Fate pointed its fickle finger at me in Nelson's Dockyard on Christmas Day. Jamie had sailed across the Atlantic, and I was snatching a do-nothing break between business deals. Up on Shirley Heights our love was sealed with a kiss. By next Christmas we'd given up the rat race, and bought a yacht in Turkey. Seven years (and 10,500 miles) later, we're still sailing.

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I met my destiny on the dock of the bay, in the midst of a Caribbean Christmas party. The stylishly preserved Nelson's Dockyard was established by Britain in the early eighteenth century as a base for its navy. Once home to a young Horatio Nelson, the harbour is now a prominent stop for racing, cruising and super yachts.

Jamie – who was having an extended mid-life gap year – had just helped deliver a yacht from Europe and was trying to decide what to do next. I was partying like a woman possessed, desperately trying to obliterate an eighty hour corporate working week from my consciousness.

When I returned to the UK I put my house up for sale and began the tortuous process of extricating myself from my job. A year later I'd given up the expense account for a life afloat with Jamie. 10,000 miles and seven years later we have just celebrated Christmas in Cochin on our yacht.

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