More lounging around

'Tu est ici pour Diwali ?' Vilasha tells me. That's the name of the beach chair attendant. We are sitting at her table for lunch at Gloria's fast food van again. It turns out that next week is indeed Diwali, a time when Hindus go mad-for-it.
The day has consisted of nothing very exciting. I phoned Max Derblay to let him know that I had the keys to the flat, that I was staying with Peter for a few days, and that it was very kind of him to sort out the linen after I go. I cleared my e-mails at the very cheap Internet cafe and we had headed for the beach on what turns out to be a rather overcast day. We should have gone walking, it was the perfect day, but we didn't, that's for tomorrow.
I started a new book. The end of Adrian Mole had left us wondering whether he and Pandora would finally get it together. The new book revolves around an episode of road rage. I hope he gets his come-uppance.
One of the great things about Creole, being a spoken rather than a written language, is that there is no correct spelling, and so no incorrect spelling. For those of us that never thought spelling was that important, it's a real liberation. Say what you see, then hear the word. Once it's written down it is fossilised, dead. A spoken language is alive.
We end the day at a posh new bar called Hippocamp (seahorse) and then on to a Karaoke bar. We're the only ones in, so that's OK. Tomorrow we're going walking in an indigenous forest.