By Sunday evening nearly everyone had gone home, but our ferry was still two days and four hundred or so kilometres away, so we settled in for a quiet evening. No, honest! The return trip of any voyage is about the records. How far, how fast, how long left? The first of the milestones rolled over on the way back to Holyhead. We nearly missed this, despite keeping an eagle out for it all through the trip. It turns out, Snowdonia is pretty bloody distracting! We made Holyead in time for a nice walk about the prom. It's a cool little town, much more vibrant than I was expecting. Catamaran made lots of whooshing and splashing as it slowed back in to port. Soon we were back in Dublin. The trip home always seems faster, doesn't it? We schmoozed down the Quays, with not a care in the world. A Dub in a white van pulled up next to us at one set of lights. "What year is she?" "'87, one of the last of 'em!" "Ya wouldn't believe the looks you're after getting back down the street!"