Fran and I had a most exciting adventure this morning.  Bob dinghied us over to the other side of the bay where we dropped into the sea with our flippers and snorkel masks opposite the sign that stated “The Marine Park Starts Here”.  We mooched along looking at the coloured fish, a shoal of little grey fish, a snake (which I stupidly mentioned to Fran who I had forgotten was quite so phobic about the darned things but bravely decided not to abandon sea), loads of blooming brain coral and pipes.  All the time we were accompanied by our very own bodyguard, Bob, complete with ear piece a la Kevin Costner (cotton wool for his ear rather than the real thing).  Fran and I headed for the Bat Cave, a crevasse in the rock, where we expected to find the odd bat hanging about and eased our way in through the narrow canal, and were assailed by loud peeping, a distinct whiff and hundreds and thousands of good size bats hanging from the walls, fluttering from perch to perch.  It was amazing.  After bat watching (and avoiding the poo that plopped from their high roost) we reluctantly swam on across a sheer cliff where it disappeared into a bottomless blue chasm.  Bob met us at the beach and we headed back to Windy happy with our little trip.

At 10 minutes to 2, Caribbean taxi drivers are always early, Jean Claude came alongside to whisk our way over to the shore where we met Tony the “taxi driver”, in quotes because of course it wasn’t a real one, who took us to the airport.  We saw the BA flight arrive overhead and I waved madly before Fran pointed out that Pop was coming in on Virgin.  We then watched the Virgin flight come in yards over our heads and I waved again.  We arrived at the airport and while waiting excitedly for Pop tried to establish how and where we could check out.  It seemed quite straightforward, wait for Pop, ask a Port Police person to let us back in to the arrivals area and Bob’s your uncle (well he isn’t, and thereby lies the saga that followed).  The Port Policewoman clearly said, follow me through.  The Customs man barked at us to leave.  “But she said we could”, “She is not in charge here, I am”.  Eek, caught between a policewoman and a customs officer.  Policewoman returned and, saving face we presume, and boldly stated that she hadn’t invited us in at all.  We retreated.  Pop arrived, hooray!  We then attempted to get back in to the arrivals area in an official manner accompanied by a policeman but they were busy elsewhere so we poked our head through the door, hailed the scary customs man who let us in and told us to go through to Immigration.  At Immigration a very cross man indeed told us very firmly that we were meant to have visited Customs first, pored over our forms, stamped them a lot and sent us back to Customs.  Customs then asked for money, couldn’t find the receipt book which was eventually retrieved from the back of the drawer using a handily wiggled umbrella.  We then returned to the stern Immigration Officer, who told us that he had already taken all the forms that he wanted so “go away”.  We did.  We sought out the very patient Tony for our return trip to Soufriere where we were to be met by Jean Claude who wasn’t there, of course, and wasn’t answering his phone.  We spent several very pleasant moments watching the fishermen in the bay hauling in their enormously round net, chatting to some delightful very young Dutch girls who had just sailed over from Holland on what appeared to be a school trip and some little boys who were obviously after some money but didn’t get any.  Jean Claude eventually arrived, once Bob had got hold of him on his phone, and whisked us over to Windy as the sun sank down over the horizon, no green flash.  We have all hunkered down and Fran is preparing our Christmas feast, while trying to keep Pop awake long enough to join in, so all it remains for me to say is Happy Christmas to one and all.