Lundi 30.04.07 Yum, Yum. I like Nuns.
Umm. I’m between two minds whether to go to school today. My throat is still tender and I reason that it would only be aggravated by my attempts to speak, sing or shout. A quick text alerts my colleagues and I close my eyes for an extended snooze.
My punishment for wagging off school is domesticity. The washing machine is a bit botched up. Could EDF have cut our power so quickly? Not a chance – its Martinique after all. I call EDF and after a convoluted network of transfers and calls I find out that because I don’t have a carte professional it would be best to present myself at the office in Fort-de-France. I’m having a pretty hard time speaking – let alone speaking French. I gather the necessary documents, phone the previous occupant to get her details and then potter off to Fort Desaix to meet the lads who are all cradling varying degrees of post-party hangovers. One phonecall later all is sorted with EDF. Since I’ve decided to do Direct Debit all they needed was my RIB, name and address so there’s no queuing.
Everyone else on this island is either queuing or crying. It’s all down to the lack of petrol. The popote is being cleaned so our convoy of Clio’s zip around town looking for somewhere to eat while we shake our heads and laugh at the unbearably long queues outside every petrol pump. Why don’t they just take the day off work and go to the beach? Surely they’re wasting petrol just by being in the queue? You can only get €20 of petrol as it is and with the limited bus services they may as well announce a public holiday for everyone. Hang on! That’s tomorrow. It’s La fete du Travail. May Day. I’ve no work until Thursday.
Benoit, Seb, Lionel, Alex, Francine, Cecile and I have a little Chinese for lunch. He’s not particularly tasty so we head to the docks to find the depot which will wash away our funds and the nasty taste of our foreign friend. It’s already afternoon and the guy at the counter tells us to come back on Wednesday. Righty oh, you lazy so-and-so. Alex has to leave back his rental car so the rest of us hit the Galleria. I’ve never been to Martinique’s biggest and best shopping centre before but I don’t really wonder why. It’s like any other covered shopping mall I’ve every clapped eyes on.
My reasoning has been out the window lately but I decide that because I’ve missed four hours of work this morning, which totals €80 which I haven’t earned but will still receive, I should spend it. I buy a new pair of sunglasses. They’re quite similar to the other brown pair I lost and I’m pleased with them – the other tin can lunettes can go into early retirement. T-shirts, shirts and other souvenirs are bought for friends and family by the others. Spending money is hard work so we go for a sandwich and religieuse before heading back down south with a trunk load of acquired cleaning materials from the army stores. We’ll never have any excuse not to have a clean gaff now.
Umm. I’m between two minds whether to go to school today. My throat is still tender and I reason that it would only be aggravated by my attempts to speak, sing or shout. A quick text alerts my colleagues and I close my eyes for an extended snooze.
My punishment for wagging off school is domesticity. The washing machine is a bit botched up. Could EDF have cut our power so quickly? Not a chance – its Martinique after all. I call EDF and after a convoluted network of transfers and calls I find out that because I don’t have a carte professional it would be best to present myself at the office in Fort-de-France. I’m having a pretty hard time speaking – let alone speaking French. I gather the necessary documents, phone the previous occupant to get her details and then potter off to Fort Desaix to meet the lads who are all cradling varying degrees of post-party hangovers. One phonecall later all is sorted with EDF. Since I’ve decided to do Direct Debit all they needed was my RIB, name and address so there’s no queuing.
Everyone else on this island is either queuing or crying. It’s all down to the lack of petrol. The popote is being cleaned so our convoy of Clio’s zip around town looking for somewhere to eat while we shake our heads and laugh at the unbearably long queues outside every petrol pump. Why don’t they just take the day off work and go to the beach? Surely they’re wasting petrol just by being in the queue? You can only get €20 of petrol as it is and with the limited bus services they may as well announce a public holiday for everyone. Hang on! That’s tomorrow. It’s La fete du Travail. May Day. I’ve no work until Thursday.
Benoit, Seb, Lionel, Alex, Francine, Cecile and I have a little Chinese for lunch. He’s not particularly tasty so we head to the docks to find the depot which will wash away our funds and the nasty taste of our foreign friend. It’s already afternoon and the guy at the counter tells us to come back on Wednesday. Righty oh, you lazy so-and-so. Alex has to leave back his rental car so the rest of us hit the Galleria. I’ve never been to Martinique’s biggest and best shopping centre before but I don’t really wonder why. It’s like any other covered shopping mall I’ve every clapped eyes on.
My reasoning has been out the window lately but I decide that because I’ve missed four hours of work this morning, which totals €80 which I haven’t earned but will still receive, I should spend it. I buy a new pair of sunglasses. They’re quite similar to the other brown pair I lost and I’m pleased with them – the other tin can lunettes can go into early retirement. T-shirts, shirts and other souvenirs are bought for friends and family by the others. Spending money is hard work so we go for a sandwich and religieuse before heading back down south with a trunk load of acquired cleaning materials from the army stores. We’ll never have any excuse not to have a clean gaff now.
Oliver visits later in the day. He miraculously got petrol and has, I think, just driven all the way over to show us that he has done so. He was working all day today too so it’s his escapism from the base for the day. A cup of tea, a nun bun and some action in the form of the Super Elite Troops with the Nelson Mandela/24 actor seals the evening before Oli hops back to base and we retreat to bed.
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