Flakey pastry in a gale

I knew this wasn't a good idea when the trusty crew emerged up the companionway into the cockpit, and I felt as if someone had thrown fine sand in my face. The fine sand was sweet, and turned out to be icing sugar.
The flakey pastry in the long Greek apple pie was a credit to the pastry-chef. It blew around the cockpit like a flake-storm every time a bite was attempted. New rule: no flakey pastry in a gale.

The anchorage at Panormitis was relatively sheltered and safe, but the winds were high enough to require an extra 10 metres of anchor chain, and the skipper 'sleeping' in the cockpit to keep an eye on things. All quietened down by 02:00.

A serious consultation of all available forecasts led to the conclusion that the only safe option was a sheltered anchorage on the Turkish coast, so a swap of flags was required as we sailed across to Sogut. Strangely the forecast vicious northwesterly has changed to a southeasterly. So much for rational decision making and the choice of shelter from the NW.