Week one down past Tasmania and we've had a bit of everything, including the obligatory warm water bun-fight as a loosener for the hooleys that lie ahead. Let me talk you through it.

It was a pleasant afternoon - full main, genoa, dolphins splashing about, and idle chat about who to book in for psychotherapy when we get into Cape Town (as we watched Phil on another rope-tidying frenzy). Several big black clouds had passed overhead without incident, but this one was different. Before you could say "obsessive compulsive disorder" the wind had swung 50 degrees and gone from 10 to 40 knots apparent. The upper wind limit of the genoa (the king size double sheet of our linen cupboard), incidentally, is about 17 knots. We freed the sheets and tried to wrestle down the genoa, now flapping like a screaming banshee on the forestay. We clawed it down on deck and low and behold, the skipper appeared: "Forget the no. 1 - go straight for the number two!" We banged two reefs in the main, dragged the single fitted sheet on deck, hoisted it, and wandered dripping back to the cockpit. But it was a laugh! A few months ago that would have been terrifying and hard work. Several thousand miles later and it was actually fun. A worrying turn of events.

Towards the end of that 18 hour blow we stumbled upon Courtaulds and matched them tack for tack, trying to overtake. We were close enough to see their smiling faces on the leeward rail and as it was watch change time, when we all get a bit frisky, we decided it was playtime. We all piled down below and the skipper ducked down in the cockpit by the helm. We then sent Lucy, Care Bear for the day, up on deck with a J-cloth in hand to polish the mast. So Concert became an apparent Mary Celeste, with only the cleaner left onboard. I've no idea if Courtaulds were watching, thought it odd or even vaguely humorous, but needless to say we found it hilarious! Perhaps we should all go for therapy in Cape Town?

More fun and games the following night, with a glorious sunset over the hills of Tasmania and all 14 yachts within 4 miles of each other. A quiet, almost windless might of lightweight spinnakers and racing at close quarters. This after 600 miles of sailing. At one stage we counted 14 lights out there - one a lonely fisherman out for a quiet trawl and wondering what on earth was going on!

Things have gone a bit pear-shaped since then. We found a parking lot all of our own and sat there for 12 hours. Now 50 miles behind the leaders - the furthest back we've ever been. The wind has at last rejoined us, and we're reaching along under spinnaker, in blazing sunshine. These aren't the roaring forties we know - can't be long now before the wind smacks us in the face. At least we've picked off one boat, so spirits are on the way up. But we've left ourselves a lot of work.

Yours, Kerguelen bound, Sarah