I AM serious, and don't call me Shirley.

We wake a little before 08:30. Probably around the time our taxi was booked to pick us up yesterday actually. We've both slept the sleep of the righteous - deservedly or not. Suitably refreshed, we grab a late breakfast, and almost immediately follow it up with a Carib, a Trinidadian beer that's found throughout the Caribbean. I comment to Vicks that it's really only on trips like this that I still drink lager. There's something about the combination of tropical sun/heat and ice-cold, crisp pilsner that works brilliantly together. That - and the total lack of other beer based alternatives, obvs.

We repair to our room as the sun is beginning to toast our alabaster skin, and are able to reflect in daylight how beautiful it is. The star turn is the terrace, with an open-air bath, and a plunge pool that looks out over the beautiful, tropical gardens of the hotel. I decide to take a dip. It transpires 'plunge pool' in the local dialect means 'fucking freezing.' It certainly stimulates the pink bits.

It's quickly time for some lunch and some wine, and then to head off to Shirley Heights, the social Sunday focal point on the island. An amazing steel band, a big barbeque cook-out, rum punch so strong it would be illegal in most countries, and a band. Oh, and all accompanied by a stunning view of the sunset, and down to English Harbour. It's one of our very happiest places.

This is the first time we've travelled to Antigua in January, all of our previous trips having been in May. It's demonstrably busier at Shirley Heights than we've seen it before. By 18:00, the bar queues are something to behold. We switch our boozing strategy to a bottle of wine in place of individual rum punches, as it stretches the time required between bar visits. The steel band build to a frenetic finish - every time we see them, they amaze me.

Our eating strategy has been less successful. We're heading back to the hotel for dinner later, but Vicki is rapidly becoming hangry. The queue for the BBQ is massive, so we concoct a variety of frankly idiotic schemes to feed her - ranging from distracting someone while we steal their plate of food, to begging one of the BBQ chefs for a bread roll. A bottle of Rosé seems to do the job temporarily, and all too soon we're back in our bus back to Escape.

Dinner is a delicious, if slightly hazy affair. We're tucked up in bed once again by 22:00.

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