Sailing: Groundhog day ruins a week of phone calls, Robbie Williams and waffles

Saturday 15 February Bottom of Roaring Forties, 07.40

Until I saw the 06.00 positions update I thought I'd had a good eight-hour run. But so has everyone else. I'm still happy with my course further north, especially after hearing more ice reports. There was a time – when I was first part of a Jules Verne attempt in 1998 – when I was disappointed not to see any icebergs. Then I saw my first one a year ago during the Volvo race. It was mesmerising, the way the light shone off it. The second one was a little more daunting. Then came the growlers (hard to see, potentially lethal) which get more terrifying the more you think about them. After three days of continuous bergs I would've been glad never to see one again. So I don't want to go through that again, especially on my own. I'll gladly sail a few extra miles, further north, than risk my life. There's a voice in my head telling me to dart south and risk it to make up some miles but that would be wrong. I want to get round, not get killed. No British woman has ever completed this race. The priority is getting to the finish. One positive thing so far about this leg is that my iridium phone is working again, which means I've resumed my Friday night calls to my friends. Last night I spoke to Miranda Merron, who I've often sailed alongside. She was just off to the King & Queen, our local in Hamble. Hopefully she had a drink for me.

Sunday 16 February 1,800 miles south of French Polynesia, 06.57

I could tell you how extraordinarily tough it is out here at the moment, how bitterly cold, how the constant physical demands are so extreme that I'm on the edge every moment. But just for today it's not true. I'm having a blinder: consistent tack, wind just aft of the beam, good cruising speed, warm(ish) wind from the north. The downside is that the unusually temperate conditions are the reason why icebergs are breaking off from the Antarctic convergence zone and floating so far north. Anyone who disputes whether global warming is having an effect on the planet should sail the Southern Ocean. Today I was chatting about this to Brad Van Liew, the skipper of Tommy Hilfiger, but we somehow got sidetracked to Robbie Williams. I've been listening to Swing When You're Winning. Brad, in his commercial pilot days, used to fly Robbie around. Apparently he's a dude. Amazing what you learn at sea.

Monday 17 February 1,500 miles south of Pitcairn Island, 05.50

The wind is up to 35 knots, the ride's getting bumpy and uncomfortable, the naps less frequent and the stress more intense. I'm still content with my position. Bernard Stamm, the race leader, has just seen a big berg and it's getting dark. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes tonight.

Tuesday 18 February Furious Fifties, 05.25

Pilot problems are making a bad situation worse. I phoned the team electrician at 1.30am. And again at 3.30am. I've got all the spares I need but working out exactly what's wrong is the problem. 11.02 Pilots up and running after rewiring. Time for a nap.

Wednesday 19 February Middle of Southern Ocean, 06.50

This is it now, the Southern Ocean everyone imagines. Mountainous seas from all directions. No gentle swell, just peaks and higher peaks. The water is so aerated I'm sure the boat is sitting lower in the water than usual. I've spent six hours at the helm waiting for a lull that hasn't arrived. Seeing tonnes of water about to collapse on you is terrifying. It's worse when it happens at night. The wind is howling but at least I'm now tucked up inside. Sleepy, tired, cold.

Thursday 20 February Southern Ocean, 05.08

The sea has been awful, huge and lumpy. There's no pattern to it and I lost a lot of miles overnight. Even the white clouds are turning black and bombarding us with hail. And I've also got another tear in my mainsail.

Friday 21 February Southern Ocean, 05.25

I repaired the main, which was nowhere near as bad as the tear on the last leg. It only took an hour and a half. But just before dark, with the wind picking up, it had come undone. Tomorrow already looks like groundhog day, starting with a sail repair. I've had a few hairy moments when the boat's taken off on huge surfs and then flown at high speed into the bottom of the next wave. Somehow we survived unscathed. I've had a hot meal at least – one of my few remaining potato waffles. But I need to try to sleep soon. My body is screaming for a short break.

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