Bob checked the bilges again in the early evening and once again they were more full than they should have been.  What was happening?

DInner at Fort Young, a hotel rather cleverly incorporated into the ruins of an old Fort complete with a run of gun placement holes, was most interesting. The dress code was long trousers, a proper shirt and shoes, not flip flops.  This required dressing Matt up as Bob’s mini me, in his shirt and shoes.  With his specs on and his hair smoothed down Matt looked quite the part.  We were placed next to a table where a Japanese couple were hosting the Vice President and his sidekick, possibly a bodyguard but more likely a Secretary because he was rather puny.  Only the VP and the Japanese man spoke, we tried to ear wig as much as possible but it was hard to understand what was being negotiated.  Also, most strangely, the VP kept farting, frequently and loudly enough for all to hear.  I couldn’t believe it.  We had dinner, an unremarkable menu, with unremarkable dishes and wine by the glass that came eventually.  The neighbouring table departed with seriously sincere, business like hand shaking and bowing.  It took some moements to realise that the farting was continuing without the VP, the culprit traced to a service door.  Matt and I giggled until the tears ran down my face with Bob telling us to behave, such naughty children.  On our return Bob checked the bilges again and they were dry.  A puzzled Bob didn’t sleep very well fretting about what this all meant, although he did spend a lot of time reading his Kindle “out loud” with his eyes closed.

We set off from Roseau at a civilised hour, not last evening as Bob had blatantly lied to Customs, across a reflective pool and chugged down the coast.  While still in the lee the sails were hoisted, not too generously in case we came across the gutsy, gusty winds that we have been experiencing the moment we came out of the lee.  The wind was more like the grib files today, for the first time.  The spread was from 18 to 22 but the direction had swung further to the south so that yet again we were beating.  The waves were quite large but cosy and untroublesome so we had a smooth ride.  Bob anxiously checked the bilges and yet again they were more full than they should have been.  Huh?  We continued moseying along peacefully.  Bob checked the bilges again but no change.  His suspicions were firmly pinned on the engine as the source of this unwanted sea water.

We arrived at St Pierre, parked, and parked again because we were deemed too close to a catamaran and Bob immediately set to with another sleuthing job to establish what was happening.  He traced the “more full that they should have been” problem to a leaking, cooling pipe tucked away out of reach under the engine, an impossible position to get at without hauling half the engine out.  Bugger.  Not a happy Bob at all and probably the last straw on this “holiday” that has been so beset with failing parts.  We have had to plan our last moves to get back to Rodney Bay in one piece with the possibility of losing the engine at any moment, the generator not working to top up power and generally a lot of bah humbug.  At least we have Matt, our insurance, should we have to revert to hand steering.  I think it is time for a gin and tonic, extra large, and then a run ashore to find our favourite French restaurant.  Cross fingers that they are open otherwise we might just have to commit hari kari.