I am on a high all day, absolutely thrilled that the weather has calmed enough for my performance to continue. It’s still very windy and I have to weight everything down when I cook at the summit but even allowing for that I still lose a beautiful pillow at one stage to a gust. Luckily a passing boat manages to race after it and return it a little too damp to be used anytime soon.
The sun comes out so I attach my solar powered phone charger to one of the trees and spend a lot of the afternoon lying out in the heat (in the loosest sense of the word but I take my opportunities when they come!). At six I fish out my cocktail shaker and fix myself a celebratory martini (or two) and toast the beautiful city that we live in and the powers that be who enabled me to set up camp in these waters. I’ve only ever had a martini once, in a very cool bar in the East Village and I thought it was the most vile thing I’ve ever tasted but surprisingly mine seem to taste a whole load better – maybe it’s the lack of ice.
I heat up a vacuum-packed veggie concoction and sit and watch the full moon rise over the Sam Beckett Bridge. I’m quite startled to notice a heron perched at the island’s edge deftly spearing passing spratts. It’s possibly the most exciting moment of my stay here so far. I gaze in awe for over an hour, admiring it’s ability to forage for dinner. I sleep soundly, no longer worried that my island might take flight in the night. If it can stand up to Hurricane Katia I reckon I’m safe enough.