Infrequent update.
Good morning journal. What I did this summer. By Me. Aged well and soaked in beer.
I am writing this an hour before I leave Angola for a couple of weeks. It has been an exciting summer. I have acquired two passports. I have been arrested as an illegal immigrant by paramilitaries. I have had a barbeque. Then I wrote a lot of e mails.
Now I am going to South Africa, because they have animals there. The internet says they are big and stuff. I want to wake up with the giraffe looking in my window and a gazelle on the barbie.
I have also been fishing, I caught a marlin and gave it away, it weighed 600 pounds. I don't know if there was enough batter or potatoes. I don't think the locals have vinegar, so probably ate funge with it instead.
Funge is horrid as a foodstuff. It is good as car body filler and doubles as wallpaper paste. I do not eat the funge, gungey funge, spungey funge, FUNGE! Do not eat the funge, it is boggin.
I have my driver coming over to take me to the airport, he is a nice chap called Bandeira, and my maid called Lucia has just left, but frankly, one of the things I'm looking forward to is running my own life again, at last, freedom, a car, and a chance to robbed in a foreign country, what could possibly go wrong.
Language has now completely degenerated, I am speaking a bastardised form of yankengnol (a blend of american, english and portuguese, none of which makes for clear expressions). It is as my boss would charmingly describe it a circle jerk, or a fuckfest. I'm not sure of the technical distinction.
Have decided that all is a big shambles. Can't wait to leave and spend the next 24-36 hours dealing with the international airline industry, bad at the best of times, multiply by angolan bureaucracy and you have a delicious recipe for shambles, farrago and despair. Last time I went there, I was again arrested. That time for not having a visa.
I want to be arrested for something proper.
Right, better go and see if I can get this plane and see the girlfriend, who remains short and very cute.
Job fine, have decided I'm a rubbish team leader and need to improve. Can't manage toffee. Though I did manage to sort out a barbeque for 60. I found that looking sufficiently terror struck was enough for the inherent sexism of ex-pat wives to kick in. They had a slightly pitying, annoyed and alarmed look. The way you would if a five year old was trying to fix your mainframe using a plastic hammer with the power on. I think I trod on some unwritten rule that ex pat men must be incapable of any form of culinary activity. They were all very nice.
Toodles for now. Happy birthday to raffe.
I am writing this an hour before I leave Angola for a couple of weeks. It has been an exciting summer. I have acquired two passports. I have been arrested as an illegal immigrant by paramilitaries. I have had a barbeque. Then I wrote a lot of e mails.
Now I am going to South Africa, because they have animals there. The internet says they are big and stuff. I want to wake up with the giraffe looking in my window and a gazelle on the barbie.
I have also been fishing, I caught a marlin and gave it away, it weighed 600 pounds. I don't know if there was enough batter or potatoes. I don't think the locals have vinegar, so probably ate funge with it instead.
Funge is horrid as a foodstuff. It is good as car body filler and doubles as wallpaper paste. I do not eat the funge, gungey funge, spungey funge, FUNGE! Do not eat the funge, it is boggin.
I have my driver coming over to take me to the airport, he is a nice chap called Bandeira, and my maid called Lucia has just left, but frankly, one of the things I'm looking forward to is running my own life again, at last, freedom, a car, and a chance to robbed in a foreign country, what could possibly go wrong.
Language has now completely degenerated, I am speaking a bastardised form of yankengnol (a blend of american, english and portuguese, none of which makes for clear expressions). It is as my boss would charmingly describe it a circle jerk, or a fuckfest. I'm not sure of the technical distinction.
Have decided that all is a big shambles. Can't wait to leave and spend the next 24-36 hours dealing with the international airline industry, bad at the best of times, multiply by angolan bureaucracy and you have a delicious recipe for shambles, farrago and despair. Last time I went there, I was again arrested. That time for not having a visa.
I want to be arrested for something proper.
Right, better go and see if I can get this plane and see the girlfriend, who remains short and very cute.
Job fine, have decided I'm a rubbish team leader and need to improve. Can't manage toffee. Though I did manage to sort out a barbeque for 60. I found that looking sufficiently terror struck was enough for the inherent sexism of ex-pat wives to kick in. They had a slightly pitying, annoyed and alarmed look. The way you would if a five year old was trying to fix your mainframe using a plastic hammer with the power on. I think I trod on some unwritten rule that ex pat men must be incapable of any form of culinary activity. They were all very nice.
Toodles for now. Happy birthday to raffe.