Part Four: Night Fever

I have always been sceptical about organised fun. Perhaps it’s being too English and uptight; the self-conscious part of me that is too embarrassed to let go and the arrogant side of me that thinks I would have more fun if left to myself. But, in the spirit of the place, I went along on the afternoon orientation tour whilst Auntie enquired about renting a car. Miguel, Breezes’ 21-year-old singing ‘fun coordinator and social director’ showed us around the hotel complex pointing out important locations such as the bar, the beach bar, the pool bar, the open-til-really-late bar, and a couple of others just in case. And the Canadians I was with insisted on stopping at each and asked me if I had ever met the Queen.

It was sometime during orientation that I started to feel a bit strange… the wind hadn’t abated, and I was starting to feel shivery, even in the warmth. When the tour had finished and I rejoined Auntie we separated and went to our rooms where a hot shower and a cup of coffee still didn’t warm me up. Tempted though I was to crawl under my duvet I didn’t want to leave my aunt to face dinner alone, so I dressed and went to meet her. The Breezes Grand Negril boasts 7 restaurants, 2 that require booking, and we went to the Grand Café where Continental Cuisine is offered to titillate your palate. The low mood lighting inside the Grand Café did not hide its incredibly dated deco, nor did not being able to see what was on my plate very easily hide the rather flavourless food. Salty swordfish, chewy tuna and scrambled crème brûlée were served and cleared with remarkable speed. And still I felt unwell. It was as though my body was rejecting the place. Actually the symptoms were rather like sunstroke: cold skin, hot blood, aching head but I can’t believe that was possible. More likely, as Aunt A diagnosed, I had brought a winter cold out with me from London and it had been drawn out on the plane.

The schedule I had seen earlier in the day had indicated that there was a live band, a talent show (guest entries encouraged) and a disco all happening that evening, but I felt I couldn’t face any of these returning to my room I found myself so desperate for some maternal comfort that I put on a jumper, wrapped myself in the blanket and listened to the calming voice of Emma Thompson on Desert Island Discs, and missed the clean white elegance of my room from that morning.