In our favourite rum shop, down on Depradine Street to be exact. But you know that, Tony Dee, so what question was that? Me pardner Downstreet say dat you was trying to laff after us, becuz while all you was enjoying Garden party cocktails, and a scrumptious feast, we down here, was trying trying to decide who go pay for de Clarkes Court, and smoke herrin cutters since we brokes and can't even afford Rivers these days. Dat was while de argument of which De Courteaux was de greatest of all time, was going on.
Maybe Mr Verntoni could send us ah ticket and visa fees to come up to America before we dead, or before we find we self on Mr chump doh- come list. Ah doh even shopping at dem Syrian store again. Oh an by de way, if we come up dey we could teach all you to make peas soup, everybody could cook dat.

"Rum Shop! Down Street, Selwyn"?

Nuh boi! we are the more sophisticated Gouyave people who attended "Trump Finishing School for Expatriates". We doh do Rum Shops.....Lol

Sah!

Last week, ah brace myself for that long ride down the Thruway to commemorate the final melting of last winter's ice. As a precautionary measure, I threw two winter coats in my jeep, just in case I run into me padnah, Downstreet...doh want the boi freezing to death in that 80 degrees weather. And alas, I entered the civilization of the great metropolis where the Gouyave expatriates congregate to share pleasantries and acts of good will.
This one rose to the very top of clean adult entertainment, hosted by the caretakers of our people's intetest to support a worthy cause.

But Sah! The evening was designed to bring out the best in our people and it did, even appeasing our Queen who would have been proud to hear her language being " hybridized" with proper syntax and etiquette to boot coming from former French subjects.....eh-hem!.... pardon the cough.

The Quarter Master for the evening's affair was no other than our own Lans'e bred, good Doctor and Professor. He was observed manning the "Apothecary Section where the spirits were served" to ensure that the equal distribution of "the pour" was met with the required portion of the chaser dilution, in order to prevent any semblance of inebriation among the attendees.

This was in stark contrast to "all you Rum Shop people", whose esophagus and stomach lining are continuously challenged to withstand the torturous abuse of that combustible acid all you ingest, followed by some illusion of a dilution. We could not succumb to this low class form of self-inflicted punishment on our persons and be caught drifting and incoherently babbling in public. ....oh Lord, ah hope this is not contagious.....Lol

But all hell broke loose when the DJ decided to break away from his reggae genre' and began his soca regimen of music. Ah din want to say dat but Boooooi! the saaaame upper class Gouyave, Trini and other West Indian nationals who were just a moment ago, exhibiting their proper French Creoleness and Englishness, started with some kine ah Jumbi dance that kept in cadence, the likes that you had never seen before, while keeping in timing with the soca beat.

Me good French padnah, not dat one, (the one that refuses to put the "x" at the end of his name) was encircled by three ouman(including he Wife) in committing what must have been an African Busey ritual dance of some sought and Papa-djoe! if you see our boi?

If David Rudder had passed by and saw him, he would invoked his famous lyrics, "dis is not ah fet in here, dis is madness!" But " Mr. X" kept things under control, tiring out dem three ouman with a herky, jerky display of some ole Kaisema and Shortknee moves that had me in awe. And that pivot spin of his, with his head tilted on one side with body going in the opposite direction was indeed a sight to see. Only another Gouyave socialite I had seen some years back could have competed and mount a challenge to Monsieur X and she would have lost.

But we had a splendid time and only if Selwyn was there with Winter Coat and all, he too would have enjoyed himself.

Monsieur Louison from the French Quarters.

Today, 4th. of July, is "the day of the big burn", the day of the Rastaman's torment when GMO Pork rules; bar B Q ribs boi....Lol