With this sort of time to kill, you find yourself engaging in long and complex calculations - e.g. if I have a box of 24 bottles of beer, and I have possibly 10 days to get through, how many days can I have three bottles rather than 2?
And, judging by performance on the way here, how many days until the Azores? (Should be Saturday, as we're nearer than we were in Martinique , but on the other hand, there are less hours in a lot of days.)
And it's 6 days at 2 bottles, 4 days at 3.
1730: Rain and 100-yard visibility - hello North Atlantic! There's also a bit of a lollop (pitch).
I've bought a crate of 24 bottles of beer, which I hope will see me off this ship.
I have also bought chocolate to give me some control over my own hunger. I am not so polite any more and I am not eating anything I don't want to eat. I feel like something used to manufacture pate de foie gras.
I haven't done much work this afternoon. Peter told me there were other islands to port, but I missed those. The crew were working on the hatches fore and aft this afternoon, so no walk either. I did 10 'over the tops', up the superstructure and down the other side. It's 6 storeys bottom to top. I don't know if it does any good, but I suspect it does because it is knackering and I stink!
1530: So what next? Will the ship avoid Dover too?
Furthermore, when we were in mobile range of Guadeloupe , I received a delayed text message from BT Mobile saying they were concerned about the "high usage" of my account and saying that unless I got in touch with them within 24 hours my calls would be 'restricted'. That was sent several days ago. So I couldn't make any calls, or send any texts. I can't even phone or text BT themselves to sort this out! They have a variable Direct Debit on my account - they can take money any time they want.
Is everyone a gangster or a twat these days?
Each, tired of waiting
wanders from the scene of watching
but will not settle anywhere else.
One of those uncomfortable days
when the clouds reflect imperfectly in the water
the hot wind all of the ship's own making
a mechanical wind, to punish the crew
even shadows seem indistinct
as though the sun were out of focus
clouds seem designed to convey some message
that surrounds the horizon
heat reddens your neck
and makes turkey with your throat.
1100: Sure enough at 1100 the ship turned to pass to the north of Guadeloupe.
A three-day diversion for nothing.
0815: The First Officer has just told us that the stevedores in Point-A-Pitre are on strike, so nobody knows what is going to happen, or whether we are going in there or not.
0700: Sunshine, calm sea. A red ship away to port, possibly a fishing boat (Peter has my binoculars).
I woke in the night certain that the engine had stopped. I suppose it hadn't. I was thinking, "They'll have to fly us home from Guadeloupe.” I don't know whether I was sorry or glad. Then I had more uncomfortable ship dreams. Guadeloupe is big and has several off-islands, so landfall should be quite soon.
Waiting for landfall
Teasy time
A little distracted work
happens around the ship
But most are thinking of their mobile phones
Charged up for the hopeful moment
Brief, expensive conversations
That only make everything worse
Time zones permitting
In the Caribbean sun
People imagining
Dark tea-times of Europe
The late home traffic jams
And wonder why no one picks up the phone.