My cabin contains the only double bunk on board, a luxury I could do without — when we’re rolling heavily I can be thrown over three times before I hit the other side. I’ve worked on the sea for 30 years now, but every morning the waves and clouds are different. I couldn’t even contemplate working on land.

I tried it once — I was a chandlery manager for three months and it killed my spirit. I hated the commute and being inside all day, and I hated the concept of weekends. I work a month on board ship and a month off. During the summer I’m in northern Europe and in winter I’m in the Canary Islands.

I’ll usually have been up a couple of times in the night. If the officer on watch has a problem she’ll call me. It might be a potential collision with another ship, or not picking up land when we’re supposed to. The mate, who does 4am‑8am, is pretty experienced; the others — four watches of 10 girls each — are less so. I’ve never sailed with an all‑girl crew before, and it’s scaring the shit out of me. Some have no experience at all. I’ve got 50 people on board who hopefully won’t get killed.

I’ll have a quick shower and wash my hair. I bring very little on board: extra clothes, Bovril and wine gums. I’ve never used a moisturiser and I don’t wear sunscreen, though I probably should.

I had a facial once, before I got married four years ago, which was my one foray into skincare. I throw on jeans and a T‑shirt and take coffee and a cigarette up to the bridge. During a race we send our position to the communications ship, which takes about an hour, then at 7.20am the bosun and the ongoing watch go to breakfast and at 8pm everyone else goes. Toast, cereal and a cooked breakfast for those who want it.

Ten people are on watch on the bridge, 24 hours a day. They’re steering, on lookout, navigating, keeping their eye on the weather and doing small-sail handling. If we’re going to hang them all, we’ll get everyone out to help. The whole ship has been adapted for wheelchair access and each disabled crew member has a buddy to help with the ropes. The main working sails are the topsails, then there are the courses, then t’gallants and royals. We’ve also got jibs and staysails, the triangular sails which we roll out as we get going. It’s an extraordinary feeling of power when you stand and watch them billowing out.

At 9am it’s Happy Hour, when the entire ship is cleaned. That’s everything from mopping the decks to cleaning the sick out of the gratings. Myself and the mate do formal inspections once a week. Very rarely do you have to say “Buck up”. Peer pressure works marvellously. Physically it’s hard work. You get calluses on your hands from the ropes and you’re using your muscles all the time to steady yourself, so it’s very tiring. Everyone has to get used to being aloft, which means climbing up the masts in a harness and out on to the yards. I don’t like it up there much. The masts are 34 metres high, and I’m a little bit big to pull my own weight back up if I fall.

At 10am we all stop for smoko — tea, cake and more ciggies. Then, if the wind has changed, it’s all hands on deck to tack ship. We’re heading north to the Hebridean sounds, between Shetland and Orkney, and across to Norway. If the wind is light and variable we might need to move all the sails to put the wind on the other side of the ship. On one trip, the wind changed so often we ended up passing the same oil rig five times.

I’m ravenous by lunchtime. The chef provides a lovely spread — baked potatoes, pasta, salads — but if we’re really rolling there might be only three people at the table. There are sick bags in every corridor, and they’re used — a lot. We’ve had four-metre waves and force-nine winds, which throw you all over the place. Everything is lashed to the deck, including people in wheelchairs. I am constantly amazed by their courage.

Between lunch and afternoon smoko at 3pm, I’ll have a nap. My cabin is a bit of a haven. I read a lot and listen to CDs and I’m completely addicted to solitaire on my laptop. The race takes around 10 to 14 days, but we haven’t a chance of winning, because the Norwegian crews go faster than we ever could.

Some nights we have a quiz or indulge in a bit of gambling. We bet on a horse race involving dice and wooden horses. It’s a fact that emotions are heightened at sea. If you fall in love it’s 10 times harder, and if you fall out it’s incredibly difficult. I’m a man’s woman. I’ve worked with blokes all my life and I relate better to them than I do to girls, which is why I ran off to join the Merchant Navy when I was 18. Male crew confront me and swear at me, while girls tend to moan behind my back. Funnily enough, I’ve noticed the ship smells more like a tart’s boudoir when the boys are on board.

Any time between 10 and midnight I write my night orders, then change into pink shortie pyjamas for bed. I read for 20 minutes and then I’m out. If I dream, it’s always the same: I’m trying to drive the ship through Otley and I’m thinking: “Oh God, I’m coming to a roundabout! How am I going to do this?”

The 70-plus tall ships in the race will be docked in Liverpool from July 18 to 20, leaving for Norway on July 21

Interview by Caroline Scott. Portrait by Ollie Woods

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