I hear the noise of an engine over the surf. I see a light bouncing up and down as it crashes through the surf.
I can’t believe my eyes. Have I finally succumbed to madness?
I watch a battered jetski arrive, not far from my makeshift camp.
At last! I’ve been rescued!
The driver, a Rastafarian, rummages in his backpack. “Ya gotta sign ‘ere, mon,” he demands. “Cash or Debit Cay-ard?”
I sign and hand over my visa.
He turns to leave.
“Wait! Aren’t you rescuing me?”
“Sorry, mon. Ma insurance doesn’t cover no passengers, mon:- Company policy!”