Fish out of water

I would be knocking on the door of Eric Clapton's rehab clinic if I had the energy to get there. The discos go on quite late here in Antigua, except they don't call them discos anymore and people don't dance to records. Whatever happened to Status Quo?

There's a party at Andrew Pindar's place and someone gets chucked in the pool. That should have been the end of a pleasant evening but I'm persuaded to call at a club on the way back to the hotel. Bad move.

The day had started well. The local distillery boss, Anthony Bento, is kind enough to drive me around the island and we have a tasting of his English Harbour Rum. He says it is a "sipping rum". Too late. I gulped. We spend an absorbing couple of hours chatting with a local historian, Paddy Simon, who runs a lawn-mower repair shop. Paddy has some fascinating insights in to the slave trade that once held the island in its grip. I think they're worth a blog or a column to themselves.

But that meeting seems a long time in the past as I crawl in to bed at about 5am. The phone goes at 6am. I don't answer it. Then, at about seven, what sounds like a very loud vacuum cleaner starts up. I totter out of bed, grab my fishing gear and find a cab. Someone has told me about a promising flats-wading spot that might hold bonefish.

We find what looks like the spot. It has flats grass that bonefish like to roam. I spend about two fruitless hours wading about a mile and see some baby barracuda and catch a couple of small yellow-finned fish. But I don't see any bones. They will be here but the spot looks quite tidal and I think it needs more water to bring them in.

The taxi driver is puzzled about this fishing. "What do you do with these bonefish when you catch them?" he asks.

"I put them back."

"Oh."

It's pretty clear he thinks I'm a nutter and, yes, I know he's not alone.

Unfortunately I can't spend the day here because I have promised to join a big game fishing trip in the afternoon. I didn't expect much and it didn't deliver much - a smallish barracuda and a dorado (called mahi mahi here) from four hours of fishing. The sea is pretty rough and I feel sick.

There's another party tonight. I bet old Eric's place is busy.