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TGIF columns are in order by date from the most recent.

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River Come Down

LONG WEEKEND in Trinidad and Y’Boy studying how much Trini will reach Barbados, and who he could stick to bring a bag of Haniff & Sons airport doubles, supposing they have a hand free to carry it, assuming them not holding umbrella from Piarco to Grantley Adams, from home to hotel.

Y’Boy does feel sorry for anybody coming in from the Cold – who strimp-and-save whole year so they could bus’ it from winter for a two-weeks and, when they finally reach Barbados for they sun, sand and excess, they find out they might as well of stick in Manchester or Vancouver or Seattle. Becaw, from the time they get off the plane ’til they board it back, is only rain for breakfast, rain for lunch rain for dinner and drizzle for dessert.


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Truth Pill, Ugli

SUPPOSE, BEFORE the media conference announcing Britain’s plan to send UK asylum-seekers to Rwanda on a one-way ticket, Rwandan Foreign Minister Vincent Biruta and Bojo the Clown’s Vote Leave Party Hearty in Lockdown Government, Priti Patel, were given a truth pill? This is what he and the woman who, having been exposed to her politics, I think of as Ugli Patel might have said. The (edited) questions below were asked by reporters.

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Back to Normal SEA-Saw

TWO THURSDAYS ago, Trinidad and Tobago’s 11-year-olds sat the Secondary Entrance Assessment, hoping to pass for a “prestige school” which, in Trinidad, means one where the students are more afraid of the teachers than vice versa.

In sympathy with people who may have fallen off the path to a stable life before they fell off their SEA-bike, I began my own Senility Entrance Assessment exam last week, with the maths questions from a Newsday practice test. Today, I wrestle with what we now call, not English, but “Language Arts,” to signify that “dem oppressor whey oppress we really cyar teach we nutten becaw we go oppress they mother grammar, on’stan’?” I have edited the questions severely for space.
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Return to Normal SEA

LAST THURSDAY, thousands of 11-year-olds sat the Secondary Entrance Assessment hoping to pass for a “prestige school” which, in Trinidad, means one where there are more stabs at scholarships in CAPE than there are stabbings in the schoolyard.

In sympathy, with children whose remaining 63 years or so of expected life may have been settled firmly as “desperate” in three hours last week, I begin my own Senility Entrance Assessment exam today, with the maths questions from a Newsday practice test. Next Friday, I’ll do “language arts”, the modern Trinidadian pidgin for what we used to call “English”.
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Two Fresh Princes in My Pocket

FOR THOSE who don’t know them, here are the main lyrics of the theme of the sitcom that made Will “Hard Slap” Smith so rich and powerful, he thought nothing of cuffing down Chris Rock on Oscars night. I’m going to rework them to reflect the behaviour of two rich, powerful men famous for the wrong reasons this week.

Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Original Lyrics.
Now this is the story all about how/ My life got flipped, turned upside down/And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there/ I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air/ In west Philadelphia, born and raised/ On the playground where I spent most of my days/ Chilling out, maxing, relaxing, all cool/ And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school/
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