19th december

The gentle, insistent rain tap-taps on the corrugated tin roof as it has for the past six days, gathering in the runnels and trickling down in rivulets before pouring over the precipice of the gutterless sheets and into oblivion below. On one side of the house, the deep gulley fills part way up with water and on the other side, the water pours onto the thick, coarse leaves of the palm trees or perhaps straight onto the ground. The horseshoe of the swamp seems to have gained a permanently ethereal appearance and the water’s surface shimmers, lacking definition, unable to cast a reflection through the unrelenting ripples. The walls of the forest on three sides remain an appealing invitation to a different world – different to this world of uniformity and mind numbing monotony. It saps at the spirit and preys on the will.
Negra is up here on the balcony with me but I don’t think she feels comfortable. I thought perhaps she’d like a change of scenery and I guess I did it as much for myself as for her. I’m relaxing on the hammock on the balcony, pondering life and stuff when I poke myself in the ribs and wake myself up. “What did you do that for,” I ask myself, irritated.
“Wasssat over there?” I reply, peering and pointing to a spot across the road.
“Where?” I say, swinging off the hammock to get a better view.
“There, across the road on the bank, you idiot.”
“Huh? Where? What bank?” I’m a little perturbed at the way I am being spoken to by me. . Don’t I deserve respect? “Don’t call me an idiot,” I cry.
“Over there, you dipstick. Can’t you see on that bank? Those strange shapes in the sand?”
“Uh, oh er … yeah.” I couldn’t see anything but I didn’t want to admit it. Maybe I don’t deserve respect after all.
“You can’t see anything, can you?”
“Er … yeah! I can see some things.”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” I lead myself, hand in hand, across the road from the house to the perpetually subsiding magnesium rich sloppy red muddy slope. One of me slipped on the muddy road surface. Negra comes along, curious.
“See now?” I asked myself.
“Ahh. Wow.” I could see it now. Strange formations in the sand. They looked like towers and blocks of flats a few centimetres high. “What do you think it is then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ants or termites.”
“You think so? But it looks almost like a model of a city landscape, with towers and high rises and stuff with straight sides and flat tops for helicopters. Do ants have any helicopters?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe termites have though. It looks kinda cute. It’s like a miniature civilisation. I’m going to take a picture.”
“Ok.”
Neither of us have any idea what the strange formations are but they are most intriguing. I never saw him again. I miss him.

We picked some Gavilán planks up from down the lane yesterday while Dave was here, unloading them outside the tool shed. Dave wants to see them used as proper steps in place of the muddy ones that lead down to the footbridge by the side of the house. I’m not surprised. The steps dug out of the ground are slippery and treacherous and they are the steps that I attempted to redefine a few days ago. Needing just to get out of the house and do something different, I have a go with the planks, inserting them into the steps that I dug out of the slope.
It’s raining, the soil is completely sodden and it sticks to my boots until I can hardly walk straight. I manage about three steps but the planks are wider than the steps and so the steps need widening and deepening. I’m clumping around like a farmer wearing flippers and my feet are getting really heavy. I give it up as a bad job.
Dave Snr also had seemed pleasantly surprised that I had had the presence of mind to place the planks over the gulley. Giddy with my success, I find half a dozen more and set them similarly, all the way down the gulley. Now, if eight people wanted to cross the gulley at the same time, there is plenty of room for them all. It’s very important to cover any eventuality, such as an impromptu visit from conjoined octuplets or the Costa Rican Riverdance team.
The gas cylinder is now exuding a marked hissing sound when it is turned on. It seems to be leaking pretty badly. I am having to turn it off at the connector whenever it is not in use.
I have also decided to quit smoking when my current supply runs out. I bought about seven or eight cartons of duty free stuff and at current rate of consumption, I will smoke the last one on the 12th January. I’ll quit then. Not buying no more, so there.