West Indies Island News

We stayed for 3 days (Wed - Friday) in and around Union Island, mostly in Clifton harbour but we did take a trip (on Thursday) to the far side of the island to explore the impressive Chatham bay, including of course lunch and a snorkel. The new galley slave Dennis duly arrived on Friday. He is an old friend of the skipper's (they met in 1956) and he has turned out to be one of life's gentleman just like the skipper (he's reading these newsletters so I will occasionally have to say that sort of thing).

The highlight for Dave and I at Clifton was lunch at Castello's on Friday. Castello is an of-the-wall lady artist who walks around in what looks suspiciously like silk baby doll pyjamas who opened her eponymous restaurant which you find at the end of a 50 yard long walkway which has the feeling of a bizarre about it - lots of little shops along the way. Castello's is full of her paintings which she does on sailcloth. You get what she has prepared for lunch - no menu here - and which turned out to be tomato salad, lamb curry, cheese and wine. All beautifully prepared and presented. Also to note: we were told that if we wanted, the pretty black barmaid Carmen would scrub our backs whilst we had a shower at the restaurant, even during the meal (inter course, as it were) if we wished, but we declined - I'm a man with 35 happy years of marriage behind me, after all.

From Union Island on Saturday morning we sailed (yes, sailed - we put up the hanked-on Yankee foresail for the technically minded, for the first time) some 4 miles round to Saltwhistle Bay, Mayreau - the next island on our exhausting trip north. (Also for the technically minded - we are now strictly speaking outside the tropics - I reckon we've just crossed the Tropic of Cancer, the northernmost point where the sun can be directly overhead.) This is where last year my old shipmates and I had a walk up to the village church (and dished out dollars to the village kids) and had a boozy dinner ashore only to find when we got back at around midnight that our yacht had slipped a bit and we had to reanchor. (As I recall these episodes of last year, I don't want anyone to get the idea that I was an incompetent skipper - we just had bits of bad, luck that's all.)

After lunch we motored back to Saline bay for the night, which was to be very special: a double birthday party for the skipper and Dennis who were both 75 years old in the last couple of weeks. Appropriately we chose a restaurant called Dennis's Hideaway in Saline village (at which the aforementioned church is).I dressed in my party best for the occasion, including a shirt that my supposedly best pal Geoff gave me for my 60th last year. It is covered in sailing ships and has a big floral border around the bottom - it is so naff I can only wear it in far off places. The high (or is it low?) point of the evening was when we returned to the dinghy. Determined to keep my Sunday best dry (it is always the case that at least one's bum gets wet in the dinghy) I stripped off and packed my clothes in a bag, and somehow we got in a mess and I landed up in the water. I swear it was that Yank Dave's doing - I think he pulled on the dinghy rope to upend me. (All this time I've been imagining that all that was between us was healthy Anglo Saxon banter but I think this was a vindictive act - so revenge is in the air. Watch this space.)

And so on to Tobago Cays. The sun is now really up, it's getting hot, must go for a snorkel around this incredible reef.

1 pm. What a fantastic snorkel - the sun was fully out when we went, brightening up the whole subterranean landscape - there seem to be many more colours than last year, loads of startling fish and the water seems clearer than ever.

Lunch is over. I'm going to have a long smoke and a big gin and tonic. Dave's busy - the skipper's given him a book with lots of pictures of fish in it, in a desparate attempt to encourage some success on the fishing front - at least this way if anything does accidently find its way his hook, he may be able to distinguish if it's what he's supposed to be catching or not.

PS I pressed the wrong button and deleted the whole of the first version of the above - this is the second time I've had to write the above garbage.

Monday 11th February
4 pm After that long smoke and the big gin and tonic, off we went to our next bit of paradise - the island of Canouan just an hour's motoring away. This island holds two memories for me of last year. The first is my most shameful incompetence as a skipper, which happened in friendship Bay, and I don't want to talk about it. The second was a great night out we had at a local restaurant up the hill in the delapidated capital Charlestown, where we danced with the local guys because there weren't any females around. So off I led my new mates to it: and there was Cornell our young host of last year. We reminisced about the dances we had together all that time ago. And enjoyed as good a meal as then (curried conch - that's the shellfish that lives in those hugh multicoloured shells - Dave and I had, and Dennis and the skipper had lobster.)

And so to this morning. At 7 am whilst enjoying the usual start to the day, we saw a sad sight. Some two days ago (at Dennis's Hideaway in Mayreau) we met a married couple called Martin and Nicky (from Hounslow). He is an experienced sailor, this was her first time on a boat. She couldn't cope, including for instance not being strong enough to help lift the anchor. So they had taken a couple of days off the boat, taking stock, staying in Dennis's Hotel (they let me have a shower in their room before the big birthday party). They had then obviously like us made it up to Canouan - they were in the same bay - but at 7 am we saw them set sail but half an hour later they returned. The betting is that Nicky couldn't hack it. Given that they have to return the yacht to Bequia some 15 miles away sometime, I can imagine they are just a bit stressed out by now. We set off just an hour after their return at 8 am and had a great 4 hours sail through pretty big seas (no wonder they turned back - Nicky would not have liked this) and arrived at our next destination at noon, no less than Mustique, island of multimillionaire mansions including Mick Jagger's. Dave and I headed straight for the bar after lunch - and remember that we haven't a clue what's going on in the world, haven't seen a paper, haven't watched the tele for 3 weeks - to be told by the barman that Princess Margaret died on Friday. She used to have a big pad here and everyone including the barman has met her, so it's a personal sadness for the whole of the island. But nicer news to come: as we left the bar, who should be coming down the road but my old mate Nigel Kennedy in his electric buggy. He was elated to see me (of course), and gave me even more bad news - Graham Taylor is back as manager of the Villa. He promised to try to get down to the bar for a drink tonight. We shall see. And by the way: he is here for 2 weeks, having rented a property for 10,000 pounds per week (no kidding). You could buy a few viloins for that. But would you believe that my skipper and fellow galley slaves have never heard of Nigel Kennedy? - how am I possibly ever going to impress these colonial throwbacks?

And now a bit about the weather: it's been quite cloudy over the last couple of days and has rained heavily during the last few nights. Do we care? No. Forecast over. How's yours?

Well, it's getting close to time for dinner. This will be a bit different to last year when we all went up to the Cotton Club and paid 100 pounds each for the privilege - truly a meal to remember. Tonight the skipper is preparing a salad - I wonder how it will compare?

Tuesday 12th February
2 pm No, sorry skipper, your salad did not match the meal at the Cotton Club, but the boiled eggs in it were truly gorgeous. Nigel Kennedy didn't turn up for a drink, surprise, surprise.

We're now settled into Admiralty Bay, Bequia (and will probably be here for the next 2 days) and it's beautiful: picturesque hills dotted with colourful houses, so many yachts in the bay it looks like a reggatta is in progress, and restaurants and bars along the waterfront that look as though they are off the front of a chocolate box. I was here last year with my incompetent crew but I can't remember what we did - I must have been as pissed as them on that night.

We had a great 4 hour sail to here from Mustique. Wew arrived at noon and by now I've already consumed at least 4 gin and tonics / rum punches - it's not the alcohol that I need you understand, it's the ice and the mixer in them.

Sad to say but I'm doing a bit of bonding with Dave the Yank. Well, we have to hoist and drop the sails together - the two geriatics have settled into a routine that means that Dave and I are doing the really hard work - so it's bound to happen.

There's an internet cafe here in Bequia so I hope I'll be transmitting this to you in the next couple of hours. By the time you receive my next one, I will have to share my thoughts with you on whether I am enjoying being away from you all for so long because by Thursday it will be a full 4 weeks with the same duration to come. I shall have to weigh carefully the friendly reception I always (well nearly always) receive at early doors in the Fox, such warm convivial company, a glowing fire if Ken remembers to turn it on, John's dog eating his biscuits, the Shiela trading insults, Jason's smiling face as he comes up for air from the cellar, English lessons and a foul smell from David (and another from Keith), Sue giving me approving looks when I'm scutty, Doreen telling me she's trying to loss more weight... oh such fond memories: against the sun, the sand, swimming, heat, rum punches etc. I'll let you know if I think I can stand more of this versus rushing home to you all in the next edition of Mollymauk Caribbean News.

Coxy.

PS Here's a bit of practical information that might interest you: how do I get my laundry done out here? Well, it's easy really. Apart from when I dress up to go ashore or need to protect myself from the sun (in both of which cases I put a shirt on), I only wear a pair of shorts (no underpants - they make you hot). I have two pairs of these shorts, both of which are old golfing shorts that my wife wouldn't be seen with me wearing them so they are ideal for out here. When one pair becomes soaked in salt, I put on the other other pair, swill out the salty ones (taking care that I don't use more than 2 pints of water or else the skipper gives me disapproving looks) which are dry within an hour (unless it rains in which case - quelle malheuresement - it could be a few hours) and rotate them like that. God knows why I brought anything other than them with me.

PPS The overall sun tan is coming on fine. Dennis was on the helm this morning and complained that he was being distracted from keeping on course by the three bare bums in front of him. Cheeky buggar - and he'll have to be watched - did he go to a boys' public school like the skipper? - or even the same one? - the mind boggles.

PPS I haven't mentioned ---- the-man you-know-who in this transmission. I wonder if he'll be more pissed off being ignored than having the piss taken out of him with his persecution complex of having to put his hand in his pocket? I will bet that being ignored is by far and away the worst I - or anyone else - can do, so you'll hear no more mention of this near human vocal equivalent of a Ferrari, to which I am imperviuos all these miles away. What a relief for all of us!!!