Next day dawned windy (again) with a dull sky that promised rain but never delivered. I reviewed the camera footage for any changes to VIP’s activities and checked my messages for new instructions. I have heard of occasions when a contract is cancelled at the last minute and the notification doesn’t get through – whoops! My agency prides itself on still paying the fee or finding other work if that happens but they aren’t all so ethical. With everything still getting the green light I need to sort out some alternative looks and plans ‘B’ ‘C’ and ‘D’  just in case. There’s a huge Chinese supermarket here called Fuer China

that sells absolutely everything so I pick up a couple of different colours of baseball caps, T-shirts and beach hats. It’s really surprising how another colour of hat and a shirt can make you look really different. Next stop the harbour to buy ferry tickets and the internet for flights. The local Binter Air prop-liners hop between islands and have less rigorous checks than the international carriers. They fly low and slow enough to enjoy the view

and are very friendly, even if you do almost expect to see goats and chickens as your fellow passengers. Tasks completed, I wait until just dark and order the same meal as VIP does from Namaste, collecting it in my England football shirt, wearing full-sleeve tattoos underneath. They actually are sleeves, in that they pull on and off. Safely back at the apartment I add my special sauce to VIP1s favourite Peshwari nan and carefully repack it. Applying a big ‘taxi-driver’ moustache, full gaucho shirt and Cuban heels I walk round the corner to VIP Villa and press the bell. SG takes his time to answer and I holdup the meal. In his very basic Spanish, full of ‘Niet’ and other rudenesses, he tries to explain that he didn’t order it. As he goes to close the door I say ‘Podarok, Podarok, Regalo para las nueve annio . Namaste, Namaste’ in a voice which is supposed to sound like I’ve smoked 40 a day for my entire life. How SG imagines that a Spanish taxi driver knows the Russian for ‘gift’ I have no idea but a dim bulb goes on in his head and he takes the bag, shutting the door without a Spasibo or even a Gracias to add a veneer of politeness to the moment. I walk around the corner and up the road until a dark corner allows me to pick-up and put on the coat and baseball cap I stashed earlier before returning to my accommodation. Resisting the urge to celebrate too soon, I watch ‘Suicide TV’ – or BBC World, the most miserable news channel ever, to make sure I look sufficiently serious for later. At about 6 in the morning an unnecessary siren and flashing lights announce the arrival of an ambulance

at VIP Villa, at which point I give it 5 minutes then stroll unsteadily along like an early-morning drunk to see the action. The paramedics are fetching out VIP1 on a trolley. They have masks on their faces and need them. I move up wind of the ambulance to escape the stench and wait with a couple of other onlookers as VIP2 and SG reverse the Range Rover out to follow the ambulance. As everyone’s attention is on their departure and are deciding that the show is over I collect the motion sensor from the gate and return home for a well-earned rest. Next day, the Guardia Civil are outside Namaste which I think is a little quick of them but they haven’t made the connection yet and are just collecting lunch.

I don’t think they’ll be back to eat anytime soon. Food-poisoning is a nasty thing, especially when you concentrate a culture of it in a colourless form on sugar. A young, fit person has a chance, but not a middle-aged man with high blood pressure and lots of stress. I feel a little sad if Namaste cops the blame but thanks to the local knowledge gleaned from the helpful proprietor of the English bookshop, I know that it is owned by one of the ‘five families’ of the Island, who have a Teflon-like ability to slide out of trouble and are very keen to avoid bad publicity. I’d be surprised if anyone ever gets to hear of it. I just have a little house-keeping and rubbish removal to do before the apartment-cleaner arrives and then the rest of the week is mine. The forecast is for sun, with wind. I’d like to bet VIP1 thought it was just wind, too, at first.