Walking in a winter wonderland

I am programmed to write in Trebuchet.  Now, why might that be? Other fonts just don't feel right.

The music piping out into the communal area where I sit blogging for you now, is disconcerting.  In the space of a few minutes, whilst I've been reworking my latest poetry commission, we've gone from 'Walking in a Winter Wonderland', which methinks is unlikely in this part of the Carribean, ever; to everyone's favourite band - 'Take That' of course - singing 'Back for Good', then, without space to draw breath, there was a classical rendition of 'Ave Maria'; what is going on? We've now shifted to 'Santa Baby'.

The bar is gradually filling up with people who have been cooking in the sun all day and are starting to look like shrivelled-up prunes at various stages of composting.  There is a man wandering around who proudly told me this morning that he had been to Barbados forty-two times in his life.  Why on earth would you do that?! I didn't say that exactly, I just smiled sweetly, when inside I was thinking that he should perhaps try somewhere else.  Bognor Regis is lovely at this time of year.  Oh whoops - his wife just came up to me and asked if I was here on a working holiday - just because I'm frantically tapping on Baby Asus in the bar whilst most others are curling up with a cocktail and a bunch of their new-found holiday friends.  I explained that I was a prolific travel blogger (!) and was about to show her, when I realised that I just wrote that bit about her husband needing to get out more.  Whoops.  Oh, the perils of observational blogging - it's a dangerous occupation!

The day began in the morning, as they generally do, with a leisurely breakfast, muesli smothered in a custard-like yoghurt concoction and delicious fresh fruit.  A hundred tiny wild birds flit around the covered area where guests sit for meals.  The birds look so cute, until you see them defecate into someone's breakfast.  

There is a glorious beach five minutes away, so I wandered there and sat under a tree, then worked on a poetry commission for a friend.  The poetry business - www.SublimeRhyme.co.uk - has had to sit firmly on the back-burner for the last few months, so it felt good putting a commission together.  First indications from the client are positive, so I think after a spot of re-working, it will be ok.   

That beach is called Pebble Beach, not that there are any pebbles to be seen.  Oh, the irony.  Most places here have at least three different names, which doesn't make for confusion at all.  There is a tiny food-shack called 'Cuz' which is allegedly highly recommended on Trip Advisor.  I was chatting to a lady about it earlier - 'I don't like the way they put fish and bread together', she profoundly stated.  I stopped myself from saying 'don't you remember the story? I don't think Jesus fed the five thousand with a bag of chips.  I think bread and fish are the way forward; have you never had a tuna sandwich?' But that's what I was saying inside.  

I do like this little hotel.  Carol on reception says that she has definitely met me before, when I last came to the island.  Well, that's clever, as I have never been here before.  The place is so small that the staff quickly learn your names and ask how your day is going - you wouldn't get that in those globalised nearby high-rise giants that are the Hilton and the Radisson.  

Carlisle Bay doesn't sound that glamorous, but it is not the Carlisle that we know.  It is a beautiful sandy beach stretching for miles.  Some sun-drenched guest said it was half an hour away, but one sun-drenched half hour is about ten minutes for me.  I strolled along the pure white sand, past shacks selling beer, then sat under another tree and polished off the poem in my notebook, writing a few observational bits to convey to my faithful blog-readers, assuming you are there.  Yesterday's statistics suggested that at least four independent people had logged on and read this, so thanks if you were one of them.

There is a lot of history here and I plan to go and investigate, then convey it to you, so that we can all learn something of the Bajan (means the same as Barbadian) history.

So stay with me and I'll write more soon.  Happy days team.