September 9, 2026
After what I think were two weeks in Casa Blanca, in Same, Ecuador, with my father, I am back in New Delhi with a busy Natalia, a broken Woland, and leaden jet lag.
I managed to meet two deadlines, but today, Wednesday, was a very unproductive day. (I made it home Monday at 03:30.) Woland can’t play ball — he’s in pain, he wears a cone, and so he’s in a mood even worse than mine. And in my current state of mind I have little or no empathy to offer him.
I’m writing this with a gin and tonic at hand — I went for Botanist this time to mark the unfolding situation — and it helps. Some Thai food Natalia ordered should arrive soon. The plan is to watch a show, go to bed early, and hope tomorrow finds me in a better place — mentally. Geographically, there’s no choice on offer.
I’ve just realised Natalia opened one of the two bottles of red I brought back from duty-free — a passenger is only allowed two — which I was saving for a special dinner. Now I have no choice but to drink it.
As for BEHEMOTH — I’ve just learned the Blue Monster has a cracked head, which explains every problem it’s had since Cartagena. Ollie has found a replacement head, but it would have to be imported at no small cost — the head alone, and then the freight on a very heavy lump of iron. As with dogs and cats, even the ones you love dearly, there comes a point where you have to put them to sleep. Not Woland — he’ll be fine. BEHEMOTH is getting a new engine.
Sailing to the Pacific 