Every crossing must have a worst night. I really hope mine was last night. Yet, strangely, it was really rather good in hindsight!

Over the past few days, the weather’s been gradually building up. It’s all been in the right direction, thankfully, but it’s certainly been growing. Supposedly last night was the peak and, quite frankly, if it wasn’t, I want to go home!

As night fell, I soon gave up rowing. I’ll no doubt get messages from former ocean rowers calling me a big girl for not rowing in the dark, but given the conditions last night, I just wanted to hide. So hide I did, as I proceeded to cower at the back of my cabin as wave upon wave shook the boat, engulfing the boat on numerous occasions. All the while, there I was curled up in a ball desperately hoping for the morning to find me in one piece.

After what seemed like days of being tossed around, I checked the time, hoping to be told there were only a few more hours to get through: it wasn’t even one o’clock.

I spent the night holding on to whatever I could, braced for what appeared to be an inevitable apocalyptic wave to break the walls. But the wave didn’t come, and the morning did. I expected to step out to see a scene of devastation but, to my amazement, everything appeared to be exactly as I’d left it the night before, if a little wetter.

Pacific Pete is my hero!

In one night, not only had he kept me alive, but we’d travelled nearly 40 miles! Had you given me the option in the middle of the night, I would have swapped every single one of them, plus most of the preceding 500, for being anywhere else but here. But, having got through it, what a night!

Still, maybe not tonight, please?