Fiji

We had a lot of time on our hands.  That's ok - I had bought loads of books in Australia and was ploughing my way through a fictionalised biography of Elizabeth I.  But in between reading we played cards - Caroline taught me "Speed" and then proceeded to whip my arse at it.  I should say at this point that Caroline is NOT a gracious winner.  I mean, I'm not so good myself, but at least I don't do a Victory Dance.  We also listened to Fijian radio which is pretty awful.  Their adverts are great though.  They are still in that innocent, "Buy This Product For It Is Really Good" age.  As in this advert for fertiliser:
 
MAN 1:   Boo hoo hoo.
MAN 2:   Why are you crying, my brother?
MAN 1:   Because I used the wrong fertiliser and now my crops have failed.
MAN 2:   Oh no!  I used that fertiliser!  Now I shall cry too!
VOICE:   Use "Bula" Fertiliser for good crops.
 
The music on the radio was even worse.  The Fijians have an unfortunate taste for that horrid sort of holiday music that was typified by EuroPop in the 1980's, when songs like "Save Your Love" and "Jungle Boy" occasionally invaded the British charts.
 
Consequently, Caro and myself had to find other ways to pass the time.  We talked a lot and some of our conversations to a very surreal turn.  One night Caroline turned to me and asked me if she could paint my toenails.
 
I thought about it for a bit.  "Okay," I said.
 
It passed the time for the next ten minutes.  Although for the rest of the week I was disturbed by how pretty my feet looked.

Another night I was lying about naked.  (I do this a lot.  Caroline complains about this but you know, it was HOT.  Besides, I'm sure she's only complaining because she doesn't like being in a constant state of arousal, the poor girl.)  Anyway, so I'm lying there reading my book when Caroline turned to me and asked me if she could draw on my nipple.
 
I thought about it for a bit.  "No," I said.
 
I started to worry about Caro's cabin-fever which probably reached it's zenith when she asked me one day whether I thought I could fit a ten-cent Fijian coin inside my foreskin.

(The answer is “yes”, if you were wondering.)