tcm
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Hi everyone! Preecy here! I've finally got the computer going. But it's very noisy and wet on board this boat, which goes pretty fast - although apparently it's even wetter and faster in the Southern Ocean! Strewth! And indeed, wowee! I hope you'll get the idea that it's exciting if I use lots of exclamation marks!!
Do let me tell you about how I came to be on board this boat. Well, before that, let me tell you about my family, the names of the kids, and where we live, the subtext of which is I'm already more than a bit homesick. Especially when I think that that we had a big hug on our last day in London only a week ago. Our youngest is only a few months old, so hardly knows where her Dad is going, or why. She's going to have to be a brave girl for the next two months or so, until I get back safely from the Southern Ocean. We thought it would be best to say goodbyes in London, rather in France. Also, of course, it's a whole load cheaper, and probably better from the point of view of pushchairs and so on. And anyway, she's due to start in the toddlers groups next month, along with little Abigail whom we met at the clinic, who is the same age as our youngest to the exact day, September the 3rd, and in the same ward too, Queen Elizabeth's at the Montague hospital, not far from Southampton. So that means that they're both exactly five months old. Five months, 14 hours and twenty minutes, to be exact. She can't talk yet, but she's as good as anyone at drooling, smiles a lot and very well behaved too, almost sleeps right through the night. She'll have quite story to tell when she grows up and learns that I've been to the Southern Ocean. Sigh!
Of course - you all want to know how a Jules Verne record attempt really works at the sharp end - on board, as part of the tight-knit world-class crew. Let me tell you the most noticeable thing - I'm bloody starving!! Famished! I mean, normally there's that pie shop just round the corner of kings reach tower, and the pub, the greasy spoon across the road and even the Oxo Tower if we get the Ed in a happy mood on Fridays. No such blimmin luck here, and Ellen says there'll be even less food if we don't pick up speed before the Southern Ocean. Well, I'm almost dying of hunger with no proper food, and you can't call one bowl of fish stew a proper dinner. That's just a snack. I licked the bowl out, and listened to my stomach groaning until breakfast. And when I say "breakfast", i use the term loosely - just one lousy bowl of blimmin porridge. No sausages, no bacon sarnies, no chips, nothing except crappy porridge!
Soon we'll be crossing the Equator, and well on our way to the Southern Ocean. You can probably tell that I'm a bit apprehensive. Well, ok, apprehensive. Alright, I'm bloody shit scared. Especially about the Southern Ocean, aargh, although I secretly think that Ellen and the others are winding me up, cos they make jokes to each other in French. Who's idea was it to send me?
Oh and here's a picture of me in the nav centre. No idea how that lots works, hence no stats. The serious-sunglasses-and-sailing-type crew aren't speaking to me since I nearly sank the boat by opening the window for a bit of fresh air. Then Ellen got a bit skipperrish at me, told me me she could manage fine without any of us, especially me, and I mustn't touch anything.
Anyway we're near the Canaries. Reminds me of that nice AZAB trip again - gentle 7 knots and we could spend all our spare time making bread. And then eating it! And then, having another go at making more bread! I can't stop thinking about food. Does anyone know where the emergency biscuits are kept? Ellen says that there are no emergency biscuits. She's joking, isn't she?
heavily reworked text is at
<A target="_blank" HREF=http://www.ybw.com/auto/newsdesk/20030103162244ywkingfisherandrew.html>http://www.ybw.com/auto/newsdesk/20030103162244ywkingfisherandrew.html</A>
Do let me tell you about how I came to be on board this boat. Well, before that, let me tell you about my family, the names of the kids, and where we live, the subtext of which is I'm already more than a bit homesick. Especially when I think that that we had a big hug on our last day in London only a week ago. Our youngest is only a few months old, so hardly knows where her Dad is going, or why. She's going to have to be a brave girl for the next two months or so, until I get back safely from the Southern Ocean. We thought it would be best to say goodbyes in London, rather in France. Also, of course, it's a whole load cheaper, and probably better from the point of view of pushchairs and so on. And anyway, she's due to start in the toddlers groups next month, along with little Abigail whom we met at the clinic, who is the same age as our youngest to the exact day, September the 3rd, and in the same ward too, Queen Elizabeth's at the Montague hospital, not far from Southampton. So that means that they're both exactly five months old. Five months, 14 hours and twenty minutes, to be exact. She can't talk yet, but she's as good as anyone at drooling, smiles a lot and very well behaved too, almost sleeps right through the night. She'll have quite story to tell when she grows up and learns that I've been to the Southern Ocean. Sigh!
Of course - you all want to know how a Jules Verne record attempt really works at the sharp end - on board, as part of the tight-knit world-class crew. Let me tell you the most noticeable thing - I'm bloody starving!! Famished! I mean, normally there's that pie shop just round the corner of kings reach tower, and the pub, the greasy spoon across the road and even the Oxo Tower if we get the Ed in a happy mood on Fridays. No such blimmin luck here, and Ellen says there'll be even less food if we don't pick up speed before the Southern Ocean. Well, I'm almost dying of hunger with no proper food, and you can't call one bowl of fish stew a proper dinner. That's just a snack. I licked the bowl out, and listened to my stomach groaning until breakfast. And when I say "breakfast", i use the term loosely - just one lousy bowl of blimmin porridge. No sausages, no bacon sarnies, no chips, nothing except crappy porridge!
Soon we'll be crossing the Equator, and well on our way to the Southern Ocean. You can probably tell that I'm a bit apprehensive. Well, ok, apprehensive. Alright, I'm bloody shit scared. Especially about the Southern Ocean, aargh, although I secretly think that Ellen and the others are winding me up, cos they make jokes to each other in French. Who's idea was it to send me?
Oh and here's a picture of me in the nav centre. No idea how that lots works, hence no stats. The serious-sunglasses-and-sailing-type crew aren't speaking to me since I nearly sank the boat by opening the window for a bit of fresh air. Then Ellen got a bit skipperrish at me, told me me she could manage fine without any of us, especially me, and I mustn't touch anything.
Anyway we're near the Canaries. Reminds me of that nice AZAB trip again - gentle 7 knots and we could spend all our spare time making bread. And then eating it! And then, having another go at making more bread! I can't stop thinking about food. Does anyone know where the emergency biscuits are kept? Ellen says that there are no emergency biscuits. She's joking, isn't she?
heavily reworked text is at
<A target="_blank" HREF=http://www.ybw.com/auto/newsdesk/20030103162244ywkingfisherandrew.html>http://www.ybw.com/auto/newsdesk/20030103162244ywkingfisherandrew.html</A>
