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The pope, a Shepherd, two kings and I

Last week was one of prince and princess consorting all the way to the chapel with a queen showing heart and attending a ceremony she coolly felt would go off well without her.

A king died and will be buried. A Shepherd went out to pasture. A pope died and was entombed and “The king reigns” according to Guardian Page 3 story yesterday.

The man was called “batting genius” and was celebrated with words like “superiority,” “one of the world’s leading batsmen.”

“The king of Port-of-Spain” Naz said “prevailed with an elegant 159 not out.”

Meanwhile Jennifer joined Stalin and sang “bun dem” in hell if they name Ra-hell and that, while the world paused to pray for Pope John Paul 11’s heavenly rest.

And, while the pope’s body was still lying in state I realised we we will never know now which “bunch of lies” about the tearoom brawl flies close to the truth of that day’s happenings.

Poets and ministers were out as well last week as the indefatigable Pat Bishop delivered a stirring reading of the King James’ version of St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, Chapter 13, instructing a Thursday evening audience at Nalis Amphitheatre, Port-of-Spain, in a lesson on charity. Former President Arthur NR Robinson said that he thought he would have been a bishop or a minister of sorts but never envisaged that the ministering would have been in the politics of this country, while Pat felt that she was chosen to do the consecration because her name is Bishop.

Castro called Bush’s attendance to the pope’s funeral “hypocrisy”; while Bush praised the late pope for his stance on communism.

Bush and Clinton got mixed up in a talk about “legacy” and a slight spat ensued, with each fighting for a space in the media to house their opinion.

And I? I almost made it to the Queen’s Park Oval to see “my boy child” bat. Yes, I have recovered sufficiently.

And, just when I thought we would bun dem with 200 in the QP Oval, the spectators were up, belatedly, to give the king a standing ovation as he went out for 196.

Only yesterday my sister and cricket partner, Debra Ravello Greaves reminded me that the only other time the boy child scored a century we weren’t there forcing us to conclude that the team, and especially Lara, is better off with us at home.

She stayed home but I worked...I have to conclude, though, that 196 is so far from 200 and you only recognise it when the King’s bail was toppled by his ball.