I spent Thanksgiving in Hawaii, and it wasn’t a great vacation. We should have been warned by the presence of Demonchild, a toddler with a misleadingly angelic countenance who, on the flight out, made a horrible non-stop bleating/sheep getting killed noise straight from the depths of hell itself.

Then on the first full day, we were lying on Waikiki beach when I began to feel ill. It soon turned into a 102 degree fever - it was the flu. Silly me who claimed never to need a flu shot spent the next two days lying in a hotel room dressed under heavy blankets trying to cope with a body that had suddenly decided to stop regulating its own temperature.

And then the next day it started raining. At times it was of deluvian proportions - something like eight inches a day. We drove out once for a hike at Lyon Aboretum, managed a few steps in the driving rain, and gave up almost immediately. No scenery was worth getting drowned for.

The trip wasn’t an entire loss; we had a good dinner at Roy’s (Yamaguchi - yes, Shatner’s Iron Chef Asia), quite a few ridiculously fruity drinks including excellent pina coladas (the ones served at the Sheraton were best by far), and managed to go snorkelling at Hanauma Bay during a two hour lull in the rain. Caught a Polynesian themed show at a hotel where the presence of a room full of giggling Japanese schoolgirls made it more than worthwhile. We also made it out to the Polynesian Cultural Center on the North Shore where we puzzled over Mormon sensibilities apparently reigning supreme over the preserving of Polynesian heritage - not one single female midriff to be seen in the cheesy song and dance routines that wrapped up the evening.

And of course on the very last day the skies cleared up and the sun came out, so we did manage to get some sun on the beach, if even for an hour. Just to top things off, Demonchild was on our flight back too - though at least he was quiet.