So off we left, in glorious sunshine leaving behind both the beautiful Bénodet and the ex vogue model with the gravity defying arse. Our plan was to head down to Port Louis in the Lorient, but en route Cap’n Ron and Co sent us some disappointing messages about the treatment they had received from the woman in charge there. They had been hounded constantly from the minute they arrived about when they would be leaving, and were made to move 3 times telling them bigger boats needed the moorings despite her putting them there in the first place. Needless to say no bigger boats arrived. Now they know they have a lot of tattoos and piercings, but honestly, the treatment they have received because of this is lower than shark shit. Their money clearly is not as good as others, so I decided I would rather chew off my legs without anaesthetic and dump the stumps in lemon juice than give that awful woman our money, so we headed to a beautiful anchorage off Île Groix.

We used an App called Navily to find a good anchorage, and when we arrived there was a combat indicator of it being the right place as lots of other boats were anchored here. The sea was clear, the sun bright, the beach looked lovely so Lee pumped up the dinghy, the dog jumped in and they were off. There was a gentle swell while I stayed onboard and read a book, and it was lovely and peaceful. For about 30 minutes. Then all I could hear was an English voice that seemed vaguely familiar screaming for a bloody dog to get back. I looked to the beach to see the aforementioned voice which clearly belonged to my husband. In some comedy sketch he seemed to be attempting to do simultaneous grid sprints up and down the beach to retrieve our errant dog who was clearly trying to make a break for it while also attempting to save the dinghy that was at risk of capsizing due to the now quite alarmingly large swells crashing on the beach. I watched amused for a while until I realised that this might have an adverse effect on the nice evening I had planned, so I put on my worried face, got the binos out to look like I was concerned and then sat on the sugar scoop to look interested and kind and wait their return.

It wasn’t a happy return home and both dog and master seemed relieved to be back on board. The dingy was promptly deflated and strapped down and Lee declared we would be using marinas for the foreseeable future whilst I spent about an hour trying to de sand the boat which was now looking like a dune.

We had planned a BBQ off the back of the boat but as the wind had picked up decided I would do it in the oven and chuck some BBQ seasoning on it instead, which for those of you out there interested is a much easier way to do things. It was time for bed and the swell lulled us to sleep for about 2 hours. Then the swell became a roll, the roll became a loaf and then we lay in bed for the rest of the night trying to get some sleep on what can only be described as what I would imagine trying to sleep on a galloping hedgehog would be like. We got up (note I did not say “woke up” in that comment), made coffee and waited for it to get light so we could avoid the lobster pots we knew were everywhere, and then gratefully left the Island of the galloping hedgehogs to head to Île d’Yeu.

It was a great sail down and we booked a berth from a lovely lady who understood my terrible French only to find out she was Scottish, which I have to say did make things a little easier. Île d’Yeu is a fantastic place, and used by the French as a holiday destination and I can truly see why. So so pretty, hardly any cars but bike shops everywhere and dog friendly beaches all over it. No litter anywhere and lots of little cafes and restaurants along the front. The French are so painfully chic and thin in equal measures and Lee told me perhaps I should take off my coat of jealousy but it was too heavy so I left it on and ate another baguette instead.

We had to wait out here for a few days as there was some terrible weather coming in across Biscay with winds up to 40 knots, so we passed the time taking Franco for walks, relaxing and sampling the local cider which is their speciality. By this point we hadn’t had a matrimonial discussion since before Brest so we duly booked one in for the day of departure. We left Wednesday morning a few hours after Cap’n Ron, Kirstie and Reece, fueled up and off we left to cross Biscay. Which is another story.