11. Too Exciting!

We made the big decision a few weeks ago to return to the UK, permanently. We will probably be returning in July but it rather depends upon whether we can sell our cottage.

If we do manage to sell, it means that I have to post my Cayman experiences before we leave.  It would seem a little strange to sit in the cold and gloom of Winchmore Hill, North London and write about incidents that took place on a tropical island.

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In September 2004, Grand Cayman was hit with the full force of Hurricane Ivan and it was devastated.  Since then, nothing of interest has occurred other than the arrival of Mr and Mrs Wilton or, Mr and Mrs Dawes as most people here think we are. 

What happened when I arrived at the school I help out at one morning last December was quite interesting.  I couldn’t get in to park my car.  Police, paramedics and a film crew from the news station, plus about thirty onlookers surrounded the building.

There was a man up on the roof.  He was screaming obscenities at the police and threatening to jump.

The news reporter got hold of a police loud hailer and called up to the man.  She asked him, very nicely and politely, I thought, if he would stop using the ‘f’ word while screaming at the police negotiator.  She explained to him in calm, measured tones, that the news went out at 6:00 pm and there would certainly be children watching.  She went on to tell him that unless something quite extraordinary happened, like someone is caught with more than the daily quota of conch, this would definitely be the lead story.

The “news” programme that we have here is a bit of a misnomer.  It is aired at 6:00 pm Monday to Friday.  There is no news programme at the weekends or on public holidays because of course, nothing ever happens then.  The BBC could learn from this, save a fortune and cut licence fees.  Rarely is anything that happens on that day featured on the same evening’s news. 

Saturday’s football results and film footage from one game will be shown on the following Tuesday.  As filming the entire game is expensive, the cameraman appears to only begin filming when the ball gets into a penalty area.  Consequently, we see many sequences of anticlimactic missed opportunities but rarely a goal.  The best example of this was last season when every goal in a “nine goal thriller” was missed.

The radio news is not a lot better.  “THESE ARE THE STORIES THAT ARE MAKING HEADLINES” is bellowed over the airwaves by the deep, urgent, breathless, tones of an American-accented continuity announcer, on the hour, every hour.  Last Friday I pulled over in the car and stopped to prepare myself for the bombshell story to follow.

“Today is ‘Dressdown Day’ at many Caymanian businesses to raise money for the animal shelter,” said the sweet, melodic voice of the female newsreader.

‘On the hour, every hour’ is not strictly true.  We work on, ‘Island Time’.  On the phone-in show the other morning, the host announced, “It’s eight twenty-three and time to go to the eight o’clock news.”  A couple of months ago there was no radio news at all because the newsreader was ill.

Anyway, back to the man on the roof.  Sadly, the reporter’s polite request had no effect at all on him and he shouted that both she and everyone else should “F” off.  All of us watching were shocked.  Children were arriving and they were asked to go to the adjacent church and wait until they were called.  Some of them were very slow to respond and I hope they didn’t hear any of the very rude things the man was still shouting.

The crowd was growing and was mainly women.  Most of them had brought folding chairs and a parasol or umbrella to keep the direct sun off and they were really making a day of it.  Many were talking into their cell phones telling friends of the unfolding drama and suggesting that they come and join them.  By 9:10 the ‘audience’ had grown to more than 100. 

The harmonised, “Oooos” and “Aaaahs” that followed closely after every obscenity yelled from the roof, sounded too rehearsed to me to be spontaneous but perhaps they were.  A van pulled up and parked on the road and began selling ice cream.  I went over to the TV reporter whom I know as she has the cottage near us and asked her what she knew. 

“Nothing,” she said, “I was given a choice.  It was this, or the start of the lobster season.  I wish I’d chosen the lobsters now.  You always know where you are with a lobster.  This is getting boring.  I wish he’d hurry up and jump.” She looked at her watch.  “I’ve got a hair appointment at ten.  Do you like it like this, or should I have it shorter?”

I was flattered that she valued my opinion and began to tell her that my personal preference was for shorter hair but perhaps the opinion of someone more than thirty years older than her was not likely to be what she needed to hear. 

My wise advice was interrupted by the arrival of a group of American tourists from a cruise ship who had been told that she was with CNN.  Julie, the reporter, said nothing to enlighten them but set about signing autographs on any scrap of paper that came to hand. 

The pastor from the church arrived, full of self-importance, wise saws and modern instances. He immediately tried to take control.  He got hold of the hailer and suggested that we all join him in prayer.

After about five seconds of prayer the guy next to me shouted, “Stop!” and he pointed at the man on the roof.  “He hasn’t got his eyes closed.”

I couldn’t see how this was ever going to be resolved.  It was about 30°C but there was a large air conditioning unit beside him to give him shade so he would never get too hot.  He wasn’t going to come down for water, as he seemed to have several bottles up there with him.  I was getting very hot though and I looked for the headteacher to tell her that I was going home but that if the situation was resolved, she could give me a ring and I’d be back in five minutes. 

I stopped looking for her when I heard the police negotiator calling to the man through the loud hailer.  He was clearly getting impatient and was responding at last to the numerous calls coming from the crowd and the constant chant of, “jump jump jump.” 

The negotiator’s style, technique and approach was novel.  “Well go on then, you moron - jump!”

The crowd cheered.  The man jumped. 

The school is only one storey high and his fall was about 10 feet.  As soon as he hit the ground he got up and tried to run off but he was apprehended immediately.

An interesting start to the day.