Race 1 - Day 28
Crew Diary - Race 1 Day 28: Liverpool to Punta del Este
17 September

My Bunk

My bunk is a private space shared with another.
It’s on the starboard side, is numbered “4” and like every other,
It’s a place where I sleep, rest, retreat to and pray,
It’s mine and John’s space, but who is he any way?

My bunk is a mysterious hoarder of treasures,
From sun glasses to pants – they seem to be lost for ever,
And then when you've finally given up and nicked some one’s others,
The bunk coughs them up, and swallows some others.

Our Skipper Andy's bunk is a glorious space,
With marble shelving in every spare place,
Here he stores Almanacs and Admiralty charts,
Which he studies in spare moments – are you having a laugh?!

To enter my bunk is an art in its self,
You try climbing onto a 6ft high sloping shelf,
One athletic crew member with an Olympic Pop,
Lands herself securely using the Fosbury Flop.

Don't kid yourself if you think when you’re finally there,
Your bunk will be kind – you better beware,
Commodore Tim found out what it was like,
To be spat out and rejected one stormy night.

Once settled with a taught lee cloth knot,
The ride begins it’s quite a shock,
The mattress is never level – sloping left and then to right (ok I know it’s not nautical)
You feel like a Toblerone – triangular and not right.

Getting out of your bunk is a daunting thought,
You dangle your legs down and hope you will be caught,
Avoiding your crew mates and finding the deck,
It’s undignified as you can imagine – but then what the heck.

So, this is the end of My Bunk ditty,
I hope you found it slightly witty,
My bunk is the only space I can call my own,
But My Bunk doesn't compare with being at home.

Gareth Blanks

CV30 GREAT Britain