The Lair

In no particular order - the events of the past week and a half or so -

Number of near death events: 4
I forgot that some roads are now one-way (a lifetime of habit on familiar streets) and ended up looking in the wrong direction for oncoming traffic.

Number of new bloggerati met: 2
Although one guy (you know who you are etc) was a brief meeting. The Fascist was, gratifyingly, almost exactly as I had imagined - although he sounded odd over the phone.

Random acts of desperation: 2
I still don’t have a DSL connection. A couple of days after I landed, I lugged my laptop over to a cafe (with hideously priced smoothies) just to enjoy the free wifi on offer. I felt simultaneously bad and good about the whole thing. Bad, because ye know - I didn’t really want to go to that place. Good because, well.. internet.

I also sent a plainitive SMS to tezcat asking for news of the internets. He rose to the occasion with a summary that would have done any summer-upper (sumerian?) proud.

Random three wheeler dudes talking to me about politics: 5
No really. I don’t care. Please stop. Why doesn’t my usual non-committal grunt work with you anymore?

Random three wheeler dudes talking to me about rising prices: umm. lost count
I’m still operating on UK prices and conversions. I laugh mockingly at your puny 2 quid fare. Well, no. The beer is annoyingly expensive. Maybe I’m just going to the wrong places.

New eateries scoped out: 4
The Sizzle was decent (their website still no worky, btw). Photos taken. Not sure if my whipping out a camera was the reason for being offered a questionnaire at the end of the meal or not. Maybe it was just a slow day, which is why the manager/owner chappie came over and asked us about the meal.

At the other end of the spectrum, also went (twice!) to a place near Nawala named “The Chinese Steam Boat”. Their gin is vile and filthy cheap. I highly recommend it. Decent food too, I guess.

Number of cumulative hours spent in a gaming cafe getting my ass kicked by screaming twelve year olds: umm… 15ish, I think
*mumble mumble* I was having a bad day or three, ok?

Number of paranoid bus conductors heard screaming at people to grab hold of their own bags: about 3
Yeah, bombs on buses, yadda yadda.

There’s more, but that’s probably for later.

When you’re flying (or actually, doing pretty much anything in an enclosed steel tube) the one word you really don’t want to hear bandied about is disaster. Other words that come close in terms of personal discomfort are flatulence, travelling companions with small bladders and insomnaic small children (but some of those terms are ancient history). But disaster? Now that’s a word you don’t really want to hear.

It’s safe to say that my family is somewhat used to travel related alarums and excursions. One aunt forgot that she had a flight on the day. She was called up in the afternoon by a family friend who wanted to know what time she was headed for the airport. “Today? No, my flight is tomorrow”. Actually, no it wasn’t. Another time, there was an arrangement for a pickup from Orly airport to get to Charles De Gaulle for a connecting flight. Only, the person making the arrangement said Charles de Gaulle to Orly instead. For the geographically challenged, these two airports are separated by the length of the fine city of Paris, France. After an hour waiting for a transport which never showed up (since it was waiting for a fare at CDG, as instructed), matters had to be taken into the traveller’s hands. That must have been one heck of a taxi ride across Paris. I gather that they made it to the connecting flight by the skin of their teeth.

See? We’re used to this stuff happening.

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