A lazy, but lovely Christmas Day, mainly spent sitting reading on a beach, interrupted by walking twenty metres to the restaurant every four or five hours for a meal. Christmas lunch was a fish burger, washed down with three beers. Christmas dinner was lobster with pina coladas, which actually felt quite Christmassy as drinks go, reminding me of the Advocaat gloop that my sister usually makes for us on Christmas Day evening. In spite of these small reminders it was hard to imagine that Christmas was happening, even when I briefly spoke to my folks by the magic of mobile phone - me standing on the sand in the sunny morning, them bloated from dinner on a cold British afternoon. It was sad not to be with them, but that sadness was more than outweighed by the fact that my skin was warm from the sun and the waves were crashing in front of me.
I was still pretty tired from the flight and haven't quite shaken off my cold, but swimming in the sea helped a little. About twenty metres out to sea there was a small rock peeking above the waves, so I made for that, to see if I could claim the land as my own. It was rather reminiscent of
Chard Island, though made of rock rather than sand and thus there all the time, rather than being created by tidal flows. With the sea at the height that it was at that moment, only the very top of the rock was poking out the waves, and I guessed that if I could stand upon it then to the people on the shore I would appear to be standing on the water: a fitting tribute to Jesus on this most holy of days.
Yet it was a bit harder to get on to this island than it had been to climb on to my kingdom of sand. The waves were buffetting me and the rock was slippery and covered in little barnacles. I managed to sit on it and was then swept from my perch by a wave, scraping my feet and knees as I went. But I was not to be defeated. I was going to claim this land for England and St George. Or at least for myself. It would be Chard Island II, though it seemed wrong to just name it after my other principality. I suppose I could have called it Christmas Island, but that's been done before. Close up the gnarled rock resembled a hippopotamus poking its snout above the water and so Hippopotamus Island or Hippo Rock seemed like more appropriate names.
Though my scratches were smarting in the briny, brackish depths I would not be beaten and knew that I would not be victorious until my feet had stood upon this brave new hippopotamus shaped world. So despite my injuries, sustained as they were in the name of exploration and human endeavour, I hauled myself back on to the island, keeping my balance as the waves hit me and stood triumphant on my new territory. It felt good to have beaten the elements and I liked the idea of being king of a new island. My time on the first Chard Island had been amongst the happiest and most magical moments of my life. I was calm and happy and content there and watching the moon cross the sky really made me consider and understand my place in this amazing Universe. Tiny and insignificant mainly, but in some small way, for just the briefest of times, the king of all I surveyed. Fittingly that island would only appear briefly and then disappear into the sea, making the transcience of our lives all the more apparent against the permanence of the Universe (though that too, one day, despite what Andrew Collings might tell you, will also be washed away and disappear).
Hippo Rock will not wash away in my lifetime, but it had been more effort to reach (I don't think I'll manage to take a chair with me) and more resistant to invasion. Standing atop it, with my gently bleeding wounds of battle, felt brilliant. It was slimy and the waves were still attacking me, but I was there. But not for long. I decided to jump before I was pushed and disappeared into the sea.
On the whole I think that beat eating some sprouts. But I'll let you be the judge of that.
And as you can see, although the hotel is rather basic in most ways, it does have unadvertised wireless internet, so I have no excuse not to keep my chronicles of ridiculousness going. Though you will surely get sick of reading about me having a lovely, peaceful, lazy time after a couple of days. Fingers crossed for a hurricane then.
