Tuvalu and Funafuti, whilst quite possibly less populated than the average supermarket on two for one day, do actually posess,if not outright own, some of the basic requirement for wgt addiction.
Allow my elucidation.
During the middle late 1980's, whilst I was but a sprog, our entourage decamped to Funafuti in order that my parents could take up the kind offer from a friend who was the Crown accountant, looking after British interests in that particular portion of the South Seas.
I can readily, if dimly, attest to the number one raision d'etre for something, anything to relieve the crushing boredom of daily life living on what amounts to an airstrip surrounded by half repaired aircraft relaxing recumbent, languishing in dulled aluminium heaps, whilst stretching like a post prandial yawn towards an idly lapping lagoon.
Whilst every effort is made locally to enrich ones life by remaining awake long enough to count and re-count both the number, and sex of the ever present Ghekko's which inhabit not only every nook, cranny and corner of each and every dwelling, this necessary adjunct to a productive life can only ever capacitate poorly the actual hours in a day, which cannot otherwise be spent either atrophied by homemade hootch, or asleep.
The very presence of actual real live visitors to the islands, stirs the national interest sufficient even to draw out the most recalcitrant Micronesian to stand and stare, agape with wonder, and yet unwilling to render any kind of assistance should any be sought, other than to volunteer ( which is done aggressively and by age ) to be the "taps" at a ladies bath time. This particular chore is readily, not to say lustily engaged upon, being as it is, the Island equivilant of those National Geographic iconic articles on native African tribeswomen who choose to walk bare breasted, even if they do have plates in their lower lips. It goes thus: Unsuspecting western lady enters bathroom, selects hot tap/ cold tap, according to taste. Lady disrobes and settles into off brown water, whilst still dancing fingers from tap to tap in order to achieve optimum temperature for a bath that is both relaxing and yet paradoxically pointless, given the outrageous localised humidty.
Once suitably ensconced, said lady may view both taps by reclining and looking toward the end of the bath, where each tap is approximately level with knees, but only when each knee is drawn away from its twin, such that the two taps form a metallic artform almost joining the now seperated knees.
From this vantage point there comes the astonishing and unsettling vision of two shabbily cut peep holes, through which the indigenous and elderly "Tap" volunteer may stare directly into the bath where said lady is presently reclined, with her knees apart, wondering with alarm, how such a loss of decorum can ever wholly be recovered.
Upon later investigation by Western lady's far from happy husband, it transpires that "tap" volunteers are necessary in order that the correct bucket of hot or cold water, may be added simultageously according to which tap is chosen by the bathee.
So, not quite the plumbing arrangement one is entirely used to, but rather one that has an often unrequired dimension.
I recognise that above I have almost digressed, however, I have done so merely to point out that without frequent Western visitors, the Islands and inhabitants have little to do with their allotted time, and so may possibly choose something such as Wgt to fill an unnavoidable void.
Lizzie xx