So as you may know, we have to vacate the island every 90 days. Our tourist visa runs out and needs to be renewed by staying away for a period of twenty four hours or greater. It's not a bad idea getting off the island because you can become quite complacent, and that’s definitely NOT what we want to happen. So... Dyana went on the internet looking and we both decided that the easiest place to go was the British Island of Anguilla. It’s one of those places where you even drive on the left side of the road; albeit in a left hand drive car. So the driver, instead of being in the centre of the road, is nearest the pavement, or as my American friends call it... the sidewalk. The colourful Arawak Beach Inn was charming. Lovely octagonal rooms all highly
decorated and painted up in Caribbean colours . That is to say mauves, pinks, reds, pastel yellows and of course not forgetting the various shades of blues. Sounds awful, but as someone once said, "never let the lack of one colour of paint spoil or mar the joy of having a great decorating session." The reality is though that it’s quite wonderful. And not at all English! Well, as you will see from the photos, our veranda overlooked the bay and Scilly Cay. Definitely NOT to be confused with the Scilly Isles off the southern tip of Cornwall in England. Our Scilly Cay
had only one restaurant, one beach and one disco. The interesting part was actually getting on to it. Customers, or I should really call the prospective customers have to walk onto the beach, wave both arms in the air like a demented demon hoping to attract the boatman on the island who will then set sail for the small jetty where you board for the five minute ride. Returning is
much easier as you can simply talk to the captain. Luckily we did not manage to attract his attention and went somewhere else instead arriving back home about eleven o’clock and just as the heavens opened in as they say down here ... in biblical proportions. It rained so hard it came right through our shingled roof, blew off the mosquito screens and really rattled the entire structure making seem to squirm and squeak on its very foundations. It went on for hours.
Fortunately not forty days and forty night though. The music on the island immediately stopped as the rain began and I pitied all those poor souls getting totally and drenched is definitely not the correct word it was raining sooo hard! The following morning was as if nothing had happened at all; except for the enormous puddle right outside our front door which I stepped into! And
headed off to the beach. Along the way saw a place we’d been to about eight or so years ago. If any of you have looked at travel brochures for this part of the world, they will all show you Sandy Island. It’s one of those totally iconic places. About two hundred yards long; fifty or so wide; one bar; four palm trees; crystal clear water; and not forgetting the soft white sand. And yes, it actually exists. It’s not something made up by some young geek on his computer using Photoshop or anything like that! My mind went back to that day when we actually went there . We were staying on a crewed fifty foot catamaran with our kids, Alex & Carla. The captain, (a completely mad South African who has as much regard for health and safety as a XXXXXXXXX). Well, Captain Frank decided we needed some ice for the boat. And the only place was the bar
on Sandy Island. Alex & I were press ganged into being his crew on the small twelve foot inflatable. (We’d have gone willingly anyway.) So, leaving the Cat headed towards the beach about one hundred and fifty yards away. Captain Frank sitting at the back controlling the engine, and us jolly souls on either side towards the front. Captain Frank had the throttle control fully open and we were going along very nicely. Closer.... closer..... and I looked round to see if he was going to swerve and veer away at the last moment.... or.... perhaps cut the engine completely and simply beach us. But oh no! He had other ideas... we were going to ram the beach. Now that’s a novel idea if ever I’ve heard one. “Hang on tightly!’ he shouted above the whining engine noise .. “We’re going to beach it.” So beaching it took on an entirely new meaning. We hit the beach going flat out. And with his usual deftness lifted the engine as
we rammed the shore. The dinghy bounced once; twice... up into the air again settling on the beautiful white soft sand. “No need for the anchor up here,” he chirped looking back towards the sea. The bar was totally rudimentary. The long bar was beneath palm fronds for a ceiling; about twenty bar stools all slowly rusting away, a couple of heavy wooden tables and a few more chairs. And, at one end of the bar a huge parrot cage, its door wide open and a scrawled hand
written sign saying ' Please do not feed the bird.’ What bird? Definitely no parrot. In any case, the cage door was wide open. “Where’s the bird?” I asked quite casually as if there would be some sort of sensible answer. “Well,” the owner said as he shoveled ice into plastic
bags.  “He used to live in his cage... and most afternoons when the boaties (people who live on their boats) came by for their sundowners; they’d sit at this long bar supping away with nuts and
stuff like that! Well, the bird would climb out of its cage onto the end of the bar .” Now you have to imagine this in your mind’s eye. “He’d stand at one end... eyeing the other end and all the glasses filled with alcohol in between. And he’s waddle up to the first class... look at the owner of that particular glass, and swiftly dip his beak into it and have a little drink. Quite often,
they’d throw him a few nuts as well because it was such a novelty to see. Then he’d go to the next glass on the counter.... and so on and on. Sometimes he made it to the end of the bar, but most often he’s simply fall over and I’d gently pick him up and put him back on the floor of his cage. Well he became ill.” (No wonder I thought.) “And the vet said he’d have to stop drinking.” Now that’s something I’d never ever thought I’d hear. A vet telling a parrot’s owner to stop it drinking! But it’s quite true. Hence the sign! Anyway, the parrot became totally annoyed at the loss of his ‘nightly enjoyment’ and flew up into the fronds, and was refusing to come down. Now if that’s not a petulant parrot, I don’t know what is. Any we filled up the bags with ice, carried them back to the dinghy and set off back to the catamaran . So seeing Sandy Island again made me wonder whatever happened to the parrot. Now here’s something for the art aficionado’s. There is a very famous artist called Escher. He did drawing of the most impossible things, very much like Heath Robinson. Well, Escher did a drawing of a waterfall running down several flights of stairs, and would you believe it.... ending up at the original height again. A brilliant optical illusion. Well, on Anguilla, an architect is designing a building which looks so similar in design I just had to take a photo; hope you like it.

And now for something quite different. It’s Carnival time again on the island. That wonderful time when people (mainly women) dress up in fantastic costumes; and the whole island comes to a complete stand still during the three days of total celebration. This year we went with friends and sat in a ‘Lolo’. A small (and I use the word quite loosely you must understand) cafe which is locally owned and locally run. Generally speaking, they’re really good, and the food is quite tasty . This year they excelled in all the sound systems. Not happy with the thousand watts of ear shattering sound from last year, this time they managed to go, oh! How can I put it.... incandescently white hot would be a good term. So forewarned is forearmed and Dyana & I had wonderful ear plugs. And luckily we did so. Not content with having to have special generators
to give the ‘correct’ amount of power for the walls of speakers facing forwards on the enormous trucks; they have now found a way to put speakers down the entire lengths of the vehicles AS WELL! I suppose to make sure anyone standing at the side could hear their music? Maybe?
So standing on the pavement was like being on the inside of a huge base drum with the huge base speakers blaring. But having said all this, it was a most fantastic affair. The floats were brilliantly adorned with all sorts of colourful decorations. The people came not only from our island, but from many neighbouring ones to join in the total revelry. All trying hard to outdo the
others . And it all added to the brilliant atmosphere. It must have taken at least two hours for them just to pass where we were standing. I’m sorry about the sound quality on the video. I now realise that camera’s microphones are not designed for such loud white hot noises and simply cannot cope. I hope you like all the photos as well. Something you are quite permitted to do is leap into the carnival and have your picture taken with whoever you want. Or... if your fancy takes you, you can dance in the street, or if you’re really brave, you are even allowed to pick up a carnivalee and have your picture taken with her. And this is exactly what one of our friends did. Hope you like the pictures.