Rum punch drunk

It is not called rum punch just because of the rum. This fact was established clearly yesterday, when That Nice Lady Decorator decided to take on the local concoction. She gave it her best but the result of the final showdown (well, whilst we are on the windy side of Barbados) was hard to hide. However, never down and out, she recovered more quickly than I from an afternoon overload of local alcoholic produce to being on top form at dinner, something to which I could only aspire.

A siesta was imperative after another exploration of the fantastic beaches of Barbados. I have a picture of one as today’s photo. I think it goes without saying that we were odds on to ensure that we took in local culture to the fullest possible extent, myself in a gallant attempt to tame Banks Beer, herself conclusively to prove that Bajan rum punch is a drink for the uncommitted. We both failed.

It took just a short siesta to repair things and in my opinion I was at the top of my game as we sat down for our last dinner at The Round House in Bathsheba. It was not an opinion shared by anyone close to me. Earlier, on the tour of the many beaches, I had taken this photograph to ensure that I have some documentary evidence to prove I was there. Memory will be insufficient. This is because I suspect I shall not remember ever being there.

One of the many beautiful deserted beached of Barbados

This morning, after an early morning walk along the cutting of the old Barbados railway, which ran all the way around the south and east coasts past Bathsheba up to Belleplaine (it is about the only time of the day when serious exercise can be entertained), we shall depart the East coast for the much tamer but swankier West Coast, where we have rented a splendid looking villa from some dear friends for the week. Arriving later this morning will be Currencies Direct customer John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees (so called because of his abortive attempt to resurrect their TV career a few years back) with the gorgeous Rachael, “The Lady In Waiting”. Regular readers will know to which this refers but for the uninitiated, my wife and her husband have previous carnel knowledge of each other in an earlier life, whilst The Lady and I do not, and I have always felt I should square the circle, so to speak.

Later in the day will see the arrival of gruff northerner and birthday boy Steve “trouble up t’mill” Jackson and his saintly wife the remarkable Rowena. Remarkable because she puts up with him. I have prepared a package of gifts for him as he approaches that milestone that is 50. I believe that life expectancy in the north of England is considerably lower due to the privations which make up their daily existence, and that physically, he is more like a 70-year-old southerner. Amongst that package is the latest copy of Saga magazine which I know he will love when he open it. We may even see a little tear. We will then have the complete party gathering in place ready for a full week of ribald living and cricket. I can think of nothing I would look forward to more.

On the way back from the airport, we shall move from one area of Caribbean chaos, arriving at the airport, to a second, probably worse debacle, when we divert to the Kensington Oval to attempt to collect the tickets Trouble has booked for the three 20:20 cricket matches between England and the West Indies which are due to take place this week, starting on Sunday.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News