An overcast morning allowed the group to go for a walk to find out what was going on for themselves. This was an opportunity for me to grumble to an audience about the mess they were making of my island. The audience was not particularly receptive to my grizzling and threw bits of coconuts at me in an attempt to stop the whining.
In the afternoon, Floss and I walked along the beach path in the opposite direction where there was less film detritus, but enough for a bit of a moan. We played with a cat and two beautiful grey kittens in the grounds of the small mosque before continuing past the new microwave tower to the local village. Here too, there were signs of development with bulldozers, piles of rocks, concrete drain pipes and the constant sounds of chainsaws from chaps cutting along the lengths of trees that used to be as wide as cars. Still, at least they were making good use of the material.
Just as we returned to the huts, an impressive storm unleashed itself over the island. This must have been an ideal scenario for the Survivor producers as the contestants struggled to cope with the torrential rain and wind.
On the subject of wind, our Flossie was suffering from a bit of a backup in that department. She had taken three pills from Mrs M’s travelling apothecary, so there was potential for something quite nasty. With some relief, after visiting the garish ladies toilets after dinner, she reported that disaster had been averted. We could sleep soundly that night.
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