Tuesday, 19 May 2009

DIPLOMATIC UNDERCURRENTS

Mes chers amis de mon coeur, or words to that effect. This is a very brief, insubstantial missive but I have far better things to do.   Here I am on Marie Galante, and I can imagine how you are biting your own knuckles as a ravenous envy overtakes you as you think of me and my sumptuous life, and not for the first time.  I must say, this island is ravissant (and imagine how prettily I trill my rs on that word) and almost completely unspoilt, apart from the hideous vulgarisation that is the mark of modern tourism.  Americans, as usual, beswarm the place, and even the most hidden purlieus echo to the ring of their unaccountable vowel sounds and the macaws take fright at their beach-casual overprints.  But I digress.  The leaven in the lump is me, as usual, and I know you can scarce breathe for excitement as you imagine my Caribbean cocoon.   Guadeloupe was to sigh.  There is absolutely no excuse not to go, apart from your ludicrous pennypinching ways and fear over Swine Fever.  Those of us who follow the Mosaic Laws need not worry, of course. Many of you who sniggered over my kosher menus are now forced to wear face-masks in the local meat-market!  Can I just say that this might be a good example of Kosherkismetkarmakaballah, which is Madonna's new hedgebetting religion.

I will return to Guadeloupe on Thursday, and then back to Antigua at the weekend.  The Sandals resort is vile.  There, I have said it.  And I speak as someone who has been to Rhyl.  You simply can't begin to imagine the vulgarity, the klischeehaft (as naughty old Himmler had it), the sheer wankiness of it.  What is this "luxury" they speak of?  There is a whiff of Jeyes fluid about the place that negates any splendour.  And the clientele!  It's to cry, believe me.   All ex-Borscht Belt, all friends of Madoff, all verzweifelt ("my wife and I were happy for 25 years: and then we met").  Mr and Mrs Nexwee are the best examples.  I will not leave the compound, preferring to allow the hazy sunlight to vulcanise my leathery old peau and to scarf down Ti Punch.  The Nexwees, by  contrast, go on excursions and are solemnly rooked by the natives along the way.  Before I left, Mrs Nexwee went by coach to the German Village and asked me to accompany her.   I have been to more German villages than our present Pope, so I courteously declined and advised her against it, but she was deaf to my entreaties.  She was taken to a loathsome delicatessen called The Best of my Wurst and bought me an enormous Bierschinken, which I have to say I admired in spite of myself.  Wrapped in tight netting, and bronzed through air-drying, I dangled the thing in front of Numb as a kind of talisman.  His response need not be reproduced here.

I miss home.  I have had news of the expenses scandal, and of Speaker Martin forcing a by-election, and feel there may be hope for Maroon in his home city.  I can almost see him on the stump.  I also pine for my fave rave TV show, namely Come Dine With Me.  I have applied twice.  On the first occasion my proposed menu was turned down for being "too Fascist" (Rahmsuppeschlossfrauen Art, followed by Gefullter Pragerschinken with Traum des Herzens for pudding) and my second attempt was blown out for "not being Fascist enough" (veal soup with motsa balls, Kasenockerl with Montpelier butter and hot beets, Matzos Kloese).   To combat the gloom I visited the administrative buildings at Grand Bourg today, and admired the public architecture.  There are several statues, each a solid block of yellowish stone.  The figures are allegorical and represent hygiene, euthanasia, atomic energy, compulsory education and compulsory insurance.  They were erected in 1950, but they seem all too contemporary. 

Let me know you are out  there.   

15 comments:

  1. Oh really? I think you will find that the statue "euthinasia" was erected in '52 when they adopted parity wth the Swiss Franc.

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  2. Am I out where?
    Oh, I love 'Come Dine'! Such a bitch fest.. I've often wondered how my fish finger sandwiches and jugged mule would go down?
    Anyhow, sounds like you've got your hands full with netted sausage.
    Sx

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  3. Du bleibst immer die Schlossfrau von meinem Herzen.

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  4. Silly girl ! Didn't you realise that Sandals is pure naff? However your 'Kosherkismetkarmakaballah,'redeems all.xox

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  5. I will have to go to Sandals; I like a bit of naff every now and then. Are they also responsible for the mythical Walnut World that Mr Beastie is always banging on about?
    Sx

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  6. A statue for compulsory insurance. How very practical. Wonder if I can order one for my garden. It would certainly scare the gardeners into taking care with the pruning shears, wouldn't it?

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  7. Scarlet - don't go to Sandals, unless you want to be the meat in several 50 something men's sandwich.

    Pouncer, if on Come Dine with me would you be the bitchy one. There's always one right maudy old cow on that show.

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  8. Ah, Rhyl, the Amalfi of the North Welsh Riviera!

    As Catatonia sang:

    Gwledd o fedd gynhyrfodd Gymraes swil
    Darganfyddais gwir baradwys Rhyl
    Berkshire is sprucing itself for your advent.

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  9. Why didn't you go to Club Med? Oh ... too old. I see.

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  10. Are you sure this isn't Mablethorpe? Were you conscious throughout the journey from departure to arrival? I fear somebody may have duped you out of your holiday money.

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  11. It is ten to four on Friday afternoon here. I am back on Guad btw, and very pleased to be away from Marie Galante which, after a while, made me think of Ventnor, or worse. Things have improved a bit. I have met a very nice man called Julius from New York. He has no thorax and looks like H. Bogart injected with cortisone, but I like him. On day two I wondered whether I should ask him to lift me above his head, but I worried it might sound a bit forward. Numb's slumming with the high-rollers from Miami, and good luck to them. Julius said he had admired my chachacha on Mariachi night, but didn't want to cut in. Too late now.

    Dr Maroon, what? What are you saying? What time is it there, and how hot is it?

    Scarlet, as usual your vulgar rejoinder drags the discourse to the gutter. However, we can play virtual Come Dine With Me when I get home, if you like. We could do a pretend version - menus, entertainment and the bit where the guests schlep around the host's house and look in the bedside cabinet. I will not be serving netted sausage.

    Scarlet, what on God's glorious earth is Walnut World? Do you mean Walnut Whip?



    Oh Pat, I know, and I did suspect it would be. However, Numb's paying, and it would have been churlish to refuse. There is no such thing as a free lunch, though, as you probably know.

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  12. Why would you want Julius to lift you above his head? Is this for some sort of Britain Has Talent show?
    I shall look forward to the vitual Come Dine With Me.
    Sx

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  13. *sp. virtual.
    When the guests [I misspelt that as gusts] come to visit I shall make sure that my chocolate sauce and thermal vest are in my bedside cabinet, and that the photograph of me and Richard Branson is displayed prominently on my mantelpiece.
    Sx

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  14. Je suis là !!! Dans un coin de la blogosphère ( un tout p'tit coin !), et je me délecte !

    Tendrement de France

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