Having checked out the restaurants during our paddle, we opted for Doolittle's.  It was very busy, always a good sign, part of a resort which wasn’t such a good sign, but turned out to be most satisfactory.  I enjoyed my crab cocktail more than Bob did his.  Fran’s shrimp in a spicy sauce was judged tasty with a tang of tamarind.  With our mains we were all distinctly fishy with Fran opting for mahi mahi, myself the marlin and Bob the black mussels that turned out to be rather large but in a delicious creamy coriander sauce.  We ended up sharing two banana flambes between two.  The waitresses hand had definitely slipped for one of the portions, it was more rum than flambe and continued burning for considerably longer.  Satiated, we slept well.

This morning Bob could not overcome his addiction and just had to visit the ATM so went ashore while Fran and I prepared breakfast.  We then battened down the hatches, expecting a strong blow once we were out of the shelter of the tucked away lagoon, untangled the mooring lines that had been turned into a cats cradle by the blustery wind and set off having to shout rather loudly at a pair of idiotic kayakers who decided that the best place to paddle was the main in and out lane.  Sometimes I wish for a fog horn button by the binnacle. 

We put up a modest amount of sail and headed south.  The wind put in a few blasts for show, just to make us smug about our choice of sail, but then murmured off into a pathetic 7 to 10 knots.  We were pretending to sail but had the motor on “to charge the batteries” and puttered along watching the flying fish whizz about.  Fran was excited by her first sight of the pointy Pitons peacefully poking up that loomed larger and larger as we approached.  Soufriere is not far away so we were parked up, ably assisted by Jean Claude, arrival beer in hand well before lunchtime.

We decided to go ashore for lunch and eat on board tonight and headed for the Hummingbird Resort, one of the more respectable places in walking distance in a fairly basic town.  It proved to be a good choice and we were looked after by a charming boy with a happy sense of humour.  He served up delicious fish cakes, more like bhajis than English fish cakes, with a delicious tartare sauce burgeoning with capers and persuaded us to try the special, a spicy creole beef concoction which was delicious and packed with flavours, accompanied by every local vegetable you can imagine and a spicy, not hot but tasty, rice.  Feeling very mellow, we foolishly decided to have a second beer.  Lunchtime drinking is not to be recommended in this climate and we soporifically undertook a cursory tour of the town, respectfully waiting for a hymn singing funeral cortege to pass by (what is it about us and funerals?), popped into the church decked out in white and yellow to match the mourners rosettes, and then meandered back to the dock.  Our dinghy minder had patently partaken of ganga for his lunch but the dinghy was still there and complete.

Exhausted by such travels, we took to our books for the afternoon and I completed, at last, a fiendishly difficult Kakuro that has kept me occupied for two days.  We whiled away a sunny afternoon, serenaded from the local bars reggae collection until the huge sun sank away, no green flash, and Fran challenged me to Scrabble.  It was a close run thing but she beat me with a XI and XU on the triple words score.  I retreated to cook supper, sulk quietly and drink wine while Bob was engrossed in Bank Job, the film.  The candlelit supper of spag bol went down a treat, my sulk long forgotten, and we are now chilling.  We don’t need music there is plenty from ashore despite which Bob is nodding off on the opposite sofa.  It won’t be long before we head for bed.

Pop arrives tomorrow, yay!!!!