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Its an unproven but widely held belief that tea drunk al-fresco tastes better than when taken in the comfort of indoors: a week’s voyage  on Trinovante was all it took to convince me that the same also holds true for a full English breakfast.

As we sped down the river Stour, the stately homes flying past and autumn creeping across the countryside, we little thought that the force seven winds making the morning’s sail so thrilling would jeopardise our meal, which had been postponed until we were out at sea so that we could take full advantage of wind and tides.

Through the busy harbours of Felixstowe and Harwich, the entrance to the twin rivers rapidly dissolving into the haze of the flat Essex geography, the sea began to get rough just as breakfast began to get cooked.
What happened below during this time, is perhaps the stuff of horror movies and only the metal frame that had been constructed around the gas hob bore witness. Perhaps it is a secret on a par with the tricks of the great escapologists,  but slowly and surely, one-by-one, plates full of plump sausages and quivering eggs, began to appear

Balancing this feast on our laps, the movement of the sea turned eating into a skill that we’d not had this much trouble with since childhood and ultimately made every mouthful more rewarding. Wolfing down mouthfuls in-between waves, began to fortify us and set us up for the rest of sail back to base.
The fresh air, the taste and the assault course style of eating led to the best breakfast I have ever eaten and the fry-up at my local greasy-spoon just hasn’t been the same since .

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