Milly wants to do some ironing today, but is thwarted in her efforts because someone has nicked the iron which was on the veranda. She particularly wanted to iron the sheets. This is lovely when they are crisp linen or cotton in an expensive hotel, but raggy nylon that’s seen better days doesn’t really warrant it.
The office is furnished with beautiful hardwood chairs. They are stunning to look at, but ridiculously uncomfortable. I think Health & Safety (were there such a thing here) would have a field day. My arse is completely numb by mid-afternoon, so I take a wander over to what is affectionately termed ‘the market’. There are two shops selling cooking oil and warm Coke, and a trestle table with the day’s vegetables. I buy some onions and tomatoes and just as I’m leaving I am accosted by a drunk. He demands money. I suggest that he must have plenty of money because he can afford to drink. He stares goggle-eyed at me and then grunts in agreement. He is clutching something in a plastic bottle that looks like a luminous green version of Sunny Delight. But given the state he’s in I wonder if it’s some form of local absinthe?