I’m a worrier. Always have been. Just can’t handle uncertainty. “Suppose . . .” I tell myself. And a horde of possibilities come rushing in, all bad. Even phoning someone is a nightmare. “Suppose they’re resting? Or in the bathroom? Or, ohmigosh, . . .”
Saw recently where a lady calls her vet at 2 a.m.: “Doc, a male dog got in with my prize poodle! And now they’re stuck fast. Is there anything I could do to make him, like, lose it?”
The vet thinks awhile and then says: “Put your cellphone next to him and call it from your landline”.
And the lady says: “Wow, just a phone call could make him lose his e-thing?”
And the vet says: “It might. It sure caused this vet to lose his a few minutes ago”.
Now that’s just a foolish story. But since then I haven’t once called my vet, John Duckhouse.
He has such a pretty wife. And I’d hate to interrupt him practising the cornet.
Editor Carol Martindale phoned. Panic. New look WEEKEND NATION. Rickey Singh going elsewhere. That was a tough one. Anytime I thought to write anything raunchy or risqué, respect for Rickey kept me on the straight and narrow.
Of course, we don’t always agree. He’s a CARICOM man. I dread putting these beautiful islands under the control of politicians with reputations like rape accused, cocaine trafficker, massacre organiser, chum of crooked financier, advocate for “medical” (gimme a break) marijuana, sleeping giant and lady whose country isn’t an ATM. And we’re going somewhere with them?
However, the worrying really started when I read Eric Lewis was coming over. Suppose they put us side by side? Not that I would have to compete humour-wise. He’s a giant comedian; I pull goat tits for a living.
But suppose that Archibull Cox got on the same page as me? I could be asphyxiated.
Oh well, turns out the worry was all for nothing.
Or so I thought. They put me on top of Veoma Ali who announced her “virginal” status right up front. Hoad in Heaven. With Rickey I was confident my hymnal would remain intact. Now there were two of us.
Alas, things went rapidly downhill after that. For the good lady intimated that, instead of taking the bull by the horns as is customary, “let’s take it by the tail for once; and start with the bottom.” Lord have mercy, Ms V, that is exactly what I was fearing from Mr Cox.
Anyhow Veoma is new and maybe when I get a bit deeper into her niceties I’ll dig where she’s coming from. Forget that “delicate squeeze on the bottom” she recommends for Valentine’s Day, though. I ’fraid, girl.
Also I ’fraid to contemplate where Barbados is going. Two signs at Redman’s Village gas station say it all. One reads: “Way out”. And right next to it is another meaning “No entry or exit”.
That’s the uncertainty that freaks me out. Nobody knows nothing. Take those “Load limit 2 tonnes” by Cane Garden roads. I phoned the police traffic branch. Nice fellow. Does it mean the weight of the vehicle at that time or its fully loaded capacity?
He wasn’t sure but thought it was the weight there and then. My vehicle is about 1 1/2 tonnes unloaded but over 2 tonnes if fully loaded. So if I drove one of those roads unloaded, no problem. But if I gave, say, MP Richard Sealy a lift on the way back, would I be in breach?
I phoned MTW and about three helpful people didn’t know. They gave me the number for some lady but she never called back. I suspect she doesn’t exist.
That is Barbados today. Confusion. Lay-offs. Don’t lay off. Dr Estwick to save us financially. But his Ministry of Agriculture sells goat’s milk well below cost.
We give ex-prisoner Raul Garcia a free house, food and clothes. Feature him in the papers and on TV. And now we’re surprised that criminals from Bulgaria, Colombia and Britain are swarming in here?
Rihanna got US$20 million because the house she bought had “severe structural problems”, mould and rot. The House we got saddled with is in much the same condition. I say we sue.
Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator.
