Flying Fish and a Quiet Day

Flying fish today, in numbers. They come out of the bow wave in small silver bursts of a dozen or so and go a genuinely absurd distance, thirty or forty metres, low and flat over the water before dropping back in. I watched for the best part of an hour from the forward end of the walkway and I have no useful commentary to add. They are simply excellent and I had never seen one.

Two arrived on the foredeck overnight, which Tiny says happens most nights out here and which the seagulls, still with us, treat as a delivery service.

Trivia was rescheduled to tonight because of the canal transit. The Starboard Minds, unchanged in personnel, came third.

Third.

Priya did not raise her voice. Priya has never raised her voice. What Priya did was conduct a short, calm, question by question review of our answers at the table afterwards, in front of everybody, in the manner of an incident investigation. Yuki took it well. Tiny took it badly. I took it as a personal failing, which is exactly the effect intended.

The cadet whose name I still do not know has, I think, left the team.

At the end she stood, collected the sheet, and said, "next week," and walked out. Yuki said, quietly, "we are going to train."

I did not know it was possible to feel this stressed about a pub quiz in the Red Sea. Somehow, I am also looking forward to it.