By Gordon Robinson
Happy New Year to readers (both of them). Happy birthday to me. Yes, Anno Domini has ticked over once more and added another cent (well, all right, 'dollar') to the cash register of my life. Unfortunately, it's a recurring theme.
Cent, five cent, ten cent, dollar;
Cent, five cent, ten cent, dollar, (come again).
Many will be surprised to learn that soca star Colin George Lyndersay (Dollar Wine) Lucas was, in 2008, appointed general manager of Trinidad's Port Authority. Nobody, least of all Colin Lucas, will be surprised to know that, even from the womb, I was premature. Mummy was dressing for a New Year's Eve party in blissful unawareness when I began knocking at the door. With characteristic foetal stubbornness, I negotiated pre-delivery guarantees of a non-working birthday with horse racing added.
So, for me, January 1 isn't New Year's Day. It's my birthday and a race day. Similarly, this psychotic anxiety gripping humankind on December 31 to stay out all night, drink and carouse has never attracted me. That's because, to me, December 31 is, first, the day before a race day, when one's responsibilities include form book studying in preparation for contributing significantly to your friendly neighbourhood bookie's bank account.
Second, as my birthday's eve, it's also crucial to ensure I don't waste a minute of my special day ingesting hangover remedies. Or, worse, sleeping. Why do otherwise? For an eminently forgettable (and oft forgotten) night of drunken, disorderly conduct frittering away good betting stakes on variegated loose women unlikely to reciprocate?
She say she doh like de pace.
We going too slow.
So she want me wuk up me waist
And raise de tempo-o-o
Cent, five cent, 10 cent, dollar
Cent, five cent, 10 cent, dollar!
Cent, five cent, 10 cent, dollar!!
Cent, five cent, 10 cent, dollar!!!
When I thought she had enough and she
Cyah stand de grind, she bawl
Forget de small change, gi' me
Big money w-w-w-wine.
No, thanks. Give me my race book; The Old Ball and Chain falling asleep at twilight; her boys waking her at midnight to down half a glass of champagne (full glass for the men); and new year/birthday wishes all around followed by immediate stupor.
Nowadays, even concentrating on the race form until midnight is a chore. This year, I drifted off, as usual, and found myself in Apocrypha, whose leaders publish their New Year resolutions. Remember New Year resolutions? Promises we're expected to break (aka political party manifestos) yet regurgitate every year. I've renamed them New Year revolutions.
Prime Minister PoorShe Simple-Muller: To hug her way through Cabinet meetings (no talking) so that her ministers are blamed for anything going wrong. Soon, it'll be all Hail Queen PoorShe in her SUV!
Opposition Leader Wandraw Pollmess: To achieve something (anything) like building an actual highway so his shrill "My way or the highway" threat might frighten somebody (anybody). To get PoorShe to stop acting as if she won the election. To make ageing illegal. Don't worry, Wandraw, you're getting younger every day. Obviously.
Nevasawamikehedidntlike Henry: To eat more and more nyamburgers until nobody else can find space at the party leadership table.
Chickenfeed Pickaskill: To patent all facts; dictate all conversations; make Ain't NoBody Here but Us Chickens the new national anthem.
Everrude Warmongerton: To understand he has a right to remain silent.
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater: To Instantly Manufacture Funds and get along better with people of different beliefs like economics and common sense.
R.U. Shaw: Now that he's less debtful, to try to be not so shaw.
Reverend Al D. Pal: To learn not to be distracted by plum (plum?). Somebody might get guns. Remember, the harder they come ... .
Lloyd Lovindeer: If the SUVs can't be returned, to make another shipment.
Now, all a we love we country bad. If they try to mash it up, it just drive we mad. 'Cause most of we have nowhere else to go, so is either dem or we. I ain't leaving my country. Dey have their foreign property and foreign money.
I have a trailer load of politician down a de wharf. I want all you come and help me ship dem off. Who mix up in scandal (ship dem); who playing big ginnal (ship dem); all who tell we lie (ship dem); milk de country dry (ship dem); who give out de guns (ship dem); have we on de run (ship dem); who raping de country (ship dem); who t'iefing de money (ship dem).
Peace and love.
Gordon Robinson is an attorney-at-law. Email feedback to email@example.com.