Island in the Sun.

Well, I’m back. And it wasn’t quite the experiment in deprivation I expected. Not only did this island in the sun have internet access (albeit charged at $8.50 per 15 minutes, but access nonetheless), it also had mobile reception (although my phone only seemed to work when hovering over my bedside table). The only thing it lacked was my fam and, let’s be honest, that was always the real challenge anyway. :-)

So while I never touched the internet, nor really used my phone, it wasn’t much of an experiment because I could have if I’d really wanted to. Although not with my mobile because as I didn’t expect to have the phone on I didn’t take my charger (it’s just one more thing to lose) and my battery went flat two days in.

So, no new insights into the human condition then… how was the weather? Aah, Fiji. Beautiful showers one day…


…perfect tropical storm the next.


Despite my concerns, the weather was wonderful, with two bonus days of continuous rain and a temperature that hovered around that pleasant point where either shorts or trousers will do. Paradise. For me, at least. Listening to my fellow islanders, you’d think each drop of rain was a sliver of bamboo pushed up under a fingernail. No appreciation for the beauty and pleasure of rain. Which is a shame; it’s so limiting to tie your capacity for enjoyment solely to the sun. It’s not like there wasn’t anything else to do. But no, people just sat around with their fingers crossed, hoping for the best, and assuming I was being sarcastic when I’d reply that I was quite enjoying the weather. Strange man. I don’t understand what’s so strange about liking rain?

And speaking of strange: at dinner on the final night a group of five seated to my left were having a none too discreet conversation concerning me that I couldn’t help but overhear, even over the sound of the performing band. There’s nothing like being seated next to a group of people for an entire meal to help you fade into the wallpaper, I guess? My mealtime banter must have been scintillating! A middle-aged woman from the Gold Coast who was seated between two couples either side was asking if they’d heard the name of my daughter? “It’s Winter,” she told them. “It’s not that I don’t really not like the name, but it seems sort of negative to me,” she said, employing a triple negative whammy of her own. “I like Summer as a name, but Winter seems strange.”

Sigh. Boring. I think I can safely assume that to her ‘winter’ means grey skies, frigid mornings, cold bones, frozen feet, endless rain and dead trees, whereas to me it means roaring fires, hot mugs of tea, thick woollen socks, walking in warm and heavy coats through the crisp morning air and, best of all, being tucked up in a toasty bed with a good book while steady rain pelts on the window outside. Winter doesn’t mean ‘death’ to me; it’s life lying dormant, ready for renewal, eager to explode. So if you’re looking for something that’s negative, you really need look no further than a mirror.