Boutique Village Holds First Annual Seafood Festival

Hill rests his iPhone on Trudy’s shoulder, touches the screen and begins recording. Trudy faces the GoPro towards an image of Barack Obama holding a small piece of dark chocolate to his mouth. Obama is in profile, relaxed and unburdened, eating artisanal chocolate made with the island’s sea salt. Natasha, Malia, and Michelle Obama are standing in the background, holding hands and smiling calmly. Trudy steps forward and extends her arm so that the GoPro lens is almost touching Obama’s mouth.

There is some jostling amongst the small crowd gathered around the Strait Salt stand as the company’s founders walk on to elevated platform and hold microphones up to their mouths. They introduce themselves as Laura and Peter. Laura is tall and has long white hair tied in a bun. Peter is tall and wears a fawn checked shirt tucked into baggy red corduroys. Laura and Peter begin talking about their passions and eccentricities, how these traits have kept their marriage as fresh as their business model. The crowd gasps as Peter picks up a piece of sea salt the size of an apple, holds it to his mouth and takes a large bite.

What you see before you is the purest reflection of our commitment to provenance, Laura says, nodding in encouragement as the crowd claps.

Provenance, curiosity, and fun! Peter shouts, wet fragments of sea-salt apple projecting onto the faces at the front of the crowd. Never give up, laugh all day every day, experiment, your idea is only as real as your rigour, he says, washing down the remaining shards of sea salt with a shot glass of Due Vittorie balsamic vinegar.

Aged twelve years and well worth the wait, Peter says.

‘Boutique Village Holds First Annual Seafood Festival’, Hill thinks.

Hill turns the iPhone and points it towards Trudy, unsteadily zooming in on her face, the focus drawn gradually towards a scar from her childhood, a thin white line running horizontally through her eyebrow.

Incredible and beautiful, Hill thinks.

Trudy keeps the GoPro pointing towards the stage as Peter speaks, Laura standing to the side and rotating through a series of assured facial expressions and hand gestures. Trudy turns her head slightly and rests her bodyweight on Hill’s chest.

Peter stops talking and walks across the stage to embrace Laura. As he takes her hand and raises it above her head, the audience erupts into cheers. Laura and Peter’s adult children walk amongst the crowd with trays of sea-salt brioche tasters and prosecco served in branded plastic flutes.

It doesn’t get much better than this, guys, Peter says. Welcome all to the salted isle!

It doesn’t get much better than this, guys, Trudy says, snorting.

Hill looks towards Peter, now squatting down to talk to an audience member whilst simultaneously using a toothpick to dislodge small salt crystals from in between his teeth.

‘Successful Roger’, Hill thinks.

Successful Roger didn’t kill my mother, Hill thinks.

Actual Roger didn’t kill my mother, Hill thinks.