The Pig can run a wheel as well as a hamster!

58

Pigorilla Power !

9 December 2009-12-09

The Pig can run a wheel as well as a hamster!

Well, despite all my efforts to stay out of the Rat Race, I am getting sucked into the vortex like a drowning child. The problem with the Rat Race is that even if you win, you are still a Rat. It’s out of my hands now....I have run out of money and run out of money to loan. Every now and again, I dream of trust funds and fun I never worked for, but without my polished silver straw with which to suck up the finest Peruvian Flake, my dreams seem just dreams....where has the realism gone?

My day today cannot be done any justice with the thirty odd minutes I have to tell you about it, but you may as well hear some of it from me, while I will leave the rest to your fine Pigorillian imagination.

I woke up at 05h30, climbed out of bed, and as is customary every morning (no matter when I wake up), looked at myself in the mirror and wondered how the hell I ended up here. I guess I could be in a prison in Bangkok, but we are not trying to guess what could be worse....or better....it just is. I couldn’t ponder too much as I had planned to go to gym and swim. I took my Zinc, Magnesium, Acetyl, Pseudo – Ephedrine, Ginger-Root and a few other things, brushed my teeth, got dressed (jeans, Madiba Man T-shirt and Ecco boots with leather jacket) and then jumped back into bed and closed my eyes counting backwards from “Twenty Dinosaurs to Six Dinosaurs” where upon which I leapt out of bed before I fell back into a deep sleep....rushed downstairs into the Madiba-Van and off to gym I went. I parked by the entrance so that everyone can see that I am a man with a van and dived into the pool. I lost one of my Speedo ear plugs and spent 15 minutes looking for it while everyone wondered what I was doing at the bottom of the pool pretending to be the man from Atlantis.

I made it to my appointment at 08h30 just ten minutes late after forty minutes spent creeping along Kings Road at the pace of a sloth. We went to Home Base to buy a carpet and then to a studio which “Andy” looked after for a landlord to fetch a couch. We replaced the couch in the following place with the couch we had taken and also picked up a single sofa for the landlord who was a little eccentric and had seven cats, five dogs and three foxes. Andy said people thought that she was a bit weird. “I wonder why?” I asked. He missed the sarcasm. The sofa was for the foxes.

We arrived at the house which seemed perfectly presentable and the landlady came out looking quite alright in a canary yellow matching track-suite top and bottom, red lipstick and yellow hair, although I thought that it was probably just white and reflecting the yellow of her outfit. I nearly shook hands with her, but felt a little intimidated by the inch long black finger nails which I had just noticed and she didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t so I didn’t. “I hear you have three foxes”, I said as a way of breaking into conversation as Andy was getting the sofa out the van. “Yes”, she said. “I would love to see them”, I said, “Are they around?” I asked. “No, they will probably be hiding upstairs”, she answered and went on, “They hate men...with good reason too.” I wasn’t sure if she meant that men had been nasty to the foxes or not, but I got the feeling that she was in agreement with the foxes for her own reasons and besides, her doddering man-slave had come out who was only about fifty (going on eighty) who was going to help Andy with the couch. She muttered something of an insult to him as he walked past and he bumbled something equally as discontent through his beard and bent frame as he grabbed his side of the sofa to assist Andy. He smelt like he had wet his pants and was coming across a little grim, but I wanted to see the foxes so followed her up to the front door of the house which was just ten metres away.

She opened the door and there was a black cat arching on a sofa just inside the door, but oddly enough, I only thought of that again now for the first time since it happened. What struck me as I walked through the door was as clear to my senses as if someone had walked up to me and poured a bucket of ammonia, rotting  flesh, and putrefied, rank, rancid death all over me. In all my years and all my experiences, nothing has prepared me for that most shocking stench. I looked at the landlady who was coming across more as the anti-Christ than anything else I could think of. She was standing there talking about something I could not hear. The husband and Andy had just arrived through the door and were going to close it behind them. That would have been unacceptable to me. I tried breathing through my mouth and blocking my nose, but the noxious air was filling me with horrid feelings of desperate loathing and fear. I said, “I’m not comfortable with leaving the van on the pavement and am going to keep an eye on it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The neighbour is no problem at all”, the anti-land-Christ-lady said. “oh my god”, I was thinking, “What is wrong with you fucking people? Can you not smell the death and decay and filthy putrid stench that is soaking into us and clogging our lungs and lives?”

“It’s not the neighbour I was thinking about”, I said, “more like the police for me having illegally parked the van.”

“Oh, never mind about that. You won’t see them around here”, she retorted. I could almost hear them thinking, “This one’s lasting long...another ten seconds and he’ll  be left with no choice, but  to pass out.”

I pulled out my phone, answered an imaginary call, and left the building. Trying to keep my life running as normally as possible, I made a call to the husband of a friend of mine with whom I was going to meet after this appointment and before my next one, if there was time. There was no time, but I could barely get the words out before retching thrice and then throwing up into the gutter. “Are you Ok?” Chris asked from his five star hotel in Knightsbridge. Oh, how I wished I was there! I assured him I wasn’t, wretched again, tried to explain what was happening, then had to negotiate with Andy who came out and was trying to persuade me to not only help him to take the couch I already had to the dump, but also a stained stinking one by the door with cushions that he had already loaded with fresh brown wet poo wiped into them. Already the back of the van was reeking with the stench of it and I said that I was terribly sorry, but that was not going to be possible. He said that it did have a slight odour about it....OMG....I felt like things were totally out of control. The next thing I knew, the smelly husband and Andy had hopped up into the cab and were coming with me to the dump to offload the couch we had collected earlier that morning. My window was open, but Andy was keeping his closed....could he not smell this chap? Something was wrong? I could practically see the snakes writhing beneath his shirt....I offered to dump the couch on my own and dropped them off....the horror, the horror.

Meeting up with colleague and friend who is from SA to do the next job was a welcome break and it involved packing boxes for a Jewish couple at their home. I’m convinced that the inventor of Judaism was a manufacturer of crockery. They have a different plate for every meal of their lives. I couldn’t afford to be one.... Atheism is much less expensive. The husband was a t work, but she was home. She was about twenty-eight years old, dressed plainly with no make-up and wearing low slung loose fitting tracksuit pants, but had long blond hair (and legs), wide set eyes, flawless skin, perky breasts and arched her back with a tight bum that just begged to be spanked. Wishful thinking, but it was not to be. Ended up packing the boxes, then leaving.

What was the most unusual turn of events of the day came with the call I received just after leaving the house....

The Cold Reality of the Pavement.

29 November

Pigorilla Power 57

I shouldn’t start this, because I cannot finish it.....well, that’s what I thought, because all the people that ever seem to do great things always seem to come out saying that they were “committed and always had the end in mind.” How many people say, “well, I, er, started it and like, well, I felt that it sort of, might well work and before I knew it, without administering any kind of direction to the business, it fell into place all on its own and turned itself into an almighty success”? I’ll tell you, if you don’t already know....not that many!

I don’t have anything that I can say right now....lots is going on....lots has gone on....I’m no happier than I was, but I am a lot more in control of what I am....One of the main things that I am is not happy. The more I sit back and rely on the goodness of Human Beings, the more I am bitterly disappointed in them. My immediate surroundings are quite well attended by very good ones, give or take a few treacherous little rascals that will probably get taken down long before the talons of the after-life sinks its karma deep into their soft rancid flesh.

MadibaManVan.co.uk is not quite on full speed ahead, but the wheels of commerce are being oiled by the finest lubricant that a general apathy for life can buy, and to be frank, I reckon that it is going to be good enough, if not more than that much.

The tail is still wagging, but by the dog this time....that damn tail is not gonna wag this dawn dawg much longer. We only have several good decades in us and if you spend your time unhappy, that is one thing, but to be unhappy and not at all in control of the mess that your life becomes, then that becomes an untenable situation.

I just want to, as I always have wanted to, live with peace, love, happiness, appreciation and an ongoing belief that it all means something....how many of those requests do you think I feel I have got right? An odd question, perhaps, since you probably have the same answer as me with no doubt as to its validity. How did I get to the proud sum of zero? What does it matter? People with more ability than I have to stuff up a perfectly good life should be given a better chance. Not necessarily by others....by whomever is in charge.

The laws that make up the physics of psychology as we believe them to be are not as far off as we think they may be from being unravelled, and if we survive the transition, we will be left with a continual feeling of well-being and contentment from the day we are born till the day we leave this sorry place. It is possible already, but only to those that feel that everything is actually OK, despite a possible underlying feeling of a lack of contentment or lack of well-being.

It almost looks like a play on words or an illusion, but it isn’t, it’s just the cold reality of the pavement.

To do or not to do...

Pigorilla Power!

56

19 – October 2009

Where it is that the days go is not a concern of mine, but what is particularly enamouring is that they are, indeed, going. It seems like there is imbalance in the air when I see and hear of all those that don’t have enough hours in the day because they are so busy trying to get stuff done with an unforgiving time-line. They can have some of my hours any day!

I spoke to my good friend, Louis Chanu, today and was grateful for the chat after almost a year of not talking to him. Louis lives in the mountains in a small town called Grabouw near Cape Town with a couple of twins, Enzo and Salvador, his daughter Malaika, and wife, Beth. He makes bronze sculptures that have found their way into the homes of Richard Branson and numerous other well known art collectors and people.

We started off becoming friends in the army as we were both drivers and had a penchant for pushing the military vehicles to their limit, and then a little bit further. After training at 5 SAI (5th South African Infantry Battalion) I had learnt how much Louis appreciated his food after receiving a well timed chop from his butter knife after trying to lift a chip off his plate during a moment when I thought he wasn’t looking. This is a scar I still carry on my thumb knuckle today and ironically, a constant reminder of our friendship. We went on to protect the South African borders while charging around on our “Buffels” (mine-proofed people carriers) in South West Africa, after which we went our separate ways until I bumped into him in Johannesburg and he was sculpting and casting garden animals which he still sells to the nurseries in South Africa to this day.

We were going to start a business together; taking aerial photographs from powered Para-gliders as Louis, at that point, was manufacturing the motors from a combination of lawn mower engines and rotors from Micro-light engines. I managed to get Agfa (the photographic film company) to sponsor my wing which I had designed and manufactured in Cape-Town. The business never quite got off the ground as Louis was out flying one day and flew through a thunder shower. It would take a few hours for me to explain how these para-gliders work in their entirety, but a basic understanding can be grasped from knowing that the wings are made out of a water-proof material that fills up with air giving it the same shape as an airplanes wing. The glider is then controlled by changing the shape of the wing depending on which direction that you would like to go. If you pull the right “riser” the Para-glider will turn right (not too hard, or you would end up in a spiral) and if you pull the left “riser” you would turn left. If you pull both of them and held the risers down, not only would the glider stall, but the wing would collapse. The problem with going through a storm is that the water doesn’t filter through the impervious fabric and before you know it, the wing is filling up with water which creates the wing to go into an involuntary stall. Depending on the amount of water, this can be counteracted by increasing your speed, but the storm was just too big for my friend Louis. He had a crowd of people waiting for him comprising of friends and family who, having heard his engine, were watching him come in to land.

 The craft and Louis were still about two hundred metres away and about seventy five metres in the air. “That wings not looking too good”, someone called out, and with that, the whole wing collapsed into a ball and Louis fell out of the sky. He landed with a mighty bounce (one and a half metres, I hear) and on his back, with the rotor breaking and the cage that protects the engine, and the engine itself, hammering into the ground with Louis the driving force behind them. A long silence followed......Louis could not have survived that, and no-one wanted to be the first to confirm his demise....he wasn’t moving.....someone ran over and while Louis was not well, he was alive, but too battered to have any further interest in my aerial photography idea.

 He kept his will to fly and has just completed making his third fixed wing air-craft. He took it up for its first flight recently and took his friend Tikky up with him for the occasion. Having spoken to me, he said how unfortunate it was that he had taken Tikky because he had chosen him because of all the people Louis knew, he thought Tikky had the least to lose if he crashed and killed him, but it should have been me! I thanked him for his concern.

I don’t know when exactly the change came, but lately I haven’t been sure whether the good things stopped happening to me or I just can’t see them. To be fair, the last couple of months haven’t been too good to me and my planet. A very good friend of mines aunt dying in a horrific road accident with her husband driving might have just been just another incident of how fragile life is, but I wasn’t happy when my good friend, Nick Slack died from pancreatic cancer shortly afterwards which was then compounded with bad news of a very good friend of mine and his partner being hijacked of their vehicle at gunpoint (also in SA...where else?); My sister was recently diagnosed with breast cancer which necessitated a swift mastectomy due to the bad news that it was the most aggressive 3^rd grade of cancer. While conveniently having been caught at the first stage, to try and knock it dead in its tracks she is probably going ahead with chemotherapy. One of my dearest friends felt like she’d had enough of this world recently and thought that it would be a good time to top herself in the bath with the aid of a razor blade. Thankfully, the process was a little painful, more than life itself no doubt, so apart from a bloody bathroom and a week or so of sleep therapy, I managed to keep that friend. My sisters ex-boyfriend just had a tumour removed ,yesterday, from behind his eye, the size of a golf ball...as of this morning he was still in intensive care after “complications”. He now seems out of the fatal danger zone, but I found out that the complications were that he had stopped breathing so it’s good that they sorted that out, I guess.

 There is a part of me that wants to say, “Hey....what are you moaning about? All of these things could have happened to you. Count your lucky stars and be grateful how well things are going!”....the part of me that says that, isn’t big enough, or ugly enough, to stand up to the part that says that all of this is an uphill gradient even a Land Rover in a low range gear should only have to tackle in the name of fun.

There is another angle which is telling me to stop taking everything so damn seriously....none of us get out of here alive!

The sun is shining, if not beating down any more.....there is a restlessness in the air that is intangible to the senses I’m used to.....great things are afoot....stay tuned into the programme, Young Pigorillians......there is much to do!

p.s.check out Louis stuff at www.chanuart.co.za

The Golden Path

Pigorilla Power!

55

29 Sept – 11 Oct 2009      

Slowly, but surely, the days are getting reeled in till, all things being equal; I will have my British passport in the sunny, wonderful, great July of 2010. It has been almost exactly three months till I stopped travelling around the world on a tin bucket and while the real world has its own challenges (like what to do), I am finding it extremely liberating to have the choices available to me that I currently have. I am not proud that, of all the things that I could be doing with an oyster of a world lying at my feet, that in my infinite wisdom I have chosen to do nothing but worry that I am doing nothing. It beats bouncing up and down on the high seas combobulating about how things are on land, but it is hardly grabbing the bull by the balls and asking it to cough.

It reminds me so much of a card given to me on one of my birthdays with the customary Orang-utan, scratching its head in the sunlight while looking perplexed, as only they can, with the caption, “Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits”. It was exceptionally funny at the time, but somewhere deep in the labyrinth of grey matter within my thick skull, two synapses’ must have met, and with illuminated, astonished faces and incredulous comprehension, given a cracking “High-Five” somewhere between my ears and the plan to sit and think, and other times to just sit, was born.

In my sitting and thinking, I occasionally trawl the web for interesting other thoughts and at other times I look for applications for my iPhone. Most of the ones I have, have not been used, but I never download anything that I don’t think I will ever use. My barriers to entry for applications onto my iPhone hard drive are soon to toughen up as my available memory contracts.

For weeks we have had a puppy that does not respond to anything except the look of horror that it manufactures on our faces (and the accompanying wail) when it squats down to have a wee or steaming pint-sized poo (pint as in “small”....it is not a bear). The down-side of these situations for poor little Molly is that she is now terrified to relieve herself at all and even on a long walk will hold it all in until she is in the comfort of her home on the lovely thick, new carpet.

Another problem with Molly is that calling her name is an immediate command, it appears, for her to run away from you as fast as she can, and the shriller or more aggressively her name is called, the faster she runs. My excitement was breathless in its nature when during one of my searches for applications for my iPhone; I found a high-frequency whistle! Finally a way to get molly to come to me when necessary! I always research the applications I am to download and was pleased to see that this one had been down-loaded millions (literally) of times! I downloaded it, and at times am quite sure that Molly can hear it, but she doesn’t seem to know where the sound is coming from and soon loses any interest in the sound at all. I’m not sure what the whistle was designed for, but the purpose is lost on me.

 As for the weather on this little island, it is improving day by day, if you’re an Eskimo. If you prefer a more tepid climate, now is a very good time to pack your bags and come back in seven months time. That doesn’t work for me, because I am busy honouring the terms of my application to acquire British citizenship and must be here till June at the very least.

While “Reliable Interior Projects” has yet to do its first job outside of the family, “Private Computer Classes” is slowly taking shape, and I should have some solid advertising going out by the end of next week. If that little business takes off, the idea is that the next nine months will fly off the shelf quicker than free sweets in a candy store and before I know it, I will be languishing in the marina in St Tropez, in my Jacuzzi, watching my staff polish my motor yacht while I get my trapezius’ rubbed tenderly by a delectable Estonian masseuse......what dreams may come.

I took Molly, for a walk with a new found friend the other day and despite the gorgeous untainted forests, lovely wells and fine company, it ended in tears. Molly was investigating a “treat” that her new friend had been given by his owner, when all of a sudden, Fido (not his real name) stopped seeing little twelve week old defenceless Yorkie and all he could see was something trying to take his treat. Molly was bowled over and was screaming and running for her life with blood pouring out her ear which was now torn by Fidos teeth, but he was not looking like he was going to get any satisfaction until she was dead. A man whose child had been playing with Molly came rushing in to assist...in my haste I nearly barged him into the nearby lake, but with Fidos owner we managed to prise Molly free, not before Fidos owner took a nip herself. I was surprised that Fido was not satisfied with the damage that he had done and despite Molly still crying in my arms, Fido was still trying to attack her. I’m not sure how I should have felt about this at the time, because at that moment all I was thinking about was keeping her out of harms way. Now that I have had time to think about it, I see Fidos continued attacks as a direct threat to my pack-leader domination of the group (as the oldest, biggest male present).

 I was very disappointed that this happened on my watch. Admittedly, dog fights are always a little disconcerting, but had Fido not been my friends’ dog, he would have ended up with a good couple of hefty kicks and still be nursing a few broken ribs. As it turned out, he ended up getting away with the attack in its entirety. Hopefully Molly will be a little more circumspect in choosing her friends in future.....it’s a mistake we have all made.

I thought I would finish off this little update on The Pigorilla and the strife we call life with this uplifting poem I will call....

The Heat of the Street

Sometimes, you write and write and with no end in sight

You think of your plight and get no respite

With all of your might, you consider your rights

And fall back on your face to the delight of the race

How many times can you get up to rhymes

When you are beaten to the ground by information profound

When your mind is going batty trying to fight reality

When you’re scatty, natty, ratty and downright blatty

With your only weapon......Imagination?

The golden leaves fall heavily on my uneven path.

Have a good week, Pigorillians.....make every moment count....each one that goes by is one more that we will never have again!

Finish it how you will.

26 September 2009 The beauty and the splendour of having simultaneous multiple personalities is that one could view the same moment in a different light to be dealt with in several different ways while experiencing the outcome and, in turn, dealing with it. The result would then help strengthen the rest of your selves. As it turns out, most of us are stuck with just one self, leaving a multitude of mistakes that often instil a lack of confidence rather than the benefit of experience. Eventually, with a little luck, and some longevity thrown in, it inevitably all fits together and there is a period towards the latter part of your life where the benefits of knowledge are reaped. It does seem like a long way of going about things to me. Most people have probably read the story of how Woody Allen would like to live his next life, and I must say it has a fair amount of merit. “In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension and then, when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol and are generally promiscuous and then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid and you play. You have no responsibilities; you become a baby until you are born; and then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then….. Voila! You finish off as an orgasm! I rest my case.” London is up and down with the weather playing God with every ones temperament. As a result of this there have been some very upbeat, beautiful days with crystal clear skies, bright sunshine, crisp mornings and prancing deer in Richmond Park, which has become my back garden and my respite from the darkness of my room where I curdle my thoughts with damp solitude and solid pessimism. A friend was asking only this morning if a pessimist was not just an experienced optimist. I was afraid so. Life and all its turmoil had better show me some point to it all at some point, because I definitely am applying myself to the search quite dogmatically and all I can dig out of it all so far is consistent depression with a smattering of jubilation caused by the fortunate ability to escape from reality every so often....more recently, less often. I even gave my favourite Christian friend a shot at recruiting me when I promised to watch (and did) a Christian DVD (Rob Bell-Everything is Spiritual). In return, he was to read “The God Delusion” by Richard Dawkins which is a very well laid out book about the unlikelihood of there being a God as the religious sects understand God to exist. It points out that it is very difficult to believe if one were to rely on any kind of scientific factual evidence. I have often said that if you can make yourself happy by believing in anything that doesn’t harm others and increases ones faith and hope in the future then that has got to be worthwhile. The majority of the surveys regarding religion and religious belief shows that those who believe (any religion), are more likely to be happier. Well....I don’t believe in any religion at all and I am a fine example of just how unhappy that can make you. I am happy to believe in the Tooth-Fairy if necessary....just bring me the fairy and her teeth....yes, I would like to see her.....oh, I’m asking too much.....oh, ok then, let’s go back to square one and start again. The more I struggle, the more I feel like a child that is being tickled and starts off with squeals of delight and slowly but surely, as the tickling continues; it becomes more painful than anything else. Reliable Interior Projects is my new little business venture in London and it has professional indemnity, business cards, post cards, promotional pens, a bank account, a broad business plan and clientele clamouring for the services that this fine business could offer. A dash of adrenalin, enthusiasm, Joie de Vivre, and some common sense is all that is needed to make it a roaring success....where I’m going to drag any of those from is a place that I have long since forgotten. I am going through the motions of making things happen with the same determination that a swift migrates (perhaps not quite so much determination), and eventually my wings will either snap off or assist me to fly. I am just grateful that the other individuals in the world are not of the same despair that I have become because there is a lot of faith, hope and positivity that is needed to keep this place spinning. Woody is all very well wanting to finish his next life with an orgasm. I’d like mine now please.

In the beginning....

Pigorilla Power !

53

7 September 2009-09-07

Running with my rain face on
Today I woke up feeling sad
I know that you said,
Running with my rain face on
Today I woke up feeling sad
I know that you said,
That one day I would be glad
Hold the Choirs of Winter,

The Birds are calling to me and
All the leaves I came to love are falling
Ribbons on evergreen, owls that pull them apart
I can hear you singing my funny valentine
Oh you know that breaks my heart
Hold the choirs of winter,
The Birds are calling to me and
All the leaves I came to love

Oh you know that breaks my heart
Oh you know that breaks my heart

Running with my rain face on
No Idea of what to say
No idea of what to do
In this fear that never goes
Waiting for all my dreams
Oh you know it breaks my heart
Hold the Choirs of Winter,
The Birds are calling to me and
All the leaves I came to love

Oh you know it breaks my heart
Oh you know it breaks my heart
Oh you know That breaks my heartThat

 one day I would be glad
Hold the Oh you know that breaks my heart

Running with my rain face on
No Idea of what to say

I I don’t mind losing young Pigorillians to boredom or apathy with my cynicism and destructive dissection of the earth we are inhabiting nor our intellectual incapability to unravel facts as they stare at us obsequiously through the mud of ineptitude that make up my view of the lives we humans live.

The lyrics above are from a song called Evergreen by Faithless, my favourite group of lyrical poets.

It is rare that I am given so much emotion to write, with nowhere to take it, apart from an inevitable end. Life in London continues, unabated. You either feed in at the speed of the traffic or you pull over helplessly to the side of the highway and call 911. The other option is to yield to the throbbing pulse of the main stream, waiting for the uninevitable (don’t bother looking it up....it’s not there) gap in the traffic only to be rear ended by the more determined vehicle behind you.

Lives are funny things....peculiar in their nature. The blue print for a happy one is everywhere, as are the examples of unhappy ones. Financial success of an entrepreneurial nature is littered with the scrap-heap of almost made-its and unfairly pipped at the posts. Even a fairly straight forward business venture involving the design of a website like Facebook has its skeletons.

If one is brought up with the one of the strongest and most enviable values being that you have to have the approval of everyone except the most unreasonable of creatures, know that when you turn that key, the more powerful the engine, the bigger and more instantaneous....the explosion!

My good and one of my closest friends, Nicholas A.P. Slack was given a chance to climb out from under his brothers shadow (who died tragically in a car accident at least ten years ago). He named his first child Matthew, who is now ten, after his brother, who had always been the voice of stability and reason. While Nick was never going to be snuffling with the omnivorous hoofed bristly mammals in their sty’s, the financial leg up that Matthews death brought to Nick was always fundamentally appreciated, but never mentioned, unless to play it down. He grabbed that bull firmly by the horns and he rode that snake.

 I was never really a part of Nick’s business life nor did I try to be, but wherever the opportunity arose, he took it. He chose his business associates well and while some escaped unscathed, others were very forgiving at the big opportunities snapped up from under their noses in their very own businesses by their trusted colleague.

“Creaky”, as he was affectionately known throughout his school years, was always a couple of years behind me at Michaelhouse, but the Clifton choir stopped off religiously at his parents house near Kloof in KwaZulu/Natal and his father played a bit of golf with mine at the Durban Country Club so there was always a connection. There was a tight knit interwoven community in Durban in those days. Both his parents, Michael and Unity, have now outlived both their children and their relationship. My cynicism and understanding of this world does not have the ability to know what that must feel like.....I don’t think I want to know.....would you?

My feelings are too selfish; in any event.....my tears as I have written this have not been for Nick’s sons (Matthew and Christopher) nor his parents, while I suppose they have to fit in there somewhere. Most of all they have been for me and my friend......the hours and hours and terabits of information and thoughts that we have exchanged.....the body of which was generally a humorous perspective and a specific way of looking at things that brought gasping, stomach hugging, roll on the floor kind of laughter that probably helped him shed off some of the strain of his tumultuous relationship with his girlfriend from fifteen years ago who then became his wife. My gain was to escape from my views of the reality that makes up our lives. We used these inadequacies with our lives like fuel and pursued enjoyment of life with crazy, hedonistic deliberation. The same faces were always popping up in Nicks life....always. He wasn’t always as close with all of them, but then that’s probably true of most of our friends. I cannot mention names, Nick was not short of friends that he partied with....it would not do justice to the ones I left out, but whomever is/was one, knows it. We all have a view of “wild”.....to understand some of the bigger parties, it is probably safe to say that when Nick was having fun, most of you can triple your view of “wild” to try and put it into some kind of perspective. This was not a quiet life....this life roared!

I have no power nor was I quite close enough to make a reasonable assimilation of the core, underlying problems of his marriage (nor have I been asked to), suffice to say that an online dating website like eHarmony.com that scientifically matches couples based on personality traits would probably not have paired Nick and Justine. Love follows its own science, and my condolences and empathy lie heavily with those still sucking oxygen trying to make head or foot of the expiry date of one of us shape-shifting in front of our very own infallible eyes.

Sitting here in the generous luxury afforded to me by my sister, Sandy, I am reminded of the times I have spent in Nicholas’s homes....being totally looked after while I convincingly chase my tail all over the room trying to make a riddle from the rhyme. The last time was where he died, in Dunkeld, Johannesburg, just before I returned to London. He threw a fifty person party for me, despite the cancer already biting chunks out of him like a ravenous “Great White”. He was dying....quicker than he was willing to accept, but he was not going to let that tail wag the dog. It might have stopped wagging in the end, but he was determined to be in charge of what it did till it stopped.

“mi casa is tu casa” was never more true of a relationship with anyone than a close friend of Nicks’. The previous time I stayed in one of his homes before was when I lived in his townhouse (in Parkhurst) for a year or so.... a stones throw from where he died. I paid a nominal rent and was predictably furious when he sold it through another agent after I had just got into the property game. I forgave him, as he forgave others that committed what he considered to be similar “minor” indiscretions against him. 

Often his generosity was veiled by a thin cloak of showmanship and it was inevitably the busier restaurants that he dug deep and insisted that we all change our diet to champagne, but it was never the Lamborghini parked outside nor the beverages that impressed me. Here was a guy from nowhere in particular going somewhere and just like the anonymous quote says, “The whole world steps aside for a man that knows where he is going”; All but the most very obstinate obligingly stepped aside for Nick, not least because of his infectious, enthusiastic, friendly, opportunistic, optimistic, astoundingly effective nature.

Wouldn’t it be nice if when this Pigorilla Power! message floated into your Facebook that it was your fingers that carefully moved the mouse over to open another array of disjointed thoughts from your unhappy friend. Wouldn’t it be soo, soo nice.....I’ll miss u, Bruv.

This poem by Auden, chosen by perhaps Nick’s closest friend, Justine, is not true of my relationship with Nick, but is dedicated with fairness as the sum of his parts was never, if ever, not larger than life.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

 

The Devil is in the detail!

Pigorilla Power! 51 or is it 52 26 August 2009 So much, I have to do....a fine to argue with the City of Westminster, a house to tidy before my sisters’ return in three hours, a room to try and return to the bedroom it’s supposed to be rather than a jumble sale of memories. My motor-bike, for so long my freedom from life, remains cold and dead in its damp dark Ealing garage protected by spiders and memories. My life too, remains cold, not that it hasn’t been to warm places, but nowhere guided by long-term intelligence. Indeed, “long-term” was never a term I’ve reserved for my life....you cannot live my life if it was. It’s good to be back on land, but I miss the amount of time I had to think on the ship.....not that it ever amounted to anything nor never amounted to nothing neither.....something comes from most things.....all as equally as unimportant as each other. The only difference in the importance of something is the importance we give it, and the importance we give it is driving some selfish part of our nature, no matter how altruistic the deed or thought may appear. Once the fundamental simple truths of life are considered and understood, there is very little that remains, but death. Most times, it comes before either consideration or understanding to any of these things have even been given the time of day, and do know what? It matters not. That is how very silly it all is! Surprisingly, none of this is necessarily bad.....it all just happens to be part of our primitive existence. I didn’t intend to write too much....as I said, there is lots to do, and it is never enough as much as it is never finished. With purpose, you can give credibility to your own existence, and if you have managed to do that, that is enough. Anything beyond that is the sad area Giacomo Leopardi finds himself in “To the Moon”. How I’ve stared at that moon. Perhaps it is good that we use events to measure the length of sadness, happiness, life, death. Isn’t it so much better when you’re younger, with soo much hope, and sad events, even recent ones, with pain still enduring are just soo much easier to cope with..... My thanks to my friend Barbara for introducing me to Giacomo Leopardi’s works.....I am not happier for it, but then how could I be? To the Moon

Oh gracious moon, now as the year turns, I remember how, heavy with sorrow, I climbed this hill to gaze on you, And then as now you hung above those trees Illuminating all. But to my eyes Your face seemed clouded, tremulous From the tears that rose beneath my lids, So painful was my life: and is, my Dearest moon; its tenor does not change. And yet, memory and numbering the epochs Of my grief is pleasing to me. How welcome In that youthful time -when hope's span is long, And memory short -is the remembrance even of Past sad things whose pain endures. Giacomo Leopardi

I aint no bone yone dawg on a leash....keep the faith....I aint no wraith!!!

48

Wow, I´m sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain South
Cruel bindings
The servants have the power
Dog men and their mean women
Pulling poor blankets over our sailors
I´m sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V. Tower
I want roses in my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
Must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood meal
for the plant that´s plowed

They are waiting to take us into the severed garden
Do you know, how pale and wanton thrillful
Comes death in a strange hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
like a scaring over-friendly guest you´ve brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
Where we had shoulders, smooth as ravens claws

No more money, no more fancy dress
This other kingdom seems by far the best
Until it´s other jaw reveals incest
And loose obedience to a vegetable law

I will not go
Prefer a feast of friends
To the giant family ......Morrison

What??? You want . Why? Fear not my fellows....there is little that you will not get.....none of which you planned....most of which you didn’t. The love and the tyranny of evil men replaces only the doubt and the benevolence of those that give more than they think...hooray 4 them!

I love to be back, i’M SORRY i’M NOT sLACK....sometimes you get less than you bargained for (sorry Boet, but i luv u).....fuk’em I’ll take it! Get me at the wrong moment and u’ll feel that I snaked it, but u wanna play ball, u better learn how to fall, cause I’m sing’in only so far as u cling’in.....u fuk me 1 time u aint gonna get no shoe shine....take yr chances....i aint fraid o no lances...bye sky...good riddance.

Stanford Cricket ground never looked so good.

24

05/04/2009

Pigorilla Power!

Antigua’s lights are slowly disappearing behind us after a fun day in the sun with the water glowing a wonderful turquoise colour and crystal white sand with palm trees offering the perfect shade to hide from the relentless sun. Another day in paradise was the slogan on the T-shirts of the helpers on the beach and it couldn’t have been any more idyllic or representative of paradise....if you’re into that kind of thing. I was the tour escort and while I volunteered for the position, I was looking forward to getting back onto the ship and heading out for a quick cycle which I managed to accomplish by 3pm. The next five sea days will take their toll on my resilience, but will hopefully give me a chance to make some money as at the moment I am both travelling and working for free. Our next port is Ponta Delgada, our one stop in the Azores, before the end of this world cruise and we head back to Southampton, only to pick up a fresh batch of sun seekers and head back to the Caribbean. I’m not complaining. It’s a great part of the world to hang out and I’m looking forward to visiting St Maarten again after making it my home for a year.....twenty years ago!

The cycle was fairly uneventful and I only managed to squeeze in 30 kilometres and one album of Trance Republic banging through my headphones driving my pins on to new levels of endorphin heaven. The US Air force is alive and well in the West Indies and I cycled past a couple of their bases. One was a training base and the other was an area that had massive white dishes pointing up into the sky looking for things that I probably wouldn’t recognise.

Antigua, like the rest of the Caribbean, has a couple of areas that are well kept and beautiful. Particularly Stanford Cricket ground near the airport which has some absolutely beautifully manicured, shocking pink, bougainvilleas lining the entrance at the moment, framed with an assortment of palms and imaginatively terraced surrounding gardens. I opted against stopping for a photo opportunity due to time constraints and cycled by. Once away from that memorable area, the road side is littered with old wrecks of cars and busses rusting away and there is never a shortage of litter blowing in the wind while trying to free itself from the grass, tree, shrub or whatever was unlucky enough to catch it. It amazes me that even with a small population and beauty all around and such a reliance on tourism for income and yet they are still unable to put their rubbish in a bin...how sad. Despite the lovely areas that are idyllic, the oppressive poverty of the have nots is constantly crowding ones thoughts and I think one has to feel like one has really earned ones holiday to be able to blot those thoughts out in their entirety.

I don’t think that there were too many swimmers today that didn’t spare a thought for Mr Doe, and particularly his family. There were many that probably had had a long hard look at themselves since he popped off the planet and realised that they had a much better chance than he did of a heart attack creeping up on them out of the relative transparency of a beautiful blue sea. Despite all the thoughts that today might have been their day, it was relatively uneventful and we had a full complement of passengers when we sailed.

There is a “Pour Out” this evening at 12pm for the crew and officers. In a nut-shell, a pour-out is a party with free drink and tonight it kicks off with a show put on by the dance company. I have a 9am meeting with Mrs Edge, my blind pupil, so am probably not going to make the pour out, which is a shame as it is one of the few times to mix with the rest of the staff. It always takes a bit of an effort because I’m not particularly close to anyone so even going to it is an effort. It’s now nine o’ clock...If I get a couple of hours sleep...maybe....just maybe....I can pop my head in.

It’s an unlikely thought for the rest of life.

23

15/04/2009

Pigorilla Power!

One of the great things about going snorkelling... no matter what your age may be....is that...especially....of course....when you are on a beach like the many Curacao has to offer ....that you are going to have a jolly good time. The fish are abundant...some said that the sea was even more abundantly full of fish than the Great Barrier Reef. The water is crystal clear, and yesterday, particularly, the weather is absolutely fantabulous! It is precisely because of all of these brilliant reasons that I feel it is a good time to die....it is the last possible thing that you will be expecting when you go into that water. If someone were to tell you, with the benefit of hindsight, that 30 minutes later you would be spotted some way off by a helicopter drifting along under the surface totally oblivious to any of your lifes triumphs or tribulations, you would have a look of extreme lack of understanding across your very perplexed face. This, however, was exactly what happened to Mr Doe yesterday. He will be missed by all who knew him as a fit, spritely, friendly, well liked and respected father and husband. A champion on the quoits deck (Deck 13) and the most unlikely 78 year old to have a heart attack and drown yesterday. Mr Doe, I am sure, is laughing all the way to the grave and will, I am reservedly sure, be ecstatic with the result. Reservedly.....only because personal circumstances can often get in the way of an otherwise successful innings.

I, unlike Mr Doe, am left to fight the Caribbean sun single handed tomorrow on the tropical island of Antigua where I shall valiantly act as the tour escort to Fort James Beach and spend several hours tending to my flock of passengers that wish to soak up some rays and take in a little snorkelling. As with Mr Doe, not one of us will not be expecting to be boarding Aurora tomorrow evening.

Today was another underpaid busy day with the last test of the day being my only blind student, Mrs Edge, god bless her cotton socks. She is wonderful....and we successfully sent an email, but she has become a little despondent about her lap top and is very much of the opinion that she may have to give it away. With new resolve, I am determined to get her beyond this hopeless hurdle of realism that has taken her hook, line and sinker. I hope to cast yet another lease of life and hope. It came so naturally to her when we first met. We will prosper yet. What she is doing is not easy, and that guy who gets Mr Doe up and running and Mrs Edge seeing in no time at all, is nowhere to be found, so I guess we’re just going to have to play by the usual rules....just one life today I’m afraid.

Here’s an interesting thought for the day that I picked up as the important facts of life off Pravsworld.com. Keepin’ it Real! Check it, Môn.

Important Facts Of Life

Health is the first of life
Wealth is the next of life
Character's courage is the best of life
Respect is must in life
Turning is the test of life
God's blessing is the crest of life
Love is crucial for life
Happiness is the perfume of life
Truth is the search of life
Death is the rest of life.

We are never the same.

22

03/04/2009

Pigorilla Power!

None of my girl-friends have been part of my life for any other reason other than I adored them wholeheartedly. I have been less than fortunate by having my good judgement backed up by one or two friends....oh dear. Break that rule that puts you on the soft end of a friends woman and you often end up with then short end of the stick. These parameters are written in blood......I’ve broken those rules....I understand them, I live by them!

I was on the beach in the Caribbean today and met some gr8 people....it’s such a pleasant thing to meet people that you would love to spend more time with....even if you can’t.

I was on a sun kissed beach with some of the most splendid looking creatures in the game...there was a good crowd from the ship and all of a sudden my life was resembling a never ending story of love, dreams and possibility.....It’s a shame that it doesn’t last for long and before an hour or two has passed, it’s time to head back to the ship....better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.......if ever you want to head to the Dutch Antilles, I recommend Curacao quite diligently.

I saw the dolphins, the palm trees, the phsycadelic blue ocean, the sea-lions, the turtles, the Pina Coladas and the love of all that is wonderful and appreciated. ....Is it so small a thing?

"Some people come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never ever the same."
-- FLAVIA WEEDN

There are no lemons in a box of chocolates.

The Forgotten Pig.

48

2009-06-10 - 2009-06-22

Pigorilla Power!

There are no winners....or losers, in this game you call life.....bring me a winner and I’ll show you an end of a winning streak with a misplaced bullet......bring me a loser and I’ll show you gratitude for that very same bullet.....show me yourself for I will bring you no joy, if the truth be known about sallow sorrow. The jest is in the festival of the ongoing mess that you bet with the triumphant gavel of the Devil we strive to bring us alive with the beat of the heat with our feet on the street.

Struggle on Pigorillians for stop we daren’t cause our love will be lost on the most treacherously vehement.

Greenland surrounds me with snow covered mounts....look in my eye....do you see no sadness that counts?

Oh me, oh my....the Poor Pigorilla....I cannot even recall what put him in such a state. All I remember is the most beautiful scenery. Icebergs were plentiful, but they would have looked more at home in a glass of malt whiskey, than in the hull of a ship. Polar bears were scarce and of penguins, I saw none. Seals were a plenty, as were huskies, probably twenty. 79 degrees north was as far as we went; any further and the ship would have got bent.

I was sorry to say farewell to friends, but the excitement of being on land again was pulsating through my body like a throbbing zud... I haven’t been disappointed. There is a vibrancy and carelessness on land that is totally removed from life on a ship. On a ship, safety is everything, while on land, living is everything. People consistently going about their lives, scratching for a foothold to push themselves up to peak over the next ledge before clambering forward in their search for more of what they are not sure that they’ve had. On and on this wheel turns. Some die, some don’t...some wish they had...some would rather they didn’t, but while it cannot last forever, us Pigorillians scratch ever on....searching, seeking, seeking, scratching, searching, seeking, scratching, hatching, and all the while this is called living! Well...how about that?

It’s hard to justify why it doesn’t work, because too much has gone into the way that it is. It’s probably harder to justify that it does not work. Let’s look at my old favourite, Religion. I’m a great believer that while religion has been the basis that leaders have been able to get us to kill each other by the thousands often, it is not the only reason they could have used to sway the ignorant masses. Hypothetically speaking, bearing in mind my atheistic roots, let’s assume that the whole world was Islamic. Would everyone still kill each other? Probably less likely than if the whole world was a Christian democracy. Buddhism would probably be the best belief for world peace, by the aggressors amongst us would soon resort to bludgeoning the poor Buddhists to death on the pretext that they were actually accruing vast hidden wealth and possessions and a new dawn of capitalism and greed would be upon us like a breath of fresh air wafting down from the icy mountains. And then it would all start again, until one day we will blow ourselves up, get hit by a meteor or simply run out of useful sperm. Hopefully the species that follows will be a whole lot more intelligent with bucket loads of fun and an eternity of life to make sure that mistakes are corrected by the same entity with no reliance on Chinese whispers passed from generation to generation with devastating inaccuracy. That story of the Virgin Mary has left my three siblings patiently waiting for divine intervention only to realise too late that the horse has not only bolted the stable, it has also already died of old age. And here I am, gratefully aware that the powers of natural selection have kept my lovers very well aware of the trials and tribulations of life as a Pigorilla and quietly slunk into the night without so much as a light to guide them as they stray and sway while the old hag begins to neigh.

But all in all, there is so much going for those that live on land; the world is your oyster, I have heard.....and indeed it is. Always be careful....it is a well known fact that it those that succeed the best and the most often are those that go into things with cautious abandon. Look for that oyster, but when you feel like it’s raining black pepper and you’re getting poured on by lemon....run, Forrest, run (only as far as is necessary, though).

Forrest Gump: “That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run. So I ran to the end of the road. And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd run to the end of town. And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd just run across Greenbow County. And I figured, since I run this far, maybe I'd just run across the great state of Alabama. And that's what I did. I ran clear across Alabama. For no particular reason I just kept on going. I ran clear to the ocean. And when I got there, I figured, since I'd gone this far, I might as well turn around, just keep on going. When I got to another ocean, I figured, since I'd gone this far, I might as well just turn back, keep right on going.”

Forrest had so much not going for him and yet he just blundered forward, always seeing the bright side. His momma used to say, “Life is like a box of chocolates, Forrest. You just never know what yer gonna get.” Forrest’s momma was right. Whatever you get, think of it as chocolate and then all you need to think about is what type of chocolate it could be. There are no lemons, in a box of chocolates.

Make your own choices!

47

Thanks to all for encouragement for more from the Pig-Fella. It's a groundbreaking time in space at the moment and the higgledy piggledy thrusting of my tumultuous life has never been a better reflection of this. I'm back in London, a town in the country that gave birth to trainspotting, and while I don't have time to give you my usual trash, I would like to share an excerpt from the book Trainspotting to take you through this uneven patch on the path to divine perpetuity.

Trainspotting

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career, choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers....choose DSY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life...But why would I want to do a thing like that?

Swimming is Not the Only Option as the Sunset is Not Applicable.

46

8/6/09

Pigorilla Power!

Stavanger was a lovely little town nestled in the mountains at the end of the Norway fjord. Picturesque and stunning, with panoramic views of the fjord, the trees and the snow-capped mountains made wonderful viewing on a crystal clear, sunny, bright, windless day. I shook off my hangover from the night before and after a brief visit to the tourist information I headed off to the selected mountain for a little exercise. I stopped off at the supermarket and aware that Norway was prohibitively expensive, was only a little surprised to pay ten pounds for two waters and a Red Bull. From there it was barely ten minutes to the chosen mountain and I was soon huffing and puffing my way up the steep path surrounded by fir trees, with only the occasional hiker to break my rhythm.

At the half-way mark (forty minutes later) I greeted a Norwegian who had been ahead of me and had stopped. “Is that as far as you are going?” I asked.

“Yes”, he said in a strong Norwegian accent.

“Why don’t you go further?” I asked.

“I am satisfied”, he said.

“How much further is it to the top?” I asked.

“You are half-way,” he said. “Continue on the path, but be careful, it becomes dangerous and steep and the rocks are wet from the melting snow, so slippery and it becomes very muddy.” “You can fall and die at any time.” He added.

“Nice talking to you,” I said while wondering why the hell I had even stopped.

I hadn’t travelled for more than five minutes when three small groups of a few people each, all from the ship, came past me saying that it was too muddy and they had turned back as it was too steep and dangerous. Looking at them, I was surprised that they had made it that far at all so I was not too concerned as I pushed on, forward and up. I soon came across a very muddy section, but after thirty or so metres it dried up and I kept going. The path was starting to wind dangerously and in places there were chains to hang onto as the rock was sheer and often wet. When the trees abated they gave way to views that were panoramic while the drop-off was steep and nasty. I never did realise where I left the path and I could see that I was not the only person that had gone the way I went, but soon I was hanging onto brush and tree branches to pull myself over rocks with what looked like a long overhanging rock in view for twenty metres which was as far as I could see before the mountain twisted out of sight. The mountain dropped off dangerously to my right and if I were to fall there, it would have been a great way to check on the availability of an afterlife. The Norwegians words were fresh in my mind and it was not the first time that I had mulled them over in my mind..... “You can fall and die at any time.”

I could see no way forward....the overhang was ominously forbidding and I would have struggled to get over it, even with ropes, let alone free-style. Being so totally on my own was also a little concerning and my sense of self preservation was kicking in. When Dolf had said that it was dangerous and steep, I didn’t realise that he meant that it was dangerous and steep. I thought he meant that he found it dangerous and steep, but I would be fine. I decided to err on the side of caution. I had climbed myself into a bit of a position and it was going to be hard enough to climb down without the added stress of trying to climb further up. After about five metres of retracing my steps I saw a way to cut across the top of a ledge rather than my original route coming up below it. No sooner was I on the ledge than I could see the path that I was supposed to be on about twenty metres across from where I was. Relief came flooding through me, but also a little foolishness at how easily I had been diverted. A few broken branches and a couple of slips while my Nike trainers clawed for grip on the steep grassy incline and I was back on the path snaking my way up the mountain. Forty minutes later I was on a large open area just in front of the snow line before the mountain headed off up towards the sky again. The ship was parked in the fjord looking the size of a canoe about a kilometre below. Time was not on my side and I took the moment in for a few quiet minutes before steeling myself for the long, jarring hike back down the mountain.

My journey was disbelieved by several people on the quay side, but the supply of photo’s put an end to that and they were so well received by the photography ladies on the tender back to the mother ship that I had to promise to burn a few for them for the “Cruise” DVD that they make for passengers to remember their cruise by.

A huge party for the “new joiners” on the ship was followed by a day in Andalsnes which I was too hung over to visit. I overheard a passenger saying that it was the Manchester of Norway which I mentioned as a joke in the officers mess during dinner, but lied saying that I had never been to Manchester so didn’t know what it was like. “It’s really beautiful,” this moron said to me. I couldn’t be bothered telling him that I had been there and it was a shit-hole and if he took his head out of his asse long enough when were in all the different ports that we go to all over the world, that he would be able to see it for himself.

Last night was another huge party in the officers’ wardroom with a theme of “Anything, but Clothes”. The photos are brilliant and the dancers made a huge effort looking really gorgeous in very original outfits. I went in a toga. From there we went to the Restaurant Rave on deck three where they were pulling out all the stops and I was shaking that toga like an epileptic all over the dance floor. One waiter fellow ran up and jumped on me with his legs around my waste. I grabbed him under the arms and threw him into the air, but with the ceiling only about seven feet tall, he was dealt a crushing blow as it came down to meet his head. Not fazed and grateful for the attention, he went staggering off into the crowd. By three thirty, I was looking like Julius just before he collapsed with multiple stab wounds and it was time to go to bed, but not without the mandatory curry in the crew mess first to help absorb all the beer.

I was told a wonderful joke by one of my students today from the apartheid era of South Africa and how the black people were discriminated against. The story goes that Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu and PW Botha, “Die Groot Krokadil”, were on a beach together and all the press were there and they had important private business to discuss, so PW suggested going in a rowing boat a little way into the bay so the press could not hear them. They were not too far out when a gust came up and PW’s hat blew about twenty metres over the crest of a swell onto the water. Being the nice guy that he is, Desmond offered to go and get it for him so stepped out of the boat and walked across the water and retrieved it. The photographers with their zoom lenses were snapping away and the front page of all the papers the following day had a picture of Desmond on them and the headline, “Desmond Tutu can’t swim!” I thought that was a lovely warm story from a rather cold time.

The grass continues to get greener under my feet and there is so much to enjoy here on the ship. If only it was not eating into the years of my life while I savoured the experience. The possibility that I could be trying to do something with my life has been eating into my enjoyment, but now that the end is so clearly in sight, my capability of enjoying it all is all the greater. I am having to use curtains at night as the days have taken full control over the environment with the sunrise and sunset times in the daily paper now marked “Not Applicable”.