Our current port of call sits exactly on the meridian, so feels oddly linked to home. The marina is purpose built and small, with most of the berths being privately owned, available for visitors in their owners absence. Even so it is served by a host of bars and restaurants. The surrounding mountains are spectacularly high and craggy with roads and a railway rising up from the port in steep zigzags. There are beaches either side of the marina and it is altogether rather idyllic.

Our journey here was all under engine. No wind had been forecast till later than we wanted to be out, so we let Lara have a lie in. She emerged in time to see Benidorm, but had not missed much as the sea was choppy and the sky overcast. In the distance there was a strange neon glow on the horizon out to sea, which John thought was due to the dreaded Saharan rain, but none fell on us. Just before Lara came on deck a helicopter flew over and John and I shared a Space Invaders thrill watching it on the AIS. Boats are shown as darts, which point in the direction of travel, and turn from blue to red as they draw near. We knew aircraft carried AIS, but were not prepared for the cute white helicopter icon, complete with switching blades, which also turned red as it crossed our path.

We arrived at Greenwich in time for a late Spanish lunch. John had booked us a berth over the phone and when we radioed in they were ready, and sent us straight to a berth, where a marinera was waiting. John did a neat three point turn in the harbour and mooring went very smoothly, with the marinera coming on board to give John a hand heaving the lazy lines. Unfortunately he fastened them to both front cleats with opposing locking turns, which we were hard pressed to release, when we came to tightening up. After a lot of gut wrenching John managed to sort them out, but the small leader line is drum tight along our side, held off from rubbing against the gel coat by a series of rammed in fenders. The owner of our berth must have a smaller boat than Lyra.