Low life
Heavenly
Jeffrey Bernard
Last Sunday the Fisherman's Pub in Speightstown was closed. I was very disappointed. Outside on the beach, sitting under the tree where the fishermen play dominoes, there was an old man who I saw at once had had his right hand chopped off at the wrist. I asked him where could I get a drink in Speightstown on a Sunday. He said he'd show me and bade me follow him. As we walked along a dusty back- street in almost suffocating heat he asked me about myself and emphasised every question by prodding me gently with his stump. I wondered what on earth he was leading me to and began to wonder whether I shouldn't have better stayed with the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse, Irma Kurtz, Anne Leslie, Sally Vincent and Suzanne Lowry, who were either wandering through botanical gardens or lounging by pools.
Eventually we arrived at a typically seedy and rather dilapidated Bajan bar. Three or four men were sitting on a bench arguing and another sat on a stool in front of a fruit machine feeding it relentlessly with 25 cent coins. Behind the bar an enormous fat woman was cutting up pork with an electric saw and with her was the boss man. My guide hadn't come along for the ride and I asked him what he would like. He ordered a rum and Pepsi-Cola and
'20 cigarettes. I asked for a vodka, bottle of soda and a half of a lime. The boss putt half-bottles on the bar and that was 16 measures each. He introduced himself as Robert and came round and introduced me to his customers. We all shook hands and I was all right, I gathered, because I Was English and not American. The man at the fruit machine was drunk already. He asked me if I knew Richard in London. I told hial there were lots of Richards in London. The boss said, 'Take no notice. We have a word for people like him in Barbados but you probably wouldn't understand it. He what we call a wanker.' I told him we ha° that word too and that seemed to pleas,e, him. The stump, my guide, poured hiMse", a rum to the very top of his glass and it slin down his throat like something going hoine where it belonged. He chased it with .3 minute quantity of Pepsi which made lus face wrinkle. Then we poured ourselves another and the three of us went outside t° stand on the pavement. Opposite the bar was the Church uf Christ. It was a blindingly white church in the sun and the windows were open asthed morning service was in progress. I 0111,, hear the murmur of prayer. Suddenly tiler' was cacophony. Wonderful cacophorlY; The church broke out with the MT' hair-raising hallelujah chorus. Cyinha's' hand-clapping, drums and the chanting almost wailing, with a mild hysteria that was incredible. In the middle of all this, as we sipped in the sun relishing the sounds' the fruit machine suddenly vomited the, jackpot. It spewed all over the floor anu the idiot operating the horrid machine wais, by then too drunk to pick up his loot. " was really rather amazing. I had God to MY, left, nuts to my right, the sun in heaven anu a bottle of vodka that was condensing °rid the outside — beautifully cold — an, begging for friendship. The stump W,3' swaying and reeling to the church music: The boss man said that business via' looking up and the fat wife came out froM behind the bar and handed me a lump 13' fried chicken. Who needs Claridges? And, further down the beach from na' splendid luxury hotel, the Treasure Beach, the day before had involved a visit to a nice little beach bar called — aptly — Kisses./ This was and is run by a beautiful piece long-legged, ebony machinery called ill ana. It always amazes me that my e°!-, leagues think I'm asleep. I'm so aware It hurts. I can't swim which is a nuisance ht while others snorkle I'm not entirely Wit out other sporting resources. I come to in the sun. The grey-haired skeleton co Me,: to life and nearly death. I had a very rnuA touch of sunstroke one afternoon and11.`; to be swathed in ice packs. Anne Lesits administered and cured. Everyone vi,a, marvellous and the PR who arranged Mg' trip, Geoff Fleming, has to be the only P in England who isn't a bore and who know; what he's doing. Decent people cleserv.,1 plugs. Not that many Spectator readers Wilt sensibly avail themselves of Barbados, but sensibly
you are loaded it's well worth a call. The
English racing fraternity invade it to such an extent in January and February they call it Newmarket-by-the-Sea. But it's very l°IIY, hot and fairly friendly. The only person who might disagree with that was the prostitute who threw a glass of beer in my face when she propositioned me and I asked her to give me time to think. Today is the Arc de Triomphe so it's away again to Paris. Rainbow Quest might do it for England but I've a hunch a French horse will win. They'll stop at nothing to avenge Waterloo. Too late, thank God. In Bridgetown there's a statue of Nelson erected 85 years before our Trafalgar Square version. Shame.
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