We docked on Friday morning at Ushuaia, having been treated to a really close pass by the famous Cape Horn, with its lighthouse, Chilean flag, and sculpture of an albatross in flight. Flight then to Buenos Aires, where we stayed in a hotel overnight, on Saturday heading for the international airport and our flight to Amsterdam then Glasgow. All passed without incident, a shorter journey time explained by the west to east jetstream, only to find that Ju's bag was not on our plane, when we landed in Glasgow. We were staying in an airport hotel that night anyway, so we reported the missing bag then haunted further flights from Amsterdam until at about 11pm her bag arrived. Then, on Monday morning, we caught our bus home, to be met at Lochgilphead by Jan, who had done such a fantastic job of looking after Jack.

One delight among our pile of mail was a postcard from the British Virgin Islands, from Grant and Little Else! Our wonderful boat had taken Grant, her new owner, across the Atlantic, singlehanding the boat must have been a real adventure for him. It will have helped hugely with his convalescence and returning confidence as a sailor! Well done Grant. We were so glad to hear this news, as Little Else is still firmly part of our experience.

Just in time for Christmas, which we spent at Ju's mum's house in Kelso, watching the river Tweed that flows past her garden get higher and higher with the incessant rain.

Then home for an enjoyable Hogmanay and Neerday with friends Ann and Morag, spening hours enjoying games of whist, and sneaking walks when the weather permitted.

The rest of January passed in a succession of storms, all given silly names by the met office. We spent the time getting Reg ready for our first rally long journey, back to Lagos in the Algarve, in search of some winter sunlight and warmth.

Our journey began on January 26th, when we drove down to Glasgow to spend a night with Andy and Lesley Scott. They had laid on a Burns Supper for us, complete with cock a leekie soup, and haggis neeps and tatties. We played and sang songs with the guitars and had a great time. The next day we went back to Campers Scotland in Grangemouth to get our batteries and wiring checked out, as the domestic battery had not performed properly since both batteries lost voltage in December. They quickly set about checking things out for us, and found a blown fuse I had missed. With a clean bill of health, we drove on to Abby's new house, where we stopped for a chat and a cup of tea, before heading for Kelso again and a two day stay with Ju's mum. The Borders were under a flood warning again, but her house is high enough above the river even in spate to be safe enough.

On the 29th we continued the drive to Church Stretton, to stay a couple of nights with our friends Margaret and Des. It was only when we got there that we learned that Des was in hospital, having been operated on the previous day for lung cancer. Margaret hadn't cancelled, or given us any inkling of this, as she knew we would not have dreamt of imposing on her at this really difficult time. But she assured us that it was good to have us there, as company, and we took her out to a local Indian restaurant for dinner that evening. The next morning we went on a long walk in sunshine up the valley behind the town. In the afternoon she and I drove to Stoke to see Des, who looked pretty well is a little shocked after his keyhole surgery. I hope I was of some help and comfort to my old friend by being there, and prattling away about everything and nothing in the car.

On the morning of the 31st we set off for Portsmouth, a relatively short journey of about 180 miles. Our ship, the Cap Finistere, was delayed by poor weather, so instead of boarding at 10.30pm we were not in our cabin till well after 2am. A very comfortable cabin it was too, pet friendly so we could have Jack with us in there, rather than putting him in the rather prison-like kennels on board. The down side was that we had to try to persuade him to pee and poo on an area of steel deck set aside for the dogs on board. He did not rally get the hang of this at first.

So on the morning of the 2nd February we disembarked at Bilbao, a labyrinth of roads slip roads tunnels and roundabouts, which somehow we negotiated with only one near miss of a large truck, caused by my hesitation in choosing the right fork and resultant lack of indication. We survived with only a pointed double flash of his headlights, and climbed and climbed higher and higher into the mountains. Finally we found a service area, and I took Jack out on to some much needed grass.

Our target that day was Salamanca, and we had entered the GPS lat and long coordinates into Jim, our amazing satnav. When we were nearly there, he directed us off through a village and down a long Roman road, finally pointing down a dirt track which disappeared into the horizon. There has to be something wrong with this, we reasoned, and went on for some miles before being able to turn round, stop and recheck the coordinates. Yes, we had entered them wrongly. We were soon in the right place, a small campsite affiliated to the Camping and Caravanning Club, so we settled in for the night. The site had a small restaurant where we had an excellent meal of fish soup, followed by chicken cooked in whisky, and creme caramel. With a bottle of local Castillian wine, it cam to about £23.

Off in the morning to negotiate more of these excellent roads, and cross the border eventually into Portugal. The campsite at Evora was nowhere near as well appointed as the one in Salamance. However we made camp, and cooked our own meal, after some light shopping at a nearby supermarket.

On the next morning we set off south along what proved to be a motorway under construction, with endless traffic lights and diversions. Finally we parked just before lunchtime in the marina carpark in Lagos. We had arrived.With Jack.