Christmas in Barbados is different. Forget snow and scarves – we do Christmas in flip-flops, sweating through church services and pretending to feel festive because there’s tinsel on a palm tree. Everyone’s singing Mary’s Boy Child as if they’re auditioning for Caribbean Idol, and someone’s auntie is halfway through a bottle of Mount Gay before 11am.
But my weirdest Christmas was when I was about 19 – that magical age when you’re convinced you’re grown, but you still have braces.
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