So I’m back from “The Rock”, and had a great visit with my two brothers and their families, except for my last evening when I made the very tough but deliberate decision to abandon them.
We were invited to a Forth of July party at the swanky Mid Ocean Club. Now some people might be impressed by the sight of a golf course made up to look like the deck of a cruise ship, but what the photo above couldn’t quite capture was thick stench of pretense that quite frankly made my skin crawl. You have to understand that I spent a good part of my childhood dragged by the ear on a regular basis to another snooty Country Club, so wherever I get that same vibe my immediate instinct is to bolt.
I thought it polite to inform the people who had invited us that I was leaving, with a heartfelt apology and thanks. Others thought I should quietly disappear, like crumbs swept under a rug. Without going into any more specific details I can now say with some authority that Bermuda is home to an incestuous inner circle of high society expats who have nothing better to do than watch each other’s every move.
Once off the property and back on public roads I breathed in a fresh dose of pretense-free island air and pointed my scooter towards the town of St. George, where I took in the fireworks from the weekly Market Night street festival. After that I got some more local colour as a kind resident led me to a back-alley burger joint—there wasn’t even a sign on the door, but everyone inside addressed the lady at the grill as “mamma’, and she served up a mean fish sandwich!
