I have realised why this is the boondocks of the Bahamas. It is because the food on this island is terrible. You would think it would be fresh fish, fresh lobster, delicious fruits, but everywhere you go it is club sandwiches on thin white bread with processed cheese and ham, frozen lobster, and just now, at lunch, we sent back the chicken on our salad because it was raw.

Beloved and the Brother went out this morning, banging their chests and hollering about catching dinner. They went spear-lobstering (my own title), and caught two little lobsters. Very little. They might make a couple of hors d’oeuvres. If we’re lucky. The boys have spent the entire morning discussing how to cook them.

Tonight we are off to the Bahama Beach Club for dinner, then a friend for drinks, then to the local bar, for, I imagine, many more drinks. This year I am determined to be up at midnight. Last year, on the cruise, I went to bed early with depression.

This is never going to be a destination for the Glitterati, simply because if you want to eat good food, you have to cook it at home. The Golfers cooked an amazing dinner last night, which I watched from my vantage point of lying on a sofa under a blanket, unable to move. Today I am much better, and have tasted leftovers of Jamie Oliver’s fabulous fish pie and a warm chocolate and banana cake that is to die for. I have attempted to translate my mother’s quantities for the cake (origin unknown), which are all in grams, and it’s not entirely precise, but I think it should be fine. Let me know how this turns out.

The fish pie is wonderful. There is something immensely comforting to me about foods like fish pie and cottage pie. I don’t make them nearly as often as I should, but love them when I do. I can’t say it’s the perfect dish for the Bahamas, but compared to raw chicken salad, it’s pretty damn good.

Jamie Oliver’s Fantastic Fish Pie (serves 6, although we have plenty left over…)

Ingredients:
5 large potatoes, peeled and diced into 1 inch squares
salt and pepper
2 eggs
2 large handfuls of fresh spinach
1 onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
olive oil
1/2 pint heavy cream
2 good handfuls of grated mature cheddar or parmesan cheese
juice of 1 lemon
1 heaped teaspoon English mustard
1 large handful of flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1lb haddock or cod, skin removed, sliced into strips
nutmeg

Pre-heat oven to 450

Method:
Put potatoes into boiling, salted water and bring back to boil for 2 minutes.
Carefully add eggs to pan and cook for further 8 minutes until hard-boiled, by which time potatoes should also be cooked.
At the same time, steam spinach in a colander above the pan for about a minute.
When spinach is done, gently squeeze liquid out.
Drain potatoes, remove eggs, cool, peel and quarter. Place to one side.

Fry onion and carrot in oil for 5 minutes, then add cream and bring to boil.
Remove from heat and add cheese, lemon juice, mustard and parsley.
Put spinach, fish and eggs in dish and mix together, pouring over creamy vegetable sauce.
Mash cooked potatoes, with oil, salt and pepper, and nutmeg if you want, and spread on top of fish. (I would add some grated cheese on top as well)
Place in oven until potatoes are golden, around 25/30 minutes.

Warm Chocolate & Banana Cake

Ingredients:
1 cup plain chocolate
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
3 eggs, beaten
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
3 ripe bananas

pre-heat oven to 350

Method:
Melt chocolate over bain-marie, or my lazy way of VERY VERY slowly in a microwave.
Cream together butter and sugar until pale
Add eggs gradually, whilst beating.
Stir dry ingredients and fold in to wet mix.
Add mashed banana and melted chocolate. Mix well.

Bake 45 minutes.

When I said there was no-one on this island in the Bahamas, I meant no-one. Other than, completely bizarrely, Martha Stewart.

We saw her for dinner just before we left, and knowing how much I hated the cruise, she asked if we’d, perchance, be taking another one.

‘Oh hahahaha,’ was my response, before telling her we were off to the Bahamas.

‘I’m off to the Bahamas,’ she said. ‘Where?’

And it turns out, we are in exactly the same place.

We met up for lunch yesterday, and had an odd experience afterwards. We said our goodbyes, and minutes later walked onto the road to see the priceless image of Martha trundling down the road in a golf cart. We grabbed our camera, laughingly, to capture the splendid sight, and Martha handed us her camera to capture the shot. (same camera as mine - Beloved got me a Canon G10 for Christmas, and I think I may have fallen in love with it). While we were snapping, some Americans walked past and told us to leave the poor woman alone.

It occurred to me how things can be taken entirely out of context. I’m sure the American woman went home and said this crowd of people didn’t leave Martha Stewart alone, and how awful to be so famous that even when you are on vacation, people insist on taking your picture all the time, which is entirely not what was happening.

It also occurs to me that really, other people’s behaviour is none of our business, because as a bystander we just don’t know what is truly going on.

I am lying in bed today, sick. We have all come down with dodgy stomachs, and having felt rather smug at avoiding it yesterday, I am now feeling ghastly and have barely been able to drag myself out of bed. My Mum just brought me some ginger tea, and I am desperately trying to get comfortable in a bid to sleep it off, except the pillows are much harder than I am used to, and I can’t, for the life of me, get comfortable.

I finished The Private Lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller at around five O’clock this morning. It is a wonderful and lovely book. Hard for me to get into, but once in, mesmerising, particularly the relationship between the mother and the daughter. I hope she writes more.

I am safely back at our little house on the island, having spent the day dodging evil glares.

Nippers, it turns out, is on Guana Cay, which is utterly beautiful. George Clooney is said to have bought something there. I spent the day looking, but I didn’t see him. Beloved had chosen this day to wear his Obama T-shirt. Coming out of that particular closet in front of this particular crowd, who, from their stunned glances, clearly had different voting habits, was perhaps not the best idea.

I spent the day worrying about Beloved, and feeling as if I had somehow mistakenly stepped into the filming of MTV’s new series: Spring Break, Guana Cay. Lots and lots of people far younger than I, sporting beers and buzzcuts, getting very drunk and dancing. There was one woman far older than I, rather fabulously poured into a purple bikini, who was clearly striving to be a MILF, draping herself over her daughter’s teen, male, friends, and behaving rather fantastically if there should happen to be, say, a novelist who has an eagle eye and is always looking for great characters… I shall say no more, other than that I sincerely hope I move into my middle-aged years with grace and dignity, rather than with silicone breasts, dyed hair and inappropriate flirtations.

Ah well. It is all good material.

Am here in the Bahamas, Beloved has just appeared for breakfast, and I am sitting at the table looking out over boats in the water. We’re boating off today to a place called Nippers, where there is live music, and lots and lots to drink. I am making a commitment now to NOT drink, because drinking during the day is a surefire disaster for me. It doesn’t help that I am, apparently, what’s known in the drinking world as a ’sprinter’, as in I drink very, very quickly, then end up asleep.

I also have very little capacity for alcohol. Two drinks and I’m pretty much done, so if I’m drinking, I’m tremendous fun for about twenty minutes, and then I hit the wall, usually with a horrible hangover that for some odd reason always comes the same night.

I’m still not as relaxed as I could be, but I’m getting there. I read somewhere recently that it takes three days and eight hours to become truly relaxed when you are on holiday, and I have no idea if that is true, but it feels true. I will say that it is gorgeous to not have anything to do, other than read books and choose which spot on the beach is best.

Speaking of books, the Lovely Teenager had given me her copy of Twilight insisting that I must read it. I have read it. I’m astonished that I finished it, and more astonished that there have been comparisons to Harry Potter, which is not only brilliantly clever, but has universal appeal, to all ages. Twilight is the quintessential teenage girl read. I totally understand why the Lovely Teenager adored it, and more, why millions of teenage girls are devouring (excuse the pun) this series about vampires. I, however, am not a teenage girl, and have not been a teenage girl for a very long time. I remember the angst, the constant feeling of not fitting in, and the wishing for true love to take me away from everything.

Now, at forty, I am mortified at my teenage expectations of love: ridiculously romantic, over-the-top, sweeping music, crashing waves, etc etc. This is exactly the sort of stuff that fills the pages of Twilight. I haven’t got the patience for it now that I have more life experience under my belt, and I shall not be reading the sequels.

I am also reading The Private Lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller, the story of a woman in her fifties married to a much older man, and undergoing a late-mid-life-crisis. I am thoroughly enjoying it, and recommend it.

Off now to get ready for my day of non-drinking and sunning…

The Smalls have just left for the Christmas vacation, and I am feeling surprisingly teary. I thought I’d be thrilled - I’m exhausted and in desperate need of a break, but in fact I feel more than a little lost. We spent the afternoon reading on the sofa in front of the fire, and the house feels strangely quiet, although Beloved will be home soon with his two, so the noise will continue shortly. I really ought to just enjoy it while I can.

I was reading one of the many magazines The Chestnut brought me the other day. This one was Tatler, which is a ridiculous publication, unless you’re English, Upper Class, and sixteen. I don’t buy it, and always feel as if I’m reading about a rather exclusive club of which I’m not a member.

But there was something in there that I found fascinating, namely the new teen lingo. I have noticed that The Eldest Daughter uses all sorts of peculiar acronyms and slang on her facebook profile that I don’t understand, although given a while I can usually figure it out.

Of course there’s the ubiquitous OMG (oh my God), and now IDK, which is I don’t know, but Tatler has a couple I hadn’t seen before that I quite like:

BFFN: Best friends for now, NFP, new favorite person, and the rather good Fomo: Fear of missing out, as in, it’s fomo that drags me to a party on Christmas Eve when I’d rather be home wrapping presents.

Particularly brilliant were a few of Tatler’s new social concepts.

Texpectation: The agony of waiting for a text from someone you like.
Chairdrobe: Accumulating discarded outfits on a chair in the bedroom. (Or in my case, bathroom. This might be my favorite).
Fakebook: Asking someone you hate to be a friend on Facebook.
Nillionaire: Someone with no money.

I will also give you the recipe for this year’s holiday cookies, which have gone out as gifts together with the candied orange peel. Not for the Smalls - the taste is rather too sophisticated for them - but Grown-ups have loved them.

Christmas Cookies

Ingredients:
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 stick unsalted butter
1 cup flour
1/2 cup candied fruit peel (I find mine in the grocery store in the produce section at this time of year)
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup walnut pieces
zest of 1 orange
1 tablespoon orange juice
1 egg.

Method.
Combine first three ingredients in a mixer and blend well. Add rest and pulse until blended, but not pureed. You want the fruit and walnuts to stay in chunks, so they’re vaguely recognisable. The Chestnut’s daughter made these for me the other day and pulverised them, and whilst they were delicious, they didn’t look nearly as pretty.

Put soft dough in saran wrap, roll into sausage shape and chill for an hour. Preheat oven to 350.

Slice into 12 thick rounds. Place well apart on a baking sheet, and bake for 10 minutes.

Enjoy.