A rowing machine in full flow doesn’t make an attractive noise.
This may be why my partner Jane limited me to 30 minutes on it on Christmas Day.
In theory of course I should have been out on the Atlantic and not going back and forth in the living room watching repeats of The Bill. Circumstances, however, dictated that rather than being several hundred miles off the coast of Africa, and giving Jane the peaceful Christmas she was rather looking forward to, I ground out another few kilometres, literally closer to space than the sea, while DCI Meadows nabbed another wrong ‘un.
It’s been a funny old week. Dot watching on the website tracker as the small flotilla of rowing boats crawls across the Atlantic has been hard, while seeing crews post pictures of themselves in Santa hats makes me wish more than ever that I was out on the ocean.
But there’s work to be done. Toby reckons there’s 11 days of labour to be carried out on the boat before she’s finally ready for the journey and we need to get our training hours in and perfect our routines for eight weeks at sea.
Plus there’s still the small matter of paying for it all.
So on I go: back and forth and back and forth. Dreaming of December 2018, hatching ideas to make money, planning ways to get us and the boat to the start line, and hoping that next year Jane will get the festive season she deserves.