Lost track of time, but this is short write-up of the last 24 hours.
Left Cherbourg without mishaps yesterday morning around 07:00.
First 2 hours I was pushing the last of the tide, but things started going my way as I rounded Cap de la Hague.
Although, with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, a track somewhat further offshore would have been better. Things got a bit uncomfortable for 5-10 minutes and are probably explains why the cabin looked like I lost a game of Jumanji.
The initial plan had been to stay south of Alderney and north of Guernsey. However, winds were much lighter than forecast and offered little or nothing towards forward propulsion.
So, I opted to shoot down Big Russel instead and in no time I was making good progress. SOG remained consistently over 8kts.
All, things come to an end. And so this this, but the time I was south of Guernsey the tide had turned against me and there was no wind as I found myself in the lee of the island.
Bad things come to an end too and two hours later, I had wind on the beam and a favourable tide.
Managed to sail all the way from Guernsey to Roscoff.

As is so often the case, the sting is in the tail. This will be the last time I make landfall in the dark when it's somewhere I have never been before.
The light pollution of the ferry terminal and commercial docks makes it almost impossible to see any buoys or lateral markers out at sea.
Next: according to Reeds, a current can run through the marina. No kidding. In anticipation of this, I had put the gear into neutral well in advance, yet after 5 minutes I was still making 2kts over the ground.
I saw two other boats looking for a berth on the visitor pontoon. The place did look packed. This did not bode well.
Identified a suitable on the hammerhead of B pontoon. There was about 10ft of pontoon space left - all I needed.
Due to the current I had overshot on first approach.
I would like to credit my legendary close quarters boat handling skills, but last night my guardian angel definitely earned her keep. Came about in no space at all, without hitting anything.
Final approach: right foot over the guardrail, resting on the gunwale. Left foot on deck. Right hand holding the shrouds. Left hand holding for and aft mooring lines.
Right foot slipped, and there I was, hanging on for dear life like an extra fender. Left foot boot caught on the guardrail.
By miracle, got my right foot on the pontoon and took it from there.
All tied up and secure half an hour later.
Trouble getting to sleep after the adrenaline rush.

Awoken at some ungodly hour by harbour master Johnny in a zodiac.
Monsieur, you can not stay ere, you ef to mof your boat.
This pissed off monsieur no end as,
1. monsieur can have a foul mood in the morning and
2. monsieur had not planned to do any bloody boat handling at all today.
Half an hour later, all tied up and secure in a new berth.
Since I was up anyway, walked the mile or so into town and back to get some bread.
Other than that, monsieur has no plans for the day other than a shower, maybe a drink and an early night.

Should make L' Aber Wra'ch early afternoon tomorrow.
Now that I'm almost home, one thought is first and foremost in my mind: don't fuck this up!
I have caught myself having the occasional delusion of adequacy. It was almost like I knew what I was doing.
And, considering that before this trip my experience of singlehanded sailing was limited to one Channel crossing over 5 years ago and some short trips in local waters, things have been going better than expected.
My longest passage, the one I had been dreading, is now behind me.

Nearly there.