Last night we were tired, for absolutely no reason at all other than being on holiday can be just so wearying.  We slopped around reading in the cockpit and eventually got out Roxanne and headed into town for a light supper served somewhat reluctantly by a waitress who clearly thought that we were far too late to deserve attention.  We tried cheering her up with great praise for the home made mango chutney that went with my richly spiced but not too hot curry.  Bob had a rather flaccid bowl of pasta, he must have been tired.  We wandered home, decided to read in bed and before we knew it Bob’s book had fallen on to my legs and we were soon fast asleep.

We meant to set off really early but were diverted by the Bequia photo genius.  How could we resist his fantastic photos of Wind Charger in full sail?  Someone has got to keep the man fed, clothed and with a roof over his head.  We still left in plenty of time and headed on southwards.  The navigator is getting too laid back as the holiday unfolds and relaxes.  We decided to head for Union Island, the last of the Grenadines where we could check out with customs before heading into Grenadian territory, and specifically to the town of Clifton where the Customs offices are based.   Union isn’t a very large island and only has a population of 2,000 souls so it appeared somewhat careless to find we were heading for Chatham Bay on the northern side rather than the required Clifton Bay in the south.  A mistake made very easily when lolling across the drivers seat, floating dreamily along a sunlit sea at 5 to 6 knots, with easy winds of 16 to 18 knots disturbed only by two passing dolphins, flying fish and the odd catamaran.  According to Bob, a too close catamaran, he swears that he could see two ants on deck waving.  The soporific driver nonchalantly waved a languid hand and proceeded rather sarcastically to give some rocks that Bob found equally worrying, a berth of at least 5 miles.

We squeezed between the scary reefs and parked on a mooring ball, Clifton is not a bay where you would want to risk dragging your anchor, had our customary beer on arrival and headed on shore to Customs which turns out to be temporarily closed, and the notice looks suspiciously ancient.  We are required to go to the airport instead so intend to take in a bit of the island at the same time and will do it manana.  We took a turn around town and admired the school’s new mural that they were working on, had a chat to one of the artists, a white Granny from Newmarket by way of Germany with a very thick Caribbean accent, and admired her grandchildren who were “helping” although the smallest seemed to have painted himself in chocolate pudding.  We pottered through town, visited the ATM as we do every day, watched a fisherman gutting his catch and a less successful fisherman trying to lure an eel out from the rock where it was hiding, watched the sharks circling round a pool alongside a restaurant, dinner for later we assume.  On our return to the boat, a man hitched a ride out to another boat and by one of life’s little coincidences happened to be the husband of the Granny from Newmarket.  Lovely small and sunny world.