Mercredi 06.06.07 Relax. Take is easy!
It’s a good job the sand down this part of the island is white and not black. Otherwise I could have stepped on a gigantic crab on my way back from Deli France this morning. I swear he would have sat neatly on this keyboard as he flexed his pinchers and set his roving apple-pip eyes my way. He mined at me as I passed. I couldn’t resist getting a long twig and waving it above him. I was disappointed that he didn’t nip it though he looks old enough and ugly enough to know what isn’t flesh. I leave the slimy crustacean to scurry back to his black mud pit in the mangroves while I head home to rearrange our own habitat.
I may have spent some time tidying up but I seem to have tidied lots of things away too. It’s one of those days where I can’t find anything; no scissors, no highlighters and I my Martiniquan necklace has completely gone off the map. Perhaps they got magnetised into the big, black mucky crab hole down the road. There’s no sight of the cats either. Ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies… or cries.
Nic went to Marin today to try get an international driving license though she never suspected that it would mean surrendering her Irish one! Don’t they know the Irish won’t surrender? Bea comes over to cast an eye on our place. So, this is how the Irish live? Man. She’s going to get a smack between the eyes with all her wild Irish dreams. She wants a two-bed roomed, unfurnished apartment in/around Dublin. This daft Frenchie will need to consult her bank account and daft.ie for such reveries.
Nic tells me that half her kids who went to Cork on work experience are jobless. Supposedly the organisers screwed up but who’s not to say that the students didn’t turn up for work. The draw of the black stuff has probably turned them that way already. Though isn’t it Murphy’s they’ll be weaned on down there in the People’s Republic?
Tonight we’re sucking diesel. Well, in fairness Carib isn’t that bad plus I can’t say I’ve ever tasted diesel. Benoit, our roving medical practitioner across the way joins us in Point du Bout for a few. I’m at home so he calls for me. Nic’s waiting for us and taps her watch when we saunter up to her. Hey man! It’s the Caribbean. Benoit did stop to talk to some random Rastas and we didn’t walk as such - we strolled, so our tardiness is accounted for. The walk home is a more erratic and less hurried. Vive les vacances!
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