20 11 E, 059 54 S;   270 nautical miles,

The wind died. It’s not that much fun though, in fact it’s not all resting and relaxing when there is no wind – all the time I am being pushed by dead waves. They swing Tanasza like, what’s his name...? Like a Jedi does with his lightsaber in Star Wars.
 
 The poor creature (me) had a bath, shaved her legs. A bucked was also drowned during the process, but it was not that important;) (positive thinking works:) )
The clouds also seem to have a need for something. Cirrus clouds mean there will be wind, mostly from the direction pinpointed by their curled tail. Yet, there is total chaos above me. It’s like the clouds had a party and now they are sprawled all around the sky, no order whatsoever.
I can hear fishermen on the radio, I can see none of them, though.
I will have to refuel. Drag heavy canisters, dismantle my  bunk in order to get access to the fuel tank. I guess I can expect the smell again, for I am sure I will spill some diesel around.
This is called sailing...