Barbara Gloudon

DEAR COUSIN:

Let's clear the air right away. This is not your typical Christmas letter. We both agreed, didn't we, that we didn't want to go there? True, this is Christmas (the Eve at that) and this does take the form of a letter but it still is not a Christmas Letter. What's the difference? You know what I mean. those elaborate productions which you receive from friends or even slight acquaintances, who reproduce, in excruciating detail, every single thing that they and their family did over the past year.

I know they mean well but the trouble is, half the time you have absolutely no idea who or what they're talking about. "It's been a wonderful year for Benjie. He graduated summa cum laude and now looks forward to getting a leg up on the competition." Fair enough, but no sooner than you have decided that Benjie must be their son, you read on and come to the realisation that Benjie is their dog who has topped the class at obedience school. "Getting a leg up" has real meaning for him.

Writers of Christmas letters always have occasion for celebrating. Their children seem to do so much better than ours. Not only do they excel academically, but their social lives are enviable. After all, their sons marry beautiful girls with names like Britney and Bobbi-Lee and the daughters march to the altar to meet Brad and Denzel. Naturally, their weddings were remarkable affairs in which all the family participated with nary a wry word passing between in-laws. Everybody who wanted an invitation got one, the caterers excelled themselves and none of the waiters spirited away any of the wine.

Then, there are the grandchildren. Oh what little angels, so adorable and so bright. Geniuses everyone! By the age of four, they have matriculated and are being considered for the PhD programme. (Eat your heart out the rest of you dum-dums.) As for the letter-writers themselves, their lives are so very, very interesting, rich and textured, what with the trips to exotic places and all. Not for them threatening letters from credit card companies, potholes in the road, exorbitant light bills, wrangling politicians chatting stupidness in their ears, rapacious price-gougers making unconscionable profit off their life's necessities. No wonder their Christmas letters always end on such an upbeat note.

MY PROBLEM is that living in Ja, it is difficult to write a letter filled with unbounding cheer, even in a season of goodwill. First to commence with, as mi granny would sey, nobody wants to read good news. The bad is far more exciting. You see all the story of Mary and Joseph and the baby, what you think would happen if we had to report it today? Do you think the media would see it as good news, give it the main headline? The verdict is yours.

Then, we'd have to spread some rumours about the out-of-wedlock situation, even though the law says "no bastard nuh deh again". We would certainly "beat up wi gum" over that, especially as Mary was supposed to be a well-brought-up young lady. And when she and Joseph got married, I doubt if society page coverage would be forthcoming. We don't rate a simple meal of lamb roasted over a fire, eaten with home-made bread, herbs and a few glasses of rough wine. No, no dove-cakes, poverty sucks. What is life without a little (make that a lot of) Moét and a spot of lobster?

Then, we come to the part about Hark the Angels who sing. Now tell me, is a new singing group or what? And what kind of media launch would they be planning? They could get some coverage yes, if they admitted publicly to being the former Hottie Hotties from Hell now devoting themselves to good works and some serious gospel. Better yet, they could sing along the toll road and THEN they would get courage.

By the way, have you noticed that once upon a time, Gospel meant a Book in the Bible? Now, of course, it means a recording, preferably with a wicked bass line and if you can't know the difference between it and the hottest lick on the dancehall charts, then you need to try again. but I digress.

YOU HAVEN'T HEARD IT from my lips but that row over toll road fees is yet another sign that we nuh ready, Christmas or no Christmas. True, the road management company handled the fee-rise procedure most insensitively. It would have been more courteous to have given notice - but I guess that somebody had the bright idea that since people were going to cuss and fuss anyway, get it over and done quick-quick. I don't know where the idea came from that toll roads are free, anywhere in the world. The dictionary defines TOLL as a tax or charge for a PRIVILEGE, as for the use of a bridge or road. We can orchestrate all the complaints we want but it is not going to change anything. Some people are offended at the prime minister's comment that people are free to use the road or not, but that is the truth of the matter.

The "Chupidness" Award of the Week arises from the Mayor of Spanish Town (JLP) being castigated by his political colleagues for attending the opening of the new stretch of the toll road (oh, horrors!), and further, to have the gall to use the word PROGRESS (gasp! gasp!) because the PNP used it in campaign advertising. Maybe you will understand the fear that for some people the angels have stopped singing.

Those Herald Angels must be having a really hard time winging their way through our cloven skies to sing to us about a Saviour's Birth. They have to pass through too much nonsense in the atmosphere. But still they come (I verily believe) because you see, Cousin, if the Heavenly Host were to give up on us, then wi corner would be really dark fi true. Fortunately, the light continues to shine - so keep the faith.

Two last thoughts as we go to greet the day. Please tell Santa not to park his sleigh where the wrecker-man can draw it wey. And - remember, if you drink, don't drive. We're serious about that. All the best for a peaceful and holy Christmas and courage for the year ahead.

YOUR COUSIN B.

Trousers in Denim

Cream of the 'Crop'

Cheeky's World