Has everyone recovered from the CayMAS weekend? Did you join in the festivities this year?
As much as I love being on parade, I still can’t bring myself to don neon turkey string nestled in my nether regions, matched with fishnet tights and a sparkly bralette. I could go rogue, of course, and be the one reveller clad in black velvet, but all that effort would be for naught as I’d be carted off to Emergency with a core temperature of 120°F.
So, much like last year, best friend Lynne and I decided to set up a viewing area at the end of our street where it meets West Bay Road. If any of you read my column then, you’ll remember we had a tent and chairs with a small cooler of drinks, and apart from one moment when the tent turned into a hovercraft and made it halfway into the road before we could grab it, our mini-party venue was a success.
Me being me, I really wanted to go big this time. Without really considering the work involved, I had visions of a rolling drinks cart, martini shaker, tiered sandwich plates and maybe even cheese fondue. A sort of Swiss-chalet-meets-British-high-tea-cum-Vegas-club type of vibe. Those who don’t know me would think I’m exaggerating. Anyone who’s known me since high school, however, would not bat an eye.
As the sun rose on the day of the parade, I immediately began to tweak my plans. The moment I opened the front door, I was hit with a wave of heat that had me wilting like spinach. The sandwiches would only dry out in these temperatures; probably best to scratch those. The notion of fondue also went out with the bath water. The idea of ingesting boiling cheese at two in the afternoon in July seemed… unwise. By the time I was loading up the car to transport everything to the setup spot, the dream scenario had been pared down to the tent, chairs, a cooler and a table, but with the slightly elevated cuisine of sausage rolls, crackers and hummus. Of course, we also had a bag of Funyuns; we’re not animals.
Lynne and I had already done a trial run with the tent in the driveway, as it had been a year since we’d last used it and we were a bit foggy on the instructions. We didn’t need an audience witnessing Lynne doing a limbo under the lowered sides, followed by her muffled voice emanating from swaths of material and the shape of hands punching around underneath like something out of ‘Ghostbusters’. The usual spirited discussions (arguments) ensued as to the order of the steps to get it open and standing. We eventually figured it out, and collapsed it back again, ready to reopen an hour later.
Although almost every luxury I had envisioned for our CayMAS viewing platform had been struck off the list, there was one item I did not want to drop: A standing electric fan. The generator was way too heavy to engage, so the only thing to do was run extension cords from the house. Clark W. Griswold would have been proud of our dogged determination. As invited friend Carol pulled up to assist with getting everything in place, we were unfurling every electrical cable we could find. A rainbow of blue, green and orange stretched about 200 feet down the street and we tested the current at every joint rather than risk disappointment at the end. Unbelievably, we had just enough length to make it (thanks to Lynne racing back to the house to dig up one final cord), and the fan spun briskly to life as the parade approached and we took our seats.
As usual, I really had to hand it to everyone dancing along the road. The sun was unrelenting, but there they were, jumping up and down – some of them even in heels.
Just as we sat there like the old men in ‘The Muppet Show’ – eating our sausage rolls and drinking our Perrier – talking about how carnival was a young person’s game, three women older than us went bouncing by, full of beans. Okay, maybe it just wasn’t our game [pass the Funyuns, please].
It was great being able to see it all. Friends in the procession stopped by to chat and stand in front of the fan for a few moments and we got up and danced along when the big trucks and speakers went rolling by. It was the best of both worlds – feeling part of the proceedings without walking for miles.
Actually, that’s how I feel about most things in life. If I can enjoy something without doing any of the work, I’m golden.
It was only about 20-30 minutes from when the lead police motorcycles went past to the last feather in the bunch, and then it was time to pack all our stuff up again. Despite the short period of time, we agreed the tent setup had been worth the effort, and the fan was a big hit.
We hadn’t touched the hummus, so I’ll probably nix that in the future. We’ll also need to get some longer extension cords rather than connecting up 57 in a row; note to self. Apart from that, the experience was great, but not quite perfect… nothing some fondue can’t fix next year.
Related Videos
