I’m awoken to the clickity clack of Compete and Freight train pulling anchor at 6am-ish. The sound of each link in the chain hauled with a click and dropped with a clack over a rotating windlasses. It is a quiet and soothing sound enhanced by the rocking of the boat. Soothing that is until power to the bow thruster is flicked by Capt Boo Boo to ON! This thing sounds like a screaming child thrusting a fist full of heirloom silver wear in to a sink macerator to the screaming horror of a soon to be unemployed nanny. The sound of this trio’s location of which just so happens to be under your bunk, up the pillow end, I might add. It quite simply is not my favorite way to wake up, but ill take anything that breaks the monotony of this dulcet routine.

Usually it is my phone alarm, vibrating and squealing like a Catholic school girl with an electric toothbrush that drags me out of slumber. A shrill I am normally quick to extinguish so its cry’s wont awaken Freight train in the bunk above, but no need today. My cabin is black as death but I know the sun is hours warm. I begrudgingly begin my routine as the yacht beings to make way. Today is a day cooking at sea. Quite possible shite, depending on the sea state. Information of which captn Boo Boo will never consider sharing, instead assuming once everything slides off my bench, pots of boiling water hit the deck and knives enpail themselves on adjacent walls I will know we are out of an islands lee and to expect it to be rough from that point on. Sigh. Here we go again.

I stumble into the Galley earlier than usual, due to the guests having an early dive expedition organized, 2 hours steaming. It has been 28 days since my last non cooking day or day off, 8 days since I was last off the boat and quite possibly three days since I last bothered to drag my arse out side into the sunshine. I’m at low ebb and in now mood to be screwed with.

Alas, I have spoken too soon as I round the corner, I lock looks with Darren.

Morning Darren, you prick, I say confidently and directly…… no response. Just a blank stare. (Which is about normal for Darren) gawd he’s such a wanker. Darren rarely functions with out one constantly pushing his buttons. Which I am forced to do daily. The bitter irony being that, I am nothing with out Darren at this time of the morning and the prick knows it. With a bit more pushing and a little think time on his lazy arse part, Darren finally and literally groans into action and double spits into my cup. -Enter Supa Stew-. Morning Chef………. Morning Supa Stew. Good morning Darren……........you wanker.

Ahhhhh, the day has begun, like clock work.

May I introduce Darren, our fully automated, push button, self cleaning, self grinding, self packing, self pouring, and self absorbed espresso machine. Whom every one loathes wholly and equally I might add. Every thing about Darren is great, including his coffee, how ever when you get “Darren-ed you get “Darren-ed” royally. (and you thought being Boo Booed was bad) Fill water container, Fill Bean container, Empty waste container, Empty drip tray, please close the door, Initiating Rinse cycle, Going into hibernation, You have selected "ON". Heating phase initiated….. FEKK DARREN! just make me a fekking coffee!!!

If your name out there is Darren, I apologise, but you most likely have whats coming to you. Darren's generally do. So I rest my back against cold tiles eating a crème brulee left from the night before as a breakfast substitute, sip at my double espresso and contemplate what the hell I am doing here. Supa Stew catches me mid brulee shovel and it dawns on me, from her perspective there is something inherently wrong with this picture.

I think shes got a point.


Enough, this double espresso has kicked in and I'm feeling much better!

See you in Havana kids.

Promise I’ll save you a rum and cigar, and Cloggie says he'll spare you a lady of the night.
Oh, dear, oh dear indeed.



Until then.

Ciao, Tschüse, Doei

"God in his infinite wisdom hid hell in paradise, just to keep us on our toes"

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept