The Lot's Wife's Sanction!

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The Lot’s Wife’s Sanction



What a full and interesting week in St Helena. Those of you still waiting to hear of my professional work will, I’m afraid, have to remain frustrated as I am sworn to secrecy ….



So you will have to suffice with my diary of events since I last communicated via the blog.



Firstly the tale of the disappearing felix – Wahoo has been and gone on several occasions – each time returning with his snarl and demand for food before retreating into the wilderness of New Ground. It is now Tuesday and I haven’t seen him since last Thursday – I trust that he is safe and will return at some stage. The ‘Lost’ notice has been placed once again on his owner’s house and the local vet has been informed. I promise, Owen, that I did not drive him away – I have even kept his cat tray full and clean for him.



Ballroom dancing continues but with only one more session before the instructor disappears to the UK to purchase further Victor Sylvester discs for us to practice on. I have purchased from Jean a CD of dance tracks to practice with but, unfortunately, I have had a touch of Quickstep (or perhaps Rumba) Knee so I have not picked up my kitchen chair as a practice partner yet.



The Governor’s Garden Party was thoroughly charming with people making an effort to dress up, chat and sup under a beautiful awning in the grounds of Plantation House with a brass band playing melodiously in the background. A nice speech from the Governor (who seems very adept at getting things just right on these occasions) and presentations of awards for long-term service in the public service. Wonderful afternoon!



Prior to the Garden Party your intrepid commentator had braved all that the South Atlantic could throw at him on embarking on a fishing expedition. The sun beat mercilessly down and the small vessel tossed and turned on the endless sea as we looked for that creature of the deep that was destined to meet its Nemesis that morning. Some of you will not be surprised (because of my success last year) that fishing comes naturally to me so it was to the usual applause and congratulations that I fought, just like that hero of the Hemingway novella, against all odds to bring in, not one, but two Wahoo onto the deck after a tortuous struggle. So, success at the ballroom and the wide-open ocean – is there nothing that can stop your correspondent’s successful trail through the South Atlantic region?



Well, Sunday was an opportunity to have a go at one of the Box Walks – the feared ‘Lot’s Wife’s Pond’ walk. At this stage I need to remind some of you that I ducked out of the opportunity last year to face this challenge – what with the narrow ledges and the steep decline to the beach at the end of the walk. However, with the ‘live in the moment’ approach to living out here, I said ‘yes’ to the opportunity before engaging any part of my brain.



Now, by now, you are probably wondering about the title to this blog entry. The sharper of you will already thinking about Clint Eastwood’s character in the ‘Eiger Sanction’ movie – a remarkably silly story that requires Clint to climb one of the world’s severest mountains to uncover the identity of a spy. Well, no spies uncovered on this journey. However, those of you with similar interests will recollect that Clint was encouraged in his training for the climb by the use of the absurdly attractive daughter of his coach encouraging Clint to further efforts by remaining always a few steps ahead of him up and down the mountain paths.



Well, I thought that a similar ploy was being used for us less fit members of the party. The equally absurdly attractive wife of the editor of the newly opened newspaper (and, yes, the soon to be opened radio stations – just wait, don’t be impatient for news) joined the climbing crew – camera ready for any action pictures of, mainly I’m sure, yours’ truly. I managed to tag along behind the reporter and engage her in sharp and wise conversation – at least for the first part of the trip. She was clearly impressed with my witty anecdotes and observations – she even had the good grace to comment that her husband had found my suggestions for a ‘Top Three’ radio programme very interesting and is actively considering giving it the go ahead once the channels are up and running – now which of you are surprised at this, thinking that that rather brusque reply to my suggestion was a brush off – no, really, his terse reply was simply hiding his disappointment at not coming up with the idea himself.



So, I clung on (metaphorically, of course) to the posterior of the beautiful news reporter as I clambered increasingly breathlessly towards the first of a number of summits. Rather disconcerting was the way in which at every stop she brought out her notebook and penciled in some observation that she had made. To cut a long story short, I survived the journey to the ponds with some ease (I exaggerate only a little) as the previously mentioned difficulties provided no real challenge to your correspondent. However, by the time I got down to the ponds I was completely knackered and fearful that I wouldn’t make the trek back!



I didn’t plunge into the rocky pools but sat back and quietly conserved my energy. Eventually, the other members of the group were ready for the return journey. Bit of a mixed bunch – as well as myself and the absurdly attractive reporter - the group included a couple of other non-athletes of a similar vintage, a couple of enthusiasts with all the right gear and a couple of ‘iron men’ who clearly ate mountains each day for breakfast. The journey back was a long slog and my increasingly tired limbs (+ Quickstep Knee) were threatening to go on strike. If there was any advantage in giving up, then I would have – but still that notebook kept coming out! It was only towards the end when the reporter clearly realized that there was not to be a scoop – ‘I was there when the mountain rescue crew were brought out to save aged English gentleman from the slopes’ – and that I and a couple of other extremely slow walkers were actually going to complete the trek - that the notebook was finally put away and she accelerated off with the more athletic members of the party. Not even a ‘thank you for your witticisms and observations on island life’ – by the time I arrived back at base camp she had disappeared – clearly rushing to make the late edition of the ‘Sentinel’ newspaper, out on Thursday. I shall be there to search through the editorials!

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Comments

[David R Turner]

Pleased to have your update, Michael. As you doubtless realise, as you gloat over the BBC weather reports, the rain in Shropshire continues unabated regardless of torches, jubilees or bowls engagements. Last evening's warm-up friendly was abandoned before the stalwart players left the changing room and instead there was a team-talk in the dog-free bar of the Gaskell Arms. It's good to learn that you are keeping in training. We'd hate to be handicapped by you not being match fit if you make the team for the 2013 season. It'll be interesting to know if your splendid "top three" suggestion makes it onto the South Atlantic airwaves. After all the criticism the BBC has attracted for its jubilee broadcasting, they're probably desperate for fresh blood and new ideas, so there may be a career in light entertainment awaiting your return to Blighty!