The ghost ship is quiet after all the madness. On the trip down the boat had every available bed filled and all the space above and below decks crammed with supplies for the various bases. On the way back, though, it’s just the crew and five lost souls traveling with the rubbish that’s being transported back. One dentist, two doctors, Dr Ice (as the Portuguese iceberg scientist was called) and one artist.
I’ve been sleeping for a thousands years, luxuriating in the relative expanse of a now empty cabin. The top bunk means that I can now watch the icebergs drift by as I’m rocked by the boat – falling in and out of sleep.
Sanity levels are slowly returning to normal.