Mercredi 02.05.07 The Three widows
I haven’t forgotten about our proposed rendezvous at the regiment today but when midday clocks around without a hoot from the troops I begin to make other plans. I’ve just packed my beach bag when the mobile hops. An hour later I’ve taken the navette to Fort-de-France and am sunning myself outside the Mayflower as I wait for Francine and Cecile take their showers, apply their waterproof mascara and stock up on tissues.
The regiment looks totally desolate. The guys have really cleaned up! A battered estate car careers into the parking lot, hops up on to the kerb and out pop seven lads in oh-so-sexy short polyester sports shorts and breathable track vest tops. I was only joking when I said they were probably rehearsing their Full Monty routine for us but here they are in nothing more than synthetic skin.
The afternoon is very subdued. On one hand I don’t want to be there but I am. Sarko and Ségo are battling it out in the audiovisual room so I join J.V, Ludo, Christophe and Nicolas in the coolness of the air-conned conference room which contrasts greatly with the heat of the aired debate. Weather-wise it’s a pleasant evening so once the chill factor kicks in I pop outside for goyave punch with the rest of the gang. Gwendal’s already getting a bit teary eyed. I do worry for him especially when I later spy his hat and dossier in the stores. His mental slip-ups can be excused today but I hope he doesn’t slip any further…
Lionel, Benoit and Cedric are all tricking around with computers. My laptop is given the once over again and I’m instructed on how to clean it every month. I pop on the net for a while and I’m just about to fire off an email when I’m told that the boss is back and he doesn’t take too kindly to people using his computer. My mail to Michele is sent in a jiffy. I had wanted to send some pics of the motley crew but it was about as timely as taking pics this evening. For once there are no flashes to contend with. As the night creeps round joviality picks up a bit. Music slowly filters in with other well wishers and remaining staff and soldiers who have come to bid the boys goodbye. Nobody’s jumping for joy at the prospect of going home but as J.V put it it was a mission first and foremost but it will remain a part of their lives. Champagne is brought out and a few good-time cheers are let out.
Francine and Cecile did the shopping earlier and have rustled up spaghetti carbonara for the last supper. It’s tasty and Bertrand does get a helping even if he is being a pain in the arse! Bertrand has another few months here so he’s not budging yet.
Everyone’s all talk about hopping the wall for a last night on the tiles. The guys are supposed to have evacuated the popote by 21,30 but it’s well after midnight when they’re turfed out. The other troop is arriving tonight and they will be occupying the dorms that the guys cleaned with care today and yesterday. Also with the arrival of the others comes the changing of the guard concerning the popote. I return from the heat of the audio-visual suite to see four extra bodies outside the popote. They seem somewhat relegated to the sidelines for the moment but no doubt they’ll leave their own souvenirs behind in the hut once their four month stint clocks round.
None of the lads like the prospect of sleeping in the barn tonight but that’s where they’ll be; huddled up like pigs in a pen. The only person who is not blocked tonight is Oliver – and that’s only because he’s working. He’s finished at 23,00 but by midnight he still hasn’t appeared. It turns out that himself and Nicola are out for a late night meal and she drops him back just as I’m leaving with the girls.
Goodbyes are never nice, especially when you know deep down that the chances of meeting one another again are slim to none. I’m not in the same situation as Francine and Cecile; Francine is moving to France in a few months to be with Seb and to have her cancer treatment and Cecile will be back to work in Paris at the end of the summer so she can get back on track with Alex then if everything’s still hunky-dory. I joke that we should hit Coconuts – we can dance our socks off and make the guys jealous, but the sad reality is that we’re on our way to Trois-Ilets. You usually go to Trois-Ilets to bathe in the sea but we almost drown in the car as we let the floodgates open; the road may be blocked but other things aren’t.
I haven’t forgotten about our proposed rendezvous at the regiment today but when midday clocks around without a hoot from the troops I begin to make other plans. I’ve just packed my beach bag when the mobile hops. An hour later I’ve taken the navette to Fort-de-France and am sunning myself outside the Mayflower as I wait for Francine and Cecile take their showers, apply their waterproof mascara and stock up on tissues.
The regiment looks totally desolate. The guys have really cleaned up! A battered estate car careers into the parking lot, hops up on to the kerb and out pop seven lads in oh-so-sexy short polyester sports shorts and breathable track vest tops. I was only joking when I said they were probably rehearsing their Full Monty routine for us but here they are in nothing more than synthetic skin.
The afternoon is very subdued. On one hand I don’t want to be there but I am. Sarko and Ségo are battling it out in the audiovisual room so I join J.V, Ludo, Christophe and Nicolas in the coolness of the air-conned conference room which contrasts greatly with the heat of the aired debate. Weather-wise it’s a pleasant evening so once the chill factor kicks in I pop outside for goyave punch with the rest of the gang. Gwendal’s already getting a bit teary eyed. I do worry for him especially when I later spy his hat and dossier in the stores. His mental slip-ups can be excused today but I hope he doesn’t slip any further…
Lionel, Benoit and Cedric are all tricking around with computers. My laptop is given the once over again and I’m instructed on how to clean it every month. I pop on the net for a while and I’m just about to fire off an email when I’m told that the boss is back and he doesn’t take too kindly to people using his computer. My mail to Michele is sent in a jiffy. I had wanted to send some pics of the motley crew but it was about as timely as taking pics this evening. For once there are no flashes to contend with. As the night creeps round joviality picks up a bit. Music slowly filters in with other well wishers and remaining staff and soldiers who have come to bid the boys goodbye. Nobody’s jumping for joy at the prospect of going home but as J.V put it it was a mission first and foremost but it will remain a part of their lives. Champagne is brought out and a few good-time cheers are let out.
Francine and Cecile did the shopping earlier and have rustled up spaghetti carbonara for the last supper. It’s tasty and Bertrand does get a helping even if he is being a pain in the arse! Bertrand has another few months here so he’s not budging yet.
Everyone’s all talk about hopping the wall for a last night on the tiles. The guys are supposed to have evacuated the popote by 21,30 but it’s well after midnight when they’re turfed out. The other troop is arriving tonight and they will be occupying the dorms that the guys cleaned with care today and yesterday. Also with the arrival of the others comes the changing of the guard concerning the popote. I return from the heat of the audio-visual suite to see four extra bodies outside the popote. They seem somewhat relegated to the sidelines for the moment but no doubt they’ll leave their own souvenirs behind in the hut once their four month stint clocks round.
None of the lads like the prospect of sleeping in the barn tonight but that’s where they’ll be; huddled up like pigs in a pen. The only person who is not blocked tonight is Oliver – and that’s only because he’s working. He’s finished at 23,00 but by midnight he still hasn’t appeared. It turns out that himself and Nicola are out for a late night meal and she drops him back just as I’m leaving with the girls.
Goodbyes are never nice, especially when you know deep down that the chances of meeting one another again are slim to none. I’m not in the same situation as Francine and Cecile; Francine is moving to France in a few months to be with Seb and to have her cancer treatment and Cecile will be back to work in Paris at the end of the summer so she can get back on track with Alex then if everything’s still hunky-dory. I joke that we should hit Coconuts – we can dance our socks off and make the guys jealous, but the sad reality is that we’re on our way to Trois-Ilets. You usually go to Trois-Ilets to bathe in the sea but we almost drown in the car as we let the floodgates open; the road may be blocked but other things aren’t.
By the time I’m dropped home I’ve been steadied and sobered though I could do with a towel to dry up my tears. Oliver must be a mind reader because he has left me a very useful present – a towel of Martinique. I think I’ll start a towel collection as I’ve already got a Canaries one and I recently acquired a Hawaiki Nui Va’a one. Pleure pas ti sirène.
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