The race is over. Cardiff Clipper crossed the finish line at Albert Dock on the River Mersey at about 12:20pm on Saturday 29th July, three hundred and fourteen days after leaving there in September last year, clocking up over thirty-six thousand miles along the way.

Phew.

It would have been nice to end on a high, storming over the finishing line first with a full press of sail. It didn't quite happen like that.

The final section from Holyhead to Liverpool was split into two sections: an overnight course to the mouth of the Mersey (the last offical race in the Round The World event) and a fun race up the river in the morning for the spectators. Both went pretty badly for us.

We started reasonably well in the official race, but as the night wore on it became clear that we had taken a bad route to the first mark. We lost wind compared to other boats, and went from something like third or fourth down to our now depressingly familiar tenth. There was hardly any wind as we rounded.

When it did freshen, it came on the nose (naturally), but that favoured the other boats who by this time had rounded the next mark, and now had the wind at their tails. We managed to finish on schedule but a poor tenth.

The race into Liverpool was a farce. It transpired later that the skippers had agreed that we would win it. The brief was very much to make it look good and to look fast. We, and several other boats, had engines on to assist. I found this buttock-clenchingly embarassing, especially as there was plenty of wind to make a decent race.

Anyway, we tacked down the Mersey, dodging ferries and commercial craft. We were then told that we were going too fast, and that we were going to arrive ahead of schedule, which would screw up the PR aspect of the day. (This is the kind of garbage that has ruled this race since Victoria.) So the boats went about and started gybing down the Mersey to waste a bit more time.

At this point, my buttocks had reached a painful level of tightness, and I went below to read a book, or something. Becs and Mary, similarly afflicted, were already down there.

Bang.

Things are not meant to go "bang" on a fun race with ten minutes to go at the end of a round the world trip.

We had gybed the boat over (intentionally, I think) without properly centring the mainsail, which crashed over and tore completely in two. This sort of possibility, I seem to recall, was mentioned on about day three of my Competent Crew course.

I was somewhat upset by this and retired to my bunk to fume for a while. Mary was utterly gutted. Having sweated her guts out to keep our sails intact for the last year, it infuriating to have such a stupid accident.

I wasn't on deck when we crossed the line.

All this seemed not so serious as we approached the lock to enter Albert Dock and saw a noisy posse of assorted Mulveys, O'Kanes and Gallaghers waving flags and a banner saying "Well Done Joe and Cardiff Crew". Not too long after, I was on shore with them, and that was just about as good a feeling as you might imagine - although I was chastised by my niece Ellen for having "yukky" hands. Damn, I should have moisturised more.

Sunday's business was leisurely: a crew get-together to have a last reminisce, and removing our stricken main. Clipper amazingly had a spare one to hand, so that was hoisted on Monday morning.

We are now in Howth, just north of Dublin, which is Conor's home port, and where we visited last year prior to race start. By way of a final slap in the face, the wind gods delivered a rattling Force 7 beat for our trip over. It was our first such wind since Jamaica, and it felt great, if annoying late in coming.

We had a full crew for the delivery over - lots of our ex-leggers showed up to lend a hand. No other boat had its own crew leaving Liverpool - the numbers were made up with trainees for the next race - and as Conor pointed out, that said something about our crew, and how we got on together.

Tomorrow, we leave for the las trip to Gosport. For me, that will feel like full circle. We turned the boat from an empty hull into a racing yacht in the Solent, and going back there will feel like the job has been done.

Thereafter, we have our PR trip to Cardiff at the end of the month for the Bank Holiday. So there still is some stuff to write about, and as long as there is I will keep the entries coming. In particular, the next few weeks are bound to generate some philosophical ruminations of the "Wossitallaboutthen?" variety, which I fully intend to bore you with.

So stay tuned: the Shipping Blues lives a little longer.