*File photo
*File photo

One of the pleasant surprises upon landing in Bermuda is the dialect. We may be a British Overseas Territory but English is very much the second language  —and the island is all the better for it. Dialogue here is rich and unique. Give me another decade or two and here’s how my Labour Day holiday could have panned out:

9am (ish)

Woke up. De head pain was no joke! Dahned too many burrs last night bie, inna. An all I could taste vas de, umm umm, roach coach. Arrgghh! Rank.

*phone rang*

Mate: “How ya feelin’ bie?

Me: “Ruff.”

Mate: “What you ax-pact? You had tan coalwuns, shree dark n’ stormies, shree tequilas an shree black n cokes.

Me: “Whaat!?

Mate: “You was actin up, too. Goin ron an ron de bar, like it was ya birrfday or sumtin. You vas a mess.

Me: “Did errybody see?”

Mate: “Aunngh”

Me: “@#$*”

Mate: “Ah, forget it. Good dahnce. You comin dahn Pint later?”

Me: “Umm umm, got to see bredrin first”

Mate: “Don’t be sawf. Wuur?”

Me: “Backatawn”

Mate: “Okay, check ya later.”

*Hangs up*

11am: Finally got up. Found nearest churr. Gagged. Drunk, like, a gallon of orange mindral. Tasted wel. Got dressed, picked up lid an set off for backatawn. Big affert — dideen feel like doin arrything.

11:15am: Vas mysin, almost hit ‘Walking Man’ Damon at the traffic lights. He’s the bess – Ace Boy jus ax me if I vas blind and kep on walkin’. Gagged again.

Reached brother’s house. He just back from de horspittle, got a cricket ball in his eye playin’ for Bay. Bie’s wurrin shaids indoors even.

*try to turn on de TV*

“No lack-trisity”


“Ain’t paid BALCO”

Fist-bumped mate. Told him I’d see him at Ace Girl’s vaddin on Sed-dee, inna. 

12:30pm: Went tahn to get some greeze. Parked opposite de lye-berry.

Hurred a voice. “Hey — you vas a mass, bie.” Arrgh — it’s de gaarl I vas talking to last night. Vaguely memba she lived up de country.

“Hey — you get back west ok?

“Whaat?! Bah, that musta bin di ova gurl you was chasin’. I stay out east.”

Felt cheap. Cursed Bermuewjum vimmen.

12:45pm: Reached de Pint. Went in Boat Club. Had a burr. And anova. And anova. Bartender looked skurd.

4pm: Stumbled out de Club. Full hot. Mate says he’s got-me-covered. First time I’m seen Ace Boy since Ron-de-Ilan-Race. He’s cool. Does triathlons dahn de Sahn. Don’t drink. Ax me if I want a lift to de beach — he hurd it’s a dahnce goin on dahn thurr. O okay. Cool cool.

5pm: Had a Labour Day swim. Freezin’. I ain’t doin dat again for a while (like til May 24).

Sore bies from de football team. Fist-bumped. Shurred burrs an stories from last night. One guy got lucky. Respect. Fist-bumps all-ron.

“You use contra-septics right bie?”

*skurd look*

“Ay, ya gon be her baby deddy soon ba. Haha”

*really skurd look*

Errywun leaves. Get a text —  tourist gurl’s last night on de Rock. Wants to meet in tahn. Ace boy gives me a lift again. He’s cool.

8pm: Gurl looking good. Hur done nice. Feelin boasty. Get a ron in at de bar.

Suddenly sore summin on her hand that looked dollars. Whaat?! Dat dur’s an engagement ring. Axed her straight out.

“Oh, that, I’m getting married next July. Boyfriend lives in DC, he’s a lawyer. He’ll be here in a minute – he’s in Pickled Onion. You’ll like him.”

What I look like the onliest idiot hur? Fack. She’s fullish. Text bies. Wur you too? Cairo. Cool cool.

1am: At roach coach (again) wid gurl who dissed me in tahn. She had sum mad drinks now, tho. 

Ordered sum mayo wid side order ov fish sandwich on raisin bread. Tasted wel. 

Labour day just anova day on de Rock. Didn’t ax-pact nuffin less.