After a heavy night, I didn't get up till about midday. But nor did anyone else, apparently. It was the main day of the regatta, and didn't it show! It was raining sheets, the sea was decidedly heavy, and the wind was getting up. Grandma force fed me some herrings which she had just baked, and then I trotted down to the boat house. Uncle Gordon offered me a lift, but I told him not to be silly, it was only half a mile down the road, and I had full waterproofs. I didn't particularly fancy the idea of sailing in this weather, but I was in good company in the clubhouse: it was full of people saying "I'm not going out there!" The wind was getting very strong by this time (it was a Southerly for a change; I ought to have taken advantage of it and headed for Glencoe, but the rain was off-putting).

One or two brave souls did go out, but mainly in the larger boats. Then there followed some high drama: one of the big yachts, apparently £120,000 worth of yacht, to be precise, got blown over right in front of the boat club. Fortunately they managed to keep the sail out of the water, and a few precarious moments later they righted her again, but that, together with a few more near misses, clinched it for those in the clubhouse who were still vaguely tempted to go out that day.

I spent most of the day in the bar, and then went back to Rockingham for dinner and a rest, before returning for another heavy night. This time it lasted till 4.30am, and I ended up making a bet with Irene, one of the club's regulars, that she wouldn't be able to ride Mercury. Sunday, 1pm, showdown time. Or High Noon, GMT.