I’d had the foresight to pack my bags the night before. Stuffing your belongings into your rucksack while you’re still leathered is not an option; the paranoia setting in at the possibility of leaving something important is unbearable. I’ve got the final check mantra down pat though; “Big camera, little camera, iPod, Passport, phone.” Anything else can be replaced easily enough.
So a quick tuna sandwich and a farewell to Lek and Mrs Moo later, I’m staggering down to the beach where two boats are pulling up 100m apart. I scan both vessels for Az and Ellie, but can’t see them. Bollocks. I’m on me own then, eh? (I found out some days later, on Phayam, that they’d given a German fella a note for me, to say they’d got too wrecked to face a boat ride, and would catch me up. The guy was on the other boat, it would appear…I didn’t get it.) Chucking my bag up, I clambered aboard and we were off.
The water was fairly calm, thankfully; my head was still spinning. You see some huge jellyfish on the boat…large, sinister and bright orange in colour. I’d always mutter a silent prayer about the boat not sinking…the sea was full of them. Pissed, paralysed and drowning is not how I’d like to go out.