Fingers crossed, but the end is in sight

Rowing: They've run out treats, they've resorted to ridiculous games, they're laughing manically and their mystery passenger won't leave them alone, but Paul Gleeson and Tori Holmes are making good progress, and can even estimate arriving in Antigua next Wednesday.

Paul: We think we're moving into our final week. Our prediction had been that we'd take another eight days to reach Antigua, but we're averaging 43 or 44 nautical miles (around 50 miles) a day, and if we can up that to 47 nautical miles that would get us in next Wednesday evening about six o'clock. So we're going to go hell for leather for that.

I know a lot of people might say: "Ah, sure, enjoy it, it's your last week," and I'm like: We've been out here for the last two-and-a-half months and I just want to get there this week! Two of our friends who've been huge supports to us, Darragh Brehon and Miriam Walsh, are coming out on Saturday, Tori's parents are due on Sunday and mine on Wednesday. Their flight lands in the afternoon and we'd hope they'd be waiting for us at the harbour - so if we have to slow down so that they see us coming in we'll do that.

After we talked last week, we drifted down south a little to 17 degrees. The two of us were just shattered on Wednesday night and we took a few hours sleep and we drifted. We were a bit pissed off with ourselves at that, but at the same time we were thinking: well, Jesus, we can only push so hard.

One cool thing on Wednesday was that we saw some swordfish right in the wake of the boat, in the swell. On Thursday we scrapped back well, we got a good easterly wind and got 12 miles or so back north and that gave us a bit of a cushion. We checked with Eamonn Kavanagh and with the support boat and they both said we should hold our line at about 10 miles north of English Harbour in Antigua until we are a couple of days away.

We just want to get there now. My back is stiff and a bone I broke in my hand when I was cycling across Australia is acting up since I fell on the boat and put out my hand to break my fall. Tori has a sinus problem, her ears and throat are at her.

We're getting worn down, I think. I suppose two-and-a-half months rowing will do that.

For the Ireland-France rugby match on Saturday, we had a bit of a wager. Tori took France and I bet on Ireland, because my heart said it more than my head. We're running out of treats to bet with, we've feck all left on the boat, so we said the winner would get to have the first shower in Antigua. Tori won, of course, and she tells me she's going to have a very, very long shower!

We've exhausted nearly every word game we can think of, so we came up with the idea of "an accent day". I did my Sco'ish accent all day and Tori did the "Irish" one she does. It was funny, when her mother rang from Canada she said she sounded like a Newfoundlander, a Newfie.

Tori came up with this expression from a song Christy Moore does live, Welcome to This Evening's Cabaret, where a wife and a husband are arguing over going to the show and it finishes with: "Well, tough shit, Paddy". So now any time Tori calls me for a shift, it's "tough shit, Paddy"!

Tori thinks she can sing. She'll kill me for saying this, and she's very talented and I love her to bits, but her singing voice is not quite there. It's brutal, to be honest. She starts a night shift and to get through it, the dark and all, she puts on music on her headphones and sings along. I'm trying to get a few hours kip and there's this wailing banshee outside.

We laugh about it. We haven't fought at all out here. I think it's the way we are, we're quite laid back. Out here we're too tired to fight, really, even at the worst of times. I think it's the tiredness. One day last week we broke down and laughed for no reason. Tori tried to do this fake scream and this was the funniest thing we'd ever experienced.

We've been going out with each other nearly three years and I think we've had one fight in that time. So it must be just the way the two of us are.

Tori's chafing has got better in the last week, too. What was it one of the girls in the other boat said about her blistering resembling a pizza? Well, now Tori's ass, instead of looking like a pepperoni pizza is looking like a tomato pizza.

We have two flags, the Irish and the Canadian, and the Irish one is just beginning to shred. That flag crossed the Atlantic before, with Eamonn Kavanagh and his brother Peter in 1997, and it was perfect when they gave it to us. So maybe that's a reflection of the weather we've been having.

We had a visit from the support boat. We were so excited. As they came towards us Tori was rowing and she was pretending they were pirates and we were rowing away from them! The two of us took pictures - we hadn't seen people, apart from each other, in 70 days.

The boat, the Aurora, is a 67-foot yacht and it seemed like the Titanic was coming towards us. They came alongside and we had a good oul' chat with them on the radio. They asked how we were for food and water - we wouldn't take anything, of course, because we'd be officially out of the race - and told us about the other crews.

We did ask them if they had any beer, and they said no. I don't know if they were telling us the truth. They had tinned food on board, not the freeze-dried muck we're eating, and one of the crew came out on deck eating tinned mandarin oranges. We were salivating.

We were coming up to our meal time and we were starving, so we asked the crew were they hanging around for a while. They had to go off to recover a boat, so we just said goodbye.

The Cracknell-Fogle documentary on the BBC should be really interesting. There was a television production company in Dublin which wanted to do something with us, but with the rush in the final few days before we started the race it didn't work out. It might have been a brilliant documentary, when you think of the various freakouts and problems we've had. But any of the teams, I'd say, would have been able to make great television.

Our passenger was up to divilment again on Sunday. It was the second night shift. We were going northwest, slightly crossing the swell to hold the latitude. I got shivers down my spine and down both my legs. All of a sudden I noticed there was pulling alongside my left hand. Another hand had come in. There was a pulling motion, as if an arm had come in under my left armpit. I went, Holy Shit. I looked around and didn't see anything, but I just felt what was like a hand and arm was there.

The logic of this, and I didn't want to get too deep into it, was to pull more on the left side so I wouldn't be crossing the swell as much. So I took it that whoever this character is might be saying: "No, no, come on, don't be taking too many risks." And for the rest of the night I didn't. I said, out loud: "Okay, I really appreciate this. Fair enough."

We are still quite cautious. The Spirit of Cornwall came a cropper very close to the end, so we're conscious that we're not home until we get across that line. Cross your fingers and we'll see can we make it in seven days.

The documentary on James Cracknell and Ben Fogle's Atlantic crossing, Through Hell and High Water, is running on BBC One tomorrow and Friday morning at 9.30am, and on BBC Two tomorrow night at 8pm.

(In an interview with Liam Gorman)

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