The radio crackles into life.

“It’s Booby Bingo time”, says Andrew, skipper of our neighbouring yacht, Sonrisa.

“Two have just flown into my rig with a giant crash, and now one of them is sitting on my hand. See if anyone can beat that?”

And so began one of the weirder nights in our admittedly somewhat weird life.

It’s night 2 in Chagos, and we’ve spent another enjoyable afternoon on the nearby island, during which we enjoyed spotting the red-footed boobys nesting in the palm trees above our heads.

Now a storm has blown in, and as night falls, the wind and rain are buffeting Steely while we sit snugly inside our cockpit enclosure playing cards.

We joke that since we were exploring the Boobys’ home earlier in the day, perhaps they’ve come to check ours out.

And just as we’re saying that, a slightly hysterical Leslie pops up on the VHF.

“Booby bingo update – we’ve just had one fly into our cabin, vomit in my hair, and fly back out again!”

Jen and I look at each other, and burst out laughing. This can’t be happening.

And then there’s a thud as the first Booby lands on our rigging.

We go up on deck to explore, and it turns out there are three Boobies on board. They’re large, ungainly birds, but they seem friendly enough…at first.

One of them is making somewhat pathetic attempts to climb up the sloping front windows – his webbed feet just can’t get a grip on the shiny glass. Another is sitting on the side rail, and allows Jen to pet him.

But the third is strutting along the deck towards me, looking somewhat menacing. If he was human, he’d have a switchblade in one hand, and a pack of smokes tucked into the armband of his t-shirt.

As it is, he’ll just have to settle for a 12 inch long razor sharp bill.

I coo softly to him, trying to show I’m friendly. But he continues his aggressive swagger towards me. I dash back to the cockpit to close off the side panels – the last thing we want is for one of these big guys to get inside and go nuts trying to make their escape.

When I return Marlon Booby has taken a few more steps towards me, and I speak a little more firmly to him.

“Go away…shoo!” I say.

He leans forwards and pecks at me, making a strange ululating strangling noise.

“Oi, go away” I shout, more loudly.

He lunges at me, yelling in his most aggressive Booby fashion.

“Oi, FUCK OFF” I yell back, before turning and heroically fleeing back into the cockpit with him chasing me.

I zip the side panel just in time, while he continues to yell and jab from the outside trying to get in.

I bravely left my bride on the outside to fend for herself, and although she thought this was hilariously funny, she decides to join me in the relative safety of the cockpit.

An hour later, there are 7 or 8 boobies on board, three of which are trying to get in to the cockpit, and a further 5 or 10 birds circling our rigging, screeching and yelling.

Truly!!

We turn out all the lights, and one by one they disappear, until eventually there are just two left.

We decide to ignore them, and a couple of hours later when we’re ready to go to bed, they’re still there.

We get up in the morning to no Boobies, but they’ve carpet bombed the boat with their shit, and weirdly in a couple of cases, vomit.

Don’t ask us to explain what got into them, but when I was a lad and dreamt of being attacked by boobies, it definitely didn’t look like this.