it seems we have two species of amphibians in our fair islands, a toad, and a frog. this i learned from a forthcoming book about architecture. isn’t that something? and for all these years i have laboured – well, thrived if truth be known – under the misapprehension that we had just the SINGLE species.

didn’t attenborough say the distinction between a toad and a frog is the degree of sliminess?

my phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. it’s thakuru! we seem to be hanging out often these days. yesterday, he described himself to my friend saththaaru as a member of the idle rich. and i vehemently, vociferously believe that the rich should be idle. call me a madman yet my premises for this belief are sound.

thakuru comes to pick me up. i’m wearing a shirt sampaafulhu has chosen for me ten years ago and it makes thakuru grin. sampaafulhu has a sense of humour. she can sense.

‘isn’t this nice?’ says thakuru as we cruise along sosan magu, inhaling the moist air and feeling little droplets of water as we pass under the weepy trees.

‘it’ll be nicer still when the beerattehin leave for their islands.’ i say.

‘and yet others will flock to the city for eid,’ reminds thakuru.

‘yeah but at least there won’t be half as much traffic cos they’ll all be walking.’

‘where are we going?’ asks thakuru.

‘i want to make a salad,’ i tell him. ‘let’s go to fantasy. i need some smoked salmon.’

‘fantasy is shit. i’ll show you how we do it.’

in a while, we enter a little goalhi that streams towards the raalhugandu side of henveiru, near coffee council.

‘huh. sea & sand,’ i read the sign like a dunce and enter.

the place is packed with refrigerators, themselves packed with seafood. there’s shrimp, there’s lobster, calamari, dear god! there’s even caviar in tiny glass jars!

where has thakuru brought me?

the shopkeeper, who’s a vigilant, moustached man, possibly indian, shows me the salmon. i take a packet that’s at least three times as big as those you get in fantasy. it’s premium norwegian, too.

‘how much?’ i ask.

‘106.’

‘dollars?’

‘no, rufiyaa,’ he says.

‘my GOD.’

thakuru smiles smugly.

‘told you.’

‘how did you even find this place? it’s in the middle of nowhere.’

‘my wife does purchasing for a foreign company. she knows where you get the best deals.’

‘huh. how about that?’

we climb back on his bike and snake through the street towards my place.

‘let me know where you can find good cheese next,’ i tell thakuru

‘it’s not at de essence,’ laughs thakuru and motors off, leaving me to head up the stairs towards my lair.

btw, if someone slips the word ‘vernacular’ into the conversation, you can bet your sweet dibs they are an architect.