Good job fresh fish in Seychelles is so cheap

With fresh fish Minx will never notice the 2 x pink pills, 1 x big white, 1/2 x small white pill we crush in her food every day will she?

Day 1 – success! Day 2 – Suspicion. Day 3 – Coaxing. Day 4 –  Whiskers away from getting down on all fours and pretending to eat the sodding stuff for her.

Day 5 – When do we leave Seychelles? Day 6 – Guilt. Day 7 – Back to the vets.

They think she’s getting better. One small problem, we have to leave for the UK the next day.

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Social Seychelles Jumble Jamboree #2

It’s a thorny issue – where in fact does jumble end and tat begin?

Do you include the smart pink pin striped shirt that you’ve kept but not worn as you burnt it with the iron but always thought you’d could salvage it by just trimming it  and re -hemming, haven’t ever done it, but maybe somebody else would? Or is that just trampy?

What about the white shirt that is perfectly fine apart from the yellow stains around the collar and armpits FROM THE DEODORANT?

Slightly grubby tea towels?

Chipped mugs?

Opened, ‘I tried it once but don’t like it’ toiletries?

Any Little Britain DVD?

I’m not for a moment suggesting that I was attempting to saturate the Jumble Sale with all or any of these such things. I’m just putting the issue out there is all.

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10 reasons to go back to the UK

Career. Lattes. Ikea. Cadburys.Trains.Parks.Unlimited Internet.Theatres.Bookshops.NHS. Fresh Milk.

 

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10 reasons to leave Seychelles

#1 It’s small

Sometimes its just not enough

#2 No sunday newspapers
#3 Daft/drunk drivers
#4 Need car to get anywhere after 7pm
#5 UHT milk
#6 Expensive
#7 Arts/Culture is something you read about
#8 Good customer service is something you dream about
#9 One man political opposition
# 10 It’s small

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10 reasons to love Seychelles

#1 The sun shines a lot
#2 Fabulous beaches
#3 Translucent topaz ocean
#4 Refreshing lack of consumerism/brands
#5 Giant Tortoises
#6 Amazing views
#7 Great walks
#8 Laid back ambience
#9 No reality TV/media rubbish
#10 Punches above its weight for a small island

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Where did everyone go?

The other one had received a text and J had popped round to check if we’d heard about the Tsunami warning. Having cable TV at least we could watch it all on the news channels and were relatively nonplussed as far as our situation went, though fearful for those in Indonesia or its environs. We were more concerned about getting the phone call from the vets to pick up the cat, which eventually came mid afternoon, ‘hurry you need to get her in the next half hour’, they said. We motored over there, the receptionist just leaving, saying that the vet would be with us shortly. The place was deserted. The vet appeared with Minx, who was all shaven and clean, and explained that everyone had gone home because of the Tsunami warning, ‘really?’ we thought.  Maybe,we’d missed something, and we had, the government had told everyone to knock off early just in case, and not being in work, we’d avoided the mild hysteria that gripped Victoria that afternoon. There we’d been at home, the other one strumming his guitar, me reading my book, wondering how the cat was doing, and knowing everything about the Tsunami from the TV, without having an actual clue what it actually meant for us in Seychelles. Connected to the world and no idea what’s going on –  must be like being a member of the Conservative Party.

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Of all the people…

Most of my recovery was spent inside. The other one had the car, we live way up a hill, and so there was me and the cat, and a few visitors who very kindly came to visit. I didn’t mind at all, and in fact I think I’d make quite a good hermit, basically you’re never far from food, drink, TV, books and bed. What’s not to like?

Anyway, after nearly another week had passed since the excitement of having a haircut and lunch on one day, I ventured into Victoria with the other one. I was reminded of the daily frustrations that can come from living here (more on that later) and we decided to recover and refresh ourselves at a new cafe that had opened in town (more on that later too). Standing outside what I thought might be the cafe, the door swung open and a bright and breezy hello was offered to me – from the boss’ wife. Of all the people…. It got better, ‘guess who I’m meeting for lunch, we hardly ever get to meet, he’s in the back’ she said. Yup, the boss. My second visit in town since the operation, of all the people…

I shuffled in, and there he was, and there the other one and I spent 20 minutes chatting away. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the boss, I just felt totally bogus. I was at the end of week three of my six week sick leave, and I was still sore, but I didn’t look awfully ill. And never having had more than one day sick in my life, I felt guilty, that I should for his benefit be looking really really rough. As it was he said, I looked very well. That had me pecking the other one’s head all the way home – what to you think he meant by that? Do you think , he thinks I’m not really ill? blah blah blah blah.

Being a hermit really does make life simpler. The other one seemed quite an advocate too – of me being one that is, not him.

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