Downsides

Tuesday 3rd March 2009, day 227. 14° 04’.97 N, 060° 57’.43 W. Rodney Bay, St Lucia

A friend has begged for a blog on the downsides of our present life. So here are some of the things we miss:

You We miss you, the person reading this. We miss knowing what’s happening in your life, we miss chatting with you on the phone, we miss office gossip. We miss sharing your views of what’s happening in the world, we miss sharing the experience of passing through the current financial turmoil with you. We aren’t there to hear a terrible joke, sympathise at a boss’s obduracy, admire your children’s achievements. We don’t know how your planned career change is progressing, how your skiing holiday went, how you’re coping with your mother-in-law. We haven’t exclaimed together about the snow, or a friend’s new hair style, or the latest planning application. We’ve had some wonderful experiences, but you haven’t been there. We miss you.

Minor bits of news We get the big stuff, from the BBC website and papers brought by kind visitors. And that is very much a case of plus ca change, plus c’est exactement la même damn chose. Israel, Gaza, the economy, Russia, climate change, fraudulent tycoons, politicians sacrificing the long term common good for short term personal gain … we could be away for years and not really miss much. What we miss out on is the small stuff. We know about the pilot who crashed his plane into the Hudson, and the death of Paul Newman (and, more recently, Ivan Cameron). There are myriad other things of equal importance which have passed us by, and we will only find out about them years later. It’s these small things we don’t hear about that cut us off from you, because your world contains them and ours doesn’t.


Crème Fraîche Hasn’t been available since we left the European mainland. How I miss its smooth, modulated tartness. Sun-dried tomatoes too. And apples! They aren’t grown here (of course) so we occasionally treat ourselves to a bag flown in from Canada. Pleasant enough … if you like Golden Delicious and Pink Lady. And interesting cheeses (we can’t – or won’t – but in any case don’t pay £7 for a two-inch long piece of goat’s cheese in the occasional deli). On the subject of food, we’re probably going to have to miss going to Martinique and Guadeloupe, the French islands, because they’ve had – and are still in the throes of – a month-long general strike and have pretty much run out of everything – in addition to having riots and burning buildings and shooting policemen. The only creatures re-provisioning successfully are rats. There are stories of yachts being attacked for their stores – and when a Frenchman is sufficiently desperate to resort to violence to get hold of a six month old tin of Fray Bentos steak and kidney pudding, you know things are in a bad way. So no olive oil or Roquefort for us.

Hmm, complaining about a lack of fine cheeses – not much food for schadenfreude there. Back to more important things. [And, since this blog was first written, the strikes are over, so we shall get our foodie fix.]

Culture. We had a Sunday paper last week, and see there is a new Alan Bennett play (“killingly funny, wondrous”), and a new Alan Ayckbourn (“genius, brilliant”). The Talented Mr Ripley is being read on Radio 4, David Attenborough has a new wildlife series. Books are out about James Lovelock, unsolved mysteries of science, Queen Victoria’s girlhood. We haven’t discussed – let alone seen – and to be honest, have barely heard of – the Oscar shortlist. More importantly, we are distant from the ebb and flow of ideas, from the stimulation of being surrounded by thoughts and opinions, however daft or irritating some of them may be.


Washing machines and broadband Despite previous wailings on this subject, we’re getting used to working around what we have out here, rather than trying to replicate what we used to take for granted. Still, it was nice …

The Archers Actually, I’m coping without this. Will somebody just please let me know when Alistair finally dumps Shula?

Money Last on the list. Sure, it’s nice to have. And our finances, which were always going to be precarious, have been mashed just like everybody else’s. But somehow, out here, there is so much opportunity to be happy without spending (much) money. Just being. (And eating lentils, and making a beer last an hour.) Remind me of this thought, please, when I’m eighty, utterly skint, and living in a cold grotty one room flat. And when Tomia’s insurance comes up for renewal, and she tears a sail, all in the same week.


PS Anthony has reviewed this post, as always, and thinks that I need to point out that we are really having a great time, and are just trying to make you all feel a bit less jealous! I reckon that if the previous posts haven’t told you how much we’re enjoying ourselves, then I should give up any pretence of being able to string two words together. The downsides are real, but then so are all the pleasures.