dimanche 28.01.07 A beginners guide to Czech
It’s time to check in at home. I ring Fergal first. His Dad is doing as well as he can after his Tracheotomy. Fergal seems more in touch with my family than I am. He met with my sister, Roberta, during the week to exchange gifts and gossip. Roberta is in third year of medicine. She has to do electives this year. For whatever reason she was late signing up for her options and she got landed with Feminism and An introduction to the Czech Republic. Fergal’s million-miles-away mutterings first make me think he says chess not Czech. Roberta has been to Prague so she has a headstart there at least. I think Feminism may pose more of a challenge as she supposedly has to keep a diary throughout the course; that’ll possibly be the hardest element of the course for her!
I phone home next and get put on loudspeaker and multiple phones as I relay my news and views of late. Dad is interested in the mechanisms of my new camera. Mum keeps me posted with family and town affairs and she tells me to watch the post as there’s a little something winging its way to me. Pip is on a quest to find the proper Irish music for my kids and other than that he’s not so chatty. I launch into taunting sister mode and ask him what plans he has for St. Valentine’s Day. He goes all coy and mutters something incomprehensible before passing me on to Mum again. She tells me to take some Panadol and drink plenty – but not alcohol.
Arlette later comes down to mammy us. Firstly she gives out to us for talking into the wee hours last night; as it happens her leg was troubling her and she had a restless night so we didn’t really keep her awake. However, as well as giving out she gives us clean bed linen and some plantains.
Nicola thinks that she thought we had friends over and that’s the reason she’s down in a flash this morning. Our suspicious minds are a great cause of amusement. Arlette also complains about the smoke infusion which often drifts up to her veranda. Nicola was puffing on some stinky cigar last night and her regular fag drags are pretty noxious too so I’m not surprised Arlette is venting all. I think she’s part of some anti-smoking campaign. Nicola has been harangued twice in the past fortnight by anti-smoking types. The first time she was waiting at the bus-stop when a man stopped his car beside her and launched into an almost demonic rage about the concerns and consequences of smoking. Only yesterday Nicola was followed down the street by a crazy, gangly shirt-wearing woman who opened into a similar tirade trance once she alighted and lit up. As Arlette and I later make our way to her herb plot for some basilique, menthe and citronnelle she yet again complains about the smoke infusion. I empathise and even display my own aversion in Créole – much to her added delight. Soon Nic and I are settling down to a different infusion; mint tea. It’s sweet and smoke free. Nicola admits that she doesn’t like the taste from her Mayflower fags so maybe we’re getting somewhere at last…
Will hasn’t been on the blower today. Will he? Won’t he? He doesn’t call at all which is probably just as well as I can barely hear, breathe or talk due to my bunged up orifices. Scepticism opens me up as Nicola and I question whether or not he told Edith about Gethin. Gethin has a shattered ankle. Edith has a mental problem. Both Gethin and Edith have history. This saga is chronicled in the latest ROWANTREE DVD. Gethin’s getting a DVD from us after all. It’s a hoot and we’ll hopefully get to see his reaction when we visit him tomorrow in Ducos.
Arlette reappears after entertaining a bunch of squawking friends. Her plate of accras and Richard’s bowls of maïs concoctions will keep us quiet anyway. Arlette makes no attempt to hide her misgivings about Richard’s cooking. I tell her about the snake I saw in Anse Mitan and she once again is tossed into disbelief. Possibly an eel (muron), or a moray eel (anguille), but probably not a snake she tells me.
We’re missing out on the Redoute commune pre-Carnival party tonight. Poor Arlette is missing out on a ball at the marché in Fort-de-France. All the ladies will be dressed up in traditional costumes. She tells us she loves to dance – like Zouk but usually Bélé and especially not Dance Hall!
She tells us that Fred and Verner will be returning in a few weeks but for the next two nights there’s another new neighbour next door. This place is beginning to house as multicultural and multifaceted persons as the characters I’m reading about in A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian – I can’t wait for a heel-wearing, lycra-clad, beehive-styled bottled-blonde to appear next door! My own hair colour is changing. It has taken on an overall reddish tint with wispy blonde hues. The fact that I’ve put Bob Fisk’s digest aside in favour of some easily polished off paperback could also be due to this tress transformation.
If I could be transformed into a log I wonder would I sleep like one…
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