Word count day 21

I didn't write a single solitary stinking syllable yesterday - just too much to do. But today I bashed out a bit more.

Which is a psychologically satisfying number.

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OALS – Day 21
When Kit awoke he felt sick and his head was thumping. He had a vague memory of sitting with Saunders and accepting another cup of the vicious punch, by then far less lemony and far more rummy, and talking about – natural physics? At least Saunders had talked and Kit had listened and inserted the occasional comment. And he had drunk a lot more punch.
“Well at least,” he murmured and was shocked to hear that his voice was still slurring, “at least I won’t get scurvy.”
According to a man who, last night, had been expounding the belief that albatrosses – or was it albatri – never came to land but mated on the wing and the female deposited her egg in the downy feathers of the male’s back.
Groaning, Kit rubbed his eyes, then got out of his hammock because he desperately needed to ‘keep a good watch on the lee-side’. Shirt thrown over one shoulder he ambled up on deck, squinting at the combination of brightness and noise, and was half unbuttoned before he noticed the other mast and realised that the yelling he could hear wasn’t on board.
“Well done,” he said. “A commendation to Lieutenant Christopher Penrose for sleeping through a pirate attack.”