A Caribbean Memory

Sometimes my mind suddenly picks me up and dumps me into a moment in the past, today's effort, in a chill world of melting slush and grey skies, being particularly cruel, for the grey porridge that is my brain chose a place on Jamaica's southeast coast, a small holiday resort called Blue Mahoe to which we escaped, as often was we could afford it, from the daily hassle that was life in the capital, Kingston. There were only three cottages, our fellow escapees were almost all European expatriates, our two girls had other children to play with, and we felt disgustingly privileged.

Life centred around a big pool, though one of the cottages had its own small pool as well. The water in the pool seemed always at a perfect temperature, the other guests interesting, time seems to flow by very gently, and there was a fridge where one could keep the dumpies of Red Stripe beer. The outlook from the far end of the pool was....

....south across an enclosed bay protected by a coral reef, there was a small beach where the children could play on the sand, and where there were shells like conches and helmets to be picked up. If we could find the energy there was a tennis court, and if one was very fortunate either the owner of the resort or Horace the caretaker might take one out in the boat to enjoy some fishing.

We spent one Christmas at Blue Mahoe and it seemed totally strange not to be in a place which was cold and snowy, opening presents around a roaring log fire but, given the choice today, I know where I would rather be.