A New Year ’s Day trip to an artist’s studio-cum-café on Praslin, Seychelles saw us waiting at a bus stop when the monsoon started in earnest. Machine gun bullets rained down on us in our shorts, tee shirts and flip-flops. So what, we grinned cheerfully, it was a nice warm drenching.
The bus gave up when the flood reached the top of the tyres, so we got off and trudged through near waist-high water to the café. Power was off – not unusual – so having admired all the artwork, we waited, steaming slightly, while lunch was improvised. I was not popular when I sat down at the out-of-tune piano and played Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude.
We had to catch the plane back to Mahé in time for work next day, so we decided to walk the few miles to the airstrip via the driest place on the island – the beach. We found the airport seething with passengers waiting for the flood to subside so aircraft could land. Eventually the sky cleared, a plane came to shuttle the stranded passengers. Home and dry.
Warm rain teems, in
machine gun paradiddle –
fills every hollow