I chose not to deliver the boat to London. I wanted to go through things one last time, the bag I've got ready of replacement stuff that my folks will hopefully get out to CapeTown, the other bag of stuff that I'm not going to see for a year, and maybe enjoy one last definite sleep in a bed, decent Internet connection, and scalding, needle - jetted shower.

Instead, I took photos as the boats left Gosport. They've been such a familiar sight in and around the Silent for the last few months, but seeing them all lined up, mains hoisted, was something different. Team Garmin isn't the only boat, and the people I've started building relationships with are not the only people. There's 690 of us.

But she's my boat, and they're my people. She's pretty to me; I suppose in much the same way that no parent finds their own baby ugly (and there are ugly babies out there), but her lines, her colours, even the crew I suppose....

Wednesday, a day of rest. Last one for the foreseeable future. And just as well, from about noon onwards it rained. Real rain, not the typical wet sky that England spends about a third of the time afflicted by. Netflix was watched, and bags were packed.

Took the train up from Gosport this morning. It's a journey I've become so used to in the past three years, to the point that I didn't even glance up as we passed battersea power station. And now I'm sitting in St. Katherine's docks, starting point for the fleet. There's flags up, and bunting, and info points and a tent. A stage is going up behind me. And there's berths for twelve yachts, currently empty, soon to be filled, and to quote my favourite line from Braveheart (please read out loud in your best Scots accent): "Sure as shite we didnae get dressed up for nothin'".