John is all ears. I’ve become immune to the strange noises of the Martiniquan countryside but he’s tuning into all sorts of sounds this morning. As a farmer his ear is well trained to the sounds of piglets getting fed, hens laying eggs and sheep’s wool growing. We later trick John into thinking that Zeba cows are called Chi-Chi here. He sort of cottons on but we don’t let him in on the real definition. Hee-hee! If my memory serves me right we tried a similar stunt with another visitor, making then think that zi-zi was créole for mosquito! Guilty as charged your Honour!
Heather and Nic are sharing Nic’s bed. I’ve given up my big bed for the week and have retreated to the smaller, lower one. There’s no air-con or fan in my room and with two people using up the oxygen it’s hot even just lying there as the heat gathers outside the window.
Nic and I let our guests sleep on as we hit the shops. The guys aren’t quite as quick off the mark as we would have liked when we return laden with bags and bottles. By the time we’ve unpacked the grocery goodies and sorted our own beach wear Nic and I are still waiting on the duo; they must still be on Irish time.
Nic and I have to sort out our future accommodation situation quickly because by the time we come back from holidays there won’t be much time left until our contract here is up. We leave the love-birds at the beach at Trois Ilets while we check out some apartments. Lea at Anse Mitan is entertaining guests so between that and our late arrival we can’t meet with her. However there are two agencies Anse à l’Ane which try to help us out. In the first place we meet someone who works for Michael Smurfit and in the second one we meet a cute Labrador called Cookies. We view some places but they’re either too far away or too expensive. We’re pinning our hope on the bungalow at Anse Mitan but we won’t know anything until we’re back from our holiday.
The honeymooners are having a splashing time on the beach but even though it’s not the sunniest of days they’ve ignored our sun-cream advice and are now royally burnt. Just as quickly as some cracks appear in their relationship some rain-drops also appear so we head to a nearby beach restaurant for lunch. It must be noted that Heather and John are not lovers nor are they particularly good friends. Nic has known them for ages and I know them through her and I’d now consider them as mates. One person who we don’t want to acquaint ourselves with anymore is Fred. Nic and I almost fly into a panic when we think we spot him in an orange car; it wouldn’t be the first time he has followed us to the beach!
It’s the weekend and we’re itching to head out. John however is just itching from mosquito bites and the jet-lag has caught up with him. Heather, the Iron Lady, is on form and she joins David, Nic and I at the bus-stop for pre-party aperitifs. We’ve miscalculated the timetable so we’ve plenty of time to refuel. The bus eventually comes and we hop on for a free ride as the driver likes our style.
Some annoying street seller tries to flog his wares off on me. At this stage in my life I’ve no need for a spindly cup-holder made out of marijuana wood nor do I need a snake-oil antidote for my non-existent arthritis. We escape from the intra-venous vendor and hurry upstairs to the Terminal where our friends are awaiting us. Jean-Pierre, Jean-Paul and Maud are there to greet us. I endure Maud’s latest instalment of tall tales; tonight she tells me that if she wins her court case she’ll throw a bit farewell party in the Terminal for Nic and I.
We have a few drinks before continuing the night in Lil Buddha with Oli, Gwendal and Lionel. There are some ultra-tall girls in ultra-short skirts flaunting about the place. I bump into their thighs as they come out of the toilet together; they’re sipping coca-cola but I think they’re sniffing it too. We churn up the dance floor and the night unravels as we bounce and boogies around the place until it’s time to head some for some stolen sleep.
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