The following is a poem written for/about me by my friend, Hilary Heanly. She (and her husband, Peter) writes .....

"We're following Tony's progress with great interest. He's doing so well. I'm afraid the cold would put me off, not to mention the isolation, the fear, the terrible weather, etc, etc. This poem has been inspired by his account of life in the Southern Ocean."

The Lone Sailor - Part 1 (The Southern Ocean)
by Hilary Heanly

He stands at the wheel, this sailor bold,
His feet are numb, his nose is cold.
The wild wind whips across the deck,
Sends icy fingers down his neck.
He peers through salt encrusted eyes
Towards the ever threatening skies
While waves come marching in a line,
Curling tops of foaming brine
Spewing shards of icy spray
Which do their best to find a way
Through any tiny gap or tear
Within his tough wet weather gear.
He's worn his socks for 40 days,
He's living in a cheesy haze.
Luckily we won't be there
When from those socks his feet appear.
The temperature being five degrees
Plays hell with his extremities,
But through all problems big and small
He can hear his mistress call
And knows the dawning of each morn
Brings him closer to The Horn.

Thanks Hilary.

Take care,

Tony Mowbray