" Ah, shit! So it's coming into silly season again. Have we anything in the area?" Nothing!" Then pass it on to the British, they have nothing better ...o do." Yes, Admiral."Joanna awoke early on the third day of their stay on Hatutu in the Northern Marquesas Group of Islands. Rupert was already out surf casting with the rod he'd fashioned from driftwood. He approached fishing with the same intensity and inventiveness he attacked any task. Joanna was amazed at some of the ideas he came up. ‘Your boring disguise ruined again,’ she giggled. ‘But I didn’t get the last one?’ ‘Just that every one in the band has a stage name ending in -atman. Like I’d be Fatman.’ ‘Don’t knock yourself. You’d look great in superhero tights. I could be Bratwoman.’ ‘The drummer could try to hit flies while playing – then he’d be Swatman.’ ‘And the one who was too stoned to remember what songs we play would be the Whatman.’ ‘Oh, goodness me. I guess we’d better head back. But this has been a most. More

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