George and the Dragon
Jesus Christ… nothing happened today. Stop stalking me you weirdos!!
Ok ok… today started like no other day. The weather was less than clement.
Nearly 6am, the sun had just not bothered turning up today? Instead storm clouds are gathering. It’s probably hurricane Donald or something. I open the French Windows with trepidation. Never trusted the French, I’ve no idea why having successfully mastered long bread, we think that qualifies them to make windows… that are actually doors. So I guess something got lost in translation. Anyway, surprise surprise, it looked like the coming of the apocalypse, actually oooooooh it’s really warm!
Will nothing ruin my holiday? Probably not. I’m on an island that is practically sponsored by Bacardi. What could possibly go wrong and if something did go wrong, no one would care. My beach trip this morning was a little traumatic. I had to wear socks. I’d got so carried away watching the stripper by the pool yesterday I stayed out in the sun too long and got the top of my left foot slightly sunburnt. Monday is not a holiday here so I had to look both ways when I crossed the road, just in case there were anymore suicidal scooter riders out to get me.
The beach was quiet. The only other people was a guy jogging and his partner who was supposed to be jogging. Either that or he was just trying to run away from her. I mean he didn’t have to try that hard. She clearly had the full English breakfast today and many other days previously. I tried to look sympathetic, but my calves just screamed ‘professional athlete’ and clearly she wasn’t seeking anymore advice. I accelerated my walking pace so it exceeded her 'running' pace. She started to cry…
It must have been her tears blowing in the wind because I’m absolutely certain it didn’t start to rain. Not on my holiday! In summary, rain did not fall from the sky. I did feel some moisture in the air, but what is rain really. I’m not sure anyone knows. Certainly not in Bermuda, because the sun always shines. I did consider taking shelter but I was practically naked anyway. If the water resulted in my sports wear clinging to my body. Well… ladies… you’re welcome!
Today’s “activity” was a trip to St George’s on the bus. I say 'the' bus… it was a number 8 to the bus station then a number 3 to our actual destination. St George’s is often described as the third permanent British settlement in the Americas, after Jamestown, Virginia (1607), and Cupids, Newfoundland (1610), it is the oldest continuously inhabited British town in the New World, since the other two settlements were seasonal for a number of years. Sad that now it too is seasonally inhabited by boat loads of bloody Americans who bang on about “winning” independence from us, only to do anything they can to soak up some of the superior British life they rejected.
Anyway what can I tell you about St George’s. Before the ferry arrives full of cruisers in the morning it’s a nice quiet town without many annoying tourists. We have a wander around the town square and into the town hall. There displayed are pictures of all the mayors through the years. Odd how they all seemed to be middle aged white men until oppressing the local population and dare I suggest being racist stopped being so much “fun” in the 80s. Hell they even had a female mayor. She did look like Maggie Thatcher so maybe equality still had its problems…
We move on to the Unfinished Church. You’ll never guess what it is. It’s a church that they never got around to finishing. You will equally be surprised to hear that it was delayed by different religious sects arguing over it. You know, the way God would have wanted it. Then in 1926 it got twatted by a hurricane. Ironically, the very definition of an ‘Act of God’. If there’s one thing I love less than looking around churches it’s looking around ruins of churches.
As my patience wears thin, Snuckems decides we should add to the figures for middle aged men committing suicide by insisting that we go to a museum next. I decide that a better way forward is for her to go to a museum on her own and I’ll go to the fort that coincidentally is at the top of a hill. My excitement further peaks when I realise it’s actually on a golf course I’m strictly forbidden from entering. Luckily, I’ve been here for a week so my calves have tanned nicely but not offensively. I have a Charles Tyrwhitt polo shirt, long Bermudan style shorts, a Smathers & Branson hat and an Omega watch. I reckon I’m twice as Bermudian as Catherine Zeta-Jones at this point. Failing that I could probably get a part as a Michael Portillo stunt double in his next documentary series “Scenic Railway Journeys of the West Midlands”.
It transpires Fort Bermuda is a bit of a shithole. This had potential to be a lovingly restored historical site.. but nah the guys at the Bermudan planning office smoked some of the fine artisanal planning ganja and decided that they’d just relax and everything would be just cool baby. Over the next 60-70 years or so… the place went to shit. But it is disguised well by a series of picturesque bunkers on the 17th fairway.
I eventually return to find Snuckems has struck up a 'friendship' with the 50 something year old female museum attendant lady Brenda. As the museums only visitor this morning, she got a personalised guided tour! There’s nothing wrong with that … I’m just saying if I’d have got a personalised guided tour of a house by a lonely spinster, questions would have been asked. One toke of a wacky backy cigarette here and it’s josticks and bloody free love for everyone!
At that point my 'cocktail low' indicator illuminates on my dashboard and we are forced to walk into a pub and order burgers, fries and the dark and stormys. Yum! If there is one thing those British (mostly American) Bermudans know how to make, it’s an over priced burger. Ask them to do a cottage pie and you’ll almost certainly leave disappointed.
Chat over lunch mostly centres on the presence of two ducks we saw at 'the seaside'. Do ducks live at the seaside? Are they ok with salt water? How did ducks get to Bermuda? You know … duck chat! I’m not sure we drew many conclusions. Not least because we are not ducking experts!!! Some how lunch was over $100. How the hell? Oh yeah cocktails are expensive…who knew?
Our day ends with a uniquely Bermudan bus and ferry journey home. I fill a long wait for the ferry by carrying out a racial diversity study in the business district of Hamilton. Conclusion: it’s very white, very very white. Very very very white. Here I did discover where all the middle aged white men in Bermuda shorts and long socks have been hiding. Having stumbled upon this white Bermudan Nazi enclave we hurry back to our natural habitat. Tourist shops and M&S…. Oh … Bermuda closes at 5pm because… They are living in the dark ages still.
Advantages Wolverhampton has over Bermuda:
- Shops in Wolvo stay open later.
- TBD
- ….
Oh and one last thing… in response to a request from our viewers. Obviously I did take a “long distance” picture of the stripper at the pool. Just think Camilla Parker-Bowles… in a hot tub. Sexy!
