‘There are only so many last straws a man can take — but going home wasn’t an option’

“Would you like some bacon and spuds?” asked the skipper cheerily. Not having dared move around the boat since the Atlantic storm began, let alone attempt the perilous expedition to the galley below, I reluctantly accepted his offer. I was reluctant because, since the storm began, I had only found safety when sitting with my back to a cupboard on the floor of the bridge. Just standing up, I had quickly discovered, was a tortuous endeavour. I quietly gulped at what I had just agreed to do. As he bolted out the door of the bridge and stepped lightly down the wrought-iron staircase through the hatch to the lower deck, my hands shook uncontrollably as I tried to lock the two buckles of my life jacket. >click to read< 08:34

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