Day 8: I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas
No big deal, though. Nothing is open on Christmas day, anyway. And you can sit outside, under cover, and it's perfectly pleasant, watch the ocean, down some rum, and scribble scribble scribble.
Christmas dinner we had an open house; for us, our hosts, Reggie (the Sargent's property manager), his fourteen-year old daughter Cassandra, and Caroline. Reggie was shy and seemed a little uncomfortable. Caroline was the first white person I've heard talk with a Tobagan accent; she was born here and has lived here all her life, except for college in Canada. Nice dinner; I peeled the potatoes, as befits an Irishman, but it didn't get me out of paying the bill.