‘What’s the opposite of cabin fever? Is it Stockholm Syndrome?’ Ellie asked.

We thought about it.

Was Ellie ok about spending so much time in a confined space? Urghh. Just the thought of it makes me want to break out in a sweat. Since Quest is in essence a confined space. However you wrap it, it’s not the same as house-living. You can’t walk out of your front door and leave – unless you want to swim for it.

But it’s also our space. Our comfy space from home which is also home and from which has so many things we took… from? You guessed it. Home.

We could imagine if Ellie felt a little claustrophobic about it. Gulp on the word. Boat-living is a delicate balance.

‘Isn’t Stockholm Syndrome when you fall in love with your kidnapper?’

Ellie nodded. ‘Oh yeah. Probably not that then.’

I googled it. Reverse Cabin Fever came back with lots of reports about people who stay in bed all day and don’t want to mingle . A sort of agoraphobia. It isn’t that either.

I don’t know why I often consider Quest a guilty pleasure. After all, we’ve just arrived in a new place, another new place. And yet we woke up this morning and on the inside we could still be in Milford Haven. It always looks the same on the inside. Do we need to go out exploring? Couldn’t we stay in and read and play games and watch movies?

But hold on. We’re in Les Saintes. A group of islands that receive approximately 330 days of sun a year. At the same latitude as Thailand and the same longitude of the Falkland Islands. Lucky doesn’t even touch it. We would need our heads examining if we didn’t go out and see it.

So we went. And walking though this town is like walking through a movie set. Winding lanes, gingerbread houses, crab and conch-filled pastries sold on the side of the street and bananas growing in tiny gardens. The church at the centre of it all – humble and wooden-clad.

‘What do you think?’ I asked Quest’s crew.

We were in the town park, in the shade. We’d drank passion fruit juice. Eaten spinach quiche and a piece of rotisserie chicken from the guy who cooks on the side of the road next to the church. Two yellow-breasted bananaquit birds chattered above us in the trees. Turtle doves acted as pretty pigeons by our feet.

‘Can we go back now?’ Delph said wistfully. I shrugged. It’s true – there is nothing in this world like floating your home around with you.