IT'S A SHAME ABOUT RAYS

I'm propping up the bar on a little speck of an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I'm alone for a little while. Mrs Backroads has gone off diving with Sergio the Divemaster. He's half Japanese half Brazilian and cunnilingual. Apparently he takes her deeper than anyone's taken her before. She came back looking a little flushed yesterday. Apparently, she needed to manually blow some air back into Sergio's tank before he'd let her pass her diving exam. She passed, so things all came off quite well. So much so, they're having another practice whilst I kill a little time before my appointment with Saichai. I am having another 'Fusion' massage today. I like it when she kneels on my thighs and pulls me off
the massage table.

Even Saichai won't let me go diving (on account of my ears) but I can go snorkelling. Yesterday I saw a white tipped shark, a moray eel and some squid. Later I'm hoping to see a manta ray. They're top of the food change around here, despite which little is really known about them. All the attention goes to their sneaky cousins the sharks apparently. Which is a shame.

Most of the other guests here are more interested in catching rays whilst sprawling on their loungers in the brief gaps between the plentiful and sumptuous meals. Nationalities are diverse in our little community. There are the French (moody and ignorant in the main, they don't even nod a hello when you pass them on the beach), Americans (less annoying than you might think), young Russian mobster types with their many mobile phones which all seem to have Sam Brown's 'Stop!' as their ring tone... their girlfriends are young and pneumatic... I don't stare too much though...don't want to sleep with the fishes. There's the Spanish contingent... instantly recogniseable as they each carry a minimum of 40 cigarettes in case they run out during their starter. There are some Japanese... always the first at breakfast as they flew West to get here. There are one or two other Brits... like us often last at breakfast as we flew East and can't get out of bed.

Anyhow, the beautiful Saichai awaits...

She's wonderful but her English isn't great. When I asked for extras she mumbled something about Ricky someone, disappeared and came came back with some crappy DVD which is very popular here apparently. I'd not heard of it so me and Mrs B slipped it in after dinner. It was crap, so we shagged in the jacuzzi instead. Sergio dropped the video camera in so I've nothing for YouTube.

Laters.

GONE FISHIN'

Back soon.

COUNTING DOWN

I actually managed to get home early enough yesterday to take the children swimming with Mrs B. Snicket had a lesson, so we threw Boo at each other for a while to pass the time.

Today, I'm blogging working from home and it's busier here than in the office. What with carpet-fitters, sparks, plumbers and gardeners all wanting access to Backroads Manor and any number of delivery firms dumping bulky cardboard boxes with our sale purchases on the doorstep at Backroads Shack I haven't found time to download any thing from iTunes yet!

Actually, that's not quite true. Can I recommend the following:

Midwest Product
Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.
Camille

TEMPERATE

It's fair to say that I'm glad Christmas is over. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of these regular humbuggers who moans about it every year. Not in the least. I love Christmas. This year, however, there has been to much other crap going on leaving me with an stubborn residue of grumpiness throughout the festive period.

Now, of course, I'm back at work, the prospect of which accounted for a sizeable chunk of that residue I was going on about. Still. At least I can start my count down. After today, I'll have only seven more days to work before Mrs B and set off for sunnier climes.