Monday, 29 July 2013


LET'S IGNORE THE FACT THAT I AM USING A STICK to lift the broken lid of a broken gas barbecue I now use as a coal barbecue and focus on the fact that I'm about to cook enough food for five people and then wonder why I can't lose weight.
Just like Christmas (but without all that wasted money), Caribana has tiptoed up on me without warning and flung me into panic mode. Seriously. Two months ago I looked at the calendar and thought: "Plenty of time!" and dove facefirst into a plate of linguine al fredo with extra fredo. Today I looked at the calendar and shrieked "WHAT THE HELL! I've got five days to get my hair done, buy an outfit and lose ten pounds!" That would be the same ten pounds I planned to lose last year before Caribana, for those of you who like to keep track of my failings. (You'll want to pay special attention to this post.) 

It didn't happen last year and it won't happen this year, but of course I will expend countless precious hours trying and then flagellating myself afterwards for my weakness. At times like this, I find it very useful to have been raised Catholic.
Anyway, I am now officially on a diet. I was going to start last night but then I barbecued chicken AND cheese-stuffed sausages, made two different kinds of rice and had Caramel 'n' Salty Peanut ice cream for dessert. And polished off a bottle of wine. Whoever's brilliant decision it was to make food delicious is an asshole. So I think I'm safe in predicting that the dress I planned on wearing last year will be sitting out yet another Caribana parade and that on Friday night I will be frantically shopping for a muu-muu.You can place bets on it if you want to. I'll be far too busy having a breakdown to be offended.

EDITOR'S NOTE: I thought it was called the Scotiabank Caribbean Carnival now.
MY NOTE: It is. But only by Scotiabank.