Comments are pouring in on my recent exchange with The Old Ball and Chain.  Most understand that the exchange merely highlights the different lens through which men and women see the world; marriage and each other. 

I’ve heard it said men are from Mars; women from Venus.  Well, I’ve never been to Mars and, if my parents were aliens from outer space, they never told me.  For me, men are like Fighting Cocks; women like pussycats.  This inevitably leads to important events, like marriage, having different effects on each.

Single woman are like cute little pussycats tied up in a purple ribbon.  They’ll watch sports with you and pretend to like your friends.

Now that same woman gets married, and, according to Alan Jay Lerner’s lyrics :

                   “Let a woman in your life                                                                      and your serenity is through,
she’ll redecorate your home                                                           from the cellar to the dome.
then go on to the enthralling                                                    fun of overhauling you…

She begins to look like a frizzled alley-cat.  She invites your friends to the weding because she knows you’ll never be able to see them again.  She becomes a drill sergeant.  She tells you what to do and, when you get in trouble, she reminds you that, if you had listened to her, you wouldn’t need her help because you’d have fixed the problem before it got any worse.

The inevitable result of this constant clash of cultures is divorce.  The wife now looks like a wealthy cat.  The husband, who started out as a proud fighting cock, by the time the marriage ends has had his feathers painfully plucked and walks around naked and broke seeking solace from The Lord.

So, after the hostilities, Old B.C. and I travelled to MoBay to spend the weekend at our favourite home away from home, the Half Moon Hotel. I recommend this to all warring couples as the perfect spot to relax, recharge and reenergise your relationship.

                   “You can call Mrs. Johnson to
keep the kids for a day or two.
Take the early flight to [Half Moon]
just the way you used to do.

                 Have room service bring you breakfast.
Make love all through the day.
If you’re not back in love by Monday,
then you go your separate way.”

The original reason for the trip was for me to attend a Jamaica Bar Association seminar rumoured to be accredited by the General Legal Council so that Continuing Legal Professional Development credits could be scuffled.  The weekend seminar was held at another MoBay hotel but we boarded at our favourite Inn.

We were greeted like long lost friends by the beautiful and talented Beverley McKenzie who said she’d read my Column about the St Mary hotel lobby disaster.  She ensured there was no repeat.  Our original reservation was no longer available so we were upgraded at no extra cost.  What’s that, I hear you ask?  It’s called “customer service” an endangered species in Jamrock.  Di and Peter, help!.

Due to yet another reception foul-up, the other “Hotel” barred us from the Friday night dinner at which eminent Counsel P.J. Patterson QC was guest speaker.  I was happy to learn he spoke of the urgent need to abolish the Privy Council even if there’s no immediate replacement, a position I postulated in 2005 when he was Prime Minister.  I’m glad he’s finally come around to my point of view.

So, we returned to Paradise with a superb five course meal at the Sugar Mill, Jamaica’s best restaurant, where the legendary Solomon (“Maitre D”) greeted and treated us like royalty.  Old B.C just melted in his hands as his attentions reminded me of the great Rock Pavesi, who ran Blue Mountain Inn back in the day and who fawned over Old B.C. on her wedding night to perfection, rolling a perfect wicket upon which even Lance Gibbs could have scored a century.  It turns out Solomon is in his 50th year of service and it was exciting to hear him speak of the reward that service itself brings. 

Back at the main hotel, Old B.C was pampered like a Princess with a pea under her mattress.  The urbane Basil Samuels (and his motorcycle) was ever present and, despite her motherly instruction to him to wear a helmet, refused to be upset.  When eating at Seagrape, Dining Room Captain, Everett Baker, ever attentive, was his usual sunny self and ensured she had an extra fan at her table to ward off hot flashes (oops, sorry, “fronts”) passing through.

Songwriters Glenn Martin and Sonny Throckmorton co-wrote country music classic If You’re Not Back in Love by Monday originally recorded by Merle Haggard.  In 1977, it was superbly covered by Millie Jackson as part of one of the best soul albums ever (Feeling Bitchy).

Peace and Love


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