We had roared up the north-west coast overnight in 25 knots of breeze reaching a nerve jangling 14 knots of speed – in the dark – with spinnaker up -   a real brown trouser job for Audrey at the wheel.

“Clip me on” requested Jo of Piero. “Clip on to me” said Labros, “we can drown together darling!”

Like a ferret following a rabbit the remarkable Paul by use of charts, sight, sense and “Intuition”, repeatedly found us breeze where there was none. Even in a ferocious 5 knot current around notorious Rathlin Island – which claimed another yacht only weeks ago (all crew being rescued).

From the Antrim Coast to Rathlin Island to the nearby Mull of Kintyre is but a short nautical hop. Another wind finding trick was to have Piero remove his cap where upon his 4 remaining  ultra sensitive hairs never failed to find us breeze.

Martina’s cough has persisted all week , barking day and night, driving us all mad. We are thinking of consigning her to kennels in Wicklow.

Patrick and Niamh sang again last night. They were treated to prolonged applause which seemed to  be the only way to stop them! For the next twelve hours we managed to claw our way past four boats up the fleet, this was while one watch was asleep – so we offered to go back to sleep to continue with this strategy.

We have gone banana and water mad in a frenzied effort to lighted the boat. Oh dear , no toilet paper left wasn’t part of the plan. No one is shaking hands now!

For the past 24 hours we have gently floated down east Ulster hitting speeds as low as 0.2 knots at times. Luckily this morning at 8am the wind filled in from the south and all the boats that have been duelling at close quarters took off. The final part of the race has begun with a frenzied dash to Wicklow…

Life ashore: there’s no day, no night, just an endless series of three hour watches with two joint happy hour watches morning and evening.  You sleep when and if you can below, you live to eat, work, laugh or feel sick on deck.
As we ran down our westing that  marvel of mariners,  Fastnet, a nautical icon, was bathed in a beautiful  red sunrise.  Past Mizen we beat onto a calf, cow and bull, remarkably  perforated by an arch.  Our breath was taken by awe inspiring Skellig Micheal with it’s world heritage site monastery perched high seaward on it’s shoulder.  Who were the monks?  How did they live? What did they eat? (was it Tunnocks or Hobnobs?)  How passionately they must have loved their faith, to volunteer so much endurance to spread it.  We are all in their debt.

Life on board continues with one member celebrating with high fives, the achievement o f a bowel motion after  three days.  Breakfast is life saving hot porridge to counter the cold, tired early morning.  Lunch is a sandwich, while we enjoy or endure heated ration packs for dinner.  Our first delight was Lancashire hotpot……

Day 4 – Wednesday
‘Rat Pack’ not who we are but what we eat!  Our dinners are pre-cooked Lancashire hotpots, Chinese ‘Hu Flung Dung’ or ‘ Wn Hung Lo’with boiling water added.

Patrick our mainmast maestro has three times climbed the mast in the last 24 hours, usually to fetch or mend damaged halyards.  Patrick is winched 45 feet over the deck to the top of the rig, swinging through a sixty degree arc while simultaneously trying to hold on and stitch in a new halyard.
We have become sleep scavengers aching and yearning for shut eye.  While we have no major breakages but numerous occasions where five or six crew have been needed to hoist or drop a 108 square metre spinnaker in a big breeze.  Martina had her glasses  broken in one nasty swipe, but we thrash on, now abeam of Rathlin O’Beirne island in South West Donegal having surfed up much of the west coast.

Dawdled deadly in doldrums entertained by Labros’ accounts of cosmetic surgical expertise on ever more interesting and intimate body parts. Piero plied his computer mouse in a search for tactical advantage ( or solutions!). It’s a game of snakes and ladders where tactically we had met a snake!

Jo has intrigued and enthralled us with a clever offshore version of “I” spy (or is it “eye spy” – I’ll figure that one out when we’re home). Paul won a prize for spotting Tuskar Rock. This was followed by a “legless wonder” who was first to see a Rosslare Ferry. Martina our Austrian Bow Girl claims little familiarity with English, yet knows more nautical terms than most of us  natives.

As the boat finally comes “alive” (surfing down waves while I’m typing), we enjoy the beauty of Ireland’s sunny coat (yesterday – Monday),  east bound from Tramore Bay to the Old Head of Kinsale.

We valiantly put up with “Bananarama” as we gallantly gorge on fruit to reduce boat weight – to get faster; Audrey reminisced on how she and others knew her then boyfriend, now husband, not as Paul but as Paolo. “Paolo” himself concurred that by his name Audrey’s family assumed that he was an “Italian Stallion”. They were so disappointed to discover that he was merely an English Pony!.

There’s much more salacious stuff but what happens offshore, stays offshore!

We made good progress down the east coast (a lot more than the weather predicted). This turned to a frustrating time against the tide rounding Conningbeg Light. Ah well…

A good night sleep was had by all, not too chilly thankfully, sun cream is being poured on for a potentially busy day ahead…

More photos to follow later once the others get up and I can get their memory cards from their cameras!

Blue sky,sunshine, Wicklow Harbour festooned with excited well wishers. Water borne snappers photograph the sun splashed boats. We wished our colleagues on “One Life” and Joanne on “Windmill” fair sailing. A prayer is then offered and we are ready to go. Starting line contested multitudinous shouts of abuse and encouragement.  Irish Naval frigate starting gun booms, cheers of encouragement bid fair well to the close pressed armada of Ireland Circumnavigators.

“Big Spike Baby” Paul to Martina, not ordering a drink, but to release the billowing snow white kite as we spinakered in Mediterranean conditions down to Wicklow.

Audrey Cleverly velcroed a compass to the deck beside the helmsman to aid night navigation. An unfortunate Hiberno-Greek incident ensued when Labros’ ample flanks inadvertently  upset the precious compass. Audrey aka Velcro Queen threatened to assassinate our shame faced Greek.

We nod fair well along the coast of Wexford having past Wicklow Head Light House, the first of many on our yet to unfold adventure.