It's hard to move from the balcony, somedays....

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I’ve just deleted my blog written last night, as being far to deep and silly, wittering on about my growing happiness with life generally.

Suffice to say I’m currently sitting on the balcony, contemplating whether to take the children to the beach (the weather is a bit patchy today).  I could do with some snoozing on a lounger, reading the Sunday Times from last week. But at the same time, a lovely lazy day at home could also be nice. Maybe bake some cookies, sort out the study, make cushion covers. Things like that. Or maybe I'll just carry on sitting on the balcony, have another cup of tea, read the paper here. Seems like a good compromise.

After trailing children around beauty salons and hairdressers last Saturday morning, we scrubbed up (ha ha – joke) and ferried off to Tyler's new hangout  where he is Sous Chef – for the Rotary Club gala bash at Scrub Island, and a very swishy and fun affair it was. Met the man himself, Richard Branson, who was as he always appears – scruffy, twinkly and bright and we chatted about South Africa and moving here. As you do.

The highlight of the weekend was the gorgeous spa on Sunday morning, which Tyler treated me to, and the best massage I think I’ve ever had. After that it took me about 3 hours to wake up and get myself back to Tortola and reality, cooking the Sunday Roast and washing up. As one does.

This week was a lightning speed half term, as we had to give up days that had been lost during the hurricane and flooding sagas’s at the beginning of last term. We went to Marina Cay, a lovely little island with an interesting history, which is still a bit of a time warp. A rather charming movie was made of it in the fifties with John Cassavetes and Sidney Poitier .  We did the usual football, sailing clubs, piano lessons, lunches. Tyler has been getting up at 4:30am, so we are completely zonked by 9pm in the evening and try hard not to go to bed.

It’s all rather humdrum,  in a high-speed island type of a way. You can be in a mad rush to pick up the kids because you’re late – but the car in front of you stops to chat to friends – so there you go – you’re late, but “wotchya gawna d’yaboudit?’ ‘Nuttin. This place grows on one.

Maybe starting to go a tad native? Probably time to get back to London & Johannesburg soon!