Kelly's World | Alas, I won't be playing mas!
Sigh. some things just aren't meant to be. You might recall that I previously expressed the desire to participate in the road march that culminates the Jamaican carnival season.
Deep down, there was a part of me that hoped it would be this year. Can't say that I actually put any plans in place, mind you, but it was an idea.
Thing is, even if I had planned, fate always has other ideas. And 'twas the case this time again.
Poor me, because of work commitments, I can't do road on Carnival Sunday. The bacchanal deities have decided that yours truly will not be there for 2018.
Now for the record, when I say 'do road', I was not going to be marching in a band.
I don't have the pockets for the costumes (yet) or the body (got to get back in the gym) to be part of any band on carnival day.
So my participation would have been finding a nice spot to sit and watch the revellers go by.
But not even dat mi can get fi do da year yah. Alas, no mas!
FOR THE BEST
Sigh. But it's probably for the best. Truth is, the pocket is about as strong as the abs right now. I'm not walking around with a pan at stoplights, but I'm not exactly making it rain either.
So if I was even trying to just fill my own little cooler and carry to my vantage point, then it would have set me back a few 'Joshuas'.
I simply couldn't afford for it to reach the 'Shearer' mark, or certainly two. Speaking of dead prime ministers, I wonder if any of them were soca fanatics.
Can you imagine Norman Manley or Hugh Shearer on the road, wining with revellers on one of the big Zoukie trucks?
That's one of the things with this time of year, the fun is great, but the budget kinda needs to be great too.
Whether it was Man A Yard Audley or Newcomer Nigel as di finance minister, if di money nuh di deh, it just nuh di deh.
Further truth is that even if I could afford to go to all the major soca events this season, some I would leave alone.
Stuff like J'Ouvert and all that, I leave it to the younger folks. A breakfast party? Nice, but me old-fashioned; I eat at home, and rum drinking shouldn't start so early.
Sure, there are people my age and older who go to both events, but meh, I'm not so sure.
But for me, paint (for J'Ouvert) and parties that start at 6 a.m. are a young person's game. I'm not old, but I ain't a spring chicken either.
These old bones are creaking a bit, and sleeping past certain hours of the morning has been a part of my repertoire for a while now.
So this year might be gone, but ah, there's always next year, my friends.
I have a formal plan in the works. It's part financial, part timetable. But one way or the other, this pudgy partygoer will be playing mas in 2019. (I hope).
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