So I went clubbing Saturday night, to be more accurate I went to a club and spent like 9tenths of the night sitting down. I knew there was a reason that those dancing shoes had been retired from active public service.
…of Southern Africa. Friday was quiet – sort of like the calm before the storm.
It’s been a while, my first world computer seems unwilling to host third world websites.
Not just lyrics to a Carole King song anymore, because I have just felt my first earthquake. Earthquakes are not nice.
Unbelievable week we’ve had, sports fans! Can you handle Liverpool winning two games in a row?
Great weekend all round, but shock! horror! no booze involved, not even a single green! I must say being broke is the best thing that ever happened to me.
How long before Rafa Benitez tells the world it was all a big joke, laughs heartily and consigns that lumbering idiot to the reserves where he belongs?
So there’s another week gone by, zooming past with the speed of three dogs (spidhi yembwa nhatu). What did I accomplish? F-all, really.
Liverpool lost to Chelsea in the Premiership. Big deal. France lost to Scotland. Bloody hell. So I thought my weekend was crap, until I went down to 2nd Street Extension to grab a pizza.
So there I was strolling down King George Road on this beautiful, bright and sunny morning in Hahaharare. Your idyllic summer’s morning really, flowers in bloom, birds singing softly, you know, all that water-color painting stuff, very fecking Mills & Boon.
He fights his way up from the murky depths of fitful slumber, and sits up in what appears a vast ocean of twisted sheets and cold, rippled waves of bed-linen. Some nights, it’s all he can do to stay sane, even human: the craving has taken him.
After a great holiday involving a shyte-load of green bottles and loads of bull-mangoes, I’m finally back in Hahahare and ready for another go-round at the life thing.