In Kingston there are wandering men. They usually carry a tool, a machette, a hammer, a saw, a drill, they become their possession: Busman, Fatman, Drillman. The man is named and becomes his name and his house is his substance.


Before my arrival I studied maps of Jamaica and especially Kingston. I could not find CAST, where I was supposed to teach. All I knew was that it was along the Old Hope Road. It seemed very long. It led out of Kingston and would evetually lead you to the military camp of Newcastle. New Castle & Old Hope…. Of course Hope was a family name, later becoming the name of the Hope estate. Old Hope. Imagine Hope languishing there and becoming Old. Or maybe Hope was a well exercised old man, sprightly and bright, with a curious glint in his eyes as a young girls pass. What I never realised is what fun it is to be a dirty old man.