Did I give Russ Abbot Covid?

For the past few weeks there’s been a 7 p.m. curfew in Barbados as part of what the government calls a ‘national pause’ (lockdown, essentially). I’m actually grateful because it’s been manic lately. The excitement started with the visit of Captain Sir Tom Moore in December. I was commissioned by a golfing group called the ‘Sandy Lane Swingers’ to write and perform a song, ‘Marching on to Victory’, at a charity lunch. It’s a jaunty tune, composed by my co-writer Jeremy Limb, with a singalong at the end. Captain Tom joined in, waving his napkin in the air. As an encore I sang a verse of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and he mouthed all the words. Despite his age and frailty, he was in good spirits and delighted to be in our corner of paradise. At that time Barbados was Covid-free with strict quarantine rules, which meant we could enjoy a hedonistic bubble.

This changed when the Christmas holiday crowd descended. Celebrities ignored the rules, prostitutes were caught climbing over hotel balconies to join quarantining couples for illicit threesomes, and a Covid denier slipped away from his hotel to a bar, infecting many people. On 2 January I tested positive. Talking to a friend on the phone, I told her I was anxious. The day before, I’d popped to the supermarket and chatted to Russ Abbot in aisle eight. ‘What if I’ve infected a national treasure?’ ‘Well, you must write to him,’ she said. I wrote, but never heard back.

I live at Schooner Bay near Speightstown. It’s a friendly place. Residents crack open a bottle of Minuty at sunset and share poolside drinks. During lockdown I performed opera recitals from my balcony on a Saturday night. We were
a jolly group, but when I told the chairman of the residents’ association about my positive test, I became public enemy number one.