Well lorks a lordy, it's early. So say I having awoken at 0455, shaken my spouse and soon to be shipmate, and raised my dear father from his bed. Notwithstanding the darkness of the whole event, the birds were singing, presumably after a night on the beer, as no right thinking animal would be awake at that time. A trouble free journey was made to the station, and lo and behold others were there waiting for the train.

Now let's face it, with the trouble recently encountered on the trains, and it being so early, I thought our prospects of actually getting a train at that time were bordering on the small. I envisaged at least an hours wait and a later train, but happily was proved immensely wrong. Not only did the train turn up on time, but we had the benefit of a short, but nonetheless inspiring visit, from Flying Fox's one and only Glen Smart. Our journey began, wife got her swede down, I drank a flask of rocket strength coffee, and as we pulled into London, shaking viscously with caffeine, all seemed jolly good. A quick and painless hop across to Liverpool Street, we then found ourselves on the Boat Train to Harwich. Breakfast consisted of some fruit in the case of the health conscious male of the species, and a large lard filled pastry in the case of the female. Being aware of the need for sustenance on her part, little comment passed my lips.

Harwich was a revelation, and never could a car park have provided so much entertainment. On one side of us we had a twenty stone nutter in his minute car, singing at the top of his voice to a "Now" album, and on the other a car crash just to keep us occupied. Unfortunately a punch up did not ensue between the protagonists, but watching the dynamics of the post accident debrief was most amusing. A quick phone call to Matt revealed that Eccelin had not slipped and proceeded as was planned, and he and Al then offered to come and pick us up. Happily our entertainment and amusement continued, occupying the 40 minutes we waited for our skipper and oppo to pick us up.

There then followed what can only be described as an orgy of shopping. Naturally we had to make sure we had full stocks of gin, tonics, beer and fags, but we also constructed a cordon bleu menu, which in light of the weather and routine which was to follow was redundant. Breakfast and all its trappings remain a necessity, as do sandwich materials and the ability to harvest as the sailing day progresses. However, I think my strongest recommendation has to be that the evening meal should not be catered for. In the event that you are at sea, then soups and the like will provide the hot element, but be careful about trying to do anything snazzy. The vomit factor of being below decks in the main cabin is high, and in short any form of hot cookery beyond boiling the kettle, lethal. I think we probably binned about £25 of fresh food at the end, but actually had the weather been a bit better we would probably have eaten a fair amount of this.

Arriving at the Woolverstone Marina, we visited the chandlers very briefly to pick up pencils and other necessary supplies. Making our way to the boat, we stowed all of the shopping, Eccelin having a plethora of stowage spaces, not all of which were used. Take care with the lower stowages, as in the event the bilges do get a bit full and the boat takes an angle there is a high chance if spoiling. The refit having just been completed, there were quite naturally a couple of things which needed doing and this included a new fitting of the alternator to the engine. With the anticipated timescale being later than we might otherwise have hoped, it became apparent that we would not catch the tide as we wished and as we would be up against it out in the Medway, our very sensible skipper took the executive decision that we would not sail until the morning. That being decided, lunch in the marina club was on the agenda, with me being criticised in some detail by my peers for attempting to order a soft drink and later a prawn cocktail. The reader will be delighted to hear my revised offering was a pint and a large pie.

The afternoon was spent getting the boat ready for sea and watching the fitting of the new alternator. A small exercise in tide calculation was undertaken with Matt and I doing the "wing" version, before doing the real thing on a piece of paper (example below). Our calculation dictated we would sail at about 0700, giving us a good tide to take us out and north, before taking advantage of a southerly tide down to Ramsgate. Theory and practice worked well in the end.

The most marvellous piece of engineering took place in the early evening, demonstrating to us the bonding of the team and how we would work together. Matt and Al had purchased a fantastic piece of kit called a "Yeoman" which is a chart with wiggly string. The idea of this thing is that you take a chart, stick it into the Yeoman (where have we heard this before), either tell the Yeoman what the three reference points are or use the charted reference points, calibrate the whole shooting match and Robert's your father's brother, a blue widget you slide around the chart goes apeshit with lights when you pass it over where you think you are. The feat of engineering alluded to was the fitting of the einstein like gadget to the GPS. This required Matt using his teeth to strip the wire and piece the wires together, Annabel to read the incomprehensible wiring diagrams, and me and Al to chip in with, on the whole, inappropriate and irrelevant comments. Notwithstanding the obvious disabilities with which our engineers were furnished, the whole thing went swimmingly, the blue widget was placed over our position, and flashing lights abounded. Magical stuff. I forgot to mention, we also had our first bit of sea time with a quick dash over to the fuelling barge and back.

Flushed with success, dinner became a feature, and notwithstanding our lack of extreme physical activity during the course of the afternoon, we repaired to the Butt and Oyster (nice name) and wedged up big time. A few pints were sunk, but nothing outrageous or likely to cause offence to the temperance movement, before yawns proliferated and we made our way back.. As with all of these things, it was a bit like the first night in the dorm, especially as Matt had to make his way into the new uppermost bunk in the main cabin, mainly using Al as a ladder. This all seemed to work and shortly we were in the land of Nod, filling the air with Zs.

Day 2 - Saturday 14 February 2001

Up we jumped, those taking the unrealistic step of undressing for bed then being forced to put on clothes. We stowed for sea, got breakfast on the go and slipped at 0710. The journey down river was very smooth, although the weather was slightly overcast. It looked like the sun might break through at some stage, but more on that later. Breakfast consisted of a series of bacon and sausage sandwiches cooked by yours truly, redders from Macdonalds which had been safely secreted in my nerdy box of culinary tricks and lashings of tea, still tasting strongly of the anti-bug pills put in the water tank. A discussion ensued over the exact effects this would have on our own e-coli, but this will not be repeated here lest there be any persons of a nervous disposition reading. Shortly before Felixstowe the sails were placed aloft and we were sailing.

Our navigation was good, with the various buoys being anticipated and ticked off as we made our through. The only real Part 3's trick was played by yours truly, when asked if this FB conspicuous object was on the chart replied "No, absolutely not, never and neither will it be so in the future". Wrong, try again. Happily not too much mickey was taken, undeservedly, and while Al was tempted to do his Top Gun trick of driving through the middle we made it into the open sea unscathed. Shipping was light, and having regard to the nature of the deep water channel and the marked channel into Harwich quite easy to guess where everything was going. Watch out for any port which has HSS ferries; they present a very strange aspect, which either makes you think they are a long and low continental fishing vessel or a space ship, depending upon your drug intake for the morning. A bit of rain came down, but otherwise, and strictly for the shorter term, we remained warm and dry on the bridge. We caught the south coming tide and amid much patting of backs and cheery smiles off we went south.

Soon things turned against us. We caught the southerly leg well being able to steer about 150 (180 would have been perfect) to the south, and 240 to the west. Our plan of action was to go out North and East of Kentish Knock and then take ourselves down with a number of tacks. Life became a little unpleasant, as the forecast 4-5 (reducing to 2-3) whipped itself up into a frenzied 7. Luckily, Matt had guessed this was going to happen once we were out and put a reef in the mainsail, with yours truly having to hold the tiller during the heave to. None of this will be the subject of the next edition of my joke book. We continued to the south and east on the 150 leg for about an hour, then put in a 240 leg to bring us onto the 1 degree 40 minute line and ran down there on something approaching 170 for a while. We were quite far over with the wind, spray was coming into the cockpit, it was absolutely monkeys on the temperature front and as we were all feeling a bit peeky lunch was out of the question. Another hot tip, make up loads of flasks and boxes of sandwiches, in the event that you do have kevlar stomachs. We aimed for 52 25 north as the latitude for the next tack, but cheated and turned west at about 52 27, which ultimately worked very well. Annabel and Matt were the heroes of the afternoon, steering the boat between them, which was no easy task as the sea conditions were not great and unplanned tacks and jibes a distinct possibility. As it was none of these occurred, a testament to their skill and concentration. Vasco Tall kept the plot running, with GPS being a very useful tool for running lines of longitude and giving us the advantage of knowing where we were. This was not the case for our fellow yachtspeople judging by some of the VHF activity, their names being withheld to spare blushes. Our westerly leg actually gave us a true track of about 315, which wasn't ideal as we were supposed to be putting as much south as we could, but we persevered, probably losing 2 to 3 miles to the north, our aim being to pick up the 1 degree 30 east longitude line. As the wind had come round to our advantage we actually turned at about 001 32, but as we were then able to steer 190 this worked very nicely. We reckoned we had about 10 to 12 miles to run on that leg. North Foreland light was spotted, prompting a remark later that this had given cause for relief as the helicopter wouldn't have so far to come, but first we had to try and cross the deep lane in and out of the Thames Estuary. This was easy on the grounds that we knew where the ships were going, but less easy on the grounds that while we were strictly the stand on vessel for most of our fellow mariners, they didn't quite share our strict interpretation of the rules, and neither were we going to have a detailed discussion of the etymological derivation and strict meaning of the word "shall". We got out of their way, signalling our intentions openly by turning either away or pointing at their sterns. As we were quite swept up on all fronts this didn't make much difference to our lives, except we kept hold of them. By this stage it was really cold, the Mars Bars had all gone, and we were suffering.

Coming into the lee of the Isle of Thanet things did become a bit rosier. While it was still cold, the temperature did improve, although Mr Sun didn't have his hat on. The swell reduced and life became a bit more pleasant, although the wind was still strong. Because we had lost a bit of time we thought we might start to have a bit of a snag with the currents, four hours after high water Sheerness being our tidal nadir. We were pretty close to this, but once we had picked up the harbour entrance (not as easy as it sounds as the chart is lacking in detail), and after a series of very well executed turns and manoeuvres by Matt, we finally made it into Ramsgate at about 1930. Coming alongside was a bit hairy as the engine wouldn't behave, and while the jetty took a bit of a beating, Eccelin survived unscathed. A quick once over to put back in the stowages the few items which had gone for a wonder (all of 5 minutes), we rushed off to the showers and the dryers to thaw out and try and make ourselves human, or as close to human as any one of us could get. That being done, smiles cracking on faces and getting ready for the night ahead, we made our way into Ramsgate.

We found the nearest curry house, started necking Cobras and after a relatively mediocre meal lost the will to go mad. We repaired onboard and cracked in some serious zeds.

Day 3 - Sunday 15 February

Our skipper being the kind, warm and generous human being which he is, had concluded that the stomach for a good sail on the Sunday had perhaps evaporated and in any event the weather forecast not being good, couple with the need for a bit of maintenance, dictated that an early start was not a feature of our plan. It was generally agreed that if the forecast allowed a night sail to Sovereign Marina, near Bournemouth, was on the cards. For reasons unknown to me, as I made like a japanese raiding party to go and buy a new bag, this was shelved (I think it was the weather) and we decided to go for lunch at a place recommended by the marina staff. I cannot remember what it is called, but I think it is Harveys or somewhere similar and we had a very good value meal, washed down, as was apparent from the bill, by quite a few pints. Our waitress was absolutely charming, and there was also a beautiful young lady in the assembled throng, happily fitted for and with a set of mark 8 warheads. What bon viveurs we were and are, jokes abounded, food was eaten and drink taken. Our lives took a dip for the worse as we made our way outside. It heaved it down, all through our bag collecting, waiting for a fast black outside the Nautical Museum and loading the same. We were soaked, and having squeezed by the skin of our teeth onto the train sat there smelling like a bunch of sheep. Fortunately the ticket collector had left his humane slaughter gun behind and we made it to London Bridge station.

A short hop in another fast black and we were at Al's house in Highbury. A few drinks, clothes into the dryer, a shave and we were ready for the off. Ladies and Gentlemen, last night's balls of fire. We managed to struggle through a delightful meal, a couple of pints and then back to Al's for a glass of champers, followed by snoozing in real beds. That being so and our journey at an end I draw stumps for the timebeing on this saga of derring do. We had a great time, a bit of an adventure and education, all in all enjoying ourselves fully. Thanks Matt and Al.