I know I shouldn’t be blogging on the Sabbath, but as the site is Hazel-proofed once more I figure I can take the risk. Besides, even Jesus plucked grain on the Sabbath (Luke 6, v. 1-11), and who is Patos to think he is better than the Son of God? I also woke up this morning with my stomach not feeling too good (suspecting the cow heel soup Jerry Narace and Chin Lee brought over yesterday as a peace offering) and I told Hazel I wouldn’t be able to make church, so I have the house to myself for the next four hours, at least.
Speaking of house, I’ve been meaning to address the issue of those leaked house photos that have been circulating via e-mail. (Note to self: insist that all attendees at the National Awards ceremony taking place here on August 31 surrender cell phones and cameras at the door). A few people have inquired as to whether the photos are real. Others have asked me if they’re “for real”, as if to suggest that Hazel’s and my taste in interior design was questionable or something. I understand as well that one member of cabinet has been going around describing the style as “drug-lord chic”, and Hazel said she overhead somebody referring to it as “Jenny Sharma-esque” (which we both take as a compliment, actually). As I always remind myself: “Jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame” (Song of Solomon, 8 v. 6)
I know for a fact that Dookeran and/or Kamla are behind the e-mail as they both have been saying in public that the day they come to power (as if that could ever happen!), the first thing they’ll do is sell the house. If you believe that, I have a piece of Caroni swampland to sell you. I could just see Kamla sprawled off Oma Panday-style on that red velvet bedspread, awaiting “Bissessar pipe” (let us not forget the Member for Siparia’s immortal quote from the 2000 election season – see page 136 of the linked document!) and Dooks and his pardners would be right at home watching the West Indies lose on that big screen TV and drinking Scotch paid for with taxpayers’ money.
But this is probably nothing compared with how the Pandays would behave within these walls, were there even the remotest possibility of that duo occupying the premises at La Fantasie Road ever again. I shudder at the thought of Oma carousing in the swimming pool with God knows which member of staff, and at least Dooks would probably share the Scotch with pardners, unlike Bas, who would try to drink it all himself.
In a subsequent entry, I shall address the question of why Hazel and I felt we needed a fireplace.