Pencil diving off the side of a sailboat into the vivacious Tasman is unsurpassed as a wake-up ritual. BAFFLINGLY, THEY VANISH, one by one. Inevitably, I will be next. Only two hours into the journey, I lay prone inside the Lady’s womb-like quarterdeck. Energy levels at nada, it takes me, too. Fade to black…
Dazed, dishevelled, I paw away a pool of drool from a random jacket that I’ve requisitioned as a pillow. My fellow passengers rematerialise on deck, one by one, with newborn eyes, in the same order they left.
We all become Miss Marples and Hercule Poirots to solve this perplexing whodunnit: ‘The Mysterious Case of the Synchronised Powernap’.
Ah-ha, mon ami! It was the ginger (anti-seasickness tablets), we deduce. And he would have got away with it,…