Artie Aardvark sits in the shade, adjusting his sunglasses against the glare of the azure ocean. He sips a mojito, awaiting word on the wire from Havana…
Ok, I did not bring the aardvark– he has a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in place on holidays, and only comes along for work for some reason- and this is about as far away from work as one can get. Curacao! I’m writing this on my balcony looking south over the Caribbean Sea where I’m told Venezuela lies about 60km away (not that you can tell other than the giant oil refinery on the island and the standard beer here being Venezuelan), spending a week with my feet in the sand when not scuba diving. So a rather nice week getting acquainted with the fishes when not reading an inordinate number of books I never manage to read at home.
Also I will note because I’m proud of it that this trip was made possible thanks to my writing last year. It is immensely satisfying to ponder the exact shade of blue of the ocean and think of how you’ve graduated to a “nice scuba diving holiday in the Caribbean” level of writer, believe you me!
The aardvark scowls in frustration at the paper delivered by his assistant, and orders another drink. He ponders the problem facing him in great detail.
“Yes,” he muses, “yes… I would look really good in a Panama hat.”