Awesome




Sunbeam - a Tortola Sloop (that's Sunny Jim waving) on Sunday

 
This is a quick post, as I'm squeezing it in amongst work and choosing fabric for the new sitting room, as our laptop at home has died (of exhaustion, I think). Bit of a disaster to say the least, but help is hopefully soon on the way in the form of a new one. One good reason to be a hop, skip & jump away from the US.

We had a lovely weekend, even though Tyler worked pretty much all of it. He didn't work either Friday or Saturday night so maybe Bill Marriott had read my rant. Saturday was the usual (sailing) and Sunday was also the usual (sailing) but this time on Tortola Sloops, the traditional boats built here all out of wood. James & Georgie sailed in a classics regatta off Little Thatch and had a great time. All very 'Swallows and Amazon'ish". Just as well the boys really like sailing, although I suppose there's also surfing. It would be a bit dire for all if they didn't like either of these!

On Sunday we loaded up the two cars and went over to the new house. It was a lovely evening so we stayed for sundowners at a little beach bar and watched the fishermen come in. Idyllic, really.

We're about to go off-line as we have a seriously busy 10 days ahead of us - moving and also working on the bakery. We are both on leave next week and the next time I post, we should be in the new house.

Totally awesome (as James would say).

PS: I'm going to be back in London on the 15th March and in SA until the 24th. 

Coming along

Wickhams Cay 11 New Building: OBMI design plus my whimsical scribbles

You'll see I've been fiddling around with the blog design. It's not there yet, but I'll keep working at it. I feel like I'm becoming a "web mistress" ("web widow" more like it) with lots of evenings spent on my own clicking away at buttons whilst we continue to look for 'our' webdesigner (please refer any if you have). However, I lack even basic skills and usually end up in a terrible mess, as you can see from the blog!

It's been a good week. Tyler and I went diving on Tuesday for Valentines Day, off the back of Cooper Island. Our second dive was one of the best ever and we even got to see a Lion Fish (which you are allowed to spear here as they are invasive). The rest of the day was spent with the kids (and me missing my hair appointment - don't even go there) and in the evening we watched the latest Masterchef and "Moneyball". By our standards, an excellent day!

James has been away for most of the week at his Grade 5 Camp on St Johns, USVI. He took about 300 photos, which I'll download and post 1 or 2 here. I don't think he has wrenched himself out of Tweeniedom just yet. When asked about anything ("how was the food?" Awesome. "How were the hikes?" Awesome. "How were the tents?" Awesome) so hopefully by the weekend we will be able to have a conversation with joined-up sentences.  

On Monday, the first of our moves happened to Carrot Bay and all our storage has been sent over the mountain; about 100 boxes (at least half are books) which I cannot wait to unpack. We do the big move on Monday 27th Feb and Tyler and I have both taken the week off to settle in and catch up on a million errands that never seem to happen. Things are starting to happpen.

We also need some big chunks of focused time to get cracking with the set-up of the Bakery, which is now a few bricks high and hopefully still on track. It's super-tiny, as you can see, but is just our little starter  'factory'. The minute we have got that up & running, we have our beady eyes on the bakery-food-deli-outlet - which we have found, but just need to do some begging and pleading to convice the owners that we are a good idea.

Not much plannned for the weekend - sailing, packing and the usual.

Hanging in there

Squirrel from 'Ice Age'

OK, this is me today.

Only 2 more days till my hair appointment. 16 days till we move to our new house. 75 days until the bakery opens.

I'm not wishing away time, but I'm tired of trotting out cottage pie and pouring a million cups of orange juice. I'm sick of treading on children underfoot and nagging at them to tidy up their bedrooms, pick up their wet towels off  the floor and to do their flipping homework and piano practise. If they want to end up as uneducated beach bums, there's plenty of that kind of work around here for them. I could then furnish my new house like an Oliver Messel villa, and not have to worry about the extortionate school fees any more.  We'd all be happy.

Things will definetly improve, I know, but it's Sunday afternoon and I've had enough!

Bad Hair Day

Until we moved to the island I thought a Bad Hair Day was when you had lost your hairbrush or were just having a lousy day in general. Bad Hair Day here has taken on a far greater significance and should in fact be renamed Bad Hair Week or even Bad Hair Month. I'm seriously considering taking out some of my party wigs. Maybe the fun Afro one.

The Jackie O Bad Hair Deep Disguise

There are really only two salons (plus 1 mobile stylist who is brilliant) who can do 'expat' hair. Problem is with Tyler's revolting hours, working & kids I only have about a 2 hour window when all the stars align so that I can have some highlights.

You have no idea how hard this is to arrange. The waiting lists are always long and none of the  "can I come in at 3 next Tuesday?" but rather a major rethink and reshuffle of your life in order to manage the single opportunity offered up, convenient or not. 

Hairdresser A cancelled (yes, I know it's meant to be the other way around) twice in a row on me - and this was after a 2 week wait, at which stage I went to Hairdresser B, who can only really cut hair super-short and nuke it a rather tiresome orangey-blonde colour. After the usual 30 minutes of reading 2008 Cosmopolitans and a failure to find my card ("what's your name again?") I generally end up feeling the middle-aged desperado I look by the time I finally get to the salon.

Anyhow this week - after almost 18 months of impeccable behaviour on my part, I had the audacity to be 20 minutes late (after a client meeting overshot) for my long-anticipated appointment. Cue for snooty Hairdressr B to inform me that I had missed my slot and forgone my chance. I went "ballistic" (boys favourite term for me) the minute the phone went down and demanded of my husband that he drive me to the airport so that I could fly to Puerto Rico (he reminded me that the hairdressers can only speak Spanish there) at which point  I demanded Miami. I wanted a salon with champagne and glitz, with lots of hunky hairdressers called Gavin and loud disco anthems. Now. Today.

Of course I've had to go back to Hairdresser A, wait another week for an appointment and she has already, rather ominously asked me for my cell number "in case of cancellations". Better bloody not.

Otherwise it's the Afro wig for me, which is going to look really odd at my next client meeting.

Chefs are Heroes

My Hero

I've just had one of those rather depressing early evenings: scrapping kids with wailing and tears topped by a super-calorific stodgy supper chosen to cheer up the boys and add another 5kgs to their moribund mother's hips. The boys are now watching Rio, I'm on the internet and things are calming down.

Why?

Because Thursday evening for us is like a Monday. The good times have gone as Tyler disappears off on his mega-shift until Monday evening and he gets to work 3 nights in a row (Thurs, Fri & Sat) with the double whammy of a Sat Night/Sunday Day Shift Combo (he gets home at   1:30am Sunday morning and is up again at 4:30am). You try and keep that up month after month after month. Believe me it's a super-human effort and I only get to moan about it, not even stand on my feet for 2 days straight with 3 hours sleep in between.

Tyler, as you know, is the very last person to feel hard done by and will be appalled that I'm even posting this, but I just feel quite strongly for all those millions of chefs around the world who work these insane hours, get paid absolute peanuts and never see their families. Apart from the 2 weekends we had last summer holiday, Tyler has not spent a single full weekend with his boys since we have lived on the island, which is almost 18 months (and this is someone who actually likes spiritual duty on a Sunday). He has worked through Easter, Christmas Day, New Years Day and hurricanes and until his back finally conked out last week, had not missed a day.

So I'm getting my soap box and megaphone out for all the hotel owners out there (yes that includes you BILL MARRIOTT): When are you going to realise that your value largely depends on your restaurants and that your chefs are your greatest assets? Apart from the TV prima-donnas and the rockstars featured in Food & Wine (all of whom would have paid their dues, mind you), 98% of chefs are of the incredibly-long-hours variety, working in every kitchen of every restaurant you ever eat in, not seeing their families over the weekends.

Have you noticed that when someone works a tough job with long hours and little pay, it's suddenly called a 'vocation'? Why is it that the very people who keep as safe, feed us, teach us and nurse us are not paid like investment bankers - whose contribution to society is minimal, at best, and is certainly not in line with their compensation. 'Why Mommy?' as William would say, "Why?"

Anyway, I'll pack away my little soapbox now and get back to my website designs, cash flows and heads of terms which are going to sail us out of this miserable state of affairs. The bakery building is coming along nicely, but has sadly been pushed back to May : (

Last night (Sunday/Wednesday) we had sundowners on the deck of our new house with camping chairs & coolbox as we watched the sun set in chocolate box glory. We will now be living on the north side of the island (we only have Pink Hour on the southside) and we are so looking forward to it.

Balcony Life

The person who is going to miss our little yellow house more than anyone else is Jasmine the African Grey Parrot, who was schlepped all the way across the Atlantic, at great cost, but is in fact her fathers only daughter and much loved (not I have to say by me).

Anyhow, Jasmine is just about the happiest 9 year old parrot on the planet. She gets to swing around in her cage all day on a lovely, sunny balcony looking down on everything and surrounded by barking dogs, swaying banana trees. endless clucking chickens, Mimi the Cat, kids, adults watching 'pink hour', Rasta gardeners, weedeaters, yet more kids, a few visiting dogs and even more chickens. It is parrot heaven. 

African Greys really begin to start talking around 10 years of age and Jasmine is cranking up.  She's got Tyler's battered old Nissan reverse-squeeling up the driveway down pat, various cellphones, UPS's, dishwashers and any domestic appliance that beeps, on a loop. She can imitate the yappy Yorkies from a few houses away, the neighbouring Pitbull and best of all is her Mimi Standup Routine which goes along the lines of:

" Mimi? Mimi? Meouw! (snide cat imitation)
Mimi? MEEEOOUUUWWWWW!!!
Hahahahhahaha (demented laughter as finds imitation hilarious whilst the cat studiously ignores her)
MeeeeeeMmmmmeeeeeee?????
Mimi?
MIMI!! EAT YOUR BREAKFAST NOW!!!!!!"
(Cat walks off).

We also have verbatum conversations: Phone rings  - "Hi, Tyler speaking...well thanks and you....oh hahhhaha... uhmm...uhmmm... yes no problem...ohh hehheeheh, that's fine too" etc. We get the entire conversation every time the phone rings. Everytime. Plus the phone ring too.

A couple of weeks ago - during an interminably long weekend of Tyler away working - I got tired of her screeching (she has the gaul -after screeching her head off to mutter "Jasmine stop screeching. No more screeching" and then laughs - hahahhahahahahah) she said - very quietly -  "bugger off" after I had yelled at her.
Well, we all stopped dead in our tracks, and I even said to the boys "what did she just say" and George piped up "She said Bugger Off, Mummy" and so for good measure, because we all laughed and Jasmine likes nothing more than an appreciative audience - she bellowed out "BUGGER OFF MIMI"  (cat looked a bit startled on this one).

 Maybe you will understand my New Years resolution a bit more now. It's not just the kids.

Carrot Bay House also has a lovely balcony but no chickens or dogs (thank goodness) only the  sound of the sea and waving palm trees. It is however very villagey and islandy, so can't wait for Jasmine to start speaking West Indian.