Challenger 2 - Challenger 2 Entry Fourteen

There comes a time when every great commander stands amongst the bursting shells and acrid smoke of battle and says to his troops, ‘take that hill’. At which point the troops cast their eyes upon the dark foreboding mass of earth and enemy positions, and think to themselves, it’s just not possible.

Today, the mate of challenger 2 was that commander.

Terry looked at the mother watch without a trace of humour or doubt and said ‘Two roast chicken (whole), roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, mashed sweet potatoes, peas, carrots, cabbage… and of course… gravy.’ Bearing in mind that the mother watch consisted of a vegetarian urbanite more accustomed to Hoxton than the Hamble, a teenager recently graduated from a Swiss boarding school who most likely has a personal chef and chocolatier, and a bloke from Kent who eats 90% of his meals in a pub (the remaining 10% being sourced on his way home from said pub from the local take-away)… it was a tall order. Add to this an oven that measures 14 x 18 inches with a top speed of warm-ish, and you can imagine the confused looks.

Like any great commander, when Terry saw their eyes he grabbed a rifle and jumped into the galley. They duly followed. Chickens were roasted and set aside, veg was rotated and scheduled, even the Yorkshire puddings were north of a disaster. It took hours, almost all day, but you don’t become Gloucestershire’s leading male, solo, over fifty, interpretive dancer for nothing. Terry led his band of misfits to Sunday roast glory.

At 4pm ships time we all sat down to a fantastic meal that lifted our spirits after a day of mixed, overly hot, and sometimes frustrating sailing. While our speed was down our will was resolute. We’re 524 miles from a rum punch and the wind is forecast to return tomorrow.

Onward and upward!

James