Arrowtown book buyer Miranda Spary continues her regular column about her recommendations for a good read and life as she sees it . . .
I can tell from the number (and tone) of emails from some of you that you think this swanning around in the Med on the good ship Miranda is too much fun and simply not fair.
To cheer you all up, let me tell you that it hasn't all been plain sailing.
Today, for example, we had yet another one of the events that have help to create my darling's almost legendary boating history.
Picture it, if you will, a divine harbour in the pretty hillside village of Kolkan.
Sunny, and not a breath of wind - my idea of boating heaven.
We have the perfect "old lady gangplank" (it's wide, stable and has a handrail) at the back of the boat, made for people like me who don't like walking over anything that's not on the ground.
When we are sailing, the gangplank gets hauled up and doesn't come down again until we stop.
As we were sidling out of our berth, a rather large gulet in a huge hurry came whizzing in.
It truly looked to us as if it was going to crash into our gangplank but for reasons known only to us, we didn't tell our skipper who was busy steering us out through the other boats thinking we would be keeping an eye out at the back. Funnily enough, the big gulet did catch our gangplank and wrenched it half off the boat.
I could tell from the unfriendly voice our skipper was using that he did not think much of the other boat's skipper, and although he didn't say anything to us, I suspect New Zealand's excellent sailing reputation has taken another bit of a dip in his eyes.
The gangplank is one of my favourite things about this boat, as I am the least co-ordinated person ever to sail on the high seas (well, in fact not the high seas at all - we are never out of sight of land as I insist on at least one meal a day ashore, and a perfect day has two).
Prior to Kolkan, we had two nights at the most unlovely Oludeniz.
The unloveliest thing about it is that it attracts a very sleazy clientele.
If you ever think Queenstown attracts people who want to indulge in really vulgar, offensive behaviour, a visit there will cheer you up no end.
Our drunken hooligans are perfectly sweet and charming compared with theirs.
While in Oludeniz we had to stay in a bay just round from the main beach. It wasn't very sheltered and there was quite a swell.
To get ashore, we had to go in the dinghy, and as there was no jetty for the town, we had to clamber up on to one of the daytripper boats (very tricky) and use their gangplank.
The trouble was that their gangplanks were about a metre off the ground at best, but they would swing up to about two metres off the ground with each wave.
Every time we went ashore, at least one of us would stumble in the surf and either end up dripping seawater or blood. Or both. Most undignified.
You want more bad stuff? How about morning roulette?
Each morning last week, one person would wake us all up with sounds of violent vomiting or other violent and unattractive noises.
We had thought of running a sweepstake on who would be next but it seems those dizzy days of Immodium and anti vomiting stuff have gone.
Apart from these teeny tiny dramas, life aboard is still fabulous and no-one has murdered anyone. Yet.
We've had dolphins swimming in the bay and endless games of cards and we have English classes and Turkish classes.
Our crew roar with laughter when we try to repeat what they are saying, but then we all roar with laughter when they answer "What nationality are you?" with "I am Turkey".
Goodness only knows what we are saying.
We are all anxiously scanning the Queenstown weather forecast praying for snow for you all, and it looks as if the Antarctic is about to send you the goodies any minute.
Even if it does snow, do take time off skiing to go for a mammogram (if you are of the useful sex that needs them, that is).
I was woken very early this morning by cheery Bernie from the mammogram bus asking if I wanted to make an appointment.
Anyway, get along and get your squidgy bits squished in the mangle - life is way too short to cut it any shorter by deliberately missing this important service.
While I've been so deliriously happy with all our children here, enjoying the sun and the warmth and the great food, I have been taking myself off to a much darker and nastier place with David Vann's Caribou Island,set in Alaska.
Gary and Irene are a pretty miserable couple, making a weird attempt to get things back on track. David Vann paints a bleak picture of them trying to build a cabin - Gary's ham-fisted DIY skills and Irene's dim view of him a perfect reflection of the state of their marriage.
They punish each other over and over in all sorts of ways, and even though it's so brutal and painful, it's absolutely compelling reading.
I loathed both of them but I still wanted to know what was happening next.
It's good to read this sort of thing to remind you how good your own life is.
Even my darling looks angelic next to Gary.
