Let me pick up where I left off, although it is several days on now because we have been far too busy for blogging.

We left for dinner, eventually, once Dolley and Duncan’s luggage had been collected from the commercial dock, waiting for Dolley to change into her newly retrieved wardrobe and then whether or not Dolley actually wanted to come after all, and then promptly got lost trying to follow the instructions given on how to get to the restaurant. We stopped off at a petrol station to ask directions and as seems to be the norm on Nevis, a chap jumped into his car and led us all the way there, winding our way upwards almost to the peak of Mount Nevis.  This happened to be then second time that this kind gesture had been made in the one day as Bob had had to find an escort to get him to the Commercial Dock.  They are such incredibly kind people on this island.

We arrived at the appointed restaurant, Bananas, eventually much to the relief of the owner who had thought that we might be a no show and would have come to Oualie Beach and hunted us down, a summary given without the expletives.  We were greeted by colourfully dressed men on stilts, who hid behind the trees motionless as we came up the torchlit path and then bounced out in front of us scaring the living daylights out of me.  We then headed for the bar and chose cocktails, the girls opting for rum punch, and watched the most fantastic entertainment of men and a very cute little boy, dancing dressed in traditional costumes with brightly coloured ribbons attached all over and terribly tall headdresses made from feathers.  Alex particularly loved it and tapped his foot enthusiastically to the beat.  This was followed by The King, dressed in a lurid orange sparkly suit who sang very hilarious rude songs which fortunately the children couldn’t understand.

We then tucked into the amazing Caribbean buffet of goat stews, bean soups, completely unrecognisable delicious local vegetables and the ubiquitous Caribbean rice and peas and macaroni cheese.  The owner then piled our table with mounds of barbecued lobster, chicken and ribs and we gobbled it up greedily.  This amazing spread was rounded off with rummy bananas, and very rummy they were.  Very sweetly the owner decided not to charge us for the children, she obviously hadn’t spotted just how many ribs Alex had managed to consume.  It was a fantastic evening.

On Christmas Eve the Princesses hired bikes and set off to cycle right round the island.  Unfortunately they chose the hardest way round and had to stop off at a bar in the middle of the 6 mile climb to recover.  They then were absolutely soaked by a typical Caribbean shower, better known as a deluge, most refreshing.  Meanwhile Bob and I set off to Charlestown, eventually while Duncan and Dolley decided at length whether or not they were going to hire a car, to go through the slow old process of clearing in requiring visits to three different locations to fill out identical forms in triplicate with old fashioned carbon paper slotted between.  Actually, we got a bit confused at one point and ending up trying to check in to the wrong bit of the police station.  The dapper police officer offered to show us to the cells but we declined equally politely.

We pottered back to the villa and the family reconvened for massive G&Ts and then duty chef, Francesca’s, spaghetti bolognaise followed by Francesca’s delicious mincemeat and apple Strudel and giant mince pie, in the singular because we couldn’t find any baking tins. 

We didn’t stay up late, we were all far too full of sunshine and sea and I checked that Father Christmas knew where we all were before setting off to the boat to be rocked to sleep by the swell.