Diana Balham comes face to face with a very angry - but very pretty - volcano on the Vanuatu island of Tanna.
Time in Vanuatu is a very stretchy concept. Basil was up most of the night watching the Football World Cup so he looks a bit rough when he picks us up to take us to the airport in Port Vila. Two hours early. And then he doesn't come back. When we finally get there, we are late to check in but - no worries - the flight is delayed by an hour. And when we're almost due to land in Tanna, the captain announces that the weather is bad and we might have to turn back. Sure enough, we dip down towards the runway, wheels almost touching the tarmac, and then soar away again, back to Port Vila.
The volcano gods don't want us to visit, but our second attempt is successful and we're eating breakfast at Tanna Lodge by mid-morning. Or thereabouts.
Prince is a nice brown dog that lives at the lodge. He'll take you down to the beach and make you throw a stick for him, and then yip like a puppy while trying to decide whether to bury it or give it back. If you go for a swim, he'll gallop around and around the pool like a hopeless dressage pony, barking and desperate to jump in, although he knows he's not allowed to.
The beach is a wild west coast affair with black volcanic sand and great surges of sea that sluice up the ancient coral chasms and then dash away again. Boys from the local village come and collect not the beautiful shells that somehow survive unscathed, but plain grey stones for their slingshots. Coconut palms jangle in the breeze.