The lovely people at The Rainforest Hideaway turned a blind eye to our weird apparel (we are still kicking ourselves for leaving our sexy cagoules in the back passage at home) and handed us over to a delightful waiter, Wilson (yes I got very excited and told anyone that would listen that this was the name of the dog), to lead us to our table.  We slavered over the menu (very like Wilson himself, the dog not the waiter) and made our selections over cocktails.  The scallops and fishcake (Bob, me and Fran) were sublime, the samosas looked very good but Pop wasn’t letting us share them.  Bob and my spice dusted fish was delicious, Fran’s sea bass divine and Pop’s chicken declared most tasty (we didn’t get to taste that either).  Pop and I shared a pud and completely fooled the waitress by swapping places with Fran for it is the sort of restaurant where you don’t have to do the whole “who is having the fish?” palaver.  The whole dining experience was enhanced by a beautiful black girl with the most drawable face crooning gently with a lovely dark and silky voice.  The dining experience was less enhanced by the arrival of a mob of loud Americans including a real trailer trash girl with a foghorn voice and an almost clad in shorts booty that she proceeded to wiggle within inches of Bob’s face.  Fortunately it was on his deaf side otherwise he would have had an eyeful.  We determined not to let this crass interruption spoil our evening and tottered happily back to Windy, in the rain.

We had an unsettled night.  Bob kept jumping up and down to close the hatch against the persistent rain and Pop and Fran kept jumping up and down as the after effects of the seafood curry at Mojito’s (we have since determined by cunning detective powers) kicked in.  Combined with the fact that I had forgotten to replenish the loo paper supplies and Pop and Fran had drowned theirs it was a most disconcerting night.

This morning Fran raced to the sun deck to grab the last rays of sun before she headed home only to be thwarted by yet more rain rolling in.  The girls packed their bags and we zoomed over to the dinghy dock between showers (more like downpours really) in such a hurry that Bob forgot the very important blue bag again.  We lunched at the fancy resort, Capella, where we slurped richly flavoured shrimp soup topped with crab and shared two salads between us three girls.  Bob stoically chomped his way through a massive burger and fries (an American style resort as you can deduce).  The time went by too quickly and we returned to the boat to pick up luggage and handover the girls to Ernest (otherwise known as Tea Light) for their taxi ride to the airport, in the rain of course.  I am feeling sad.  It has been just fabulous having the girlies here but the time they have been here has just flashed by.  As Pop said, when I whined pitifully about them going, “Mummy, no one has died!” but maybe just for today a little something has.

Bob is crashing about below, attacking the ice with everything he can throw at it (the vegetable peeler and carving fork being the usual instruments of choice) and making me a conciliatory gin and tonic to drown my sorrows.  That should help.