The oven and the washing machine are giving trouble this morning. Normally we’d never use either appliance so early in the day but as we’ve guests over a slap-up breakfast is in order and so the oven is needed to magic up a fry. Today of all days, however, we’ve run out of gas. John offers up some other fuel for the fire but this natural energy doesn’t go down well!! Our neighbours next door have left so we can’t call into them so it’s eventually down the road in the rented car to the local shack where even Cilla Black would have been surprised to pick-up blue gas cylinders – everywhere else sells only red cylinders so this mornings’ mission turns out to be more complicated than it seems.
On our return Richard appears from upstairs and beckons me over. I’m prepared to listen to him forewarning us that the newest additions to our apartment will incur a fee; however, the poor divil only wants to know how to work the washing machine! His Misses is away and he’s left in charge of the otherwise menial maintenance. I give him a quick induction course and make a mental note that this cancels our lodgers of late.
We think we’re going to be late for our rendezvous with Mr Joseph Emmanuel but even after stopping three times to find a suitable companion for our gift-wrapped bottle of rum we make it to Case-Pilote before midday and before Joseph. Our host has had a busy morning playing football and arousing his team’s loss and he’s an apologetic alcoholic when he meets us in the town centre before bringing us to his home.
Our host almost bends over backwards to make us feel at home – though Heather goes one step further as she falls over one of Joseph’s dogs and lands on her arse; it’s not a bone-breaker but it’s an ice-breaker. We’re soon joined by Joseph’s wife and daughter, Yohan, Raymond, a student of Joseph’s, and Raymond’s father, Joseph’s best friend and celebrated fish-griller, Theodore. The conversation ebbs and flows as Joseph grasps us with fascinating tales about his time in Liverpool and his collection of pewter tankards before dropping us into the deep-end as he tells us about his brother’s mysterious disappearance during a fishing trip; that sobered him up.
Our tummies have started to wonder if our throats have been cut when the two ladies appear with a feast of fish. There’s cod quiche and salad for starters followed by barracuda and kingfish with local vegetables. It’s delicious. I’m not normally a fish person but I’ve made the effort this time round unlike our two country chums who have opted for steak; John later states that it was a mis-steak as Lent usually means giving meat a miss. Heather has herbal tea to perk her up while everyone else gets a coffee fix, in Beatrix Potter mugs, before indulging on Ségolène Royale ice-cream cones.
Unfortunately our late lunch means that we don’t get to go to the créole dancing spectacle in Case-Pilote as intended but, Joseph suggests some sort of excursion on our return from St. Martin. Back at home it’s a mad rush to pack our travel kits while simultaneously getting ready for another soirée in the Terminal. Tonight is dedicated to Ludovic Mary-Fannin; he’s a Martiniquan roller-skater champion who is attempting a 72 hour rollathon. There’s nobody to entertain so Nic and I are not needed as roller-skater barmaids. David comes along with his stalker friend who quizzes me as to why he doesn’t want to go out with her. “Because you’re a freak,” I’m inclined to say. I’m candid though not too cutting with her; David has instructed me well. She leaves early and, as not much is happening and we’ve a plane to catch tomorrow, it’s not long until we’re all following the stalker’s example.
No comments:
Post a Comment