March 28th 1982

Our first night on our new berth was very comfortable, the air conditioning aboard keeping things wonderfully cool – we even had to use a blanket.  And then it was time to doll ourselves up ready to go out to the Officers Club for champagne brunch.  It was odd – Monika seems to be huge in comparison with Val, yet Val got into her clothes with no trouble, while Dave’s clothes – or trousers anyway – were far too big for me, + he’s not in that bad a shape. Anyway, we got ready, + off we went, along with John + Barbara, 2 of their friends (he’s pretty good, she’s a pain in the arse), + Elizabeth, a French girl they’re looking after.  She has just left the yacht she’s been travelling on from Colombia, because it seemed the captain was a slob (though it also seemed she was making a melodramatic mountain out of a mundane molehill.)  The meal was terrific – virtually all you could eat + drink, tho’ the latter was limited to champagne + bloody marys (+ later Bucks Fizz, when it occurred to me that they had orange juice too.)  Unfortunately, the company was by no means up to the standard of the cuisine.  We weren’t even sitting next to Elizabeth, who’d been travelling in South America and so I’m sure would have been interesting.  There was also a far livelier bunch on the next-door table, which didn’t add to our satisfaction.  But still, you know what they say about beggars.  We all got a bit sozzled, some more than others, me a bit less than I expected, + then back to the boat.

The afternoon was very lazy indeed – that’s what comes of heavy drinking in the morning – sitting around, watching TV, + yes, eventually, eating again.  When the days done, + we’d started, + finished, drinking again, + returned to our private quarters, I couldn’t help feeling rather depressed.  About our lack of progress towards sailing.  About a certain incompatibility with Dave + his way of looking at the world.  And something of a return of my old self-dissatisfaction at the way my life is passing.  Ho hum.

Once again we were treated right royally, a huge leap up from sardines and the like, so my apologies for my somewhat churlish comments.  Elizabeth was the first – though by no means the last – yacht traveller that we met who had problems with their captain.  And there are hints of a growing dissatisfaction with the progress – or lack of it – that we are making towards departure.