The entries get shorter + shorter, don’t they – as the actress said to the bishop. (That’s a Dougism, by the way, tho’ hardly original, I’ll admit.) Today just about the same as yesterday. Despite not having to cope with watches, I slept rotten. For two reasons: first, because for the first part of the night, we were hit at regular intervals by rogue waves, unexpected bastards who’d come booming in, filling the cockpit with water, + giving the boat such a belt that it felt as tho’ we were travelling about ten yards sideways every time. There were three particular monsters of this ilk, which was quite fair, since that meant each one of us had a chance to get up to check for damage. The first time that it happened, I thought we were on our way to sinking, there was such an almighty crash. Secondly, because I couldn’t stop itching, all over – I’ve been like it for about a week now. At first, I thought I’d picked up some fleas or similar unpleasant creatures, but now think that it’s far more likely that it’s some sort of allergic reaction. Not that I’ve been noted for such things in the past, but there’s a first time for everything.
The day, when it finally arrived, was more of the same of what we’ve been experiencing lately – heavy seas + strong winds from precisely the wrong direction. Ah well. I read a couple of books – not really worthy of comment tho’, I’m being very lazy. I did start to revise the story I wrote, but decided that really it needed re-writing from a different point of view, then promptly put the job off till another day. I’ll never be the new Graham Greene at this rate. I’ve had some good ideas for things I want to write lately – whether I’ll ever get round to writing them is an entirely different matter.
It looks as tho’ it’ll be at least another week till we reach NZ. This is much longer than Doug had anticipated, so he has said we must be much more careful about food. Obviously, fair enough. Unfortunately tho’, as part of this regime tonight it was the dreaded macaroni cheese again – ugh. And then after dinner Doug began to comment on the extent of my appetite. He wasn’t nasty about it, + was a bit pissed, but one could detect a definite edge. It’s unfair, I feel, but what can one say, without sounding like whining self-justification. Ho hum.
I’ve had some interesting dreams lately, by the way. My friend John Burman was teaching me latin. That’s one. There was another very involved one about us travelling, + meeting a guy who had a guitar which converted into an organ. And a dream of Val’s in which I was keeping a record of the different meals we’ve eaten by pressing the foods in the pages of a notebook. Strange.
Hm – despite the violence of the seas, Val and I still felt no real apprehension, which may simply show our lack of awareness of the danger. More ideas about writing, rather than writing itself. This does also remind me how dull other people’s dreams are; after all, nothing actually happened. But there is some hidden awareness that actually, this diary is very largely a record of what we ate, even if kept in a more conventional way.