I got invited to Miss Djalla University Beauty Pageant at the Rio Cinema on Friday night. I didn’t think I could make it but as my friend pointed out ‘when is the next time that you’ll get asked to a beauty pageant’.
Saturday came and I managed to gate crash the UNDP team bonding weekend, a nice Lithuanian chap gave me some beer tokens so I was upscaled from Star to Carlsberg immediately.
Then I heard that someone had slaughtered a goat and was having a shindig, there’s not a man alive (sorry Mozza) that’s knocking back an offer like that. So off I went.
Rolled home at four in the morning having had my fill of beer and goat, forgot all about the pageant.
Saturday got invited to the Miss Dohas Hotel Beauty Pageant.
I met this really amazing doctor, Irish paediatrician called Niall he used to work in the RAH so he knew where I’m from really well. He said:
“I can’t believe someone from Paisley is running the Bennimix factory. Rock and Roll. Turning up in the morning saying awright bawbags, let’s get to work.”
A phrase that I rarely, if ever, employ. Well, certainly not nearly enough.
He’s been here three weeks and I’m meeting him tonight to watch the Arsenal Wigan game. Well, hopefully.
The thing is with Niall he’s so dedicated that he’s been working seven days and he doesn’t like to be too far away from the ward as he’s worried that if he is a child will die.
My concern is that if he tries to keep that up for a year he’ll kill himself.
I know of a girl, a Scottish girl, who is waiting to be flown home. They think that she has meningitis. If she does a doctor I know (who, thankfully, no longer has braids) will have saved her life. She wasn’t taking her anti-malarials (the Jock not the Doc) and malaria massively affects your immune system.
Did I mention that she was Scottish?
A lot of ex-pats will tell you that anti-malarials are dangerous, they do your organs long term damage.
All the doctors I’ve spoken to tell you to take them.
I’ll leave that particular decision up to you.
I love a nice pear
It’s funny living in a community. It’s so different from London. I lived in a flat in London for six years and didn’t know the person next door. Our front doors were half a metre apart.
When I go to the well in the morning I say hello to Alpha Rogers, through his bedroom window, lying on his bed, in his pants.
This morning a woman shouted me over because she had nice (avocado) pears and she knows I often buy pears.
You don’t get that service in Tesco.