Pleasant Sunday morning and several people have already emailed me pointing out my colleague, Raffique Shah, had me to hang, as it were, in his column in the Sunday Express today; nice to be of assistance to a pardner, of course, but, when you read it – click on the link below, if you like, and it may take you there, but, since

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Several people pounced on my arithmetic yesterday, when I calculated that we had, on 1 September, entered the last quarter of the year. It is, of course, the last third of the year. One friend – an investment mogul, no less, who is actually paid by the quarter “several months behind the wife’s spending” –– emailed me

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September already. Wow. Seems like only yesterday it was August.

All jokes aside, wasn’t it this very morning we woke up wondering what the new year, the year ten, would bring? And here we are in the last quarter! And now

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Hurricane Earl bypassed Barbados, thankfully – no doubt because God is a Bajan and heard our prayers – but has left in his wake an airless, hot space; you sweat just sitting down. Hard to think at all within those parameters. But here are the crossword clue solutions I know you’ve lost sleep over, over the weekend.

Chap leaves fruit (7).

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The Thursday Telegraph cryptic crossword maintains its dominance of the week, tossing up two nice clues in

Chap leaves fruit (7); and

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Working from home is a great idea – until school’s out. From day one of the long vacation, it’s been a process of child-appeasement. Every morning, I feel like WWII British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, who  returned from Munich on 30 September 1938, waving the agreement that secured, “Peace with honour” –until the German invasion of Poland  less than a year later.

In my view, the long vacation is for going outside and getting stung by jeps. My kids' vision of ‘summer’ holidays, though, is

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Since yesterday, as only a few people have seemed to realise, the feature I’m have been doing since July for the Monday Guardian in Trinidad, ‘Trini to D’ Bone’, will be appearing in its own dedicated space here at BC Raw. I’m glad to say I can put pix up in the new, purpose-created space. Pictures were a hit-or-miss thing when I was posting the feature in the blog space; sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn’t, like a love affair; or me.

In the next few days, I’ll

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WHILE I’M ALWAYS appreciative of support, and am grateful people took the time after yesterday’s blog to post comments showing they consider my feelings – mostly, when I’m paid close attention, there’s a long-distance scope and crosshairs involved – it’s been a long, long time since I was bothered by hate mail.

When I got my first fan mail in 1988 –

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PEOPLE IN MY game know better than to take on hate mail. No matter who or how good you are, once there is a public aspect of your life, you’ll draw comments from what the hip hop people call, ‘the haters’. It’s worth going to the Guardian website on a Friday to see the venom I manage to bring out with Thank God It’s Friday. From some of their comments, you can tell several people have been hating me closely for a long time. Sadly, they all seem to be latent homosexuals – there’s one closeted man who – should I say bends over backwards? –

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IT TOOK THREE hours, 15 minutes to mow the first 11,000 sq ft of land I referred to in this space on Sunday. The last time I’d mowed it – which was the first time it was done by an idiot with a hand mower, not a day-jobber on a riding mower – was during the first week of the World Cup. I’d brought it down flat – chipping many a notch in the mower blades, I’m sure, as I unearthed stones, old mufflers, half-bricks kindly left behind by others.

But in two months-plus of rain and hot sun, the razor grass was taller than me in parts; which is not necessarily towering, I grant, but still

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