Wobbly, Wobbly Woo. Christ! I wish this bloody thing would stay still; Up, down, side to side, this way, that way, rolling around.

It's 4.50am and I'm on anchor watch. We've had some excitement and absolutely no sleep. We've been held here in Key West due to unfavourable weather, and a massive hangover after partying hard the other night. Tonight, however, the wind has really picked up to 35knots. It began with very hard rain that came with the building wind. At 2am I decided to have a look on deck to have a safety check, as did mum and dad. It became apparent that the anchor was dragging and we were moving towards other anchored boats - the anchor needed resetting.

The captain was roused and we jumped into action; life vests on, tethers out, Dad and I forward dealing with the anchor, R B-J in the cockpit at the helm, mum below - terrified. Spray splashing forward from bombarding waves, deafening wind howling in our ears, skies flashing white from lightening strikes, fighting with the windlass (anchor winch), that doesn't bloody work; the motorised winch trips out when we try and draw it in. No choice now but to do it by hand. It takes all our strength to un-jam the chain and both of us to winch it in, inch by inch, yanking on the handle, the chain snagging sideways as the boat twists and turns in the current.

Once it's up we move around to find a new spot away from other boats. In deeper water now, the swell is higher, we drop the anchor now with 60m of chain, but the boat lies awkward against the wind and waves, pulled sideways on by the unyielding tide.

R B-J takes the first watch. I lie in my birth, but can not sleep, expecting my watch to start any time soon, the boat still drunkenly galloping over the importunate waves, the hull groaning under the stresses, and loud clunks as the anchor chain make contact near to my head.

I sit here now under a black sky (there is no moon, planets or stars tonight for my celestial contemplation), and wait for dawn to come and bring its day of anticipated sailing.

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The clouds became darker, and the winds marginally picked up for the rest of the journey. Now at 25 knots, we reefed in the sails. Mother was anxious for the whole journey, making her usual chorus of alarmed and startled sounds; her demands to 'sit down' and 'come inside' more frequent.

The Florida Keys are turning into a disappointment. This is supposed to be tropical paradise with crystal clear waters and coral reefs, but the weather forecast is rain, wind and storms for the next week, so it seems we shall miss the best of the pleasures of these isles.

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"Oh, f*#k! bastard! It's in me. Hold the bloody thing still", Dad shouted as I pinned the fish down and its life ebbed away.

This was our second go at fishing and it had gone pretty much exactly the same as the first, except this time the boat was healing far more as we headed out into the Gulf of Mexico, windward, straight out to Key West in 15 - 20 knots of wind and a bumpy swell.

We had first caught a small one, then came another 'biggie' and just like before, as the gin went in to the gills, it gave a final thrash. The lure has two sets of hooks attached to it, and as it thrashed, the second set hooked straight into Dad's thumb, that was holding the bottle, right beside the nail. It was well and truly lodged, deep in the tissue. The other side of the thumb showed a depression where the barb was puling back the other way. The only way for it to come out was to carry on pushing it through the other side.

Using the wire cutters on my Leatherman, R B-J cut the rest of the barbs away to detach him from the fish wile I carried on pinning it down in case of more flailing. With no anaesthetic on board, we tourniqueted his thumb, packed it in ice, and gave the man a beer.

Ooooh, Nasty! Gripping the hook with the Leaterman pliers I twisted and pushed. The skin bulged to a point, the hook ruptured through, a little more force and the barb broke out. Now with purchase on the other end to pull, the pliers came away with one hook removed.

A lesson was learnt; don't get to close to the fish. Then I remembered being told; apply the alcohol through a long necked basting pipette, for reasons that have become clear.

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