It was another rough night at sea, force 8 again. The movement of the ship tends to make your body work harder at everything, even staying still. Sleeping is a chore - whether you're lying in your bunk rolling side-to-side, or seesawing head-to-toe... and all the different combinations of the two. Things you can't identify bang and clatter. Sometimes the best thing is to let them find a suitable resting place on the floor, and then they don't fall down any further. Lashing waves and almighty judders as the ship plunges up and down in the stormy waters means very few of us get any real sleep.

The normally simple operation of walking down a corridor becomes a cross between tightrope-walking and impeccable timing. Already steep stairways can pitch around to almost vertical. And trying to make sure you hold on to the wall and stay under the stream of water from the shower when the walls and floor keep moving is no mean feat! The portholes show a never-horizontal horizon, and pitch between sea and sky and back again.

Things no one had thought to stow away become a job for one of the crew to tidy up. A pile of boots. The books in the library. Even the normally automatic ritual of making coffee in the mess-room first thing seems a hazardous task that may not be worth the effort.

One of the joys of rough weather is that sometimes it means the dolphins will give us a spectacular show - making sure there is no doubt who is in their element out here.

But now we're at anchor for a brief respite. We're waiting for a gap in the weather to send a Rigid Inflatable Boat to shore for some equipment. That'll be a bumpy ride for someone. Today, I won't be volunteering to don a boat suit.

Willie, Campaigner