Life's a beach, then you jump off a racing boat

I dimly remember an almighty explosion and being thrown about four feet on to the bed

I’m in Brazil, somewhere on the coast south of São Paulo in what appears to be a loving recreation of Benidorm. Unlike Benidorm however, the long, curved beach of Balneário Camboriú is not jam-packed with overly tattooed Brits driving mobility scooters but with hundreds of extremely attractive people wearing as little swimwear as possible. The whole “everybody wanders around in bikinis and Speedos” thing is absolutely true. I feel like a clothed man who has inadvertently wandered into a nudist colony.

I am here for the Volvo Ocean Race. What? You haven’t heard of it? Don’t worry, that’s where I come in. It’s the round the world yacht race and it takes place every three years. The fleet is currently in Itajaí in Brazil, having negotiated the tricky “around Cape Horn” leg. At each stop an elaborate Race Village is set up and people come in their hundreds of thousands to check out the boats and the action.

The current leaders, the Abu Dhabi Ocean Racing team, have invited me here to join them for the beginning of the next leg. I’m still not quite sure why they would do this and whether there has been a terrible misunderstanding as to who I am and what it is I do. The problem is that I find it very difficult to say no to things.

Last time I was in this part of the continent I had rashly agreed to do Total Wipeout just outside Buenos Aires. I returned home early with a severely broken foot. It was therefore with some concern that I found out that I was expected to climb to the top of the boat’s mast to get a selfie (the Prince of Sweden did it, as well as a Miss World so I can hardly refuse). Not only that, but once my part in the first leg is over I have to jump off the fast-moving boat into a rigid-inflatable boat that will supposedly take me back to Brazil. This was explained to me at supper in a local restaurant by the organisers as I tried to fight off the effects of jetlag and some wonderfully powerful caipirinhas. I nodded assent to everything proposed, then headed back to my hotel for some kip.

The humidity was stifling but thankfully there was air-con in my room. At least, there was until I tried to plug my computer into the wall. I dimly remember an almighty explosion and being thrown back about four feet on to the bed as the entire room fused. I think I was knocked sparko for a bit but when I came to there was no lighting, no power and… no air-con.

I had a restless, sweaty night and finally used my iPhone to tune into Radio 4. Sue MacGregor was hosting a show called The Reunion and she had got together the survivors of the 1979 Fastnet Race – the deadliest disaster in the history of ocean racing. As the survivors talked of masts cracking, waves the size of high-rises and a death toll of 15 sailors I wondered whether this was the best thing for me to be listening to? I got up and went for a long walk on the beach and gratefully allowed the locals to distract my overworked mind.…