AS I SCRAMBLED an egg last Thursday, I scrambled for the phone. I saw a text message, inviting me to a Christmas dinner on Friday; and immediately looked at the calendar. I frantically called Carol Martindale, explaining to her that I thought Christmas was on Thursday and not Friday; and if she could please change my Boxing Day greetings in the article I wrote. After commenting on the planet I must be inhabiting, she informed me that – like my luck – the paper was already out. So, I celebrated Christmas a day early and Boxing Day for me was last Friday. Apparently no one else made the same mistake.
But as we head into 2016 – and yes, I am certain of the date this time – I know many of us like to make resolutions. Although the statistics say that 80 per cent of resolutions are broken in the first two weeks of January, we like to think that we can defy the odds. Like last January. I resolved to eat more vegetables, drink less Coke and go to bed by 10 o’clock.
Well, for the past year, the most vegetables I had would have been fried potatoes – as in chips – from KFC, more Coke since the days were so hot; and I was always up late since How To Get Away With Murder and all the other good shows went well towards midnight.
So, this year, I simply have one resolution. It is to shed some pounds. A friend recently remarked on my weight and was seriously contemplating making me wear the Santa suit at the office party. This is my grouse: Santa is considered “cute” but if my jeans fit a little too tight, I get referred to as “wopsy” and “thick” and “booboloops” and all kinds of other condescending comments. Look at Santa. Professor Sir Trevor Hassell should talk about him. Santa should be walking instead of having the poor reindeer pull him all about the place, because without a doubt, he must be at least a hundred pounds overweight.
But nooooo, nobody’s looking at Santa. I, on the other hand, am about twenty pounds past my ideal weight and my friends refer to me as “proper pork. So reader, I am on a 2016 diet. I will try my best. I promise to report progress to you from time to time.
But before I go, two things: one, the importance of our national identity and two, Flow.
I asked one of my students to name the national bird of Barbados. After ten minutes of thinking, he blurted out, “The flying fish.” I really can’t blame the lad, since many adults don’t even know the words to our Anthem.
And then there is Ms Boyce. As an octogenarian, she’s been without proper phone service for cumulatively over a month. She keeps making calls from her cell, but as you know, paying for the cell is like being sentenced to hard labour these days. Flow people, can you resolve to fix the lady’s phone please?
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most important, a karaoke lover.