Messenger, with its computer silenced by a freak wave, is now about 850 miles from its Caribbean destination. Edwin Boorman faxed this report via satellite to tell of flying fish and minor disasters - and how Messenger went to the aid of a stricken vessel.

The start at 1pm on Sunday, November 26, was hair-raising as 250 or so boats under sail tried to cross the start line at the same time. With the wind behind, most had their colourful spinnaker set, which require skillful helmsmanship.

We witnessed one collision, and believe there was another, but our attention was drawn away by trying to avoid an unwieldy catamaran on one side and another vessel on the other, both less than four feet away.

Messenger is a 40ft Lamont Giles designed Buccaneer motor-sailer. Therefore she will be a slower yacht than many, unless we use our engine for propulsion. We are therefore towards the back of the pack. Running before a Force 5 Easterly wind, we are making between 120 and 150 nautical miles a day. We are on a course of 300 aiming straight for St Lucia .

We have had a bumpy ride. Soon after the start the participants went their several ways, all on closely guarded secret courses between the Northern direct route and "going south until the butter melts and then turning right".

John Taylor, our navigator, guarded our secret course by being economical with the truth, both to friendly rivals and even us!

After the first two days, we have been sailing in an empty ocean. Until last Saturday, 14 days into our crossing, despite scanning the horizon and occasionally searching by Radar, no other vessels of any kind have come within 25 miles of us.

Friends ask us what we find to do all day long . "Plenty" is the answer. Trying to complete the most mundane tasks on a platform which wobbles unsteadily by 20 degrees in any direction multiplies all normal task time by 10.

All things placed in a locker or on a table or shelf develop a mind of their own. The cup of coffee left to cool will inevitably fall over if not held. Pencils, pens and rulers used for navigation that fall off the chart table not only find awkward places in which to lie but also block a drain or two.

Sheets of paper will be drowned by a wave or blown away if not guarded. Sometimes these carry vital information. You watch helplessly as your address list, leant to another crew member for five minutes, suddenly flies 20ft into the sky, and is carried by the wind some 100 yards from the boat onto the sea.

On a bad day a succession of minor disasters made me tell the crew "I want to go home!" First I had been thrown across the cockpit, losing a chunk out of my thumb. Second I watched my glasses snap off their string around my neck into the sea, and thirdly a rogue wave came through an open hatch drowning the computer, together with the clothes and bedding around it.

Despite John and Ray Ingram trying to repair it over a couple of days, the computer has not worked since.

On good days, we sunbathe and watch the amazing beauty which is around us day and night. John, Ray and the other crew members Jules Croysdill, Robert Filmer and Paddy Armstrong have incredible wit which would do justice to any television comedy.

Although a minute does not go by without seeing a flying fish travel some 200 yards across the waves, we are disappointed not to have seen more dolphins. They are more plentiful in the Mediterranean it seems. On our way from Gibraltar to Las Palmas we saw a school of whales, but not since.

Therefore, feeling very much alone, it was a surprise yesterday afternoon to hear voices over the VHF radio. This has a limit of 25 miles, therefore those talking were nearby. We listened intently as the skipper of a vessel named Mary Constance discussed with the crew of another vessel, Black Wattle, how to repair a shroud, having lost a vital support for her mast.

It was quite right for the skipper, an Australian, to be anxious. A couple of boats on this year’s ARC have been dismasted, another has been abandoned, and several have had others standing by in case a minor problem turns into an emergency.

We changed course, put on the engine for the first time and set out for Mary Constance at full speed (about 10 miles an hour). After two hours, we saw her only 1.5 miles ahead. In these seas, even a substantial yacht cannot be seen, if there is no sail to identify her. Therefore people in a life-raft or man overboard, have little chance of being picked up.

The family in Black Wattle, who had the spare parts to make the repair on Mary Constance, had spent some time searching for her. They could see our sails, however, so keeping both vessels in sight, we brought both boats together.

For this very minor help, we are promised quite a large number of beers in St Lucia. Therefore, we look forward to arriving on perhaps Monday, December 18.