SOMETIME AGO all eyes were on June. It was supposed to have been a time of decision for some people who look down on the graveyards of the powerful and famous and also enjoy a bird’s eye view of the vast expanse of land and sea. They were supposed to say goodbye to their sweet life.
But alas, July, August, September are all gone and soon too will be October.
And not one man has been told to walk, barring that youngster held up to public shame and disgrace by the Pouting Princess and her entourage.
Now the smiles are on the faces of many. And their open remarks have made clear that the more things change the more they will remain the same. As the popular calypso states: we ain’t going home.
Is the message of comfort that the men and women of power have sent, “don’t touch them”?
Oh, what will become of the short man who is a good friend of the Garrison School fellow from Deacons.
Some people in the high and mighty towers are already saying aloud that they plan to be there for near three score and ten, with many many more Christmases to enjoy.
Smoke a bother
The Rear Admiral of the Fleet docked in the Pine feels that someone is trying to blow smoke in his eyes.
Word making the rounds all this week was about a balladeer who likes to dabble with other genres of music and apparently approached a man who had a reputation many years ago for doing compilations. That was before all the outcry about rights this and don’t copy that. Well, this man has gained a reputation for his frankness and views, right, wrong or whatever. In fact, some well known people had to puts some lashes on this wayward lord of the fleet, who often puts his vessels on show in June, July and early August.
Now one of the same men that try to show off that they had skills like a Smokin’ Joe or even a big bald-headed George apparently approached the fellow after midday since he is always busy every morning during the week. He wanted to get something from all the fellows that keep a lot of noise for six weeks during the summer. The Rear Admiral of the Fleet jumped up and down and had all the sailors afraid.
He was perplexed that this fellow, who always smells full of smoke, would do such a thing; as if he wants the Rear Admiral to be stripped of his rank and be dishonourably discharged.
Suddenly the music of Gregory Isaac started coming over the air, belting out, “Oh, no I can’t believe” and the song got stuck just repeating those words.
Apparently, the Earl of St Thomas has heard of the dastardly deeds and is investigating what to do with the lowly member of his entourage who still smells full of smoke and was last seen begging the fellow from the dungeon in Emmerton and the bag man from the east and the mayor of Sheffield who is always at the Stadium to try and help resolve the misunderstanding.
No pushover
People in Gills Road, The City, are wondering whether all the commotion they heard two Thursday nights ago will be repeated this weekend.
Some of what they could make out suggested that the angry voices coming from Roebuck Street suggested that someone was getting a dressing down or tongue-lashing. It seems as if the woman who is always looking to see if you are smiling with pearly whites was being hauled over the coals.
But this quiet and unassuming gal is no Sunday school walkover or sweetbread. She is unmoved by all the bad talk about how she write the Christian people and tell them don’t block up the place soon after morning has broken or when the day is over. She is unfazed that the tall fellow who was once her buddy ready to defend her every fault is now an opponent; nor is she worried about those who are unsure what should be their mode of dress.
All eyes will be south to see how warm or how cold the room will be and who will be calling her name sweetly or cussing her out loud. Already she knows she has some support among those who are not afraid of the woman in white.
