Hello Gorgeous!

The Grenadians must have been right at the front of the queue when the geneticists were handing out the goody bags. The work of the ‘Divine Potter’ can be seen on every boulevard, beach and bank. They are generally fine featured, slim and loose of limb. The girls have all perfected what I have dubbed the ‘Grenada Stroll’ which involves long, slow strides coupled with a sensual role of the hips that should require a license. Any catwalk model would die for this kind of natural grace.

This is in strict contrast to Kingston...that’s Kingston upon Thames in London, not Kingston Jamaica. Kingston (our nearest shopping centre when we lived in England) on a Saturday morning resembled a troll convention. You’ve never seen so many short, misshapen, ugly, overweight people jammed into one place. It was awash with shell suits and sparkly pink T shirts, the structural integrity of which was being challenged by huge mounds of purulent flesh. They town’s burghers must have put up barriers barring entry to anyone who bore even a passing resemblance to a human being. Let’s face it, just about everywhere has its fair share of attractive people except Kingston on a Saturday. (Mind you what is disturbing me now, in hindsight, is that they let me in... ho hum.)

Now, no doubt due to the generally poor standards of the fare on offer in Kingston, there was mercifully little wolf whistling or urbane, witty ‘builder’s banter’ of the “You and me love. You and me. Eh? You and me” variety. I mean has that ever actually worked for them?

Either way it is not something I am used to hearing, so I was a little shocked the other day to hear a youth shout ‘Hello gorgeous” at the top of his voice whilst we strolled through Grenville. Now admittedly I was walking along with my beautiful Kitty and Nicki a ‘local’ friend who is admittedly, even by Grenadian standards, extraordinarily attractive. I didn’t know which one of them he was shouting at (I had assumed it wasn’t me) but either way I thought it was a ‘bit thick’ to coin another ‘Woosterism’.

We crossed the street and there he was again bellowing ‘Hello Gorgeous’. No one seemed to be paying much attention to this aural assault, so I let it go. Perhaps, I thought, criminally high decibel flirting is de rigour in Grenada. However, after the third such outburst I felt impelled to mention it to Nicki. “You seem to have an admirer” I said. “Who?” she asked, looking a little confused. I explained about the young man yelling “Hello Gorgeous” every time we walked past and was I a little taken aback that she seemed so impervious of his rather unsubtle wooing. “Who? Him?” she said indicating the chap. “The very same” I confirmed pointing at the culprit.
She suddenly disappeared from view and it took me a moment or two to realise she was actually doubled up in fits of hysterical laughter, the only respite from which was the constant slapping of her own thigh. (This girl has a great future in Panto!) She must have been black and blue judging by the severe thrashing she was giving herself. Eventually, after several minutes had past she managed to calm herself enough to explain that he was actually shouting “Hello! Cold Juice!” I had failed completely to notice the cool box he was carrying with him to tend to the libations of the hot and thirsty.

We have a lot to learn!