It was time for dinner, Bob prepared to tool himself up with the faithful Maglite (a torch that unusually does work) but frantic searches would not reveal its hiding place, bearing in mind that a boat is not a large place to play hide and seek.  We had to use “Rupert’s torch” instead which is inclined to misbehave somewhat like Rupert himself.  Unable to raise the L’Auberge Grenadine, as recommended by the nice French lady at St Pierre, we pottered ashore to the Gingerbread Hotel, renowned for its curries, heaving ourselves on to the dinghy dock with Bob style grunts, exclamations and girly giggles.  Curry may have been the speciality on the menu but they served a very Caribbean version, pleasant enough but it didn’t set the world , or the palate, on fire.  On our return, Bob searched again, even trying the fridge and freezer but nope, it would not reveal itself.

This morning we were all ready, bright eyed, bushy tailed and bag packed for our run ashore.  Bob dropped us three girls at the dinghy dock and then puttered back to the boat to do “man jobs”, possibly the equivalent of the potting shed.  We met our taxi driver, a charming fellow called Eric, in a traditional Bequia taxi, a pick up truck equipped with seating, a canopy in the back for the passengers and a removable kitchen step whereby Eric would most gallantly hand us in and out as if we were regal ladies alighting from our carriage.  Eric then shouted his descriptive patter out of the window which makes it hard to hear but was most informative at each of our stops.  The tour encompassed: the whaling village home to endless Olivierres and a whole number of very mixed race residents with black rasta men with sea green eyes, the fishing village complete with a bank of coloured fishing boats basking on the shore (it being Sunday), the airport built on land reclaimed on the Bequians behalf by the expert Dutch, the fort (of which very little, indeed nothing recognisable at all remains) overlooking Admiralty Bay complete with cannon dating from 1717, Mount Pleasant the highest point of the island with stunning views for miles around with sea and strings of islands (Mustique, Union, Canouan and more) stretching tantalisingly off to the horizon , the turtle sanctuary with the deformed turtle that has been kept as a pet so is now 16 years old and just loves to have her back scratched, it sends her into such ecstasies that she splashes the back scratcher with enthusiastic flips of her flippers.  Amongst all this we had a most enjoyable nature lesson and foraged for lemon grass, cinnamon leaves and coconut to take back to the boat for a potentially interesting Caribbean invention test.  We were having such a good tour that lunch was rather late but worth waiting for.  The Sugar Reef Hotel looks out on to an ideal film location Caribbean white sand beach, coconut trees and the turquoise Atlantic with bold waves energetically whooshing in breaking over the reef.  A perfect view.  Lunch was delicious.  I insisted that the girls tried the quintessentially Caribbean callalloo soup, a large bowl of leafy and delicious broth with three spoons.  Sara then had tuna cooked perfectly, pink as could be in the middle and super sizzled on the outside.  Susie had a fish sandwich which sounds very boring but was actually very tasty and I went for the roti, another Caribbean speciality, with a delicious black bean salsa which was a triumph.  The girls surprised me by being very keen on key lime pie (an American run hotel obviously) , so keen that they insisted on one each none of this sharing nonsense.  I had ice cream, maybe another potentially boring choice but delicious when it is coconut and nutmeg, mm hmm (said in a  West Indian way).  Thank you Susie.

We rolled back, with our food babies, under the guidance of the gallant Eric, hailed Captain Bob who motored over looking very professional, proud wife, picked us up (with our bag of foragings) and returned us to WIndy.  I grabbed my cushion ration (two PAIRS each Susie), made myself comfortable and haven’t moved an inch since.  Bob has had a very busy day, fixing the front cabin door so it actually closes, the bathroom door so it actually closes, taped closed the courtesy light so that it gets its full share of electricity and glued the seal back on to the cubby hole so it too closes.  As well as getting everything to close he has been busily making water because three girls use a lot.  He also discovered the lost torch.  Nowhere obscure but where most torches live, the chart table.  Too much gin?  For his last job of the day I have just heard the pop of a cork and am hoping that this will soon be followed up with a nice cold glass of Gavi di Gavi, thank you Sara.