Seasons

Well the seasons turn again and the first of the huge, majestic, leatherback turtles pootled up our beach the other day. Lovely. Bit tough getting the shell off but after that delicious, few French fries, bit of broccoli and stuffing. Alright I didn’t really eat it... I just ate the eggs...

It’s one of the pleasures of living with our lovely rescue dog... Big Joe... that he needs a walk down the beach morning and evening. It makes for a contemplative and picturesque bookend to the day. Well I say a ‘walk’ with Joe, really it’s more of a mobile dig. Being largely American Mastiff, with a bit of Bloodhound and pothound (the local dog ‘breed’ – it means potluck) he is very nose oriented so walks with his head down constantly trying to snuffle up something.

He is very adept at locating crabs hidden well below the sand, so every few yards we stop whilst he re-inacts scenes from Colditz and tries to borrow his way through to the hapless little crab who in turn re-inacts scenes from The Great Escape and tries to get the hell out of there! So far the score is crabs 6,897 Joe 2. He is rubbish. What makes us howl with laughter is the totally baffled look on his face when they disappear. They were there then they’ve gone. What is going on??? His whole head crumples in bemusement with layer upon layer of forehead and neck swinging wildly around as he tries to relocate them.

We have also had our first high season - well Kitty has - I don’t have anything to do with it really... and she had 15 weeks of paying guests from a standing start which is very good. And with one exception they have all been charming people who it was a pleasure to meet. We’ve had Germans and Americans and Canadians and some Brits of course and we’ve managed to convert them to fans of Grenada or more specifically North Grenada which is the best bit! We only had one appalling whinging tosser... and I’m ashamed to say he was a British. We expect better, really we do! I am so glad I don’t live inside his sad little universe. The sun was too bright... I kid you not. Not too hot but too bright. The waves were too loud! His hire car had 58,000 miles on it – far too many... the food was foreign so we sent him to our friend’s restaurant where they do some English dishes as well as local. He said grudgingly “It was very nice but you can eat that kind of food in England!” Yes – we seem to remember that lobster was always prepared 3 different ways on the menus at our local pubs in England.

Despite repeated suggestions, they said they didn’t want to swim on the beach. It’s not like it’s a long walk... the swimming area is basically adjacent to the bottom of our garden, it fills the bloody horizon, it’s not like we are suggesting a trip to the North Pole. Kitty told them how wonderful it is... but no - they were perfectly happy with the pool. Of course, the day before they left they went for a swim in the sea and raved about it and he then told Kitty that ‘You really ought to tell guests about how wonderful it is... they won’t know if you don’t tell them. You need to market these things”. No, I need to beat you to death with a baseball bat. AAAGHHHHHHHHH!

One of our first guests was a delightful couple. As they were leaving she casually mentioned that she was in travel PR so went all over the world staying in lovely hotels and villas. I didn’t let this new information shake me for a moment. I know how to handle myself in these situations. I just got down on my knees and begged her not to write anything negative about us. A tear drop down my cheek as I manfully clawed at her ankle. “Please... please... we did our best, we’ve had terrible luck with the builder, please you’ll ruin us” I squalled.

I usually find this forthright, manly approach works well with people. Get to the core of the issue quickly. Happily she said, as I got up off my knees and tried to regain some shred of dignity, that they had just come from Barbados and a very expensive villa but that Moonfish was far nicer and “the setting was one of the best she had ever been too”.

My dear old ex boss Dick Hedger came over with his family and we had a grand time reminiscing about the old days of advertising when it was still all done on gut instinct and creativity ruled. Sadly Dick didn’t recall - or maybe he just said he didn’t - some of the legendry stories about him. He had a hugely successful career and ran mega agencies but stuck to a simple two pronged business strategy. “Well business is simple, really, Matey” he told me as a young sprog, desperately trying to work out how to make it in that seeming complex and cut throat world. “Really” he continued “there are only two strategies you need in business... bung more money at them or just tell them to fuck off”. And, do you know, he was right.

My other favourite Dick story involved a big preproduction meeting with at least 15 people sitting round the table discussing a forth coming commercial. The conversation went like this:

Dick

Who do you fancy for this one then Mate?

Me

I was thinking maybe of Peter Cook (a huge comedic celeb at the time and a choice that got lots of nods around the table)

Dick

No bloody good at all Mate. No you don’t want him. I’ll tell you who you need to get. Peter Sellers. He’d be bloody marvellous for this

Me

He’s dead, Dick

Dick

Don’t bloody nitpick, mate - now what about locations....

Brilliant. Not even a breath before responding and making me look like the small minded git who lets insignificant details get in the way of the big picture! I swear a good number of heads turned towards me with scorn written all over their faces whilst tut tutting under their breath. (I should point for the sake of historical accuracy that they didn’t actually have the word scorn written all over their faces!)

And this afternoon my big brother left having been here for 2 weeks with his family. We will miss them. They, too, are converts and managed to balance the options nicely. Plenty of lying round the pool and swimming in the sea but also lots of visits to plantation houses, historical sites, other beaches, a trip round the whole island and my brother bravely, even joined in with the local Hash... it’s a kind of drinking club with a walking problem... in so much as they go off on long runs up hills and down dales and then get hog-whimperingly drunk afterwards. Sounds like a jolly afternoons fun! My insane mate James not only does the hash but rode to it from the other end of the island on his bike... that’s bicycle not motor bike... and he rode over Grand Etang, the spectacular mountain range that sits in the centre of the island. Some of the inclines have my SUV struggling so how he does it on a bike is beyond me. Well what is really beyond me is why he does it!!

Perhaps the sweetest moment of their visit was whilst we were down at Prickly Bay...one of the local Marinas that has a great band who play every Friday. It’s a great scene, everyone mixing happily together, no entry fee, no dress code. You get everyone from Sea Gypsies, to superyacht owners (one of the largest sailing yachts in the world is moored in Port Louis at the moment... it’s over 300 feet and yet so tasteful and elegant) to students, to ordinary yachties, to locals, to expats and even film stars/celebs... and yes, don’t sneer, even little Grenada gets stars. Yes we do! We just don’t shout about it like vulgar places like Barbados! In the last 5 months we’ve had Sean Connery, Mariah Carey, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Johnny Depp, Oprah (she doesn’t need a surname... and she is apparently now building a house here) and my personal favourite, Morgan Freeman, who sails down by himself from Savannah to Grenada most years... so there!

Anyway back to the tale, we are dancing away - well I am, my brother is wisely sitting it out - but one of the few bits of advice I’ve ever given to m kids is that if you get a chance to sit it out or dance then dance... and if you dance, dance like nobody is watching. I know I do! So my sister in law is dancing away with us when suddenly, unasked, her 19 year old son comes up and for the first time in his life dances with his Mum. A diamond moment, I thought...it’s a kind of rites of passage when you stop being embarrassed by your parents’ dancing and just join in. Fabulous.

Anyway time for a bit more turtle soup... oh, what a giveaway!

PS Kitty has just put up our new website... http://www.moonfish.info/

PPS Kitty here - may I point out for the avoidance of doubt that Russ is only joking about eating turtle eggs, turtle soup or any form of turtle... I've had some complaints!