Feeling hot hot hot......

Park fun

All good and well until you need a piss

Holy shite.  New York goes OFF in summer.  I'd never scoped the vibe there come summertime before, and I must say I was impressed.  Mighty impressed.  We arrived during a week long heat wave, with every day peaking into the 40s.  I think I'd been conditioned by the Caribbean because I actually found it tolerable.   Besides, it was action all stations, with sprinklers in the playgrounds and soaked kids running around screaming, people spilling out of bars and restaurants into the balmy evenings.  Everyone was strutting around in "shortaralls".  Now, I haven't worn a playsuit since I was 18 months old.  And at the age of almost 40 I suspect it's not a good look to look like a toddler.  Yet I was swept into the vibe, picked up an all-in-one green number, and spent my days pulling a wedgie out of my crack.  I also had to completely undress every time I needed to go to the toilet.

Vibrant

Herpes Soup

We were staying at the same shambolic hotel we stayed at last time in Williamsburg.  They'd offered us a discounted rate due to the renovation issues they had last time round.  It was barely better.  You still sat around awkwardly in the lobby and ate a shabby breakfast dealing with uncomfortable eye contact from your fellow hotel guests.  This time around though, the pool was open and happening.  Really happening.  When we arrived late at night there was a full on pool party going on.  There were about a hundred and fifty people there and most of them were in the water which was changing from purple to red to green due to some flashing underwater lights.  But as pools go, well, let's just say that this pool was the only one around for miles.  You don't get that many pools in NYC due to space issues.  Everyone wanted in, and for $45 a pop during the day, anyone who had the money to blow was in.  The price would certainly put you off bringing your family of 5 out for a day in the heavily chlorinated waters.  But for hot young hipsters in their bikinis it was right on.  I can see why they put so many chemicals in there. I slipped in for a dip.  It was pretty gross.  Really warm, a number of couples possibly having sex, and about a dozen long hairs got stuck around my fingers as I was breast stroking out of there faster than you can say "Does this much chlorine actually bleach your skin?".  All the area was good for (in my opinion), was drinks and people watching. So it's lucky I enjoy both simultaneously.

The NYC dogs are far more onto it than most

Shopping and shows was how we occupied our time.  Naturally it was great.  Some people would find it unrelaxing shopping in 40 degree heat, but not me.  I had a schedule and no heatwave was getting in the way.  Plus I typically take a taxi to go 5 metres to the toilet from the bedroom every morning, so lets just say that I wasn't doing much walking.  In times like this, you can't just wander.  You will get heatstroke and be far to sweaty to try on items such as leather pants.  Be professional about it people.  Do your research first, work out where you want to hit, get the addresses - or walking directions, and take no prisoners.  The heat is pretty oppressive in that peak sun - which starts at 9am and isn't over until 8pm.  The heat lingers long after the sun goes down though.  Trapped by the concrete and glass, there are no breezes to whisk it all away so it stays steamy all night long.  It stinks a bit too.  Don't take a casual stroll on the outskirts of central park either.  Baking horse shit is not exactly the world's most pleasant aroma.

Colour

Can you believe this is one serve split in two?

As seen being jumped on by Tom Hanks in "Big"

Williamburg is the shiz

Brilliant

We never usually go to shows.  I'm one of those people that typically finds plays a bit awkward.  It's far worse when you actually know someone in one though isn't it?  Cringe worthy really.  But this time we went show mad. The ones Chalks chose were sick nuts.  The first one was Stomp.  The show that's been running every night on the Lower East Side for about 15 years and still packs out the seats nightly.  They did a tour to Australia a while back, but I never went.  But at this theatre in NYC it was a much smaller space and completely engaging.  Who would have thought that you could be entertained for 2 hours by people banging shit.  They are the masters of props.  My favourite one for entertainment purposes was the one that 4 guys did with a kitchen sink full of water on a chain around their necks.  Who knew it sounded so good when you banged a metal jug while pouring water out of it?  But when they went all out on a serious bang fest, it was like the best track you could ever hear at some sicko dance party.  This show made me think, "Some people are so fucking talented"...........

Go ahead and JUMP

Noisy

Tripped out 

Talking of sicko dance parties - the following night we saw a show that was a cross between a dance party, a weird dream, and performance art.  It was called Fuerza Bruta - which means Brute Force.  I had no idea what to expect.  We rolled up, and were directed into a large dark room with high ceilings. There was no seats - we were all standing around in the middle of the room with no idea which way to face.  We were told that when given directions by the staff during the performance we had to follow them.  And so it begun.

BAM!

The lights came up on some guy sprinting on a giant treadmill in a suit and tie, while people put chairs up next to him, that would roll along beside him and come off the back.  Then they would wheel up big walls of boxes and push that onto him so he would kind of burst through it and the boxes would go everywhere.  Then a giant sparkly silver curtain was pulled around the room and two girls chased and screamed at each other while running high along the walls held up by ropes.  The lights were incredible.  Following this, five people were crowded on a tiny room going mental to some brilliant tunes, they then burst out of the room and started smashing flat pieces of white polystyrene that were filled with glitter and paper all over each others heads.  They then moved around smashing them over everyone in the audience.  Everyone was rocking out - it was brilliant.  Well, everyone except for the middle aged straight couple who seemed to be searching for the exit.  They first started looking uncomfortable when we were all getting blasted by some wind machine earlier on.

Eerie visual mind fuck

show us your tits

Everything went dark, and up above there seemed to be something going on with the roof.  It took my eyes a little while to adjust but then I noticed they were lowering this HUGE perspex screen with boxed sides (basically like a giant fishtank) over the top of us.  It was filled with water and girls in floaty clothing skidding around.  They looked like spooky mermaids.  They lowered the giant plastic fishtank so it was right at our faces, and you could put your hands and touch it, up as the performers moved over all of our heads, and pressed their hands over yours through the plastic.  Then suddenly, they all went crazy and became evil sea nymphs and started smashing their hands down as hard as they could and screaming and finally belly flopping right over all our heads.   That perspex sure had some give.  Seriously freaky.  Then the mermaids and their watery cage were hauled back up, and the running guy was back.  The music kicked up even more of a notch and everyone was dancing and water was coming out of the ceiling from a rain machine near the DJ booth.  I managed to avoid getting too wet, but there were some other audience members that looked like they'd taken a shower in their clothes.  What a fucking brilliant experience.  This show made me think "Some people are so fucking weird"........

Found this on the internet - i don't believe in taking pictures of my food

We wandered the streets after that and amazingly came across one of our favourite restaurants in NYC - Pure Food and Wine.  It was on our list of things to do, so stumbling across it was pretty wild luck.  As was the fact that they had a table available.  I love it there.  When you're on a health trip you can get no better.  All the food is raw vegan, and the wines are organic and bio dynamic.  They make the most incredible concoctions you could ever imagine.  I had Sweet Corn and Cashew Tamales with Chili Spiced Portabella served with salsa verde, avocado, cashew coconut sour cream, and raw cacao mole. All raw.  Words cannot describe how delicious it was.  For dessert I had Coconut Lime Tart with Kaffir Lime Leaf Gelato - inside a chocolate shell with coconut creme anglaise, and blueberry lime pearls.  Out. Of. Control.  And the best thing is that after pigging out like a maniac you feel smug that you are a true health freak as you leave holding your stuffed full belly.  They need to open more of these places.  Ridiculously delicious.

Ditto

Brutally hot

The rest of our New York experience involved poking around vintage markets by the Hudson river, chowing down at outdoor food festivals, early morning breakfasts on the curb by the sportsground, park strolling, an evening viewing of Despicable Me 2, and two visits to go and do squats and crunches for an hour in a tiny carpeted studio uptown (told you I am going through a seriously healthy phase - it should be over soon)......I completely adore it in this city, and I am determined to come and live here for at least 2 months.  While I'm almost positive that I haven't - even just being visiting this part of the world makes you feel like you've got your finger on the pulse.

Hipsters at their hippest

Top Spot

Being annoyingly cool

Being annoyingly healthy

Barking walking chihuahuas are NEVER a good idea

But all good things move on to their inevitable end, and so were we destined for the people that we love in chilly Tasmania and Melbourne.  But first we had to get through 25 hours of actual flying time, many more hours of airport waiting and transfers, and a 15 hour detour through Tokyo to collect the luggage we'd scammed the hotel into holding onto us for 4 months.  It was pretty intense.  Possibly the most challenging moment was when we all fell asleep on the bus from our Tokyo hotel to the airport, and we all had to wake up, unload and check in.  Valli and Cordi were having none of that nonsense.  They had no intention of waking up.  But we couldn't hold them as we had so much luggage to organise and the poor little buggers were falling asleep standing up, falling over, and crying non-stop for 45 minutes.  We finally borrowed a couple of airport baby strollers and loaded them in.  Unfortunately they were designed for 1 year olds.  The girls hung over all edges, yet they were too shattered to care and immediately passed out with their little heads leaning backwards, resting on the hard plastic frame, and banging up and down as we wheeled them round the airport for 3 hours.  To be honest they actually looked like children with disabilities.  Sort of giant and distorted with drool running down their cheeks.  I was calling sleeping Cordi "My Left Foot", yet realised that it was a cruel thing to say, politically incorrect, and had no intention of telling another living soul about what a disturbed individual I actually am.  So I won't.....

I SO made this glorious item

But as the memories of jetlagged sleep deprived hell slip away, none of that matters and we have already had a week of fun reunions including a crazy belated birthday party for the twins with all my best friends, my family and their beyond beautiful and sweet children.  The weather was possibly the worst you could ever imagine.  Freezing, windy and raining.  Many people may ask why we would volunteer to leave the Caribbean behind to come home at this shitty time of year.  But I am so happy to see everyone that I don't even notice my goosebumps. Much.

Olive and I have a conference about our pass-the-parcel strategy

And now I sit on a rocking chair, looking out at The Shrine on St Kilda Road in Melbourne.  Our home for the next two months is a big glass box in the sky......it's modern, it's clean, the views are spectacular, and it's comfortable.  And best of all.....there's central heating.  That is especially appreciated because I'm certainly not feeling hot hot hot at the moment.  Let the good times roll again........

Pretty

Your Time Is Up.....Now

The last sunny day....

It's bound to happen eventually.  The two months stint in paradise crawls to it's demise once again.  And it's easy to get all nostalgic and shit, and even start feeling a certain kind of fondness towards the mold on your favourite shoes, the infected mosquito scabs on your ankles, and also to the larvae spawning in your cereal.  God this place is great.

So happy

The cliche "It's like time has stood still here" never more applies to a place than it does here in Bequia.  Usually that phrase annoys me.  It is often used to describe crappy towns with a few old crumbling buildings and local business that tack "Ye Olde" on the beginning of everything.  "Ye Olde Bakery",  Ye Olde Poste Office"......There's nothing old about a boston bun love - unless it's been sitting there since Friday.  But Bequia is the real deal.  

Chalk's mate (literally it is)

I got dem sweet bananas

The shops are side of the road specials.  The supermarkets sell their dry goods in measured out plastic bags.  There are very few restaurants - and the ones that are there are pretty dam basic.  Fruit and vegetables arrive by sea from the next island every couple of days.  It's all organic because nobody can afford to buy pesticides.  It all tastes like the veggies you ate as a child (or didn't eat is more to the point).  Bananas, pineapples, avocados and papayas grow in our garden.  Talking about our garden - it is full of tropical flowers and hundreds of brightly coloured butterflies flap round it all day.  At night the bushes are full of fireflies.  Sometimes they get inside the bedrooms.  I like that.

Now, I've already discussed the tendencies towards overt religious practises in the schools.  But it's pretty out of control around our place these days.  Seriously, I've now got a couple of Jesus freaks on my hands.  Valli and Cordi break into "Jesus Loves Me" about 4 times a day.  I also catch them singing "Daniel In The Lions Den" and "We're Building a Temple To The Lord".  They are also keen to tell us stories about Joseph and his technicoloured dream coat.  And the other morning Valli gathered Cordi and Chalky together on the mat and announced "Let us pray".  I just hope they get over it before their Jewish grandmother finds out......

Loves it

Church is where everybody goes each week in their Sunday best - hats, gloves, frocks - you name it.  They find out all the local gossip.  Everyone knows everything about everyone around here. It does not take long for word to spread.  I posed for a photo with a couple of dudes from down the road, and one hour later - Cathy (she of the drawn on eyebrows) was up here telling me not to get involved with them - "They is bad people Emily....."  Her cousin had spotted me and dobbed.   And while I'm at it, like all the teachers on the island - and basically any woman over the age of 25, I have become known as Aunty Emily in these parts.  Either that or "CordiValliMummy" - which is what some of the kids call me when I see them around town.

The photo that started a scandal

And I use the word "Town" very loosely.  Never have you seen a more ramshackle place.  And there is nothing going on here.  Nada.  Not a thing.  The biggest excitement is when somebody has a load of fresh fish.  They put it on the back of their ute and drive around blowing a large conch shell.  How old school is that?

The crowds storm the main drag

This is what we eat every 3-4 days

It's the kind of place that grows on you.  And keeps growing on you until you start to consider living here permanently for a year or two.  Could I do it?  Maybe with a couple of trips to the States to break things up a bit.  Even though I am enjoying my slide into becoming a hermit - I think I need a reality check on occasion.  Nobody should be allowed to become as sickeningly healthy as I become here either.  Gone are meat eating ways, the boozing on, and my tendency to eat giant blocks of chocolate nightly.  And hello to a vegan lifestyle and running in the humidity.  I still have a dealer - but a dealer in coconut water - my good chum Elton who fixes me up with the good gear.  Love that fresh coco-water shit. I drink about 3 litres of it every couple of days.  It's a great rehydrator after the runs.   I know that it's odd - but I actually like running.  So off I go a few times a week and pound the tiny road on the almost deserted side of the island.  I run through gangs of goats, and cows that death stare me.  Thank god cows don't actually know their own strength.  They could easily get together and stomp me into the ground.  I run through alleys of coconut trees which is like playing Coconut Russian Roulette.  Occasionally you hear one of those bastards hit the ground.  The thing is, if it actually was heading for your skull you wouldn't know....and then BAM.....lights out.....I run past grassy fields rife with giant land crabs.  And I get bugs in my mouth and eyes daily.   The good times......

The Stompers

Take a walk on the wild side

Leave me alone cocos

Can't wait to retox

Lushness at Jack's Bar last Sunday

The perception of the Caribbean is basically one of luxury.  Sandy beaches, cocktails, sunshine, palm trees.  In reality - the greater part of Caribbean life is third world squalor.  Sure you can get all the brochure advertised bonuses - but only if you stay on your yacht or at a large resort.  But even that can't always guarantee you exclusion from the "real Caribbean".  This was recently found out by some package holiday UK visitors to the Dominican Republic.  Large busloads of locals on a special rate basically took over the hotel and completely rooted it up for everybody else.  Apparently they pissed and shat in the pool and ate all the buffet food.  There's nothing more horrific that not being able to get your stack of pancakes in the morning - except being urinated on while you're lying on your sun-lounge I guess.  As you can imagine the Poms weren't happy.  Nothing makes a Pom whinge more than an actual occasion where whinging is a perfectly reasonable response.  Particularly in the case of having a poo float past you while you're doing your morning backstroke.   But the locals were like "Fuck you English cocksuckers!  This is our country and everything in it is ours. So if we want to have a dump in the swimming pool and whip our cocks out for a slash all over your sunbaking wife, it's happening.  Suck it Up.  And by the way - the waffles are ours too.  ALL ours".........http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2358688/Holiday-hell-Britons-stage-sit-luxury-resort-rowdy-locals-super-cheap-deals-use-pool-toilet-urinate-sun-loungers-steal-food.html

I dunno - they look pretty happy for people staging a sit-in (apart from old thumbs down)

The poms take a walk

Cordi feeds Speedy...or is it Hasty?

But anyway, like I said - it's pretty much over and out at this end.  The bags are packed (fuck I'm a good packer - I might try and get one of those butler jobs in a fancy hotel or something), and we are departing for New York City in the morning.  Luckily it wasn't this morning.  It would have been a bumpy ride.  Old Tropical Storm Chantal blew through here today.  They've used up all the normal names - now they're onto the bogan specials....next it will be Hurricane Shazza or something.....  Anyway old Chantal gave it a red hot crack in the early hours of this morning.  We thought it had long passed and went down to the shops.  Upon our return we opened the door, and the entire room was flooded with water.  Shitfuck.  It must have blown in at a strange angle or something - I've never seen it drench the room so badly.  Everything was soaked.  Absolutely everything.  And pretty much impossible to dry because of the lack of sun today.  The worst of all was our passports - particularly mine.  The photo page is not looking good.  I look like 20 stone jaundice sufferer.  I hope to god they let me leave the country tomorrow.  

But if not there's worse places to get stuck.....So long Bequia.  And please, never, ever change.......

Over and Out

Take Your Vitamins......

Oh Bequia!

A guy down the road had a heart attack recently.  He didn't make it.  That's the thing here.  It's all fine and dandy when you're chowing down on mangos and getting sand out of the crotch of your bather bottoms.  But when shit hits the big one - it's a long way to The States.  Even to Barbados - where they have a much greater capacity to stop you from kicking the bucket early, it's a mission - the plane schedule isn't exactly encouraging.  Basically you're rooted.  So in other words.  Try not to die.

Oh Kirsty!

That news would have freaked me out when we first started travelling with our three month old bundles of cuteness.  I was right onto it with hospital addresses and Western style doctors every place we went.  But you get slack.  With anything.  Take this blog for example - I'm slacker than the waist-band of Kirsty Alley's old tracksuit pants after Jenny Craig threatened to take off the payroll if she didn't stop burying her face in burgers.  And I know she wears tracksuit pants, because I saw her once in Paris.  It was at the Ritz while we were scoping what the mega rich get up to.  You have to just have a tiny look at the Ritz when you're in Paris, the building is beautiful  - or perhaps you could buy a cup of tea for 50 euros in the dining room and fake your ability for ostentatious spending.

I'll take the presidential suite thanks

A $500 glass of champagne for me please

Just a comb Kirsty, just a comb

Anyway, I saw Kirsty and her daughter standing in the doorway as we sat down.  Time had not been kind.  She was wearing filthy black stretched out tracksuit pants that looked like a homeless person had dug them out of a Kmart reject bin 50 years ago.  The stains were obviously food related - I didn't doubt that she'd cut sick on the room service, ate it in bed and then dragged herself down to the dining room for extra croissants.  The hair was pretty feral.  In fact ferals themselves have better hair than Kirsty did that day.  Look, it's her life she can obviously do what she wants (and does).  But seriously - you're at the Ritz in PARIS.  For god's sake cover that mess with a beret...or something.  Unfortunately I had my back to her over lunch but I kept asking for updates on what she was doing from Chalks - so I wouldn't appear too much like a stare bear.  He got so sick of my questions that he told me that she was eating her soup by faceplanting it.  I actually twisted my neck trying to get a look.

But back to my now nonchalance about medical services.  Sometimes I did find it inconvenient before the kids came along not to be able to just pop off to the old family doctor for all my woes.  It was always a mission to sort out medical help - language, location, actually getting there.  Not to mention the expense.  I once got charged nearly $400 to see a doctor for 10 minutes in a hospital in NYC.  The accounts lady actually apologised for the US medical system and advised me that if I asked to get billed rather than paying on the spot, they would never chase it up.  Thanks love.  Therefore, I rarely sought the advice of the anatomically gifted.  Could have needed it on occasion though.  It's like beauty treatments.  Sometimes you just say fuck it and wax your own stray pubes.  I would NEVER recommend this by the way.  Once I tried to brighten my teeth with a homemade mouthwash made from hydrogen peroxide.  Yep, I wouldn't go there either.  Unless you enjoy having about 30 ulcers on the under side of your tongue.  I think I swirled just that minute too long.  Actually a visit to the doctor would have been a good idea there, but I was in Iceland on a road trip, and it just wasn't happening for me.  It was an excruciating experience.  Really truly bad.  In fact possibly worse than childbirth, because it lasts for days and you can't eat or speak.  Has anyone ever tried to talk by not moving their tongue.  Test it out.  That is, if mild retardation is your thing.  I grew tired of the jokes, and as Chalks from that day onwards always refers to our passports as "Carscorts", that memory of agony refuses to fade.   I constantly took Panadol Fortes for 4 days to deal with it, and ate only yogurt by tipping it down the back of my throat with a small spoon.

I'm fully aware this is disgusting - note the left side

Bequia - and more to the point the stunning property we get to live in, we thought, is worth the risk of not having access to everything you may imagine you need.  We decided when we first came here that never for one second were we going to have a situation where one of us wasn't watching the pool.  Basically it's an unfenced death trap for toddlers.  Chalks did a CPR course - and I actually don't think they even have a ambulance here.  But even if they do - the destination doesn't not exactly inspire confidence.  Basically we are just counting on everything going right.  But sometimes it doesn't.

Unfenced deathpit

I was out for a run one evening.  I'd driven our car to the other side of the island where I can run in peace without people staring at me and cars beeping.  Someone tried to high five me out of a moving van window one day - I find that kind of thing annoying.  I like to be alone to concentrate on my pain.  Anyway as I drove back from town I was flagged down by one of the local taxi drivers who informed me "Valli be in the hospital".  It's not exactly the news you welcome when you're dealing with your own self inflicted heart attack.  The hospital was about 100 metres away so I high-tailed it in there.  And there was my little baby sitting on Chalks knee having blood washed off her head.  She'd taken a fall off a stool and freakishly landed straight on her head and straight on her hair elastic.  Again freakishly, the hair elastic made a tiny puncture in her scalp.  Apparently it bled alot.  Head injuries always do.  She got all dizzy and insisted on lying down, I wasn't there, Chalks had no car, so he called a taxi to take him to the hospital.  After cleaning her head, the nurse said that the little puncture was an issue and needed the attention of the doctor - who was watching TV at home, about 30 metres up the road.  What was also disturbing was that Valli was saying that she couldn't see properly - that everything was blurry.

Just not inspiring confidence

It's in the basement you see there....

So off we went to the doctor.  His office was in the basement of his falling apart house.  The entry was filled with boxes of half-unpacked medical supplies, and there were old faded Christmas decorations on the walls.  He took a look at the wound and checked Valli for concussion.  This was after informing us that he "Trusts God first, and this (gestures to medical tool) second"  I began to wonder if he had actually attended medical school or it was just his night job outside the church.  Apparently it was just a reasonably mild case of concussion, but he still advised us not to go to sleep that night.  Instead we were advised to watch her all night in case she started bleeding from her nose or ears.  Comforting.  He offered to put her in the hospital for the night - but honestly after seeing the place I felt safer at home.  He said that head wounds can infected easily here, and put her on antibiotics to prevent meningitis.  Again, comforting.  We debated what to do.  Try and get our arses to The States the next day?  Well, we couldn't do anything about that night.  I didn't sleep much, and I kept waking Valli up to make sure she actually could. I had the "Doctor" on speed dial - his business card consisted of a large religious quote across the top and a phone number.

The offender

Watch out for chickens

Of course she was fine.  It's just when these things happen, you can't help but imagine the worst.  Who would have thought that a hair toggle could do that.  Seriously?  After later research we discovered that apparently heaps of kids have got brain damage and skull fractures from hair accessories.  So there you go everyone, there's a new thing to worry about.  Forget broken limbs on playground equipment  and getting all the skin scraped off after particularly bad bike accidents.  Or how's this one - my Mum once dropped a frozen chicken on my baby sisters head at Coles.  She bawled her eyes out - my Mum, not my sister.  She thought she'd damaged my sister for life....and we haven't ruled it out yet - she's one of those people that asks you a question every 5 seconds during a movie.  Anyway, also forget rock hard poultry - now you have to consider the possibility that a hair elastic could permanently fuck your kid's head up.  Flowing locks never looked so good.  But for us, it was of course a happy ending - we just had to keep her quiet for a couple of days (almost impossible), and there was no TV or electronic devices for 2 weeks on the doctor's orders......

Now that was the worst news of all.........

I love you my darling

Why Do I Do It?

Love them so much....in a photograph

There is one hyphenated word that is more delightful than a rainbow coloured unicorn dipped in white chocolate.  And that glorious term is pre-school.  We are currently in the middle of a pre-school life revolution and those sunrises have never looked better.  Monday is my new favourite day, while Friday sees the need for alcohol and prescriptions.  I am also making future plans so that the child monarchy will never come back to cripple me once again with slavery.  Schools in.  Forever.  And it's a unbridled street festival of slackery.   Life is ace.  Who cares if they cry at the gate?  A few strong shakes of the leg, the grip is loosened,  we're freeeeeeeeeee.  "Love you Mum....."  "Yeah, yeah, whatevs.....bye".  They do look adorable in their uniforms though.

Those smiles turn to howls at the school gate

And with school, comes school activities.  I have already been to a parent teacher meeting and sponsored a walk-a-thon.  But what this update is really about is my first school excursion.  Growing up in Tasmania, school excursions weren't exactly trips to see real dinosaur bones at the New York Museum of Natural History, or a journey to Buckingham Palace.  I think I've mentioned the trips to the Hobart Museum, - some dusty models of a Tassie Tiger and an Aboriginal family in a canoe.  Then there was the typical annual visit to see the puppet show version of Peter And The Wolf, and on special occasions, a trip to Farm-a-rama where a morbidly obese man forced us all to walk through the battery hen sheds.  That smell.  Those worn away feathers on the chicken's necks. Puts you off your eggs.  But let me tell you something though - I would rather go to a showing of Peter And The Wolf performed by battery hens at the Hobart Museum than go on the excursion I endured last Monday.  I should never have piped up with a "Sure, I could come" when pressured at the parents meeting the Thursday before.  It was all my fault.  But I was just trying to get one of the teachers to like me after an inadvertent and unfortunate accusation of change pocketing.

Cruz attacks from the front

I was dreading it.  My life of leisure rudely interrupted by actually having to leave the house.  I considered making excuses about some commitment I had - basically impossible to think of something....hmmmm, had to eat an mango, or had to pick some leaves out of the pool.  Maybe - had to watch the night before's Game of Thrones.......I just wasn't coming up with anything viable.  The housekeeper would know it, and then tell the teachers I was faking.  Her grandson goes to the same school - he was the only guest at Valli and Cord's party last year.  Here's an interesting thing I found out - apparently he is so fat that he can't physically reach around to wipe his own bottom.  That's an issue.  Let's hope he gets on top of that before the teenage awkward years set in.  I also thought about pulling a sickie, but again with the being sprung.  I'm too gutless to take the heat.  I have an insatiable need to be a popular parent.

In the end, I decided to bite the bullet and hope that at least I could get a blog entry out of the whole experience.  I wasn't expecting it to be good - a trip to the unfinished airport and a swim at a black sand beach on the next island - The "Mainland" - St Vincent.  But it was actually far far worse than I imagined.  As far as a good blog entry goes, I'm clutching at straws, but let's give it a bash anyhows.

Cordi is disturbed, while Valli's perturbed by all the chucking

I had to get up at 5.30 to get out shit together so as to make the 6.30 ferry from Bequia to St Vincent.  I didn't take much food considering we were told their was a cafeteria there.....or were we?  When we stopped to pick up our housekeeper and her grandson I noticed she had an esky of food she had cooked for the trip.  Ok, then.  I had a box of cut pineapple, a mango, 2 apples, some cheese and some crackers.  Surely we'd be right....with the lunch cafeteria and all........All aboard we climbed, and off went the ferry.  As we pulled out of the harbour one of the shipmates handed out small black plastic bags.  "Are these for rubbish?"  I asked.  "No, they be for vomit".  I see.   Due to the recent rainy weather, the sea was extremely rough.  It was actually kind of scary.  And before I knew it, all the school kids were heave ho-ing into the bags.  The teachers were filling theirs to the brim, and some little shit chundered all down his mother's arm while she was trying to eat a sandwich.  Nice.  Valli, Cordi and I were the only ones that didn't join the chorus of calls to Bert.

Eventually we arrived in St Vincent's port, and all the parents chucked their bags of sick in the bins.  We were told there was a wait for the buses.  This ended up being a two hour wait.  And there was no cafes, shops, anything.  Basically we sat in the ferry's waiting room while all the parents and kids pigged out on pizza, oily meat roll ups and chips at quarter to eight in the morning.  When I broke out the pineapple, all the surrounding pizza eaters were into that too.  But after that 2 hour delay, the buses arrived and we were on the road.  But before we took off, our housekeeper - who was the self appointed tour guide had everybody shut their eyes and say a prayer.  This little shout-out to the Lord, kicked off a day-long bus sing-a-long, dedicated to Jesus.  At least I now know why the girls keep saying "Jesus, loves me - yes I know!!!" all the time.  More food was brought out - thick white bread sandwiches with that orange fake cheese seemed to be a popular choice for one and all.

This valley was a stop off and a highlight

The initial highlights of the trip were, the girl's high school, the bank, an oval and KFC and Pizza hut.  When the last two "sights" were announced the whole bus broke out in cheers.  The first stop off at the unfinished "new" airport wasn't exactly bringing the thrills.  Basically some dirt and some excavators.  I can see that on the block next door.  I decided not to get out of the bus.  We saw some cows, and a field of peanuts.  I declined to take any photos.  Then at last we were there. At the beach.  All I saw were a couple of gazebos, a toilet block, and most importantly no cafeteria.  I had already discovered through trial and screaming that I'd accidentally purchased "wasabi" flavoured rice crackers.  So they were useless.  We we settled into the gazebo and the call went out - "It be time for lunch".  It was 10.45am.  Lunch was a no holes barred piggery of pizza, chips, cold fried chicken and more fake cheese sandwiches.  I gave Valli and Cordi everything I had, and ate the left-overs- so basically my lunch consisted of 2 apple cores and sucking on a mango pip.  Plus, I certainly was no popular parent.  It's hard for me to chat with the mothers seeing as we have absolutely nothing in common.  Plus I just for the life of me can't understand a word they are saying.  Hence thinking I didn't have to bring any lunch.

Yes Cord - we are spending 6 hours here

Before the mystery attack

Then it was time for a swim.  I wasn't holding out much hope, but there was a large rock pool by the shore.  It was actually quite nice.  I was enjoying standing around in my bathers being ignored.  Then suddenly the teacher screamed "Mother of our Holy Lord, get out of the WATER".  She bolted out grabbing Valli under one arm, and some other brat under another.  All the rest of the kids and parents started stampeding for the shore screeching their heads off.  "What in the name of the Good Man Above was that Aunty Glenis?  A crab".  "That be no crab Aunty Neva.  Praise the Lord whatever it was didn't take my foot off, I felt it's mouth".  Well that broke up the party a bit.  After that everybody lingered in water about 3cm deep until someone's kids laid a cable in the water and it broke up and floated out towards everyone.  It was well and truly over after that.  We all went back to the gazebos, everyone brought out the chocolate biscuits and the giant packets of cheese puffs, and we all waited two and a half hours for the buses to come back and get us.  The highlight for me were the two trips to the toilets.  They were very clean.

The bloody black sand got into every fibre of our bathers

The gazebos of boredom

Finally we were back on the bus.  Out came the food again.  Cheese dippers, Tupperware containers of last night's fried chicken and more sandwiches.  We were driving along when suddenly someone screamed out "HE'S GOT CORN".  The bus pulled to a screeching halt in the middle of the main road and all the ladies leaned out their windows and started yelling at the man by the side of the road selling blackened corn "I want one of dem two dollar pieces,  one of dem four dollar pieces, two of dem three dollar pieces - pack dem separate ok".  The bus driver keeps nearly being killed in the on-coming traffic while ferrying corn and money back and forward over the road.  I wanted some, but couldn't get a word in edgewise.  The corn was all gone.  Luckily someone took pity on my and gave me a piece.  Usually I hate that dry shit, but due to starvation it tasted like caramel ice-cream with chocolate sauce.  My teeth were filled with charcoal.  I cared not.

Then the bus pulled into KFC and all the ladies were out stocking up on giant buckets of chicken and chips, which they carried on board the boat for the return journey.  We were an hour early.  So we sat there.  Out came the food again - this time, Kentucky fries, giant bags of marshmallows, bags of chocolate bars, mixed lollies, and corn chips.  They were all passed around.  Valli and Cordi - who rarely eat crap, were losing their loads.  And finally the boat started it's engines, the vomits bags came out and everyone puked the day's pigout back up on the journey home.

A puke over the side perhaps?

My only saviour

I have never been more happy to spot Chalky waiting for me on the harbour at 5.30pm, after what had been a twelve hour ordeal.  The only thought that had got me through the day's trauma was thinking of the downloaded episode of Game of Thrones that should be waiting for me.  Unfortunately it wasn't on last week.  Lord have mercy.........At least I could eat again.  Chalks and I have often wondered what on earth people eat around here that makes the majority of them morbidly obese.  Well after today I was able to announce with certainty that it isn't just what people were eating, it's the sheer volume of it.  But then again they did vomit it back up on the way home.  A sort of unintentional bulimia I guess.   One thing is for sure - they have no monitoring of their own, or their kid's diets around here (says the uptight, anal, and hungry whitey with a superiority complex).  This is further accentuated by the stalls of candy and soft drinks that people set up outside the gates of all the school.  It's like the good old days of the 70s and early 80s in Australia.  Before mother's groups fucked up all our tuckshops by banning cream buns, mixed lollies and choc-wedges.  Anyway, there's only one more month of school to go before the summer holidays.  Surely I won't have to be involved in anything else......Help me.......Jesus.

Nothing will make me leave here again.....