Lest it be supposed that the photos of Seychelles suggest a paradisaical realm, I feel duty bound to point out that during a period of nearly five weeks I never once felt any sense of bodily comfort unless I was either:

1. In the shower, or
2. In the sea

At all other times, I was in a state of feverish humidity. The heat was so intense, my shirt was so wet I could have wrung it out, my skin leaked from every pore, I stank of sodden baby nappy, and wherever I was, in any moment of repose, it seemed I was being bitten.

At ‘Magnificat’ – Mamie’s abode – her glorious garden cultivates mosquitoes amongst the flowers, which makes it impossible to sit anywhere, least of all in the shade, without burning coils of cough inducing repellent; and even then, with the slightest breeze, the protection is minimal.

On the beach, sitting for more than a moment brings out swarms of sand flies, whose bite is just as noxious as that of the mosquitoes.

When I die, if I go to Paradise, I might easily mistake it for Hell, unless it has a reasonable temperature – say, mid to high twenties – a dryish atmosphere, a complete absence of biting insects, and also, a reasonably well stocked shop selling half decent cheese.

Anti mosquito bonfire

Road to Anse Lazio

Eating fruit

Tortoises

Dubious tortoise

Anse Possession

Baked breadfruit

New dress

Tea

Picnic at Cote D’or

Micky at the Grotte

New Year

Mamie and her gardener

Grande Anse

Mamie and Michou

Smug shot

Outdoor kitchen

Carongue steaks

Lisa at home

This is a card Jul did for Granny. She said she thought it was a snake! Crip explained it to her.