Belatedly, I remembered to think of the Ratley Choristers and their 9.20 rehearsal with Keith Smith in the uncompromisingly cold Warmington Church. How is it possible to be so cold, in such temperate climes? I did my bit, so don’t feel über guilty, though. Here, we’re so exhausted, sleeping is a dream…as it were…despite the bright nights, and waking for a 10am breakfast finish is tricky. However, today was hot, bright and photogenic, so we dashed round snapping the shots and buying bubbly for the journey. Essential! Oh – and a fur hat for Adrian to prevent his ears dropping off. With sufficient of the former, the latter is either unnoticed or inevitable. We have spent a happy hour in a street café, drinking local beer at 6 pesos a litre and are now in an internet café doing same: official purpose – letting Ken know we’re OK. Sent cards:
“When at work and your brain turns to sago
And your instinct says, “Just get away! Go!
Where’d you never go near?
Try out Patagonia –
Or the Antarctic, or Tierra del Fuego!”

Some hard rhymes in that one…

But now, we’re onboard the Akademik Sergey Vavilov, chugging at 16 knots along the Beagle Channel heading SE towards Drake’s Passage. The scenery is humbling, but more is promised. As the Andes tail away into deep channels, the angles are softer as sea erodes them, but their assertive peaks form a backdrop to every photograph of Magellanic penguins, black shags, black-browed albatrosses, South American terns or cormorant. The sea is preternaturally calm and before windchill, the air temperature is nearly 19°C. Überweird. At 11.30pm. We’re still at 55°S, but climbing. The boat is comfortable and well-managed. More anon.