I have said before that as, as an adult, I have spent most of my life with a female partner. Not alone.

The breakdown of my last marriage was difficult as I had retired and given up my daily association and responsibilities with my work friends and colleagues. My total world was now invested in that one person. In hindsight, that was a mistake as “Something was (sic) rotten in the state of Denmark”. And some hidden truths emerged which tipped a broken machine.

Anyway, it is about these currents days, but I set the scene.

I am unused to living alone, but I have struggled my way through to a reasonable equilibrium. Most days are average and tolerable, some are really good and the rest just suck!

Average and tolerable days mean little social contact, I accomplish tasks and feel sufficiently rewarded. Total conversation may only be with the Checkout people In shops, only leaving the house to shop or walk the dog. Internet/messaging may be involved, but unlikely I have made video calls. This is the norm.

Good days, involve conversation, mixing with people, accomplishing tasks (cleaning down my white board) and just being positive and saying that was a good day.

Suck days! Well deduct all the above from 18 hours awake and you end up with emptiness. These days do happen, not so often as I try to manage my life to prevent these troughs.

But today has been very weird and worrying. I have a new chat friend and we texted for a while. Fairly meaningless and non-sexual but nice to converse. An electrician found time and solved a difficult problem. Also completed 3 wash loads of clothes. I visited the optician and ordered new glasses which should arrive before I go on holiday. Met a friend for drinks this evening.

So social contact, tasks completed, unexpected successes. I keep telling myself that it was a good day. But I have this thing in my mind. I should have talked to HER. There is no her, unless it is my Mother who left us 10 months ago. I am also uncertain it must be a Her.

I write this to try and sort my mind, but sadly I am no closer. Normally I broadcast my thoughts via FB, but this one I will just publish knowing few will read – unless I have the settings wrong!!

Looking back, this week has been good, it has rained, plants are sprouting, I have good friends, have met them, accomplished things but something just seems missing.

Hopefully I find the piece/peace

No! This is not about my failed marriages or relationships, although I guess it may have some bearing!

I am blessed in life with some very good friends and a number of them have visited me these last 4 months. It was an odd year 2022, made up of very different parts. For most of the early part of the year, I was alone at home with just Sara the dog. In some ways I was happy, to recover from the mass invasion of my family the previous year. My daughter, my son with his lovely wife and my grandkids and of course, my oldest brother accompanied my Mother to Bonaire to celebrate her 95th birthday here. Such wonderful times!

Then, everyone leaves! Both Sara and I were a bit confused as we tried to reestablish a daily regime. Cooking just for one (and maybe for the freezer). But the key thing that became obvious that was missing, was the end of day conversations . Even, when I was busy with guests, being a tour guide or cook and kitchen staff, I loved hanging up the drying cloth and sitting down for a conversation.

So the early part of 2022, was missing that conversation. But I replaced the conversation with picking out books from the shelves and reading every night. It gave a calming end of day wind down experience and I was content and calm.

As many of you may know, my Mother developed a cancer during 2022 and needed treatment. Whilst not life threatening, I decided to attend a family party in England in June to ensure I saw my Mother and all the family together. That took some planning, engaging friends to sit Sara and was a disruptive period to the daily regime ( I over worry things). Then my Mother passed and I flew back for her funeral, another hiccup in life.

So getting back to the story, I arrived back then the first of my guests. arrived. The Lovely Hermine stayed with me. Sadly she had health issues and we had poor weather. BUT we spent so much time just talking. Then she left and Steve (aka Grog) arrived. The conversation was so different as his holiday was all about doing DIY whilst Hermine was about finding calm and peace in the Post Covid freedom. So Grog and I would plan our jobs or congratulate ourselves on jobs done. Hermine and I reflected on life, love and careers.

So when Steve ran out of jobs, he left and was replaced by William. A virgin to Bonaire unlike the previous guests who have been here 4 or more times. Different discussions and plans. He encouraged me to get back into scuba diving which we shared on a few occasions. Also of course, the World Cup was in full swing, so we bought a TV and installed it at the bar. So the conversations were of a different nature, especially his language concerning the abundance of mosquitoes – we had had a lot of rain!

Shortly after Willian left, the average gap has been just 3 days, Bart arrived. A returning resident so the conversation changed. Still included football, centred a lot on cars ( we bought 2 and sold 2), but also about mutual friends, what has changed on the island etc. Bart is with me for another 9 days or so. But tonight he said he appreciated being able to talk with someone, albeit a smart piece of wood.

It’s just the act of talking that puts thoughts in order and brings peace to your mind. Often, you know the answer to your question, once you have said it. I hope this is true! Sara is a great listener, she is very well behaved and obeys most spoken commands. But she lacks those non verbal signs and communicative prompts such as Yes, I agree, or Ah ha! She often dozes off or worse still, licks her bum!

So in some ways I dread being alone again but also crave it. I have enjoyed the friendships so much, my catering has expanded, including fridge content management. But I am a single guy and I look forward to being selfish: swimming naked in the pool, having breakfast at 11:00 etc.

Sara and I will talk lots more, mainly as a disguise for any early dementia. To talk with others will demand my leaving the house or issuing invitations. But first a few days of being alone with Sara. All the rest is possible.

The conversation I miss the most: the Monday Skype sessions with my Mother. I still talk to her, when walking the dog or in my thoughts when I have done something that I think she should know, especially if she would be proud of me!

Nope I am not weirder than usual! It’s just my dreams. I don’t often remember them, but a few I do. These are somewhat unsettling as they involve my history, specifically work, something I thought that was put to bed.

I did my 40 years, just about, retired to a desert island, have a lovely house, a beautiful dog who provides tranquil love and affection, the sun shines most days, so why should that cursed thing work come back into my dreams?

Ok, my working career was not fully spotless! I made it back from lunch on every occasion, never failed. Perhaps some days, it would have been wiser to go home but I never professed wisdom, just perseverance. My nicknames, that I knew of were Old Dog -dogged and bastard. Longer explanation the last but it did include the word fair when said to my face.

So I never killed anyone or committed a heinous crime at work. Some dastardly crime that would lead to regret and guilt. The saddest thing, in summary, before I explain, is that I am always struggling to get back to work, to the office!

So the essence of the dreams that I remember. These are only partial snapshots as most is forgotten on waking.

I am normally on a journey back, never away. The friends and colleagues I see are from all the places I worked. There will be no names here as some I am sure are mixes of friends: very familiar, great conversation but different appearance.

The scenery is a miss mash of the Bank of England, London, Zambia, European Central Bank, Frankfurt and my imagination. I am in taxis, trains and planes: none ever reaching their intended destinations. I am always in different places, with different people, rushing and harassed.

The dreams exploit my slight fear of claustrophobia and greater fear of vertigo and edges. So I swing from camaraderie to anxiety. Warmth (no the sheets remain dry) and fear.

I have to get to the office to finish the trip/journey! I am not sure I have anything important to return or deliver, just need to complete the mission.

I always wake before a conclusion: premature awareness ? There is no romantic involvement although I met both my wives at the office: just the struggle to complete a journey!

On waking, I am exhausted and bewildered; the images are so strong and confusing, I am often disorientated. Thankfully the dreams are not so frequent but follow a similar path.

I tried the handy bible, Google. My incomplete journey is a personal need to still achieve something. Bit sad as I have no clue what I need to do!

But what is the scariest thing? While writing this, it occurred to me that I think work is the womb and I need to return!

If I am right, i surely need medical help!

For some weeks/months, I have felt the need to write something. I get this urge that I need to put something down on “paper”. The only stumbling block is the subject matter to write about.

The main issue is that I am a retired man, of 67 years age, living alone (with my dog, Sara), with a fairly quiet social life. My life, based on a small island that has lots of interesting stuff going on with its expansion of new residents flooding in, the dubious politics and decisions being made by our elected leaders, but as a recent resident (almost 8 years) I do not feel qualified to start spreading more dirt. In part, this is due to most news being published in Dutch or Papiamento; and anything that is published is likely to be only half the truth at most.

So I am not so well briefed on local affairs as I would wish. I am interested but get most of my more credible information from direct conversations with residents of longer duration than myself. The rest from social media, is as we know, untrustworthy and often bent to the author’s point of view. The comments I have to either translate from Dutch but the real long term or true residents speak Papaiamentu and there is no good translation tool.

So I am to an extent excluded from the politics and developments that surround me. Which is disappointing as I am now entitled to Vote in local elections, but sadly I currently have no clue who I should vote for. The current political landscape looks uninviting in the extreme. In theory, we had 3 main political parties in our local government, but I have lost count of who has swapped parties that I don’t actually think we have a majority party any more.

Since 1991, I have not had the opportunity to vote in a national election or referendum; for 18 years I was able to vote in the local council elections in Germany but didn’t feel part of the local society. For Brexit, despite being a Passport holder, I was excluded. The odd thing is that I think the expat British would have wished our country to belong to the world and not retreat into future insignificance.

Whilst my vote will only be for a local election, which I eschewed from in Germany, here I can see my whole voting constituency in a short drive. So my vote could count to help change things for the other 21,000 people who I share my district with. The elections are next spring so I have yet to hear any manifestos. At the moment, the current crop seem to be either trying to bury past mistakes or crow about their successes.

There is nothing really MAJOR to vote on; nothing like Vietnam, Coal Miners’ Strike, 1968 Prague invasion, Union membership or even the Ukraine invasion. This is a local election, the big issues are decided in The Hague. But some overlap, like minimum social benefits and wages, a subject in place in the Netherlands for many years but not realistically implemented here.

Like every other voter, I want a pipe dream. I want an honest politician who fights for his electorate not the contents of someone’s wallet. I want to be in line with climate change and make our island more sustainable. I want our island to retain some of its character and uniqueness; not become completely covered with hotels and rental properties. It is inevitable we will grow, become more crowded, but at least with a plan that most people agree to. As an old Socialist, more wealth sharing or opportunities for real jobs, not gig economy, so that we can all afford to live. That will help with crime and peace as well!

I have read the paragraph above several times I can’t find it offensive to anyone. I have even sent it a friend who is more right wing than me for comment. Obviously, it will be interpreted in many different ways, often different to how I feel.

I think we all complain about politicians. The conversation in the pub never starts with how good they are! Denied as I am access to local political news, I read the world news! OMG, in theory, we, the people voted these guys in or made the mess that they have to work within (lack of consensus).

It’s a mess! So I want to Vote and hope to get my tiny corner a little better.

In this viral period of rules, lockdowns and quarantine, with stay at home or travel bans, I guess everyone is trying to find the flow or a new flow. To replace That Flow, that used to exist. The alarm that went in the morning, robotically you found your way to the shower, toilet, coffee machine, car, railway station etc and weaved your way to work.

It happened every day and you obeyed. Then at weekends, a different set of priorities, the housework, shopping, possibility all starting with that reminder of how much you enjoyed Friday night. That busy weekend rush of doing stuff as it was your time!

Now, with working from home, lockdowns, there no longer is the weekly commute and routine. I can’t imagine what it is like, especially for those living alone. At least, if you share a home, you have the physical presence to be able to share.

I have been blessed in my choice of country where I live. The restrictions have been light, the climate balmy, so I am not going to write a thesis on how people have suffered or found a way to live. After a year or more of this pandemic and its restrictions and tragedies, nearly everyone else is far more qualified than I. So much so, that when in the past I have described my daily life, I have been accused of being insensitive and smug. Maybe it appeared so, but I am just lucky, and I will live my life in the sun and not in the shadows of those less fortunate. You have my thoughts but I still need to breathe.

My thoughts which run in a vaguely parallel direction are retirement and working from home. May not be obvious but let me try to see if I can explain myself.

I used to work in big companies, with many acquaintances and colleagues. I worked according to a weekly timetable of theoretically 40 hours. I was tied with a Blackberry (until my heart complained!). I did this for nearly 40 years. It was routine; I never needed to think what to do with my time, my time was owned. I used to find some problems with weekends. If my ex had planned a busy schedule, then I would complain I was tired and needed to rest. If I rested and did nothing, I felt dissatisfied, and was almost glad to be back at work. I was fortunate, that the ex was in charge of food shopping etc, actually I was banned from shopping. So weekends could be mine but I did little with them.

So largely, my home was a bit of an alien outpost. I spent so much time in the office, I was probably mentally more at home.

To reflect on how it would be to work from home is difficult. When I was working, I was still married and so I would have been sharing a house with someone. But we often spent hours apart with our different interests, we had separate offices/living rooms. I will not spend further time dwelling on this as it is not where I am today.

When I worked, I thrived on human company. My attention span would quickly snap and I would go for a coffee or think of a question to ask, so I could leave my office, and mingle for a while. Lunch and drinks after work were highlights to share company and conversation. But then I retired and subsequently divorced.

So now, I largely live alone although I have a wonderful girlfriend who I meet at least once a day. I have no work schedule, in fact I have no schedule. That is my problem, I have no daily Flow.

I wonder whether I should impose a routine on myself. Set the alarm, rise, have tea and breakfast, inspect and monitor the green house, conduct a number of household and garden maintenance activities, do shopping according to a list etc.

Maybe I would be less surprised or angry with myself about how many plants are committing suicide in the greenhouse, how many irrigation nozzles are blocked in the garden or why I have no water in the windscreen wipers if I had a schedule. But my thoughts are “This is my time” so I will be lazy if I want to.

Should my retirement be well regulated, so theoretically, I maximise the time I have left in life to be productive and efficient? Or should it be chaotic, lazy? But who is measuring as there is no annual report?

I find that I am often at home thinking I should do something but feel that going shopping or to the chemist an effort and imposition. Instead, I will prevaricate and go shopping tomorrow, and play games at home. I have bought a white board, instead of a live in partner, to remind me of tasks I need to achieve. This works well, it is silent and can be avoided.

Despite my bluff, I remain deeply insecure. So if I do nothing, no shopping, dead plants, just playing games or reading all day, I feel dissatisfied. If I do something, then my long suffering girlfriend is given the guided tour of how busy I have been. So I need approval. If there is no else to give approval, I am quite critical of myself.

So the parallel of working from home: I would fail. I need people, approval and a routine to work productively. I would need colleagues to bounce ideas off and discuss. My insecurities would paralyse me as I would doubt I was right and I would be making of fool of myself

Although I am not working and retired, I still want approval, I need people but have had to learn to live with a lot less ( the girlfriend works and cannot be on call all the time!). But this routine to life or the daily flow of rising, doing stuff and resting is completely missing. But should there be one? Who would enforce it?

Shouldn’t there be a guarantee of peace of mind at my age? Worked 40 odd years, 2 kids, 2 grandkids, 2 divorces. I should be able to sit in a rocking chair, puffing smoke from a corncob pipe with empty thoughts. Instead, today I have bought bungee straps for my sunshade as I am worried about the strong winds, fixed a hole in my stone tiles, cemented some pipes on my septic irrigation system, deferred the chemist shopping until tomorrow and worried I didn’t do enough. Hence it is nearly midnight, I am writing this before I go to bed so I can feel I accomplished something.

But I will draw to a close.

My thoughts are with those working from home, especially those singles or whose relationships are fraught, it is a daunting thought to have to adapt to and survive.

My hopes are that this pandemic becomes more manageable, although we are entering a local runaway outbreak. I have built this house to live in, host and entertain friends and family; may that soon be a reality.

A final hope: the fig tree that I was given, was not watered and lost all its leaves. But in an act of desperation I watered it. The stems still have green buds!

May you find your Flow and it be kind to you.

Well done! You reached here after such a daunting title. Never fear, I have not embarked upon an adult education course, apart from those channels/websites you don’t tell your Mother about.

So that’s the first goal achieved. The second is to define Pastoralism: this is nothing religious, more the practice of letting your cattle graze on open land rather than enclosed fields. The odd thing is that the spell checker does not recognise the word or the word recognise! Ignoring the ex colonials and their zees, we move on.

Some of you may know, I often spend a Sunday afternoon, with Margot, Sara and friends, picking plastic from our windswept East Coast. We are just finishing the maintenance clean up of a site we cleaned last year or the year before. It was the worst site we had worked on, covered in plastic debris, blown 500 metres or more inland. But this time, we are just cleaning the seafront and the new debris that has blown inland.

It’s a lovely area, to the South, the entrance to Lagoen, to the North the Spelunk lighthouse. Very rocky, some sand and with Cacti growing more as you move away from the salty sea spray. Oh, and goats! This is the nub of the story.

A few centuries ago, between 5 and 6, the Spanish or Dutch, or both, introduced goats to the island. It was to provide fresh meat for those based here and also to supply the ships when they returned to Europe. The goats were never raised in fields but left to feed on the open land. It is a poor habitat, especially in the dry season, and the goats have to wander far afield to graze. But goats always seem to come home at night so it is easy to be a goat farmer in this respect. No field maintenance, just let the goats out and then they come home.

So to this day, that is the way the majority of goat farmers raise their goats. They see it as their right to let the goats go anywhere and then get upset if any harm comes to their goats. With the increasing population on the island, and taking into account the damage that goats do (not fully accepted by all here), there is a strategic plan for all goats to be moved to enclosed grazing with the next years. Of course, it will take longer to enforce, if ever.

My house, as all others, has fences and walls. Not just for security but also to keep out the local goats, owned by a guy at the bottom of the hill. Every day, the goats wander up hill, through the residential area to graze. The owner has no pretensions about owning the grazing land, we just have nice plants if we leave our gates open. Not his problem if the goats get in, just we have to pay if we kill a goat driving on our streets. But hey! Live and let live.

Not so today. Sara, who does not chase goats – did once and has learned a lesson – was accompanying the plastic pickers on this, once again, beautiful spot. The goats were happily eating on the South end of the plot and we were working on the North. It’s immaterial where they are , as they move away from Sara and she prefers human contact. Well, apart from digging holes under rocks to terrify the lizards.

Suddenly 2 men arrived. One walking from the hill and the other from a pickup truck. The younger, from the truck, was waving a machete and screaming about the dog. The older guy was walking to Brave Craig, who had picked Sara up and was taking her to my car.

I will keep it short but, the previous day a dog killed one of their goats. They have painted signs saying no dogs on the land. HOWEVER, they say they have a permit to graze their goats, they do not have the rights to ban access for anyone (and their dogs). It is highly unlikely they have a permit as the land has been sold to a multi millionaire who wants to develop the land and doesn’t want goats. He would prefer, I am sure, a plastic free area.

I am against the development of this area, I sympathise with the goat owner for the loss of his animal. I despise people who own aggressive dogs who cannot control them and allow them to kill goats. I would love we can all access this land responsibly.

So I almost side with the goat farmer. BUT, he did nothing with the land. It was covered in plastic, probably ingested by his goats. He stated he did not give a F*** that we had cleaned the land, that my dog was not bothering his goats and was happy with the pretension he “owned” this land.

So for him, the colonisation, that introduced goat farming, in a pastoral manner is a tradition. The ecological affects of goats and plastic mean nothing to him.

He was very angry, due to the loss of a goat the previous day and our ignoring his signs – which have no legal value.

He pissed me off, I’m not going back to clean a part of the island he ignores. I pissed him off by taking a well behaved dog, within the law, to clean “his” land.

I can go elsewhere and clean up. He will, within years, not be allowed to allow his goats free roam grazing and destruction of the flora.

I guess we all know pig headed individuals, not willing to change their minds. But sometimes, they bring up one thing that is true and you can understand that point. Shame, they never understand any of yours!

At this time of the year, I normally would post something about how I hate Christmas.

To be honest, I don’t hate it so much, it just doesn’t touch me. Especially on Bonaire, there is so little commercialism – my main gripe – that I actually start to enjoy some aspects. OK, the local radio stations insist on play songs about White and Snow falling! The only White Snow around here is either our salt, locally produced by evaporation, or that sniffing stuff that the Customs Officers are searching for. Both, apparently, are in abundance!

So this year, little commercialism, less tourists able to travel here – perhaps still too many for essential travel reasons only – so the island is looking a lot more inwards as we have less external distractions.

The Christmas decorations at the roundabouts were started last month, they are quite pretty but … November? But the local houses! They are brilliant! Very few Santas, haven’t seen a reindeer – yet. But 1970’s flashing lights, dodgy disco, outrageous 8 metre imitation fir tree made only of lights, epileptic fit inducing tunnels which flash completely out of synch, we have got it all.

Last year, one of the main streets was tremendous. This year it is fairly average. But Margot and I have been exploring lesser known drinking venues (reason later) and we have driven around a lot of the more local and some poorer barios. Some of their lights are just brilliant, nothing about Christmas, just a celebration.

But as a small island, with few Covid cases we are so lucky. Those with their whole family on the island will enjoy as usual. But so many, have family on different islands, or in the US, Netherlands or South America. So family members cannot join them, or they cannot travel. This is especially true of our Peruvian and Columbian cadre of construction workers. They normally have a 10 month contract, work here for that time and go home with fat pockets for the Holiday season. The poor guys (not financially) cannot go home this year. So they are stuck here, cannot see family and friends, cannot impress in their villages with their money.

So Margot and I are careful where we go for drinks, avoiding popular Latino hangouts as they may be boisterous or venues where we know family members, who have made it though the blockade, and may be fresh on the island. So my life is richer because of the Christmas (ish) lights and the new places I have visited.

I must mention Bouncerland! OK we visited it late at night. A lovely outdoor bar, only Spanish speaking staff but a giant bouncy castle in the garden. Thankfully, all the children were in bed and Margot didn’t want to try it! Last night, a bar in the back of town, quiet, people getting takeaway food and ran in to a friend. All very trankilo!

For me, tomorrow, I will Skype/Zoom with my family. With the time difference I have to be up early, drinking tea, whilst they will be probably ripping corks off bubbly. I could join them but I would be wasted by lunch time.

I will be somewhat sad. My mother has withdrawn from spending time with family as she doesn’t want any blame attached should she catch the bug. So she will be alone. Hopefully we will Skype. Also I will see my little Granddaughter with her family. I haven’t met her yet although she is some 8 months old! Of course, I will miss my kids.

That’s what I thought Christmas was about. Family! Not bloody shopping, advertising, crap corny songs.

So I raise my glass, (quite a nice Portuguese Duoro) to those unable to celebrate with their loved family. I hate Christmas but I love my family.

I am still lucky, Margot lets me be with her family and they are here!

Just to recap, I left work 6 years ago, moved here over 5 years ago, experienced the Great Departure (GD) 4 years ago and since then, The Plan has been under review and modification!

The Plan was to move to a Rock in the Caribbean, with a wife, and to spend my declining years with adequate funds, make local friends and host those friends, mainly still working (poor buggers) on their holidays.  Obviously loss of wife, being both careless and expensive led to a revision of The Plan.  Until it was all settled, there were doubts on the accommodation front of where I would live and my ability to host friends.

However, that was all sorted and I ended up with my share being a 4 bedroomed house and a 1 bedroomed apartment with pool, all on a lovely big plot totalling 2100 m².  So life was good but exhausting, as being an old banker with a reduced income stream, I couldn’t really afford a regular gardener.  Yet I was still young, just in my Sixties, but thoughtful of the years ahead.

So too much work, not enough cash!  I could always try to earn money, looking in the mirror led to discounting being a male gigolo, researching the local press which are in foreign languages (Dutch and Papiamento) didn’t lead very far.  So logically, reduce the work!  Also, quite honestly, I was done with work after 40 years!

The Plan was revised to make it more cunning!  So I put my house on the market! Sell the house, thereby dividing the garden by around 50%, move into the Apartment and build a small house next to it.  So the current situation of 5 bedrooms would be reduced to 3.

And WOW!  The Plan is working!  I have buyers who have signed a purchase agreement, but not yet notarised.  But that is just a hop, skip and a jump away!

Plans are brilliant at the top level until you refine them down to the details.  Then all the bloody work starts!

So selling a house:  got to transfer all the utilities or cut them off, empty/pack the contents, store them somewhere, some legal stuff, household insurance etc.  All pretty manageable, even including the fact that the EX is listed on all the utility bills as the owner although I pay them.  So production of Divorce Papers and Legal Transfer documents will be carried around for a while until I convince the Utilities that I have been paying, I want to cancel and no, She won’t pay!

Most of this stuff, you will have experienced!  But then I remembered, I have to design and build a house.  The house that I need and want to live in!  So I spent ages with some thoughts but not really going very far with them.  Here, being single, at least in my case, could have been a problem.  Having been a serial married person, I was always able to discuss such matters with a partner, who was almost always around.

However, Lady Love has shone brightly on me!   My GF/Partner/Other Half used to own a construction company, has built several houses and is more than willing to give her sensible views on my silly ideas.  So many evenings have been spent trying to interpret upside down design documents on scraps of paper or fag packets.  But this has been very worthwhile, as I recently sent my design drawings, compiled on a simple Mac CAD program, to my Architect.  He received them quite positively.

I have been a little busy on the peripherals as well.  I cannot really start much as my capital is locked in the house, so I have little extra.  But I need to build a dividing wall between the plots, thankfully co-funded with new buyers and will convert the Apartment to Solar, including the Swimming Pool and its pump.  The Solar installation will be expendable to take over the demands of the house once built.  So despite my advancing years, I am still thinking and thinking ahead.

My most immediate need is storage.  As I tidy up the house, opening drawers seldom visited since The GD, I find my pile of belongings destined to the Animal Shelter growing and boxes requiring storage being occasional.  However, the Storeroom of the Apartment is cleared out, extra shelving installed and my 4 leather jackets (For use in Northern climes) all cleaned of the mould they had gathered over the last 4 years.

On Friday, the BIG Store arrives!  A 20 foot shipping container, bought locally will be transferred to my Apartment Plot.  I understand it has a couple of leaks which will need to be fibreglass patched and then also the interior may benefit of an upgrade to ensure that moisture does not get at the lower contents. So I can see a few days of being hot and sweaty in a metal box coming up!

Once that is done, spare furniture that is not needed for my guests in Nov/Dec/January can migrate to the container.  The Project Mission Statement reads “To effectively migrate from the House, building a New House, utilising as many existing resources in a cost effective, timely and personal low stress manner“.  So the more I front load and move the odd box/bed side table in the coming days, the less will part of the Big Move.

Oh, just as background, this is all still based on my uncertainty of being a resident on the Rock.  The requirement is to live more than 5 years as a temporary resident, completing all forms on time, not breaking laws (√), then in your 6th year applying to become permanent (just heard today that 6th year is granted – so gotta fill more forms).  The risk remains that I do not secure permanent residency and I could be mid way in a building project with all my money tied up.  However, I hope to secure permanency before I break ground next year in February.

Hello!!!  Just checking I haven’t bored you to death.

So my Millstone has been my share of the divorce.  Without it, I would have been buggered; with it, I could struggle for the future.  It’s a lovely house and I will be sad to leave.  But upkeep and maintenance for the future are a worry.

I think that is the only Millstone.

My Milestones:  here I think I may have many, but I write as I think so my thoughts are not at a conclusion.

1. I guess my GF has to take top slot!  Not just for her building advice and constructive advice but making life so good!  It’s just over 3 years we have been dating and despite being a grumpy old bugger, she sticks with me.  So wonderful to be able to ask her opinion, which is mostly in line with mine.
2. The Plan seems to be coming to a reality!  The house is nearly sold and so many things are coming together.  It could work!
3. This is really part of the above but my positive and realistic aims in life have replaced the depression of some 4 years ago. For those who read my old blogs, My Voices have been relegated to an advisory role.  I still have concerns but less doubt in life.  How could I have a Plan if I did not believe!
4. My residency continues on this beautiful Rock. I was walking Sara The Dog this morning on the top of a nearby hill, Seru Largu which has beautiful views to the South, and I thought how lush and green it is after the recent rains.
5. I think My Life is Good!

Should I add Brexit as a Millstone as it does drag me down but will have little effect on my future?

This is not really about cars, more a reflection of how I have changed!  But, of course, cars and their engines are the basis for my ramblings.

When I was younger, so much younger, I loved the thrill of speed.  Some of it, not fully legal. Like borrowing my parents’ car when they were out and racing up and down a country road.  Would have been better if I was insured and had a driving licence, I guess.

Also, I got into motorbikes, first a 125cc, then 500cc, then 900cc and on up to a 1200cc.  I would like to say I was gifted, but in reality just bloody lucky.  I used these bikes as a form of transport commuting to work in the centre of London for over a decade.  Just 3 minor accidents and I walked away from each.

Most of the time I was cautious, just staying alive. But when the roads were open, I was awake and then it was time to see how far round the needle could climb on the dials.

Motorbikes were cheap and easy thrills. Imagine buying a car that could do impressive acceleration when you had 2 kids, a mortgage and a stay at home wife who looked after our children. BTW we agreed and she did a great job.

I guess the culmination of my motorbike thrills, although I had one further relapse, was my mid life crisis when I bought a Honda Blackbird.  Smaller engine then my Yamaha at only 1100cc but at the time it was the world’s fastest production motorbike with a top speed of 318 kph (around 200 mph).  I didn’t really enjoy going to work on it, German aggressive drivers, crowded roads and a lot of vibration. BUT coming home, on a summer’s eve, egging on a Porsche or BMW driver, just where the Autobahn became an unlimited speed area and pissing them off!  Their €100,000+ vehicle against my €20,000 or less bike viewing my numberplate.

The bugger was that I had only a short distance until my turnoff, a downhill, 180 bend at 50 kph so decelerating 150 kph!  But that became an art form.

Perhaps the bikes were to make up for my car history both mine and those shared with my wife: Ford Anglia, Ford Capri, Renault 5, Mini Metro, Volvo 340 and a Ford Sierra.  After the divorce, I didn’t need to share a car or use it for every day child transport, so a couple of Land Rovers, with a Ford Cortina in between (only bought to wait for insurance as a Landy was stolen), Peugeot 504, Peugeot 205, Range Rover and a Mazda Tribute.

Apart from the Range Rover, all very modest and to get any excitement involved a straight foot to the floor and lots of stirring the gearbox.  Otherwise practical and largely sensible.  Don’t forget the Land Rover was exported with me to work in Zambia.

So the comparison I draw is that the cars were generally modest, not over powerful, in keeping with a guy working at a central bank.  Cautious and sober minded (but not in body).  Petrol was the essence that fuelled light hearted moments, when the roads were quiet: especially when a motorbike was involved.  But I was always going somewhere, mainly to work, so comfort and some speed was essential.

When I retired, I rebelled against buying a Toyota Hilux pickup as nearly everyone else on the Island has one or a look alike. So I bought an American monster.  Still petrol but with a massive engine that just ticked over climbing hills.  Initially I revelled in kicking down through the automatic gearbox to hear that V8 engine roar.  But over time, I have relaxed and just putter along.

The Monster has been undergoing long delayed maintenance.  Now I no longer retain a lawyer, I have some spare cash so the Check Engine light that has burning for 4 years is hopefully being sorted.  Sadly a 1 day trip has been going on for 4 days and the garage have lent me a pickup.

The irony is that it is a Toyota Hilux and a diesel at that.  Manual gearbox instead of my big American fully Automatic.

But today an epiphany!  On my walk of shame, dispatching 8 cases of empty bottles ( I’ve been lazy rather than thirsty), I noticed the gentle thuck thruck of the engine, didn’t get upset at having change out of first gear as soon as the car started to move and just relaxed driving along in 3rd gear.  The engine just chugged, didn’t vary speed even with my foot bouncing on the pedal in time to the potholes, climbed a hill without any additional pedal pressure.  It is the utmost basic model and I thought, why do I need more?

I’m in no rush to get anywhere, diesel is cheaper than petrol, as is life when you are older – all loans paid off! I guess I should worry about micro particles but having burnt  several holes in the Ozone layer with my Range Rover and American Monster, I guess I am already guilty.

So it looks like I want a diesel replacement so I can chug around the island on cheap fuel?

No!  The thing that blows this whole rambling attempt at petrol head philosophy is that Diesel Road tax is 4 times that of petrol!  So where will my Khama be when faced with  a sodding big bill?  My philosophy had been I would think of an excuse at the Pearly Gates, not pleading innocence beforehand and repenting for the future, however long that may be.

So, hopefully the Monster and I are reunited tomorrow.

This was not a case of “I wonder what to do today?”.  It’s a common question being retired and sometimes lacking goals.  However, I already knew what I was going to do today, having decided last night.

The plan: to get up early, head East with ma dawg and complete the maintenance of the Onima beaches and cliff tops.  Some time ago, Margot and I had cleaned the southern stretch of Onima, leading up to the Boca (or mouth), just down from the Cave Paintings, and then, with the help of Artie, we had cleaned the Northern stretch up to the beginning of the Wind Farm.  Since then we have cleaned Washikemba cliff top and the hinterland, Margot is maintaining a beach north of Lac and we have now embarked upon a massive cleanup project north of Lagoen.

But these days, when Sara needs a walk and Margot is busy educating the Bonairean Youth, I set off and revisit previous sites  for a spot of maintenance, picking up newly deposited plastic that has blown ashore.  Considering that each time we visit our Lagoen site we fill at least 2 bags each, my last 3 maintenance trips have resulted in less than 1 1/2 bags in total. I think most of the debris is from untidy locals rather than seaborne waste, which is a little disappointing.

But anyway, Sara gets a damn good run, I get some exercise and a feeling of having accomplished something.  So with my pleasingly half empty sack in the truck,  dog watered and rewarded with a biscuit, we set off for home.  As I passed the cave paintings, which I have visited countless times with friends and guests, I decided to explore an unmarked turnoff a few hundred metres further on.  It turns out to be Mati Mati, a cave with a hole in the ceiling.  Apparently at Christmas time, you can see the “Christmas Star” through the hole.  Having looked at Wikipedia, I can’t identify which star this could be, possibly Jupiter, so perhaps I have a job for later this year.  Could be interesting as life enhancing forces flood through the hole to renew the tiring island, or so the legend says.   As I get older, every little helps.

Then we went off to explore Fontein, which as the name suggests is a water source.  I have passed the signpost, pointing up a dirt track, many, many times as it is on the main Kralendijk Rincon road.  So we bumped up the track and at the end found a windmill pumping water.  Not a great sight, but interesting as water is such a precious resource on the island and this has been one of the main wells, together with Dos Pos which serves Rincon.  Sara had a really good sniff here, perhaps smelling feral pigs who probably drink here.  I tasted the water, which seemed OK, not very mineral but if I do not post again, maybe it wasn’t that good.

Then we headed back to the main road, plodding along in no particular hurry, noticing that a lot of the tree had just finished flowering.  These were the Kibra Hacha (ax breaker) trees which, after a period of substantial rain concentrated over just a few days, will flower before they put on any leaves.  Their brilliant yellow flowers shine out, providing dashes of colour across the landscape.  At the moment as it fairly dry, these are yellow flashes against a brownish countryside.  However, the Kibra Hacha show only lasts 3-5 days and they were at their best a little while ago but still some flowers remain.

So on down the main road, turning at Felt di Snip (Field of the Snipe – the landing site of the KLM Fokker Tri-motor which landed here in 1934), up over Seru Largu, the first of the hills to the north of the island which gives spectacular views right down the South of Bonaire, heading home.  It’s a steep descent and I had to be extra cautious as some kids (baby goats) were playing in the road. However, one bleat from Nanny and they were off to safety.  If only all children were so obedient!

So Sara is exhausted, lying on the cool tiles, I have to hang up the washing, then clean myself up as it will soon be time for the Friday Steak Lunch, overlooking Klein Bonaire and the Bay.  After a  siesta it will be time for Friday Night beers.

I have been visiting this island for 19 years, living here over 4.5 years and still I find so much pleasure and enjoyment here.  I haven’t even mentioned the American Oystercatcher or the mysterious dead bird which I still have to identify.  Must rush..