... not sailing! At anchor now, the wind's lessened off as the day progressed and the sea calmed down. The daily dose of gin has been administered and taken by all, and the sun finally surrendered itself to its antithesis. Mum is smiling and we're all looking forward to our tea (dinner), wondering if it was so bad after all.

I have to hand it to her; she bounces back like a bungee cord. I was thinking today she might just ditch us and the boat, demand we sell it, while she goes and stays with her friend in Tampa. But no, it's all rationalised; "it's just because I don't know the parameters and it scares me! I just need to get used to each new experience." What a star! She reminds me of a character in a book I read as a child; Supergran.

I asked Dad, today, if he likes sailing. He made an analogy to asking a marathon runner if he enjoys running marathons. The answer is probably no, but millions do every year. I think he's right, much of it is unpleasant, but that is what creates the balance to make the good bits great. The best bit about running is when you stop, and occasionally you do actually enjoy the run.

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Not me! Maybe it's because I'm tired from the night watch and feel a little despondent or maybe it's because it's uncomfortable; spending the whole day heeled at 45°, crashing through waves, being rolled by a beamy sea. Maybe it's because nothing hardly ever happens, maybe it's because all I see is the sea; we're sailing right past the Florida Keys, but what use are they to me, from two miles at sea. Maybe it's because I can see the distress and torment that hurts my mother; my protective instinct harbours fury towards the undulating antagoniser.

She's not enjoying this at all. We set off today in 35 knot winds and a very lumpy sea, but I no longer hear my mother's chorus. She now suffers her ordeal in silence, gone is her alarm; like a child who is truly injured makes not a sound, just a quiet frightened voice, that conflicts her brave resignation to this forsaken trip.

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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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