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The Day I Was Locked Down on a Private Island
Not the worst place to quarantine
The wind stung my eyes as the speed boat glided across the sea's surface. On calm days in Indonesia, the reflective properties of the water transform it into liquid silver. I was sitting on the roof of Mana 4, a passenger boat ferrying supplies back to Cempedak Island.
It was time to return to my role as guest relations manager after a ridiculous two weeks.
My old friend from university, Crowie, had flown out from Manchester to meet me in Singapore and together we had made our way to Bali. After spending a few nights in a dingy hostel, drinking Bintang lager and playing chess, we were adopted by a villa of Swedish girls.
Despite lacking any discernible muscle definition (and being horribly sunburnt) we had been plucked from the youthful masses and granted access to their castle in the hills.
All we had to do was make them laugh occasionally and bring gin and tonics to the pool. It was a good gig.
At one point, whilst trying to retain the illusion that we were smooth operators, I slipped into the water, banging my calf…
