Island living

The 10-hour flight from LA to Raratonga is the most consistently turbulent I've ever been on, but I'm now such a world traveller I don't even bat an eyelid. I even manage to sleep.

We touch down in Raratonga at 04.30am and walk across the tarmac to the small wooden building. It's warm and I immediately feel the moisture in the air. My hair reacts to this by separating and curling in on itself in some kind of lazy welcoming gesture. There's a guy in a hawaiian shirt singing some polynesian songs. Nice - but bizarre! I did say it was 0430.

We've got 3.5 hours before our flight to Aitutaki so I go to the toilets a few times to check on my hair. It's not good. It's tied back but what's left hanging down has separated into distinct little sections, gone totally wavy and slapped itself to the side of my head. For someone with little enough hair as it is,this is a very bad look.

At five to eight we board our tiny plane. I've barely sat down and put on my seatbelt when it starts heading out along the runway. I like their no nonsense style. A scant 40 mins later and we're crusing over the island of Aitutaki. It's totally breathtaking even in spite of the slightly overcast sky.

Another tiny wooden hut, another guy serenading us. There's not even a baggage carousel - you've just got to help yourself off the back of the luggage truck. The owner of the beach hut we're staying at picks us up at the airport and takes us to the supermarket to stock up on supplies. It's pricy since they import pretty much everything. There's no fresh milk on the island and I notice they even import their eggs. This surprises me since there are chickens and hens running about everywhere. Surely it can't be that difficult to organise.

On our way back to the beach hut, our host takes us to somewhere called Puffy's where we're getting a complimentary dinner at the local island night that evening. Sinead's mumbling something about not trusting our host and Puffy's looking dodgy but all I can think is how much the woman at Puffy's looks like an American football.

We get back to the beach hut and have showers. Having been on the go for about 24 hours straight, we're exhausted and decide to have a little snooze. Sinead is suddenly jealous of my eye mask (after having taking the piss for months) and asks if I have a spare. I do, and give this to her. She declares it a "revelation" and promptly falls asleep.

I wake up about 7 hours later and get ready for dinner. The hair is straightened and I put on some make-up , get the contact lenses in and feel much, much better.

We set off from the beach hut and realise it's pitch black. There are absolutely no street lights. We're walking along a road in the pitch dark with trees and bushes on either side. I start to wish I hadn't read up on the history of the island and its penchant for cannibalism. Various words and thoughts are popping into my head including - scariest of all - the wicker man.

Everything seems further away in the dark and after what seems like an eternity we get to Puffy's. It's jumpin' with locals and tourists and our hosts are busily setting out the food on the table. I feel guilty for thinking bad thoughts just a few moments before.

One of the men stands up and announces dinners is served. He says grace and we are told to quickly help ourselves before the locals eat it all. We duly oblige. I have absolutely no idea what I'm putting onto my plate but have already decided that I'm going to eat it anyway. I take a little bit of everything - except for the stuff that looks like raw liver.

The food is really nice and I do eat everything. When we're all finished, the local kids get up in their traditional dress and dance for us. It's a fantastic atmosphere and everyone's having a great time. I get asked up to dance by one of the locals - he's 4 years old and totally adorable. Down in the sand he doesn't think I'm shaking my hips and ass enough and shows me how it's really done.

This is going to be good.