SF. Pt. 26 Caribbean wind.

Even when you get away you still sometimes have to get away. Life is like that. I mean you have to be somewhere. I can always get the boat out but I still have to go from somewhere to somewhere else. There has to be a destination. It would be nice just to drift aimlessly but there is no random when you’re in a boat. On a boat random puts you on the rocks. Currents, riptides, sudden squalls, all have to be taken into account. There’s a bottomless pit just off to the side. Or an Oscar down at the pool all day drinking, farting and scratching his crotch. Narrating it all can be stressful.

So, in keeping with the nautical theme, I decide to take a few of the girls out for a little sail. Normally I don’t bother with the tourist places. But I’ve got a soft spot for the island of Jost Van Dyke. It’s an easy sail. I’m not one of these New Age types but I know the Hand of Destiny when I feel it on my knee. And them Caribbean winds still blow, from Nassau to Mexico, fanning the flames in the furnace of desire.

Jost Van Dyke was named after a Dutch pirate. We headed round to Foxy’s beach and found a lot of boats already there. The moorings were all taken so we dropped anchor in the sand. You have to be careful where you drop your hook in BVI these days because they try to protect the coral.

First time I saw Foxy was with Samantha on our honeymoon. He was just a bloke with a guitar singing calypsos on the beach. His wife Tessa was selling lemonade from a makeshift stall under a palm tree. Hang on…come to think of it I was the one suggested he open a proper bar. Now look, they’ve got a bar spread across half the beach. Yachties everywhere eating and drinking. Further down the beach a big party is going on. It looks like Jimmy Buffet, Bob Dylan and that lot.

Foxy’s got an amazing memory too. He spots me in the shallow water and comes running down the beach. Dick!!! How are you man…long time no see!!I could get all nostalgic and soppy here if I’m not careful. Hard not to with Foxy hugging me and Tessa waving from the bar. The memories come flooding back.

‘How are you then Foxy?’ I ask when he’s got me sitting back at the bar. ‘And who’s this?’ I point to a life-size model of Foxy playing his guitar.
‘That Epoxy Foxy Dick. He takes care of the place when I’m not around. So how’s life Dick? You looking good.’
‘Very nice Foxy. Got a good boat. Good little crew.’
I can’t fool Foxy. And he’s too smart to ask about Samantha. But I’m not.
‘Was she here?’
‘Oh she been a few times Dick. Got a surprise for you.’
‘Dick!!!’
Somebody is approaching from the beach. Bugger me it’s Simon, or a very good copy thereof.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just popped down. I was in New York. Doing Letterman.’
‘Didn’t know you were like that.’
‘The show Dick, the show. What about you?’
‘I’ve been living down here. Remember Oscar? I keep my boat on his island. I just sail around. That’s my crew having a swim.’
‘Thai?’
‘Right.’
‘Is Oscar still doing porn?’
‘Flogging used mechanical cane-cutters to Castro.’
‘That has a ring to it.’
A freighter is making its way slowly eastwards through the Francis Drake Channel.
‘He gets paid in Bacardi.’
‘Hi Simon,’ says a familiar whiny croaky voice.
‘Oh hi Bob, Bob Dick. Dick Bob.’
‘Bob.’ It’s him alright. Curly hair, hunted expression, Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts, skinny white legs, wispy beard, eyepatch, pirate hat (the Skull and Crossbones logo has been replaced by ‘God Made Me Do It.’). Simon knows everybody.
‘Dick. Are those your Thai girls?’
Just like that. Bit rude really. Hallo I think, here we go again.
‘How do you know they’re Thai?’ I ask.
‘Limey arsehole. Don’t get smart with me. Everybody knows Thai girls man.’ What!?! He’s drunk obviously. I just ignore it but he takes a kick at my leg. It doesn’t hurt. I could give him a good right-hander in the gob but I just shove him lightly instead and down he goes.

A crowd is gathering the way they do when there’s a fight. There’s a lot of tut-tutting from the yachties but nobody does much. Mostly people just shuffle around looking embarrassed. It’s not much of a punch-up.

‘What’s goin on here?’ says Foxy. ‘Bob hit Dick first,’ says someone. Bob’s rolling around on the ground muttering something about a Christmas Album. I hardly bloody touched him! Jimmy Buffet helps him up. Foxy is bringing me a drink. Then Jimmy Buffet has his arm round Dylan’s shoulder and he’s leading him away. Phew. It’s hard to believe it all happened. And all the time Simon’s got his cell-phone out. I’m wondering what it’s going to look like on Youtube.