Here we are in Rodney Bay, St Lucia. It was a pleasant sail over from Martinique. Or it would have been pleasant except for Oscar DiBorcceri. It's true I owe him a lot. He's the one who got me started in the porn business in LA and we had a good time running girly bars in Ermita. We should have been reliving our wonderful memories but all he could talk about was Donald bloody Trump. He's a big fan. I don't give a toss about Trump myself to be honest.
He wouldn't shut up about Trump, the Clintons, fake news and Russian hackers. It's hard to ignore when you're stuck on a small boat. He just went on and on.
Now he's gone to rent a car. We're going to tour St. Lucia looking for Blackjack. Which means I have to drive and listen to more rants. I wish I could think of a way out. I just don't feel free with him around.
I keep thinking about my trip back to the UK. I felt like a tourist most of the time but I actually enjoyed it. It has changed a lot though. More modern and efficient in some ways but with the same old muddle beneath the surface. Everybody was worried about Brexit. They should never have joined the EU in the first place. Seeing Samantha in Cambridge was nice. (I left the Hockney print at Sotheby's for her). Finding Simon in a wheelchair was a shock though. Very sad. Reminds me how fast life can change. I must get to work on that.
Here comes Oscar with the car. Now what? I suppose we have to go round all the marinas looking for Blackjack and his mates. If they parked anywhere it will be in Castries or Vieux Fort. I never liked Vieux Fort much myself. Very dodgy place. And what happens when we find them?
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