Race 1 - Day 25
Crew Diary - Race 1 Day 25: Liverpool to Punta del Este
14 September

I've been musing about this blog for a few days now. The working title is 'Excreting, Eating, and Assorted Expletives'. I think that's a fair summation of life on board.

I sometimes say to my friends that I got through my divorce with my home, my cat, and my dignity intact...and then I signed up to go around the world with the Clipper Race.

My cat and home are in the capable hands of a friend but alas, my dignity was parked firmly dockside when I climbed on board. Announce to 20 people you've recently met that you have put clean pants on today? Standard. Discuss your bowel movements with a crew mate whilst sat on the rail in the rain at 0400? Sure, as good as any subject for discussion. Show up for dinner in your underwear and a pair of boots? Perfectly reasonable sartorial choice when it is 45 degrees below deck.

As you are probably hearing from other blogs, the fleet has generally been at a 45 degree angle for a few days now – one of the most challenging aspects of this is the necessary trip to the heads. Here's a quick 'how to' for the uninitiated...

Step 1: Make your way from wherever you happen to be on the boat when the notion (motion) takes you – generally, you can assume that this will be when you are as far away as possible from the heads.

Step 2: before entering the cubicle, remove your life jacket, foulies, hat, and any other items of clothing you are particularly keen to keep wee-free (yes, that's a thing). Never make the mistake of removing your boots.

Step 3: Check that there is toilet paper available...of course, your crew mates are fastidiously good about replenishing stocks, but it's always best to check. Enter the cubicle and zipper down the 'modesty' curtain, designed to maintain any vestige of dignity that you were silly enough to bring along.

Step 4a: Establish at least eleven points of contact for stability. Feel free to use ear lobes, eyelashes, and any other under-used appendages.

Step 4b: Remember that some of your crew mates have questionable hygiene practises and reduce your points of contact for stability to the base minimum of nine.

Step 5: Remove any remaining clothing obstructing the ablution exercise. If your hands are occupied in stability manoeuvres, feel free to get creative with this. Teeth are useful.

Step 6: Establish contact with the toilet. There is a school of preference that will will attempt a hover, but this is really never a good idea. Depending on the direction of the heel, you may find yourself sitting sideways, which is perfectly acceptable. I haven't tried backwards yet, but never say never.

Step 7: Do your thing. Do it quickly, 'pump while you dump' if necessary. Try your best to time it around the bounce of the boat. If, at anytime, you find yourself airborne, accept your fate and hope hard that you land with your nether regions somewhat in contact with the toilet to avoid the dreaded splash back.

Step 8: If you are feeling too satisfied that everything has gone well, it will be about now that you find that one of your precious crew mates has left the deck hatch open and you end up wearing a wave. I like to call this 'the bidet from above' and try to appreciate the free shower.

Step 9: Wipe away the tear that has formed with the realisation that your lap that now holds the gifts of the 'bidet from above' previously accommodated your last pair of clean and dry pants.

Step 10: Get cleaned up. Poo and pee paper goes in the biodegradable bag that gets lobbed overboard (12 miles off shore, compliant with marpol, naturally). Baby wipes go in a different bin, it's all very organised.

Step 11: Check the quantity/consistency of your offerings for latter conversations with crew whilst you dither over the flush/flesh debate – do you remove or reclad?? Most often it's a simultaneous pump, pull up action depending on what the angle of the boat is dictating, nobody likes an overflowing bowl. Or the dreaded airlock burp-back that necessitates more frantic pumping. We have one pump position that flushes water and one that sucks out. There is an exact scientific quotient of the flush/suck ratio, but nobody has figured it out as yet. We are still hopeful.

Step 12: Unzip the curtain and prepare your triumphant exit, but first remember to douse all exposed skin in lashings of alcohol gel (yes we've checked, this is not consumable).

Step 13: Get dressed, re-life-jacketed, and back on deck.

Current boat record (unverified) for a quick wee in the senior female category = 16 minutes.

So, you may ask – why not just eat less to avoid the dreaded trips to the heads? Well, avid reader (Hi Mum!), because 1) you are ALWAYS hungry (just brushing your teeth is like a full body workout) and 2) our Victualler extraordinaire Toby Rubenstein and his glamorous assistant Simone Talfourd have furnished us with the finest menu choices throughout. Once the chefs of the day have added their hand (and a little grated skin) to the recipes, it is always too good to refuse.

Being on chef duty usually starts the night before when you nip down below to put a loaf of bread on to bake, or some porridge on to soak. If it's a slow night watch, the chefs will sometimes get creative with off-menu amuse-bouche – there's a boat contest on to create the perfect compote in a little side competition, fondly entitled 'pimp my porridge'. I made a delicious fig, cinnamon, and date sticky toffee sauce that went down well, but with supplies dwindling on board, I'm wondering what I can come up with using a tin of artichokes and some herbal tea bags for my next chef duty.

Breakfast is either porridge or cereal and toast – once cleared, it is vital as a chef not to get lulled into a false sense of security of '10 hours until dinner time' because the galley exists in an alternative dimension where time bends and it can indeed take 5 hours for our trusty oven to roast enough sweet potato for 22 hungry mouths. You may have read on Clipper posters that there is 'no experience required', but I would advise that any prospective race goers please practice their juggling and catching skills for best results in the kitchen. Also, top tip – don't sit on the low side next to the galley, unless you prefer to ingest your meals via the skin absorbtion method as you will no doubt end up wearing at least some of the ingredients that aren't secured down when the boat bounces over a wave.

You may be wondering if any sailing ever gets done on this race and I can assure you that it very much does. Day by day we are getting less bad at making forward progress with speed.

Here is how I described learning to drive to my family a few days ago: Helming with the spinnaker, is a bit of an art. Like driving with a tennis court sized kite in front of you, which mustn't deflate, whilst on a slick pad, during an earthquake...or something like that. Our instructions are always along the lines of:

a) keep the true wind angle at 150

b) keep the apparent wind (different from wind A), at 90

c) don't crash

d) keep on course (this may, or may not be possible due to A+B)

e) don't collapse the kite – this will probably happen if you are 15 degrees off A or B

f) go faster

g) surf the waves (which is good for F, but makes B, D and E somewhat more difficult.

Having said all that – when you get it right and you have 35 tonnes of boat beneath you in perfect balance and she starts to aquaplane and the speed accumulates – it's the best feeling in the world.

We have now been on close haul / fine reach for a few days and the instructions are all same same but different - much more like carrying a very very large white board, into the wind whilst wearing rollerskates on a slick pad, during an earthquake.... oh wait, that sounds all too familiar... anyway, you get the picture. As we are just past the Equator, we have the added fun of the odd mini-squall, which is all of the above, but then you switch the lights out, turn up the wind, and get someone to jet wash you thoroughly whilst you are trying to drive. I helmed my first one last night, but the winds only gusted up to 32 knots so I have been assured that these are very much the learner slopes of squalls and for that, I remain grateful. Our trusty watch leader Mike B had to help me out when I had my entire (not inconsiderate) body weight on the helm and still couldn't manage the bear-away.

Anyway, the smells of a vege chilli are wafting from the galley so it's time for food and snooze – our favourite combination.

Big love to all friends and family. Kisses and allergies to you too x

*All assorted expletives have been removed for consideration of our young readers.