Eventually Rob and Nerys were told Ghostrider was ready, so we weighed anchor and raced back down to Martinique. A quick turnover and both boats were back in Terre de Haute again for a few days before sailing the short hop across to Guadeloupe.

That short hop was an utterly horrendous trip. Non stop tacking, rough seas and charter catamarans with no awareness at all that a boat motoring under bare poles is required to give way to a boat under sail. Me being the arse that I am just stood my ground until you could see the terror in their eyes as they would suddenly realise that no, you utter dicks. I am not tacking in this shite weather to get out of your way when you only need to steer in a slightly different direction. Wankers.

Arriving in Bas due Fort marina was a welcome reprieve from being at anchor for months on end. Lee ran the 5km along a motorway to pick up the hire car for us all, and despite him complaining about multiple ‘near death experiences” doing this, I suggested he should be grateful I allowed him this opportunity for free phys and to shut up.

We found it best to get up first thing and take Franco out nice and early whilst it was still cool enough for him to run around and have a play. After that we all piled in the car, hoiked out the good old Lonely Planet guide and charged around the island and up and down mountains until everything that apparently should be seen, had been seen.

We visited Deshaies, where Death in Paradise is filmed, and although we have never seen it it was nice to have a mooch about.

Next to Deshaies was the Botanical Gardens so Nerys and I went in here for a couple of hours while the boys stayed in the air conditioned car. Still talking about the same stuff they had when we left them, we wound our way back to the boat and ate pizza and drank far too much beer.

The next day we left Rob to his own devices and Nerys joined us visiting more of the island and the famous Morne L’Eau cemetery. The photos don’t do it justice. It was HUGE. As far as the eye could see were chequered mausaleums. Although still very much in use today, it is also now one of the more famous sites in Guadeloupe to visit.

Another day saw us doing a long hike out to the massive Blow Hole found at the end of the Devil’s Pass route.

And yet a different walk saw us ending up at 2 seperate bloody vets where, after multiple visits, taxi rides, X Rays and drugs were dispensed it was determined the little shit had been bitten by a centipede. By some divine miracle, as soon as the credit card was handed over after the latest round of X Rays and injections, Franco jumped off the table and was back to normal. Praise the Lord.

After we had had enough of walking around the island and Franco had completed his usual Yelp reviews of all the island vets, we headed North again. This time for St Barths. Playground of the rich and famous. And us.

Nerys and I did a bit of shopping which we both OBVIOUSLY lied about and we then spent a couple of days chilling in the square watching the world float by with our burgers and beers.

Now St Barths is horribly posh, and there is a very distinct dress code. For a woman, it is a requirement to be anorexic and overly tanned. Think the last chicken in the Tesco rotisserie section. This is then dressed, from floor upwards, in Hermes sandals, an overly priced, striped linen shirt dress, a couple of discreet platinum and diamond bangles with a cigarette in hand, a Dior tote bag, and to top it all off, oversized sunglasses, teeth, hat and laugh. The men were all overweight and clearly weighed down by the weight of their Rolexes, cigars and the phones that never left their ear.

It was fun chatting to the people we met there, but knew it was time to leave when the locals found out we were there on a boat and asked what time we had arranged for the crew to collect us…

St Martiin is an island divided neatly in 2, with the French on one side and the Dutch on the other. Only a 3 hour sail, from St Barths, this was next on our stopover list. It was also where we would eventually be leaving from due to the ease of stocking the boat and getting parts. We slowly mooched our way up and anchored outside in Simpson Bay. Lee buzzed in to Customs and rather smoothly timed, we effortlessly went through 2 bridges and tucked ourselves nicely away on the French side.

We spent a couple of weeks here enjoying the ease of  $1 beers, happy hours, big supermarkets and an easy life. After this we stopped by the vets (obviously) for an export permit for Franco and headed up to the British Virgin Islands Islands. Because it was my Birthday!

I had decided I wanted to spend my birthday at the famous Soggy Dollar Bar in Jost Van Dyke. So that is exactly what we did. After a 12 hour overnight sail from SXM we checked in, had a snooze and the next morning sailed between the islands nice and early, arriving in perfect time for opening time.

We drew too much (our keel was too long) to go into the crazy part where all the party Cats cram together and people can virtually walk from boat to boat ashore, so we anchored just outside, dinghied in and enjoyed getting totally smashed on their famous Painkiller cocktails.

Due to the notorious difficulty of importing dogs into the BVI’s, Franco was totally fawned all over by everyone there as he was the only boat dog many people had seen. Rewarded with a Soggy Dollar Collar (a sunny place for shady dogs!) we staggered back to the boat and carried on a couple of lazy weeks sailing around the BVI’s.

Rob and Nerys had popped down to Antigua to collect the lovely Laura and then raced back North to join us. By this time I was able to assume my regular job of tourist guide. With an itinerary in place we proceeded to charge our way back around the BVI’s to make sure Ghostrider saw all there was to see and for them to get back to Antigua in time for Laura to fly home again!

And finally, after visiting the last Caribbean Islands that we would see on this little adventure, it was time to head back to St Martin to prepare to come home.