Mental blockage - Mercredi, 31.01.07

Mercredi 31.01.07 Mental blockage

I lie in bed this morning making a mental list of all I should do today. I want to do all but inevitably the forces are against me; environmental, technological, social et al. I could have avoided my listless list-making but Nicola is battling the dregs of the flu and isn’t on form; my suggestion of a visit to Le Jardin de Balata is declined. I have to get out of the hills so I decide to head into town and meet James who is hiding in Cyber Délice.

However, a serious of phone calls scuppers my immediate plans. Mr Villet from Crédit Mutuel calls to arrange a meeting re: credit card. He has a slot free after lunch so we agree to meet then; it’ll be interesting to see why they’re not issuing a credit card so instantly. Nicola’s on a mission to get some extra private pupils so I call up 972 and L’Hebdo to do so as her groggy, guttural utterances may not be easily understood.

We’ve no water today which stinks. I reluctantly leave my dirty dishes in the sink and pray to God that we don’t have another ant infestation later on. My hair could also do with a clean but for the moment it goes under a stripy sequined blue headscarf.

I head into town after lunch and make it in too late to meet James. He lives in Sainte Marie but he seems to be in Fort-de-France every week so I’m bound to see him again soon. His quest today, and most other days, is to obtain his Carte Vitale. He’s leaving in a month or so and wants to have it before he goes as it’ll make things easier for him if he ever lives in another part of France.

I stroll along Boulevard Général de Gaulle in the burning heat. I’m glad my hair is off my face. It hasn’t grown back as quickly as I thought it would in the past four months. It’s now at that straggly, sticky-out stage where it’s too still too short to tie-up but bands and bandanas have served me well lately.

A convoy of three navy, armoured trucks with six grate-covered tiny windows along each side zip past as I cross the road to the bank. The trucks follow, and are followed by, two similar styled vans. I swear I can hear shouting coming from inside the larger passing vehicles. There’s a huge grey navy ship docked in the main passenger port and I can’t help thinking that some convicts will be trading a cement cell for a petite porthole.

The freshness of the bank is at first revitalising but after 45 minutes in the upstairs waiting area I begin like a bottle of Bulmer’s on ice. Ummm. That would be nice actually; I haven’t thought about cider in ages. After my meeting with Mr Villet however I’m in need of some serious chocolaty heat and so I head to Cyber Délice. I usually walk under the canopies but I go out of my way to stick to the sun as my sandaled feet need to thaw out. Before I pop in for a chocolaty cyber fix I stop at the AVS Travel Agency to price flight and boat routes to Montserrat. The lady at the desk finds it an odd request – or rather an odd destination; she’s either concerned about the volcano or has, more fittingly, no clue where it is. It seems that we’ll be doing more travelling that touring and it’s pretty expensive to boot. Where there’s a will there’s a way. Hi Will! Can you bring us to Montserrat!!!

A hot chocolate and some apple cake fill the volcano-sized void. There was banana cake on offer too but I made a point of saying that the mosquitoes like banana scented skin – a few old friends have been back to nibble my knees recently! I settle down in my highchair to upload my Blog and check my emails. Not much news greets me but what little does is shocking; a friend from secondary school was diagnosed with lung cancer and is now undergoing chemotherapy. Such injustice. She’s so young and so wronged. Another friend texts to say she’s packing in her PR job as she’s being over-worked and over-looked.

Darkness is looming in the distance so I make my way to the bus-stop. A full moon is in view tonight. I enter into conversation with a strange but elegantly-aged old lady. She has been waiting for the bus for almost 80 minutes but she tells me she has been waiting for an adequate transport system to arrive in Martinique for the last 80 years.

It’s 19,25. The whole sky seems to reverberate as a silver speck floats eastwards. Gethin’s on that flight. Nic and I bid our final farewells from our terrace and toast our health with Citronelle tea. Madame Arlette left some fresh Citronelle for us before herself and Charles set to pruning the shrubs and digging up deadbeat undergrowth. The garden looks much barer but it’s more open – and open to future explorations…

There’s a trademark red Rowntree envelope waiting for me. It’s a Valentine’s card from my parents, or rather from my Mum. I better send my own red, French letters pretty soon if they’re to get home in time for tea.

I tell Nicola about my uneventful but necessary trip into town. The bank official made me open another account to facilitate future transactions for my pending credit card as my original account was a youth account and could not be debited as needed. My new account will also function as a savings account if I choose to use it for that purpose; 4.25% interest doesn’t interest me as I’ll not be here in December to reap the benefits.

I didn’t get to go to the cinema to see Tèt Grenné as planned as I told Mr Villet I wasn’t in a hurry. At the time I wasn’t. I arrived at 14,00 – my appointment time, but was not seen for 45 minutes. I also didn’t get to check half my emails, or respond to the other half, or check half the websites I wanted to or upload any photos to my Blog or… It’s probably just as well I have limited internet access.