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​Kathryn the Great

KATHRYN STOLLMEYER WIGHT died last week and no other human being in my direct or indirect experience has ever been more widely and deeply loved. Forget David Bowie, Black Stalin, Prince, Nelson Mandela, Robin Williams, Princess Diana your granny and all the popes. Only Bob Marley and John Lennon provoked an outpouring of love and appreciation from as widespread a cross-section of people as Kathryn Stollmeyer Wight.

And Kath never wrote Imagine or Is This Love.
Since she slipped away from us last week Thursday, our newspapers and social media have been filled with stories about a woman with almost no public profile. She once managed one minor politician’s election campaign but, otherwise, she was a genuine nobody.
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​TGI Carnival F

CARNIVAL FRIDAY in the Land of Calypso (even if watered down to modern empty soca) and Y’Boy twisting and turning in he bed like a British prime minister in he policies. Y’Boy been conflicted ‘bout the national festival for so long now, he’s feel like a double-agent sometimes.

Y’Boy done know that the onliest thing that sure in life is change and Y’Boy does welcome it. After reading a persuasive scholarly article in Harper’s magazine, Y’Boy did even accept the they/them pronouns he did war against on grammatical grounds for years. Y’Boy never want to be one of them older tesses in Phase II panyard in the 80s, who steady muttering to one another and wishing the 60s could come back and it wouldn’t have no rift in Starlift.

But what to say about this modern Conny-voll, whereby the onliest thing that ent get completely mash up yet is pan. Y’Boy pores raise when he watch the video of Renegades’ performance of The Black Man Feeling to Party ‘til he wanted to cry and all, just the sheer awe-full beauty of the thing! How that must have sounded on the Savannah Track!

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NG for BC

TTHE LAY PATIENT could be forgiven for thinking that, amongst the surgeon’s instruments of torture, the NG or nasogastric tube must be pre-eminent. A stiff plastic tube as long as your arm, it’s lubricated before insertion in your nose, about as effectively as putting a drop of olive oil on a watermelon before ramming it through a buttonhole.

The surgeon forces the stiff plastic tube down one of your nostrils and into the stomach. The difficult bit is the back of your throat, where you really can’t discern whether you’re swallowing a boa constrictor or a stiletto. If you can swallow an NG tube without vomiting, you can join the circus.
Thankfully, most NG tubes are inserted while the patient is under general anaesthetic. If you do have one done awake, you remember it longer than your wedding day.
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Animal Fete

Mr Jones De Verteuil, of the Great House, meant to lock the animals in their pens one Carnival Sunday night, but was too drunk. So, when he drove his old Bentley to the Country Club fete, the animals walked to the Savannah, to listen to Old Major Eric Williams, already ensconced in the bleachers the French Creole men had built for the costumed band parade.
First came the three dogs, Sparrow, Kitchener and the pup, Shadow. Then came the pigs, all of them black, except for one pinkish one called Colm Humphrey. The two cart-horses, African Boxer & Injun Clover, came in, carefully setting down their great hooves lest there be some small animal concealed in the grass. Then came Muriel Mc-Donawa, leading a brigade of fat asses. Last came the donkey, Benjamin Commentator, the oldest animal in the fete, who seldom talked, except to make cynical remarks in his newspaper column, e.g., saying that God had given Trinidad political parties with lots of letters in their acronyms but not one idea in their heads.
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