It is getting colder and colder. The village is drifting further and further south.
Food is getting short as boats no longer stop and drop of supplies, because we have been declared an 'unsafe country'.
Luckily, Cowgill is making regular runs, with comestibles for my tea shop, by helicopter.
Although there are few villagers left, the teashop is always crowded as they huddle around the wood stove to get warm. The Old Monkey and I are run off our feet, everyday, serving them with winter comfort foods.
But I am feeling disconsolate, I let out such a deep sigh that everyone in the shop turned to look at me. "Well, how would you feel?" I declared "the greatest entrepreneur in the world reduced to running a teashop!"