Imagine my shock. I’m tightening some
halyards when I hear, ‘Dick!!’
Bugger me it’s Pamela Anderson! We’ve been
friends for years. Ever since yoga classes.
‘What are you doing here Pamela?’
‘Visiting friends Dick. I was in London so
I thought I’d stop off here.’
‘Great to see you again. What were you
doing in London?’
‘Trying to help Julian Assange. He’s stuck
in the Ecuadorean Embassy and I took him a food parcel. I felt….’
‘You WHAT!!??!!’
Oh no.
‘This is my friend Oscar Pamela. You’ll
have to excuse him.’
‘You were helping that little pervert! He’s
a rapist you know. Get in bed with a guy like that and he'll slip you one without asking. And he's a traitor!! He should be shot.’
Oscar seems determined to embarrass me.
‘You’ll have to excuse Oscar, Pamela.' I say, 'He’s
liberal in some ways, conservative in others.’
‘I think we’re all a bit like that these
days Dick,’ says Pamela, ‘Don’t worry. I’m used to it.’
Seems there’s no getting away from
politics. But Oscar really is an arsehole. He shouldn’t be talking to Pamela
like that. I was hoping to ask her about Julian Assange but that would just be
trouble. Alternatively we could all go for a drink somewhere and talk about
time and space.
Pamela sized up the situation and said she
had to be off. She let me take a few
snaps but I had to promise not to put them on the blog. I told her we were
headed to the Grenadines and she told me to say hi to Felix. I told her that
might be a bit difficult because he’s dead. She was sorry to hear that and we
both agreed people are dropping like flies lately. Prince, Bowie, Cohen it’s been
quite a year.
You've all heard of Felix haven't you? No? He was a writer. One of the founders of OZ. Made a fortune in the magazine business. Built a house on Mustique. Before she left Pamela presented me with one of
Felix's poems in which he shows a keen appreciation of the Windward Islands
vernacular. Here it is....
"Pass Me De Banana Wine"
Dem politicians on de take,
An' what dey take be mine,
De pack o' dem be sham an' fake,
Dey vex me wid de belly-ache
- Pass me de banana wine.
Me loss' de crop, no rum, no bread,
De fruit die on de vine,
De 'elicopter spray dem dead
To keep us we from bein' fed
- Pass me de banana wine.
De wife she gone, she run away,
Me read de note she sign.
She say me make too lickle pay,
Play too much domino all day
- Pass me de banana wine.
Dey say dey lock me in de jail
Where sun don' never shine,
Me got nobody go me bail,
De food be bad, de water stale
- Pass me de banana wine.
Me ax de warden for a drink,
Dey give me turpentine,
Nobody love me now, I t'ink,
I standin' on the very brink
- Pass me de banana wine.
And here are some notes on the poem by Felix himself....
The people of St. Vincent & the Grenadines do not spell 'the' as 'de',
nor do they spell 'they' as 'dey' nor 'them' as 'dem' nor 'ask' as 'ax'. But
that is how most Vincentians pronounce them and I have spelt them as such as an
aide-mémoire for reading aloud. Substitution of 'me' for 'I' is widespread in
the Caribbean as is the inversion of words in certain phrases. The word 'vex'
is common, although virtually extinct in British 'received' English.
Politicians are widely held to be corrupt, so that even honest reformers are
often tarred with their predecessors' brush. The US helicopters which regularly
come to spray the mountain marijuana fields cause great damage to fruit crops
and are universally detested as an invasion of national sovereignty. 'Banana
wine' is slang for a pesticide used by banana farmers to clear away weeds and
harmful insects from crops. It is also drunk as a cheap, hideously painful form
of suicide. My thanks to Yolande, Webb, Jennifer and Baba at Mandalay House,
Mustique, for the idea for this poem and for correcting my vernacular usage.
