Hoh, bloody hoh!
I have been living in what passes for civilisation for eight months now and it's beginning to wear on me a bit. Crowds rushing along all focused on getting somewhere so they can turn around and go rushing back, no time for a craic... what is the point of all this? Umm, making money, I guess! It can be a shock to the system, that is for sure. In some ways the life in West Africa, for an expat, is a pampered one.
On the other hand, where once culture consisted of reading about stuff in the Torygraph and catching the odd 'art' movie on the satellite channel, here in London I can go to wonderful museums and galleries or even just walk around gawking at the sights. There was not much of that in Isolo, last time I checked. An exhibition of portraits of Kim Jong Il at the People's Democratic Republic of Korea Embassy Annexe would have been about it, I guess, but I was too nervous of being abducted to use the free ticket I had found in my specially-marked can of 'Glorious Leader' brand kimchee.
I thought that 747 guy went to Virgin Nigeria to be their Chief Pilot. What happened then?
NEO, one tiny, tiny indiscretion does not make me a total blabbermouth. Or perhaps it does... It might be that as the beer flowed in all the guilty secrets came floating to the top and spilled out. So, mea culpa. Flog me, beat me, whatever.
On the other hand, put your hand on your heart and tell us that you never, unlike practically every other barfly we know including myself, must sometimes have been cruising along in 'periscope down' mode having totally forgotten to submerge! Or it could simply be that they have that bar 'bugged.'