Bahamas bound and full of the birthday blues

‘IHATE them and I should never have come.” This is what I am thinking on the eve of my 37 th birthday as my tears, as hot and salty as the Caribbean Sea we are sailing on, spring from my eyes and wet my pillow. “Why did I come on this stupid holiday anyway?” I wonder before deciding to maintain a vow of silence for the next 10 days of the trip. That’ll teach them! Then I fall asleep because hating people is exhausting. A few months ago, my cousin, the captain, invited my family to join him for two weeks’ sailing around the Bahamas. At first I gave a decisive no, thinking about my prior, very unpleasant, seasick experiences but my mum and my cousin implored me. “You love the sea! You’ll be missing out!” And so eventually I paid £800 I don’t have to join them for a two-week nautical adventure, the first two days of which I waste bickering. My cousin gives me several jobs to keep me out of trouble. I learn sailor’s knots. I help drop the anchor and take down the sails. I am given sole responsibility for the toilet valves. On day three, I storm off around the tiny island where we are moored. I stomp over dirt tracks, slipping once and getting covered in a thick silvery mud. I walk down a path into a spider’s web and have a small screaming fit which no one can hear. I get lost searching for a signposted bat cave but find a perfect beach, take all my clothes off and run into the water. The waves slap me over and over again on the back of the head. As I get dressed, I wonder what they are all doing back on the boat. Probably asking for the 15th time who is for tea and who wants coffee and putting out the Kerrygold and jam and doing their best to grill the toast. It’s weird to realise at 37 you can be so wrong about something. I actually love sailing and my family aren’t all bad either.