We pick up a visitors’ mooring under the fort at Dale just after half past seven and sit in the cockpit enjoying the evening sunshine, sipping Prosecco - because, hey, we’re on holiday - and posting smug pictures to social media.
At 1a.m. we’re woken up by a tremendous bang. Strong winds have arrived out of nowhere and are blowing in completely the wrong direction for our mooring. Blue Nun keeps trying to sail off the mooring and is snapped back by the lines like a very angry dog on a very short leash. Tom and I are rolling around like two peas in a very rattly sieve as half a gale moans through the rigging. Pretty soon, I’m moaning too. It’s a long time since I’ve felt this seasick and I’m utterly felled; I can't stand, can’t think, can’t sleep, can’t do anything except lie there wishing the world would stay still. When dawn breaks, Tom casts off and we make a very lumpy crossing to a sliver of a bay on the other side of the Haven where we’ll be a little more sheltered. Apart from the huge swells rushing in from the open sea which roll us from side to side…
With the sun coming up, the cabin starts to get hot. I crawl on deck then have to crawl back down and find my bikini and factor 50 suntan cream (remember that skin cancer? Yep, once bitten…). At last, a day of fabulous weather on the boat and I’m too ill to enjoy it! Even when a message appears on my phone asking me if I can write an urgent homes interior feature I have to ask Tom to reply for me as staring at my screen makes me feel queasy.