This time at Customs and Immigration, it was Peanuts. Not Snoopy our sailor though. Actual peanuts. ‘We don’t do extensions anymore,’ the Immigration Officer said, chewing her way through a brown mouthful. 'You have to go to Tortola today.’ ‘Today?’ I repeated. 'But our visas don’t run out until Thursday.’ She nodded with no seeming desire to elucidate. ‘Today.’ Another peanut entered her mouth. My brain ticked over. We’d need to pick up anchor and go through the channel to Tortola. Maybe two hours… it was hitting 11 already. ‘What time do they close?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Who was better, I wondered; Facebook Clytemnestra or Peanuts? I muttered my thanks and gathered our things. It seems the posher the Caribbean islands get, the less friendly its officials follow. Where was Grenada when you needed her? 

We arrived in Tortola after two on a rolly buoy alongside the Disney cruise ship. Dumbo was perched on her dark blue stern, a water slide tube weaved around her top and an enormous screen was playing… we squinted.. oh yeah, Peter Pan. Lulu and I instantly decided that there’d be little reason to ever leave the dock at Miami. ‘We're in Tortola?’ we imagined saying. 'We won’t bother getting off here.’ Still, what would Delphine say? Delphine who loves both Disney and whose dream has been, even before we left Wales, to board a cruise ship. We cringed at the thought. Then the small, curly-headed fireball came up herself, looked at the ship solemnly and uttered, 'Spoilt…’ well, it’s probably best to spare your ears the rest. Grandpa was smiling though. 

Turned out there was no phone-time Clytemnestra in Tortola’s Customs. No Peanuts either. Only the most efficient Senior Customs Officer you could hope to meet. Ha! Meanwhile, a large flame engulfed the top of Spanish Town where the gas man lives. Oh dear. Crossing our fingers.