Helped ashore by the loyal Skinny, much needed, there is a hell of a swell, we went into French Verandah.  Bob decided to have the French Onion Soup (now perfectly appropriate now we know the name of the restaurant) and I had conch gratinee.  Chef had rather a heavy hand with the cheeses on both dishes but pleasant enough.  We both then had mahi mahi with garlic butter sauce (being on a boat makes for close marital quarters) washed down with a Muscadet sur Lie.  We ended up with a shared banana flambee that burned and burned and burned gaining lots of lovely little freckles of caramel.  We were helped back into the dinghy by the ever present Skinny, much needed, there was a hell of a lot of rum on that banana.

At 10am this morning we were on the quayside (ably helped ashore by Skinny, he has become very attached to us) and hung around waiting for Sam the taxi who, quite unusually for these parts, was quarter of an hour late and turned out not to be Sam at all but another young guy (whose name we couldn’t catch) who spoke in a Canadian accent.  (I thought he was gay until he mentioned his fiancee).  First port of call was Fort Charlotte.  There is a reasonable amount left intact and the views were amazing.  There was also an art exhibition portraying key historical incidents including a whole bunch of slaves who had escaped from Barbados, drifted to St VIncent where they joined other escapees and set up a community taking on Carib customs, presumably so that they could sort of pretend they weren’t escaped slaves at all.  Next stop was Montreal Gardens which required a fascinating drive through the mountainous inland, a vast volcano crater with very rich soil, the bread basket of the island and really most interesting for a farmer.  We eventually found the Gardens up a cracked and potholed lane way up high.  We were greeted by the owner/gardener who was an absolute nutcase born of a German refugee in Wales, with a South African accent and a belligerent attitude.  The gardens were stunning.  Seven acres of planting artistry leading down to a river, tamed but still natural looking with every tropical plant you can imagine blooming all around with a view up into the mist of the volcano peaks.  It was so amazing that we barely noticed it was raining.    We left feeling a bit peckish and stopped off for lunch at a local shop selling fried chicken, to die for, and bakes, like doughnuts but without the jam or the sugar coating with a swig of Hairoun.  Yummy yum yum!  Our next stop was a tunnel through a cliff (complete with resident bats), built by a plantation owner, using slaves, as a short cut to a better place to load up his sugar on the Atlantic Ocean side of the island.  It was fascinating but Bob and I couldn’t help thinking that where he loaded his sugar was just as precarious as the rest of the coastline where the rollers were piling in on to black volcanic sand.  We then meandered back along the main roads, passing the enormous under construction new international airport, back to base.  It was an enlightening trip.

Helped back into the dinghy (yes, of course, Skinny was helping) we puttered back to Windy and sat in the evening sunshine (yes indeed, we actually have some tonight).  Bob has attacked the ice with an adjustable spanner this evening, the veg peeler wasn’t man enough for the job apparently, but I am not worried, the gin and tonic is here.