Mykonos might be expensive, but they are truly stunning in style. The island’s scenery has been preserved by not allowing non-Cycladic Island architecture to spring up in the name of development. Mykonos Town (the Chora) is a classic old Cycladic village of narrow streets separating white box Greek houses and tiny churches. Myth has it that the streets were made so narrow, so that the pirates and partiers who colonised the island centuries ago, could ricochet drunkenly along them to find their way home late at night. It’s amazing how pirates always find cool spots and turn them into hot spots.

There is plenty of pirate influence in contemporary Greek culture – anyone who works in boating in Athens lives in Paleo Faliro, the southern beach area, populated by yachties, skippers, captains, pirates, smugglers, gangsters, charmers and other louche livers. I live on the edge of the area in Kalamaki, which has a huge marina and is the place to get anything done to do with boats. But it is all myth – the area is very safe, I swim every day I can and it is friendly and as interconnected as Cowes on the Isle of Wight.

The interconnectedness of the area is a feature of all of Greece. Everyone knows everyone or is related to someone that they know. It is not considered rude in Greece to ask complete strangers how old they are, where they live and if they are married. When I queried this (after being utterly shocked as a British woman that I was being personally interrogated within seconds of being introduced to someone) to a friend, explaining that it is seen as very offensive to ask a woman her age in England, he laughed and reminded me that there are only 10 million people living in Greece and so people are always checking whether or not they are related to a potential new mate.

But this doesn’t make the dating game any easier… Not only have I learned that Athenian men generally have more than one girlfriend, I have also gleaned that the most important woman in a Greek man’s life is his mother. As many men live with their mothers when they are single, you are bound to cross the paths of these matriarchs. It is quite common for the older generation to speak less English that their children, as I found when I was trying to organise a date with a guy who lives in Pireaus with his mum. Whenever I phoned his house and asked to speak to him in English, his mother hung up on me.

To escape the heatwave, I went to Mykonos for work. It was a somewhat stressful experience, as we were doing corporate day and evening sails in up to 30 knots of wind, but somehow I managed to run the much moving bar efficiently enough to be offered a bar job in the gay Jackie O bar in the Little Venice area of the Chora. Then it was off to Santorini to pick up a yacht and deliver it back to the mainland.

Everything was going well, in spite of the fact that we were going upwind in a catamaran in a Force 7-8, until we lost an engine and sprung a leak off Cape Sounio. Unfazed, I started bailing and organised us a tow into Lavrio, where we then had a crazy moment hauling the boat out of the water in the dark and a howling gale. But we did it and the boat was saved and easily repaired. You have to hand it to the Greeks, they can get anything done in a flash if necessary – you have to pay cash and dispense with bureaucracy, but at least things happen when they need to.

To celebrate our safe return and to appreciate the beauty of summer, we did a trek of Cape Sounio under the last August full moon. The archeological site of the ancient Temple of Poseidon was open late and free for all, so we were not alone in our venture. But the sky was full of shooting stars big enough to show up beside a moon so bright that the Aegean Sea was lit up as we could see as far as the island of Kithnos to the East. And there is nothing more appropriate for yachties in Greece than to worship at the temple of Poseidon – it was a truly charming evening.

I thought I had seen and heard it all in the social maze that is London with regards to the dating dance of life, but no – try running the marathon that is dating Greek men in Athens…

Most of my Greek friends are men and all of them seem to have at least 2 women on the go and at least two mobile phone numbers – one for work, one for social and some have a third ‘for the women’. It is fairly standard for Athenian men to have one girlfriend for behind closed doors and another that they wheel out for family events and special occasions.

Greek men are very open about the fact that they might want to date you, but will then never follow up on the initial meeting or enthusiam until their wife or long-term girlfriend is out of town, which means you don’t hear from them and assume that they are not interested. And then you get called out of the blue and end up having three dates with them in a week. After which you might not hear from them again…

Hilariously, there is also no subterfuge about whether or not they are married – one guy told me he was ‘a little bit’ married, while another said to me that he loved his wife, but still wanted to take me out. I was more than a bit bewildered by all of this, until I made friends with a very wise single woman, who plays the men soundly at their own game. Said lady has a young lover, two daters – one married and one divorced – with an intellectual on/off partner for all the other times.

Then one of my best mates, who is very much single at the moment but has had good relationships with some truly stunning women, told me that it is often better to have a number of entertaining summer flirts, ideally out of Athens in the country or the islands, as most people in the apparently civilised society of Athens are busy being married and messing around – so the locals’ tip is have fun, but don’t get involved.

Athens is a calmer, quieter place in August, as most people shut up shop and disappear for the month. It’s insanely hot at this time of the year, so you can understand why everyone wants to go to the islands, but the city itself is on the beach and with less traffic and people in town, those who have to stay for the holiday month, take back the city for themselves. It is in fact a very cool city: it has a low crime rate, an excellent cultural scene and miles of beach. There’s some of Europe’s top shopping, fabulous food and ancient history to soak up everywhere. There are also masses of leafy squares where you can sit in the shade of a cafe and put the world to rights in that most Mediterranean of ways – over coffee.

Most Athenians would argue that it is way too hot in August to work too hard and so much of the sultry day is spent resting and then the place comes alive at night when the temperature drops a little. Cinemas are busiest for their late shows from 11pm, bars don’t get going until well after midnight and walking home at 3 in the morning is a bit like catching the last train in London: there are plenty of other people doing the same.

Athenians are, however, very parochial. When I decided to embark on a journey across town to an inner city suburb, where a cinema was playing a particular film I wanted to watch, I couldn’t find anyone to give me directions, as none of my friends knew the area. In general, people know where they live, where they work, where their folks live and that’s all they need to know. So I set off with a street map that was to a titchy scale, into the dusk, to an area that was residential and so not terribly well lit. It was too dark for me to read my map and it and all the street signs were in Greek anyway, so I was struggling from the outset. After several Greek versions of a wild goose chase – Athenians are hopeless at giving directions and I was getting them in very difficult to understand Greek English – I finally found the open air cinema I was after and settled down to watch a Swedish film with Greek subtitles, which was a further linguistic challenge. Somehow I managed to enjoy the movie.

Then I was in the country for the weekend and got invited to a beach party, which most people didn’t know how to get to, or how to get back to Athens from afterwards. In a ludricrous comedy of errors on the day after, in the middle of a heat wave and a fuel crisis and with thumping hangovers, we managed to run out of petrol in the middle of nowhere and had to flag down a lift to my car, which was also low on petrol, but was parked at a marina where we knew we could get some. Crazy days of summer – Greek style.

It is so too hot in Athens to fight the way the Greeks keep time – or rather the way that they don’t. You just have to get used to it and go with it. I quit going to bed early with a view to a bright start in the cool of the morning, once I realised that unless I was trading with Asia or anyone further ahead of us in time, it was pointless trying to get anything done first thing in the morning, as no one was up nor anything open.

Most Greeks spend little time over breakfast (usually a short black coffee and a smoke), but then they will spend a leisurely morning sitting around in cafes, reading the paper or exercising before sauntering to work mid-morning to organise a lunchtime meeting for about 4pm. Lunch might start at 4 or 5 in the afternoon and go on for a couple of hours (the time at which some Northern Europeans are thinking about supper), after which people might go to bed for an early evening nap; before going out for coffee at 8.30pm and to eat again at around 10 or 11 at night, with drinks and dancing getting underway from midnight and the small hours of the next day.

The days when work started at 8am and finished at noon, with most people going to bed after lunch for a siesta in the heat of the day and returning to the grind from 4 until 8pm, seem to have been confused by the global market place and international time keeping and communications. Shops keep reasonably traditional Mediterranean times: 8 or 10am to 2pm then 5 to 8 or 9pm, depending on the region and what they are selling, but basically most businesses keep whatever hours they feel like.

Even my Greek friends think that it’s amusing to consider how random time-keeping in Greece is – tavernas are invariably empty at noon and packed at 5pm. Don’t think about trying to get a late table at a top restaurant for dinner: everything will be fully booked, but they might squeeze you in at 1.30am…

As a nation of Southern European insomniacs, people go to bed when they are tired and hate waking each other up with the phone or doorbell, no matter what time of day it is – you politely and quietly leave a message, knowing that whoever you are trying to contact will get back to you when they are awake. Once you’ve been here for a while, it all makes sense – it’s too hot to rush anywhere and everyone is very up front about the fact that they might be going to bed in the next 10 minutes and can they help you before they do so?

My battles with the language continue, although I am determined to crack it. I have nearly mastered the alphabet, which is key for cracking the code and my favourite book of the moment is Teach Yourself Modern Greek, closely followed by Nautical and Marine Terms in 10 Languages, including Greek, Turkish and Finnish, as well as a weighty Oxford Greek – English Dictionary. My friends here don’t believe that I am doing anything to learn Greek, and are then surprised at how much I understand, even if I respond in English. But then there is the way that the Greeks speak and write English that takes a bit of getting used to, as well…

One thing I do love about Greek media, though, is the love of film and the fantastic summer cinemas that entertain the nation in the open air. These are not drive-in outdoor movie theatres as you might find in the new world, just lovely old-fashioned outdoor cinemas on the beach or at the foot of the Acropolis or in any built up urban or leafy suburban area. At my local, Cine Flisvos, you can see the rigs of supersail yachts in the marina one one side of the screen, hear cicadas chirruping on the other, listen to the Aegean lapping the beach behind and view the stars above the screen as the credits roll. While Cine Paris in Plaka has a fab view of the Parthenon illuminated beside it.

Many people view Greece as being a bit of a crazy country, but I just enjoy its charming eccentricity…

Their country might be on the brink of bankruptcy, but the Greeks are nowhere near losing their sense of humour and are just getting into the swing of a standard sultry summer.

I was buying phone credit and as I paid my percentage of that to the government, the sales clerk apologised for the extra tax, muttering “Economic Crisis” drily. Then while watching England play badly (again) in the World Cup, I was bitching that as the nation that created the game, we were now its shame: to which my Greek mate retorted: “We were the founding nation of Western Civilisation – now look at the state of us!”

So life goes on as normal. Everyone drives at breakneck speed on narrow and congested city streets or else corners on two out of four wheels on coastal cliff roads. You are overtaken by huge motorbikes, the rider of which has no crash helmet and whose girlfriend is the pillion passenger in a bikini and flip-flops.

They don’t have milkmen here (in the heat the dairy produce goes rancid at an alarming rate), but they do have all manner of sales trucks that cruise around residential areas calling out the price of their wares via a loud hailer. When I first lived in Athens, there was an election coming up, so I thought all the annoucements were part of political parties’ campaigning. I didn’t understand enough Greek (not that it is easy to make out what is being blared through the loud hailer) to realise that these were either the rag and bone man calling “Bring out your junk!”, or someone selling watermelons and letting all and sundry know what they were charging for them, or a mobile terracotta pot shop, or some other guy flogging baskets – until I saw the vehicles and then asked for a translation of the anouncements. And now I rather like this old school style of door to door selling. You have to hand it to people who improvise in business like this: taking the market to the customer, rather than the customer having to go to market – although the local markets here are excellent, selling the best fresh produce and anything else you might possibly want or need.

The long days at this time of the year, mean that the temperatures have already hit 40 degrees C and the Meltemi, a cooling Northerly wind, has yet to kick in and freshen Attica and the islands of the Aegean. So the southern beaches on the Saronic Gulf – the Apollo Coast or the Athens Riviera, call it what you will – are packed. The morning beach goers are senior Athenians, who swim every day of summer wearing big knickered bikinis or shorts and sun hats, as they bob around in the water flapping their arms and not really going anywhere – just cooling off. Only tourists and foreigners are foolish enough to go to the beach at lunchtime. Then in the late afternoon the cool crowd rock up, take a table, loungers, umbrellas and so on and settle in for the five to sunset session with iced coffees and cold beers.

We bucked the system completely, by doing a shore dive at a popular swimming spot in Varkiza, which was very cool – fab visibility, colourful fish, octopus – although a little disconcerting for the swimmers on the surface above us.

At work I’ve been busy with cyber marketing for my boss, as well as cramming in a couple of small yacht deliveries. The business is as improvisational as any here in Greece: our dock is a short floating addition to the ever-increasingly busy marina of Lavrion, the fleet’s container is a couple of old cars and we have little in the way of  facilities, but we give our clients top notch service.

Blue water days…

Having abandoned the notion of sailing westerly to the Pacific, I relocated to the adventure sports capital of Western Europe, that is Chamonix-Mont Blanc, for some crisis-management work, ego re-building at altitude and some serious off-piste skiing. I got so wrapped up in all of the afore-mentioned – as well as agonising for a couple of months as to what to do once I could ski no more – that creativity was a tad neglected (not helped by the rural standards of WiFi access in Argentiere).

After 18 months of working on the water in the Caribbean and Mediterranean, I took to Alpine village life like a marmotte does to the high alpage… While I didn’t ski quite as much as I would have liked to during the season, when I did, it was some of the best skiing I have ever done, on the most challenging and stunning terrain. In short, I fell in love with Mont Blanc. And I managed to go to Verbier for Easter to see some old chums and ski all of that, too!

Living at the foot of Les Grands Montets, woken by avalanche blasting most mornings and being able to hear the main cable car make its first ascent, brought me back down to earth and cheered me immensely. I also met and worked with some truly inspiring people and remembered who I was once more. Little by little, I began to write again, take pictures and think creatively, while still maintaining a seriously active lifestyle. I realised that I had almost had my head held under water by certain former colleagues and it was refreshing to breathe clear air.

A whole raft of new opportunities presented themselves to me as projects for the summer season, and while I was tempted to take the biggest challenge, I erred on the side of caution, familiarity and experience and packed the go-anywhere Kia car and drove back to the UK in May to catch up with the family, before driving back to Chamonix and then on to Greece via the Mont Blanc Tunnel and Italy – a major road trip and much more of an adventure than I could have imagined…

Crikey, driving in Italy on Italian motorways is akin to the Grand Prix or Le Mans – everyone has their headlights on all the time and floors it! The speed limits are high and everyone seems to ignore them: one of the fastest cars to pass me by was the local caribinieri – and they most certainly didn’t have their blue lights flashing, they were just in a hurry to get to lunch. The ferry from Ancona was a civilised break from all the driving, it was good for me to hear everyone chatting in Greek again and I managed to wave to a mate of mine delivering a yacht to Corfu. I was on my way to Athens and the sparkling Aegean Sea to work for the company I worked for last summer.

Athens is hot, humid, dusty, polluted and chaotic, but I have to say that I do like it. And, thankfully, I had spent 4 months there last year and so was used to its Eastern Mediterranean manner. And I am lucky enough to live in the charming southern beach suburbs. But nothing had prepared me fully for the way that the Greeks drive on motorways. Now I knew that speed limits were generally viewed as vague guidelines and that downtown Athens traffic could be seriously congested, but you just can’t explain to people how to drive on the one road from Patras to Athens. It is mostly a single lane highway full of huge trucks that people queue behind until there is an overtaking lane or else they just hassle slow traffic into the hard shoulder and go for it. The fact that this road takes you through the very heart of the city with no warning or exits whatsoever (before you know it you are passing the Acropolis and the Temple of Zeus), and you go from a 3 lane highway to narrow, old inner city streets in a trice. This combined with the fact that street signs are written in Greek script, means that driving in Greece for the non-Greeks is not for the faint hearted and it most definitely helped me that I had been to Athens before and knew my way around.

But I guess the vast cultural difference between Western and Eastern Europe (even though both nations joined the EU at the same time) is what I love about living in Greece – it could not be more different to England if you tried – despite the facts that nearly everyone speaks English, many Greeks have homes and relations in England, our Queen is married to a Greek, they have Marks & Spencer here – this is, most definitely, the doorstep of the Orient. It’s also the Land of the Gods, the crucible of Western civilisation and is bankrupt and utterly bonkers – what’s not to like?

So it’s back to the grind in the heat: scrubbing boats and organising charters out of Lavrio, the gateway to the gorgeous Cycladic Islands. There will no doubt be some beach action, lots of swimming, hopefully some water skiing, as well as a fair amount of creativity and some lovely sailing. Beautiful Greece.

It felt somewhat ironic leaving a snow blown UK for the slopes of Mont Blanc, but – not to be out done - I filled up the go anywhere Kia and set off in the dark from deepest Surrey for Dover. From there I caught a breakfast ferry to Calais and then hammered my way down through France – meeting lashing rains of resistance in the Jura – to the Chamonix Valley.

I arrived there in the dark, but it was at least dry and cold and then it tipped it down with fresh snow on Sunday and I had to dig my car out again to go to work on Monday… But I really don’t mind digging out my car outside my cute little chocolate box chalet to the tune of avalanche cannons being fired to open up the pistes. Yes, I was blessed in Cham with a new fall of the fluffiest powder, but the pressures of a new job/home/office have not allowed me to sample it yet, but you can’t do everything at once and I should be here for at least 3 months, so I think I’ll have plenty of time to jump down cliffs and play in the white stuff.

On the logistics front, I am flying somewhat by the seat of my pants; but I’m a fast learner and once I catch up I’ll be thoroughly enjoying myself, as well as putting myself through an intense fitness regime all over the mountain. Catch you on the slopes. Pretty pictures to come, hopefully.

Love and flocons BBx

I never assume, prevent myself from presuming and avoid putting all my eggs in one basket, but, boy, did I not see the Gibraltan volta face that ended my 2009 coming… In short, everything fell apart and the next thing I knew I was on a bus in the bucketing rain, battling my way along the Costa del Crime to Marbella to go on retreat at a dear friend’s.

So I started the year in southern Spain, after being shocked on the Rock, and then flew home to Blighty beset with blizzards. I discovered my car (parked in the purportedly sunny South East of England) needed digging out of the snow, had to ram raid my storage facility for expedition gear and winter woollies, and then got very excited about taking my beloved Volkl Auras for a service.

Next stop – Mont Blanc: it’s never a dull moment with BB Ski!

After 9 days of rain at Europa Point/the Pillars of Hercules/the Rock known as Gibraltar, the rest of the crew and I lost our British and colonial (2 of them are Kiwis) sense of humour and got spectacularly drunk on Christmas Day, then moaned our way through Boxing Day, and then got angry the day after – that we were still stuck on the Rock by a gale in the Atlantic… Two days on and we have actually managed some sightseeing and I have cooked for a war of water: we have to go to the Canaries for a work rendez-vous and the weather is going to be appalling, but I have storm food to go. Speak soon and a Happy New Year to all – we will be at sea, singing to Neptune. Stay tuned and please comment – the weather is worth it alone. BBx

After a very interesting birthday in Palma de Mallorca – for which the best present was getting the rig back in the boat that is currently my home/office. It was a beautiful Mallorcan day and the boat looked so happy to have its mast back – stay tuned for pictures. I went up to my oldest friend’s house in the campo mid island to huddle round the fire for the evening, before getting up with the larks to do a quick sea trial the following morning.

So we were all ready to leave Palma on the Sunday, until the Western Med decided to bite us with bucketing rain and howling winds. We eventually got a weather window on Tuesday and did well to get past Cabo de Gata, where the weather turned on us again and we spent the next few days limping round the Spanish coast to Gibraltar. But I did get to see a great buddy who lives near Marbella, whom I hadn’t caught up with for 5 years, so that was cool. And now we are in Gib, looking at the forecast and it looks like we will be here until Christmas, at least, and may have to come up with some cunning plans to get to the Canaries in time to meet the boss to cross the Atlantic – we have no sight of a break in the Atlantic weather at present, as the Gulf Stream is low and has pushed off the Azores High – oh, Happy Days!