Hell is full of musical amateurs. - George Bernard ShawTruer words were never spoken. That's right, Carnival's round the corner, which means it's Calypso season again. Having only just recovered from the annual Jazz Festival; which featured heavy servings of Zouk, Reggae, R&B and Soca; I brace myself for this next round of irrepressible booty humping and crotch thrusting.
Now I realise that by breaking ranks with my compatriots I'll have committed something akin to treason; but for the love of God, I know I'm not the only one who cringes in agony every time the Mighty Whomever opens his/her mouth and unleashes yet another auditory barrage ruthlessly punctuated by sporadic utterances like:
"Lucian massive! Wind down, wind down!"
"Back it up! Back it up!"
"Wave your rag! Wave your rag! Wai-ya-yaiiiiiii!"
By July the contest will have been whittled down to a dozen competitors; who will more than likely know what a tune is, if unable to actually carry one. Until then I suffer through scores of, dare I say it, renditions which would undoubtedly drive Simon Cowell to homicide.