I have come to realise that in all of my so-called trials and self-imposed tribulations, I have a lot to be thankful for and I am truly grateful. I continue to pray for the islands of Japan and my home Jamaica.

With that said, I am not above griping, jokingly, about what reaches my pocket with these daily surges in petrol prices. Stop for a moment and ask yourself this: When last has Elva written about partying like a rock star? It’s been a while hasn’t it? My dears, as much as I like to party, I’m now doing so from the privacy of my home; where I can get scantily dressed, sip copious amounts of the brew of my choice, act like a total idiot and crawl into bed when tiredness invades my legs. What’s the difference you ask… isn’t that still classified as partying like an insane person? Well, I’ll tell you: The major missing element is the need to enter my automobile, switch the engine on, burn the precious commodity that now costs more than any of my outfits to head out and back from a hip happening party spot. Because of cartoons, Manatt and Japan, I was not so moved to keep up to date with Middle East happenings (not that I’m in the habit of keeping up to date with any events) and the subsequent unjustified spike in gas prices, so the blow hit me without warning at the pumps one day.

My car is a small 1500cc capacity engine that is very fuel-efficient, so I don’t make many trips to the service station to fill up. I’ve also always maintained that hooting and hollering about gas prices and driving from gas station to gas station in an attempt to seek out the lowest price is a self-defeating trend. Anywhere my allotted gas allowance of three grand reaches in the tank, I pay the pump attendant and I’m off. Always cognisant that owning a car is a privilege not a right, but I digress…back to the matter at hand.

Can you imagine my dismay when seconds after the attendant unscrewed the gas tank cover he was replacing it and sending an outstretched hand in my direction for my three grand — which comprised crushed bills and some coins to ‘mek up’. I mean in no time flat! There was more gas in my belly than what now was in my tank for my scrounged up $3G. Breathing calmly and subduing my natural aggressive nature, I resisted the urge to collar the poor employee and beat him to a pulp. Instead, I glanced at the pump and at the sign displaying the prices for the world to see. A jaw-dropping J$120 per litre was the sight that greeted me as the cost for the 87 gas/cane juice exotic mix. I couldn’t even bring myself to absorb how much the 90 was going for. No wonder there was no queue. Needless to say I drove off slowly. This gas better last me until month end. I shall be staying home, car pooling or hopping a bus to wherever I need to go.

As a deep thinker and the Government’s unrequested, unknown advisor, I recommend that we cancel the highly publicised enquiry and use the funds earmarked to pay people to import some horses and buggies. Gas stations could easily be converted to hay stations so no need for panic on the owners’ part. Employment opportunities abound for our under-educated idle youth in that they could be utilised to gather the trail of refuse left behind by the horses to be used as fuel to generate electricity for hospitals. The world is going green, we could be the ‘poster child’ of the Caribbean, I don’t see why not. We would once again see people working as tradesmen and women. Blacksmiths, saddle makers, buggy repair….endless possibilities lay awaiting. Who is with me on this one? *crickets chirping*. I know it sounds simple and childish, but I’m eyeing one of those retired horses from Caymanas Park to get a jump on the rest of you by the time it dawns on you to consider this alternative, I’ll literally be way ahead of the pack.

Drive slowly, think your journey out carefully and spare a thought for the less fortunate. Have a blessed weekend. elvachatalot@yahoo.com @ElvaJamaica on Twitter.