Sunday 16th March 2014
After the 90 minutes bus and taxi journey to get there I was a little apprehensive to see that we were about to enter Hell – even if it had ‘shire’ tucked on the end.
If you don’t want to be bothered by loud music (mostly dancehall), don’t like the smell of roasting jerk pork, frying fish and festivals, can’t stand the sight of horses giving rides on the beach like donkeys at Weston-Super-Mare in the UK;
if you don’t want to be disturbed by beach hawkers selling all kinds of wares from peppered prawns to instant photographs; if you don’t want to hear children laughing, splashing and generally having fun and don’t want to bask in the warm, warm, turquoise Caribbean sea, then it could indeed be hell.
I’m not a great fan of dancehall music, but found myself trying out some…
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