24 - Ile du Grande Ribaud, Porquerolles France August 1978

It was like a nightmare. As if Bequia wasn't small enough, this was an island with one and a half houses and an abondonned lighthouse and the whole family was here, and friends, and hangers-on and other people no-one cared to know..

"What am I doing here?" thought Jean-Marc as he stumbled out of his tiny bed one morning at dawn. He staggered past the long house where all the bedrooms were, in front of the main house and down the track to the beach. It was a ramshackle house, no electricity on the island of course, and heaving gas bottles up the hill from the beach had been the highlight of Jean-Marc's week, but of course they needed gas for the stove - and the very reason Jean-Marc was there in the first place was because they needed someone to cook.

Always the same story, the two jobs where you can find work anywhere in the world: the cook and the potter. The Cook because people need to eat and the Potter because people need plates to eat off. Of course a potter has to build a kiln and find clay, a cook just has to cook, so he always gets invited first.

Down the trail to the little creek, Jean-Marc undressed and swam out in the bay. It was early in the morning, the Mediterranean was warm, the air was clear.

A small yacht was moored nearby, French law had recently granted the first few metres of all France's coastline to the "French people" and so, even on this private island , unwelcomed guests could not be turned away, although they were very frowned upon and certainly not made welcome.

Stéphane watched Jean-Marc from the deck of the yacht, he wanted to wave or make contact, but Denis emerged from the cabin and smiled breakfast. Although Denis never visibly ate anything, he always said that breakfast was the most important time of the day.

Jean-Marc swam back toward the creek and one of the older residents of the household, the father of one of the rich girls who seemed to change bedroom every night, was standing on the rock. "Bonjour Pierre".

"That was a wonderful meal you cooked last night Jean-Marc, you are a very talented chef and a handsome young man, I would like to help you". Pierre, seeing that Jean-Marc was swimming naked, took off his swimming trunks and plunged into the sea, giving Jean-Marc plenty of time to see that he had an erection. "I would like to offer you a directorship in my company", they were treading water just 10 metres from the shoreline. "What's the catch?" replied Jean-Marc. "Well, of course you would have to marry my daughter, I know she's is not very pretty but we own half this island, half a chateau in the Loire, and we have plenty of other assets, I'll look after you."

Jean-Marc was horrified. He quickly swam back to the shore and rushed back to his bedroom, someone was making love very loudly in the next room. He quickly packed his bag, took his guitar and headed for the beach where the rubber dinghy was moored, he heard voices, someone was coming up the trail and as he had no desire for an encounter of any kind at that moment he made a quick u-turn and headed down another trail which, until now, he had not seen.

It led to a headland, there was a half-broken bridge leading across a ravine, he stepped cautiously across it and followed the path up the hill. The view was beautiful in the early morning light but he was only thinking of escape, how to get off this crazy island.

Back up at the house there were voices and animated discussion. Jean-Marc took out his guitar, then a paper and pen from the bottom of his bag. He composed the two songs that would put Manchester back on the map of the rock world and pay his rent for the rest of eternity.

Denis and Stéphane rather enjoyed this, listening from the yacht across the bay.

Around lunchtime they started calling him "where's the cook?"

Taking his guitar and bag, he creeped back up the track and around the back of the house and down to the beach where the dinghy was kept. He used the oars and rowed out to sea, starting the outboard motor was he was out of range. He left the dinghy in Giens and gave 10 francs to a guy smoking a gitanes on the jetty, "can you take the dinghy back to Ribaud, they'll bring you back to the mainland and probably give you a good tip?"

Standing on the road to Hyères, Jean-Marc started hitch-hiking towards his new destiny.

"One day" he thought, "I'll write a book about the stupid little things that changed my life." But the two songs were already there, the tune in his mind and the words on a scrap of paper in his bag.