Our neighbours are up having a boisterous breakfast at 7am. Whoop! Whoop! Maybe it’s an extension of their boozing session last night. The cleaner is whooshing around the place too. I can hear her heels click-clack on the stairway as she sweeps away sand and mosquito ashes. She waves over from the other building to indicate that another of our pink wipes has made its way downstairs.
My floaty tie-dyed dress has turned Nic’s underwear blue. I find a basin of bleach and bras on the terrace table; but too much time in the toxic grime eventually turns everything yellow! It’s only underwear anyway. Nic couldn’t care less as she has other things to preoccupy her thoughts. She returns from her private lessons laden down with shopping of the material and nourishment kind.
I’ve spent all morning designing the English speaking world for La Semaine de Langues. This afternoon I’m off to L’Atrium to see Azur et Asmar after which I’ll be meeting Strophe at Dillon. Nic and I set off for Point du Bout; I’m catching the boat and she’s picking up spicy chick-pea dip for the meal she’s preparing for Dorian - let’s hope he’s like an Irishman and that food is the way to his heart! Somehow I’ve forgotten my mobile so I end up missing the boat and the film. I head back to Anse Mitan where youths are diving off the jetty, and the navette. There are more revellers than passengers. The crew try to put some order on them; the empty champagne bottles and Heineken tins have no doubt helped to fuel their aquatic antics.
I eventually meet Strophe. It’s too late to go to town and anyway he’s having tuning problems so money is tight. He lives nearby so we head to his for coffee and a dream consultation. Strophe has been a bit under the weather lately so it’s good to hear that he has a music formation in the pipeline. He plays a few of his songs. Some of them are really soulful. He’s better when he plays and sings from the heart than when he uses his performance repertoire. He gets me to sing Tracey Chapman in my best Ronan Keating impression while I stumble across a song about a hedgehog and a little girl which I just have to have; Le Hérisson par Philippe Chatel.
It’s the weekend so we decide to head into town for some Saturday night entertainment. Noel, Strophe’s friend from Morne-Vert, is on his way over and we soon bundle into his modified motor and make our way to the Mayflower. Michel, Marianne, Cécile, Francine and Alex the Dutchman are all out in flying form. Strophe and Noel are on for heading to Schoelcher. They’ve brought their guitars and there’s a strumming session planned for the night.
I had planned to make myself scarce for the evening as Nic has elaborate entertainment plans but when Dorian tells her he’s not coming the cavalry are called in. Nicolas II enters the Mayflower just as I’m leaving and we take the navette back to base as I rant about dastardly Dorian and all the work, time and effort which goes down the drain at times like these. We arrive chez-nous to find Nicola, two half-bottles of wine, a massacred tub of savoury dip and Stephen out on the terrace. It’s not long until the night is turned around and we’re matching our neighbour’s merriment levels.
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