ne thing that’s curiously easy to forget, once you’ve done a fair bit of sailing, is that you personally don’t find any of it unusual. The cramped cabin, nights either tied onto a narrow shelf or up the fo’c’sle tucked up next to a couple of oars and a boathook, possibly with your boots and oilskin trousers still on: all normal. Even by day you accept peacefully the way that your whole small world keeps banging around or leaning
