Pushy Bill’s overbearing presence had the other holidaymakers in a real flap!
BY JAN SNOOK
Oh no,” Jane moaned, as two familiar figures headed for the terrace. “It’s Bill and Anne. Don’t look in their direction! I can’t stand another evening of –” “Hi there!” Bill said jovially. “Mind if we join you?” He and Anne sat down without waiting for an answer.
“What are you all drinking?” he asked as the waitress arrived.
“We’re fine,” Jane’s husband William said rather curtly, and their friends Doug and Christine nodded their agreement.
A sudden breeze rippled the surface of the lagoon, making the candles on the tables flicker. Bats flitted between the trees, caught in the glow of the fairy lights which spiralled up the palm tree trunks.
“Two rum punches,” Bill boomed at the waitress, beaming at her as she scuttled away. “So, what have you all been up to today?”
“Snorkelling mostly,” Christine began, “and tomorrow we’re –” “Having another quiet day,” Jane interrupted firmly.
“Absolutely. Just a quiet day,” Christine repeated.
“Aren’t we going to the bird sanctuary?” William asked, frowning. “Anne said it was worth a visit.”
The others glared at him, but it was too late.
“We’ll come with you,” Bill said decisively, stroking his bushy moustache. “See you in the lobby, about ten? I’ll order a taxi.”
The next day proved to be as tedious as Jane had feared. Anne had a stomach bug and didn’t join them, so there was no one to dilute Bill’s relentless stream of information.
There was no exotic bird he didn’t recognise, or whose habits he couldn’t lecture them all on. He insisted on going to the furthest reaches of the sanctuary in search of a rather dull (but rare) brown bird that he said they should see.
“Looks just like a sparrow to me,” Jane ventured to say.
“To you, yes, but that’s because you’re inexperienced. Motmots are, I grant you, not exactly flashy, but to the true ornithologist . . .”
Would he ever shut up?
They only managed to escape when Bill spotted a bird sanctuary warden.
“Oh good,” he said. “I want to ask him whether they’ve got any white-tailed sabrewings here.”
“Really?” Christine said, interestedly. “They’re humming birds, aren’t they?”
Bill looked at her closely.
“Yes. Very rare. Fancy you knowing that,” he said. “I heard a rumour they had a breeding
