After doing the rounds of the NZ and Brit High Commissions, where I have to say it was great to deal with practical, sensible and sensitive bureaucracy, all other spare moments have been spent house hunting. Some surprisingly nice places available, and if one moves away from the sea’s edge, the prices are reasonable compared with Suva point. All the same I have a fondness for this area, and there are some cheaper more secure places here. I rationalise it because it is close to the USP in case my girls come to study, but it is also because the only acquaintances I have outside the office are round here.
So far I have seen the ultimate secure house, which feels a little too much like a prison, but is really enormous, a smaller, much more luxurious, but less secure place with a really good yard for Frankie, an apartment ideal for a single with room for visitors but not really for a permanent full house, and a cottage beside a police post.
It looks as if I have been landed with Frankie in the smoothest con of the year. No sign of this hypothetical new owner. As long as I can find a decent place where she can stay I am not entirely averse to having her, though I would rather give her up now than after 18 months of further bonding.
I am coming up from the slough, coming to terms with the losses and my own stupidity in not being insured, and determined to make the best of the situation I am in.
I wrote home: suppose the fact that I am looking for new accommodation means I must
have decided to stay in Fiji and get on with the job. I don’t know
exactly when I made that decision, but it seems I have. I almost quit,
but I hate leaving work half done. Besides no one else can/will do it
the way I want to see it done, and I am just getting the feel for it.
I just found my feet on the job before all this happened, and I
don’t really want to be beaten by a burglar, no matter how much I miss
you all, and how homesick I get, and how much I want to come home. I
did set out to do this job, and I want to do it well..