This is written under rather difficult circumstances: despite an apparently favourable forecast, we're having a seriously miserable time. I'm on watch, and its 1:30 am. The wind and seas have been steadily building since 1900 yesterday, and we're getting gusts up to about 40 knots with a nasty vicious sea. If Tony or Jules read this they'll know what I mean, because it's similar to the night we had en route to Rarotonga, only worse. It's not possible to sleep in a bunk, even with lee-cloths. Mie has made a nest for herself on the floor outside the forward heads, between the door and the wet-locker, using the cockpit-cushions, and hasn't moved for about an hour - she's either dead, acting that she's asleep, or genuinely having a kip. I hope it's the third of those possibilities, although I haven't dared check. If every night was like this we'd chuck it all, flog the boat, and go andlive up a mountain! At least we know it will settle eventually, although we're both pretty knackered. Thinking of you all on dry land and trying to imagine what it's like not to be rolling like a pig.