Monday 19th July
I have to admit that the bad weather on Saturday caused our spirits to sink down to dangerous levels, simply as it seemed that we were destined for three weeks of the same, and our much looked forward to summer holiday would be ruined.
But yesterday we had unbroken sunshine from dawn till dusk, and despite both me and Mrs Muck being beige, we both got burnt to a degree. We were on the beach from about 7.30 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon- over eight hours of scorching Caribbean sunshine pounding down on our poor European bodies, so it’s not really surprising that we got a little singed. Mrs Muck came off worst though (well, now she’s got her British passport she is a stereotypical English rose, so I shouldn’t really be surprised) and today is more tender than a slow roasted lamb that’s had 40 lashes.
Today is another scorcher, and we spent the morning on our local beach, before taking a walk west along the coast, strolling at the water’s edge along deserted palm fringed beaches, until we found a beach bar belonging to the Coconut Court hotel. We arrived with five minutes of happy hour to spare, and ordered two rum punches, the traditional Bajan cocktail. Cor, it was strong, and in combination with the midday sun (and possible sunstroke), Mrs Muck was decidedly merry. In fact rum is about the only thing that’s cheap in Barbados. I mean, things here are ridiculously dear. But rum flows like water, and is almost as cheap. The famous local brand is called Mount Gay, which had Handy’s eyes lighting up. He has gone off today to see if there are any dogging areas next to the distillery, and told us not to expect him back until he has had his fill. The mind boggles and the skin crawls..
The nice staff here at the beach bar decreed that as we had spent some money at the bar we could use the sunloungers for free.
So, of course, we did, and now we are no doubt in the middle of gaining some serious second degree burns, dozing in the afternoon sun. The beach we’re on is amazing. White sanded, palm fringed, and deserted. If this is a stereotype, then cliché me to death mother fucker, I’m in heaven!