WARNING: Virtually no cursing in this post. Just love and a few mildly offensive images.
One of my Blighty Besties arrived on a jet plane. We’re like a contradictory version of Ab Fab’s Patsy and Eddie. I’m sober Patsy and she’s skinny Eddie.
We generally entertain ourselves by conversing with random strangers… And we have no preference.
Tuesday consisted of:
Meeting a handsome retired Colombian drug baron and his adorable wife in the club pool.
When they informed us they’d been married 59 years I enquired ‘So what’s the secret to a long and happy marriage?’
‘It’s our 3 week anal vacation to Bermuda.’ He divulged in his sexy Spanish accent.
Admirable at his age and she deserves a medal… Or a very large Colombian emerald for being such a trooper.
We then moved on to a bewilderingly voluminous cackle of women from Massachusetts (also in pool soup).
They told us they were here with their husbands for a fun weekend getaway.
That’s lady-like code for ‘fucked up debauched gang bang’
Our final encounter consisted of a flamboyant Belgium 3some… And as delicious looking as the chocolate variety. Not only did their outfits coordinate exquisitely but their names… Aart, Abe and Abel were equally magnificent.
The following day, after my morning ritual of an hour long float, I discovered a savvy skill I didn’t know I had.
Turns out I’m an aficionado diving guru. Eddie went from being the bellyflop beaver to the swan dive diva in a matter of hours thanks to my expert instruction. And a little help from a 5 and 8 year old.
Dinner by the harbour followed, with views of a dozen floating gin palaces.
I taunted Eddie into acquiring us an invite onboard. A tricky task at best seeing as we’re no longer sexy young kitties.
However, she did come back with the offer of a tour aboard an antiquated fishing vessel named The Happy Hooker.
The next day was spent on the ocean. Kayaking the idealic peaceful islands with the occasional high pitched sequel when one of us spotted a turtle popping it’s cute head up for air.
Friday happy hour ended at 1am. We danced, sang, snogged one another and fought over a young sexy beast who also happened to be a superb dancer. Apparently when a guy grinds his knee into your vagina it’s called ‘salsa’.
The evening ended with me spreading my legs…. to the stars.
My lack of filter came in handy the next morning when I picked a fight with a bunch of builders after witnessing them throw fag butts into the ocean.
Denial was their first attempt at defence so I added artistic licence to my response.
‘Look not only do I have incurable brain cancer but I have 8 year old triplet boys who swim in this stretch every morning and if they choke on your butts I’ll sue YOUR ignorant butts until you’re incontinent!’
Seemed to do the trick so we went for a smug dip.
Our final night with dearest friends listening to Yellow Man, sitting on the white-washed roof, drinking champagne and watching the perfect sunset.
This last 10 days have been the best tonic since that cunning little cunt Bambi entered my world 5 months ago.
The love I feel from my beautiful friends and the energy I receive from this heaven on Earth is maybe the cure for my cancer.
‘In this world we’re just beginning. To understand the miracle of living. Baby, I was afraid before. But I’m not afraid anymore.’