After an evenings walk along the sea wall, I encountered the same fishermen as always. They sit by the bus stop with their bait boxes and nod and utter gruff words to one another, as if each fisherman doesn’t really know each other, although they are sat a mere 3 foot from each other, as they do every night. The same elderly gentleman always nods to me and makes out that he is moving his belongings, just so that I can pass, although in reality there is plenty of space. The art of looking chivalrous is a well honed characteristic of gentleman of a certain age on the island. These Grandfather’s with panache could certainly teach young Brits a thing or two about how to be respectful to women. However many of them seem to be cast out of the house for most of the day, so they have plenty of time to deploy lost charm. I politely wish them “Good Evening” as always and make my way home. I grab my keys and jump in the car to head for the supermarket. I realise there are some papers and odds and ends in the footwell, so I grab a carrier bag and start the mundane task of tidying, when I sense movement next to me. The grey Golf that belongs to my neighbour appears to be moving with no engine. Strange, I look again and realise there is a man sat there in the dark, who appears to have four arms. Being British, I try not to stare at this strange multi- limbed creature in the front of a darkened car and then the head of a woman swings round and my neighbour says “Hello,” Trying to overlook the amorous couple who are on the same seat in the car next to me, I realise that my petrol gauge is on the red. To my great relief the car starts and I am freed from an embarrassing conversation with my neighbour. I wonder briefly how a man who is a stickler for parking rules and recycling attracts such a raven haired beauty, who looks nothing like his girlfriend. The Supermarket is very unlike a British shopping experience, where now and then a branded radio station might let you know that there are discounts on offer. My Supermarket has proactive sales people. I have told the jolly man at the fish counter that I am allergic to fish on every occasion that I have visited. I wonder if he is on commission or just plotting my downfall, when he takes hold of my wrist and magnificently shows me some sardines, with all the showmanship of a circus ringmaster. We have the same conversation as always and he looks disappointed as always. If I have to see the butcher, I do this first, as I can’t bear to see the crushing look of disappointment on his face, feigned or otherwise. I return home and the moonlight glows over the lemon tree in the back garden, as I collect wood for the evenings fire. I can see the pink hibiscus is in flower and smell citrus fruit and rosemary. There is no noise and the night is still.
V. on Whats worse than a fat German…