In my last mail, I told you we went swimming in the middle of the Atlantic -- kewl. Next day, we stopped to do the same. Despite a plethora of forecasts telling us we will get a real blow, we've seen nothing -- diddlysquat. And so we've become a motor boat with a big pole sticking out the middle to hang out the washing. Still, at least the washing won't blow away :)
Oh well, we're on our way but I think we'll be lucky to get there before the end of Sunday. And even then we can't go in until daylight -- reefs you see. Best avoided. The sun tan's good and I've read 6 books; oh, and I've written song about our adventures. We're all in good spirits and still having a lovely time (at least we were until I sang my song).
The next little challenge will be getting home: I won't make my Sunday flight. Although the prospect of being stranded in Antiga has some interesting angles to it, so does Sheffield -- perhaps not the same, but pressing nonetheless.
One amusing little anecdote: I told you we went swimming in the middle of the Atlantic. Next day, we stopped to do the same. The skipper is on the toe rail about to make his entrance, so to speak, when he notices a twinkle from the deep: a large row of shiny teeth smiling at him with a four foot body attached! Whoa! Skip decides that neither he nor the crew would be swimming that day. We agreed -- the prospect of entering the food chain was not very appealing. "Never again" was another phrase that popped into mind.
So that's it from the Atlantic. I think this will be my last. I'll see you all when I get back!
Danimal.