Samedi 23.06.07 The Tale of the Things which didn’t happen
Sprawled out on the bed is the perfect position to find yourself the morning after the night before. Maxxi FM is just the therapy I need this morning so I turn it up a few notches and kick-start my day. Nothing like a few jumping tunes to get me in fighting form - and nothing to get me moving that little bit faster than an unexpected house call from The Pirates and their stowaway Caroline, who eventually joins us from her dungeon wagon. Sure I don’t mind having them over for tea, toast and bargain bin beer but it’s just plain weird when they start doing Yoga in the living room. The cool floor is definitely the perfect chill out zone but I suggest getting ice-cream so we can get out and about.
Bundled in the car to Point du Bout we soon arrive at Mo’s Cream. The lads are in their usual pirate attire, which doesn’t quite cut it around this tourist district, so they spend ages putting on their clothes for once! I wander about a bit and when I return I’m told that Caroline has shot off for a while. My head is now thumping without the tunes of Maxxi to chase away my demons so I decide to skip the ice-cream and head home.
A shower and some sleep sorts me out until it’s time to get my gear together for the night. I’m slightly excited, but more anxious, about tonight’s Miss Harley Davidson event but as it’s my last weekend I’ve decided to throw caution (and later my t-shirt) to the wind!
Socks are strung out on Benoit’s terrace beckoning me over. The Pirates and Caroline have found their way back and he needs some moral support. My camera is on the blank so Mr. Je-Sais-Tous has fun fixing it while we lounge around the Medicine Man’s flat telling tall tales and discussing aliens, boats and bounties…
I make a few trips back to my apartment with evidence of last night’s antics. The cleaner is out and about and gives me a grilling about the traces of tarnished rock under the building. I deny all. Apparently I wasn’t even here last night. She doesn’t seem convinced. Wouldn’t it be typical to be in the Caribbean and not be able to hang around with mates for a bit of BBQed Barracuda and a few bevies in your own place? It was an unforgettable night for all the right reasons. Anyway nothing comes of it. Perhaps my over-confident flesh flashing, to get into character (and little else!) for tonight’s show, distracted her.
I put on my slap, short skirt and cleavage enhancing top and sashay to the beach where the trio are waiting. Well, Benoit is waiting for me under the palm trees; Cut Throat Murphy and Jack Sparrow are chatting up some sun seekers. Ben and I join them and we’re soon finding out about life on a boat in the marina. The girls, Elodïe and Stephanie, have been here a few years and love the leisurely life. I finally tick the 100th name off my I’ve-been-to-Ireland list as Elodïe tells me about her three month trip to Cork a few years back.
We’ve almost forgotten about our other plans for the night when I get a call from the marine lads. I’m actually all dressed up with nowhere to go. Throughout the evening I arranged five lifts but none of them work out. Benoit is secretly pleased. I suppose I’m a bit relieved, but I’m more amused. First off I had organised for J.P and Majid to accompany me to Diamant for the sparkly show of women and wheels. J.P crashed his car during the week so I made alternative arrangements with Caroline and here we are sitting on the beach waiting for her. Honestly it could be far, far worse… Even if she comes now I’ll be late but late is a loose term here in Martinique. I call Nicolas but he’s already down in Diamant with his rugby pals so he’s occupied. I call Dominique, the organiser, who is always as cool as a cat and she tells me she has mates in Anse Mitan who may/not be able to bring me – better late than never.
There’s still no sign of Caroline and the visions of our free feed and booze at Diamant seems to be fading fast so we head to La Tete en Folie for grub. Pizza and entertainment courtesy of Dorian, the seven-year-old cutie, are soon served up. Benoit gives a free consultation to the chef who was knocked about here in the ghetto last week.
My phone jingles with a lift at the other end. Half an hour later we’re at the back end of La Playa watching out for a blue espace with a driver called Pascal. Pascal and his ponytail whiz by a while later. There’s another oddly coiffed man with him. Balding crowns with trailing long hair must be the dress code tonight. Benoit gives me that look. When the espace hasn’t returned to the roadside after a few minutes I decide to join them at the hotel entrance. They’re about to zip off as erratically as they came but I flag them down. They don’t like the look of my company – supposedly DJ has a bad rep with them, and I don’t like the look of them or their attitude or the smell of their alcohol laced breath so just as I waved them down I wave them on. Purely out of politeness I text Dominique to let her know her friends were anything but friendly.
We spend the rest of the evening traipsing around Anse Mitan. The Pirates have their eye on some vessels which need salvaging so we hike it behind some posh homes and have a nosy at the neighbours abodes and boats. Our wanderings take us to the roundabout where we hang about while DJ barks down the phone at Caroline. A guy who I’d previously heckled on the beach for a lift to Diamant approaches and invites us to come to his home. His name is Siyani. He has perfect English and a swimming pool. We pass on his impromptu house party and head back to Benoit’s for Jenga and rum-punctuated juice. Benoit has to work early so daylight isn’t appearing when I head back to No.24.
Nicolas, who has spent the evening in Diamant, calls me to say that he’ll be passing by Anse Mitan, will pick me up and bring me to Coconuts after the wet t-shirt competition… Cue the rain. I’m at home finishing off my Heino when the heavens open. I’m still all dressed up with nowhere to go when Nicolas rings to say that his car is stuck in sand at the beach. Life’s a beach and then you come to Martinique…
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