We had been waiting to catch up with our pals from Ghostrider for what seemed like forever, and we eventually got word they would soon be arriving in Martinique. This coincided with our faithful old dinghy finally giving up on us, so we decided to sail down from Antigua to buy a new dinghy and catch up with our partners in crime; Rob and Nerys.

Our non-stealable, awesome, fabulously scrappy old dinghy was now barely being kept afloat by masking tape, a bailer, a foot pump, and a prayer. The only problem is nobody wants to buy a shiny new dinghy. It screams “Steal me!” as opposed to our Old Faithful that menacingly whispered, “Go on, I dare you”. After a near-death experience off Club Med, we sadly decided a new one was needed, and so off we went dinghy shopping.

My Dad always said everything sells for the right price, so Lee asked me to put together an advert to find our beloved dinghy a new home. And as I had precisely no interest in speaking to people who I generally find irritating at the best of times, I determined the price to be some beer. Within 15 minutes she was whisked away.

The already expensive experience of buying a new tender was made all the more painful when we also had to buy a new outboard. This was after an unfortunate incident where Lee (rather rudely in my opinion) told me to stop telling him to slow down, it wasn’t shallow, it was just very clear water. Until it wasn’t and he hit the bottom killing the outboard. My silence was satisfaction enough. And as my previous botox had worn off I obviously did some sage eyebrow raises as well. And called him a twat. And dickhead. In his defense, he agreed and got me drunk on cocktails to shut me up. But apart from that I thought I handled his idiot dick fuckery with appropriate dignity.

So after hitting the shops with Nerys to buy decent, affordable food (namely cheese, wine, and baguettes) during which time my phone was stolen and subsequently recovered, we packed up the boat, lifted what now looked like a Ferrari of bloody dinghies and outboards and headed back North to Antigua with Ghostrider.

We arrived to a lovely downpour, so after throwing the dog down below to keep him out of the way and the anchor over the side we dried off and happily the sun came out.

We promptly took ourselves off to a dinky little beach right next to the boats for what we hoped would be a lazy day. We tried to settle down but Franco had his paws in the sand which meant play time. Several annoying hours later we were all knackered whilst Franco had just about warmed up, so with no end in sight we retired back to the boats, kind of wishing we had a cat and not a relentless arse of a Belgian Malinois.

Obviously, Nerys needed to see the pigs, so that was first on the list! Feeling very happy that I had not eaten Piggy since my last visit, we spent a very happy morning with Peppa and her pals.

We had decided to hold off on the sightseeing the last time we were here as we knew that we were going to do it with Rob and Nerys. Car hire sorted, off we went. First on the list, and with our Lonely Planet guide leading the way, Nelson’s Dockyard.

Nelson’s Dockyard is a cultural heritage site and marina in English Harbour, Antigua, and is named after Admiral Horatio Nelson who lived there between 1784 and 1787. It is part of Nelson’s Dockyard National Park, which also contains Clarence House and Shirley Heights, and is a UNESCO world heritage site. And it’s pretty cool. It’s also home to the multi-million pound yachts that assemble every April for the famous Antigua Regatta.

Having seen the sights and the price of a beverage, we left, carried on our travels, and slowly made our way back to the boats. Beer, booze and a BBQ later we went to sleep and carried on the next day.

After Rob paid a few visits to the Swindlers (AKA the chandler) and a few hundred dollars trying to sort out his solar panels, we decided to leave him to it and the 3 of us and Franco abandoned him while we went for a walk.  After consulting All Trails and giving Lee 5 litres of water to carry, off we went on the English Harbour hike.

Not realising we were walking above a famous landmark called the Pillars of Hercules we spent the entire walk checking out the different gangs of goats roaming around on the cliff face and stopping Franco from leaping to certain death chasing lizards. After Nerys (who could make a friend in an empty room) had made lifelong meaningful relationships with several people who briefly stepped aside for us, we carried on our way uphill, arriving at the original Fort Blockhouse. I say original because when I first joined the Navy, I was based in Fort Blockhouse. Which was clearly not the original.

For those of you who are interested in the history of the area, Shirley Heights was named after General Shirley, who was Governor of the Leeward Islands when the fort was created in the late eighteenth century. Steps away, you can see the obelisk honouring the soldiers of the 54th regiment at the cemetery. The site was so heavily fortified because the British had lost all of its colonies in the West Indies, with the exception of Antigua and Barbados. Us greedy Brits wanted to protect the area because of the lucrative sugar production on the island, as well as protecting Nelson’s Dockyard.

Happily tired, we retrieved a now thoroughly defeated Rob from Ghostrider and carried on our way. We visited everywhere we could that was recommended and within the confines of having Mutley with us. Some were fab, some were not, but that is the advantage of having a car and being mobile and why we always hire one. There’s always some idiot who decides a bench is a historic landmark and can’t be missed, and then the sheep on Trip Advisor agree, and before you know it a 10-year-old bench is the number 1 attraction somewhere and a cunning person is charging you an entrance fee. It’s like the Emperor’s new clothes of tourist attractions.

Passing a disproportionately large amount of churches we finally found one that Lee was willing to enter, after which we carried on our island tour to Devil’s Bridge National Park.

Ending the day at Devil’s Bridge we wound our way back to the boats, just in time for Lee and I to head up to Shirley Heights.

Twice a week there is a sundowner party at Shirley Heights which overlooks Nelson’s Dockyard and Falmouth Bay. With a BBQ and steel band, this was a definite win, and after a few hours alone here we retrieved Franco from Ghostrider and prepped to leave for Barbuda the next morning.

Arriving back in Barbuda, Franco assumed Position Alpha of charging around the beach and generally being a menace, whilst we introduced Rob and Nerys to Shak a Kai.

Whilst watching the poor staff on the superyachts being run ragged with champagne runs, we happily slurped our beers for another week until it was time to head back to Martinique. Because The Cub was incoming…