Time for the final leg home. 1300 miles to Dartmouth. Oh, I shall be so sorry to leave Horta; it's a perfect little island with a perfect harbour and some of the most decent people I have ever met. Ralph, the sailmaker who looks like Father Christmas, came stumbling down the pontoon with my repaired mainsail - he's done a good job- and I spent most of Sunday morning bending it back on, which is one of my least favourite jobs because it's always a struggle. The forecast isn't perfect, but it never is. There's going to be quite a lot of windward work this week but I'm getting used to that. Having got thoroughly miserable on the long leg north when the food started to get very dull, I'm well stocked with bread,ham,cheeses and meat and it is my ambition to get within sight of Start Point without having to open a tin of damned tuna, or look at a plate of pasta swimming in a gloopy red sauce. The computer is still not working so updates from now on will be based on short messages I send Libby (If anyone's interested in how I do that, Google Delorme InReach).