I said all along that this crossing would provide a rollercoaster of emotions, and it hasn’t disappointed. Well, true to form, the final 500 miles is providing a grand finale.

Last night, I had a fantastic final few hours, gliding along and making good progress both west and north, which I need. I went to bed feeling great, safe in the knowledge that if the wind stayed as it was, I wouldn’t lose more than a mile or two south overnight, but it was forecast to get better, so I was hopeful that I might not lose anything.

I woke up to find myself further south than I had been 24 hours earlier. I’ve come to expect forecasts to be inaccurate, but how it can be so wildly wrong just a few hours away, I’ll never know. Also, why are they never wrong in my favour?!

Today has been a real struggle, both mentally and physically. This is one the times that being solo makes it so difficult; I can make slow progress north while rowing, but I then get pushed south at twice the rate when I’m not. If I could row for 24 hours a day, as pairs can, I’d be fine, but as it is I feel like I’m just about treading water, in full knowledge that I’ll drown as soon as I need to sleep.

I’ve no doubt that the mental side of things is making the physical aspect worse, but it feels like such hard work today. To make matters worse, if I decide to take a break, I know I’ll just be further south when I start up again. Right now, I’d give anything to just stop everything for a few hours, find a cool place to sit down and calm down, and come back this afternoon.

I know that, being sensible, I could hit any island and I would have crossed the Atlantic. But I set out to row from the marina at San Sebastian de La Gomera to English Harbour in Antigua, and in much the same way as I’ll do anything to avoid needing a tow at the end, I know I’ll be gutted if I don’t manage it.

So, 15 hours ago I was as happy as I had been for the last few months, powering towards Antigua. Now, things couldn’t be more different.