Hehr of the manicou - samedi, 19.05.07

Samedi 19.05.07 Hehr of the manicou

It’s so hot today. And it doesn’t help that I’m still radiating after my fun in the sun during the week. It’s even too bright on the terrace so I decide to recline on the couch with a chilled bottle of water and a chilling book; Dr Scarpetta is getting herself into hot water with a married man while her niece is having a mental breakdown due to a review of her lesbian antics. The baddie is still living in the New York underground and the FBI are doing their usual abracadaver magic.

I’ve over a month of Blog entries to upload but before I find the time and facilities to do so I have to choose the pictures to illustrate my work. There are so many that I want to include but the thought of sitting there waiting for them upload online helps me pare down my options – slightly!

Nic took plenty of pictures of hot navy men in their ti blanc uniforms. She fills me on the details of the soirée. After all the huffing and puffing to find a dress she was the only one wearing one. Needless to say she was the belle of the ball and she had a ball talking to the handsome hotties on board. When all was consumed Dorian and Nic headed to the regiment for the tail-end of Fix’s party which ended up in a bust-up; obviously a break-up ensued.

Nicola had classes today so she’s not back home until late. In fact she’s not home until much later as she spies two of the German officers from last night on the navette and they decide to have a few drinks at Point du Bout. I’ve just texted Nic asking if she wants to head to Coconuts when I get my marching orders to join the trio.

One of the guys, Guido, left a voice-mail for me last night. He’s a diving instructor on the S.S.S. He seems a bit standoffish but he soon loosens up once the conversation changes from poisonous snakes to fast cars; Hehr Grund lives life in the fast lane - on the autobahn in his Mercedes by the sounds of it! Doctor Wolfgang Fohr is the ship G.P. Looks wise he reminds me of my Dad but unfortunately he’s not very photogenic. In fact, both the lads don’t look themselves in any photos we take.

A marine mate of mine from Fort Desaix calls to see if we want to meet in town but we decline and join the Germans for food and drinks. There’s no shortage of annoying vendors roaming about tonight. There’s a similarly annoying chap sitting beside us; it’s the silly South African I met at Anse Mitan a while back. His name is Fabrice and although he lives in Cape Town he’s from France. He’s quick to pick up on our English conversation and he abandons his friend while he chats to us. Thankfully our food comes and he disappears.

Zee Jermans want to find another bar to picole in so Nic and I bring them to La Playa. There’s live, professional karaoke and everyone’s soon up dancing to the Rat Pack. There’s a military mass in the corner. I get dancing with one guy, Sebastian, and after asking him about the local nightclubs I decide to freak him out by imposing my military knowledge on him. Needless to say he’s a bit taken aback and he retreats to his corner for a while.

The troops don’t stay much longer; and neither do we as we make our way to the nearest club, L’Amphore. This place is undeserving of its association with the word club. It’s more like a barn what with straw on the floor. Plus there’s not enough room to swing a harvest mouse in. We find a breathing space where we sway to the music which is too loud to chat over and too weird to dance to. The only saving grace has to be the flaming cocktails. Nic sticks to her G&T and a free consultation with the doctor but myself and the diver decide to splash out on Monkey Brains and Orgasms until it’s one, two, three, four o’clock and we’re all out the door.