Pringles kill ants. It’s true. I’ve only discovered it using the sour cream and onion variety though, but it works. If the truth be told it was the ants who found their fate. I just re-opened the packet to find the top crisp covered with unmoving black specks. I removed a fresh one, put in on the counter et voila, they came, they tasted and they had eternal sour cream and onion dreams.
It’s not long until I’m mingling with onions again. In Leader Price. Benoît and I have decided to have a BBQ tonight. I’ve just spent the morning waiting for Rosalie and her hot wax strips so waiting at the check-out in Leader Price is all part of the natural process of the day. Mergeuz, sausages, ribs, potatoes, beer and rhum are all checked off my list. I pickup lunch and sleep-inducing fresh bread sticks in Deli France before travelling home like a nomad with my many bags and baguettes and a beaten up Baptist! Oh. Can’t forget the charbon de bois… for the fire and the impending gueule de bois!
The beach is calling so I lie there while replying to the volley of texts which come in about tonight’s char grill event. Some assistantes are still in the environs. Rachel is touring with Aussie mates and poor Kesha has chicken pox! Many people spark an interest but their commitment isn’t so branded. Anyway it’s only an impromptu mini-grill.
En aparte... Nic and I received constant grief from some of our mates about the state of our fridge. I can happily say that this one is living a better, more balanced life than the one in Tivoli did... balanced here however may be translated as a better selection of alcohol but I'm still proud of my fridge!!
In the end our party of eight is just right. Stephen, Bea and Bruno are munching on hotdogs and spicy ribs while Benoît’s motley crew are hanging out in the hammock smoking and joking. Jason is from Grenada. He’s a cool cat. Catamaran crew member, i.e pirate. His nickname is Jack Sparrow. Been here, there and everywhere. Been to Waterford and all. Got a divorced wife in Sweden and has three children, two of which are tattooed on his chest along with a random assortment of other adornments. Jel, also known as DJ L or Cut Throat Murphy, is from France and has been here for four years. He works in the Atrium. His friend Caroline is here too though she’s a weird fish. Hitting the menopause maturity harder than the high degree rhum. Edith-syndrome is evident.
It’s a fun night. Banter, burnt meat and booze. We’ll soon be all moving on. It’s a pleasant end-of-an-era gathering. In the end we consume all the evidence and hide all else to erase signs of our presence before struggling to our beds and beach hideaways to kip with the fishes.
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