Putting Shoulder to the Filthy Plough

The morning after the meeting I assuaged my guilt for having launched a green attack on the state of the beach by joining Mr. Money Bags (a proponent of this Amerindian fiasco) at 6am in front of the church where Michelle married, to pick-up trash. Well I didn't really join Mr. Money Bags, he passed at the end of the mission in his BMW, tinted windows up, to confer with his minions. His "associate", the AG's boy, some Brownies, Michelle's pregnant friend, IZ and I pulled on the surgical gloves and climbed through gullies and over rocks filling our Santa sacks with all kinds of loot. Bottles from the 80's, condom wrappers, styrofoam food containers, buckets, tyres, pieces of car engines, you name it. At the risk of sounding politically correct, Bajans are filthy, disgusting, shameless pigs. I literally picked up their crap off their front yard as they peeped through their windows. One of those "I hate Barbadians" moments, I experience from time to time.

Anyhoo, though Money Bags didn't pick up a single scrap, he did finance the garbage bags and the congratulatory tuna sandwiches so three Boos for Boos and his beach clean-up effort. After putting his money where his mouth is by using my shoulder to the plough, I know I went home to scrub off the scum.