Posted 9:35 AM by Gobbler
Turd Blog

Hello there you lot.

Let's get straight to the point, there are a lot of turd jobs out there. Here, today, are four of them. Two have been seen before, two are new. The formatting will be a bit screwed cos it doesnt transfer onto blog very easily.


Turd Job 1

Job Title: Ice cream vendor

Location: Antigua Guatemala

Job Description: Purveyor of quality ice-creams

Qualifications needed:

i) Excellent communication skills.
ii) Ability to continuously ring bell to alert customers to your tasty product.

Equipment provided:

i) Funny shaped 3-wheeled ice cream cart that looks a bit like something out of the Jetsons or a scaled down Robin Reliant (and probably manufactured by them.)
ii) Bell.

Job analysis:

Think about cows for a mooment, the ones that have a bell around their necks which incessantly rings as they munch their way across a field. I reckon they go a bit mental with that bell ringing all the time. And I reckon the ice cream sellers probably go a little bit loopy after a while. I mean to say, if all you do from dawn to dusk is push along an ice cream cart and ring a bell, I reckon you would begin to lose it. Imagine a bell noise ringing in your ear day in day out. Quite irritating. Whats more, its self inflicted pain. The cow can’t see and can’t get rid of the bell and so doesn’t know any better, the ice cream man knows the bell is there, knows it’s annoying (although probably, as it has driven him mad, he has got used to it) and, worst of all, he knows that he is the one who is ringing the bell and could stop it if he wanted. But then he wouldn’t sell any creams and he’s just got to shift those creams, no doubt to make the payments on the high quality robin reliant cream machine mobile of which he is the proud owner. It’s bad enough that I've never actually seen anyone buy an ice cream from one of these fellows; it’s worse that there are loads of them all over the place, so there’s huge competition for what seems to be a fairly non existent market. Whichever bright spark decided to approach robin reliant to build them ice cream carts to sell in guatemala made a little error here. You see it’s all a question of economics, supply and demand. Ice-creams just aint that popular. All in all, it’s a fairly shitty job. So the next time you think about how bad your job is, go buy a bell and a robin reliant, (twenty quid should do you) stick some pictures of ice creams on the outside and push it around ringing a bell. You might get arrested but you probably won’t shift too many ice creams, even if you have shown foresight and put some in the boot of your reliant. After that ordeal you'll be very happy to get back to the office.


Turd Job 2. Turd Job 2 follows closely on the heels of turd job 1, but is if anything even more inexplicable.

Job Title: Nut Purveyor

Location: Antigua Guatemala

Job Description: Wander streets of Antigua with bags of nuts trying to flog them to the touristas.

Qualifications Needed:

i) Excellent communication skills.
ii) Ability to be completely oblivious to the fact that no-one in Antigua buys nuts.
iii) Limbs a bonus.
iv)Likewise ability to speak.
v) Love of nuts.

Equipment Provided:

i)Plastic bags
ii)nuts

Job Analysis:
Clues to job analysis may be found in above section entitled 'Qualifications Needed', subsections ii) and iv). Like the ice cream vendor I mentioned earlier (and I should point out that people do officially buy ice creams, I saw someone with one yesterday. Although in truth it may have been a marketing ploy by a clever cream man and a chum: walk around munching on an ice cream and everyone will think "Oh, that looks jolly nice i must get myself creamed up." Then a couple of minutes after I did see in the central park some ice creams change hands but again it looked like Cream Man was showing something to his son, Cream Man Jr. I did not actually see any money change hands. So in fact I still have not actually seen anyone PAY for an ice cream) there does not seem to be much of a market for nuts, but there is a superabundance of nutmen, or nutters as I shall now refer to them. The nutters seem to have come across the same economics quandry as the creamers, mucho supplio, no mucho demando. Idiotico. Now given that it’s constantly pissing it down with rain here, you might have thought that some bright spark would throw down his nuts and start flogging high quality, or for that matter low quality brollies, and make some quick doh. But no, not a brolly in sight, not even a sniff of a brolly in the main square. It would be quicker to buy a load of nuts and glue them together into an umbrella shape than to find someone who will be willing to sell you an umbrella. It will take you hours to track down an umbrella shop. Whichever arse decided that selling nuts in Antigua was a good idea was clearly a litle 'nutty' himself, but the main point which disturbs me is that there are loads of other nutters out there who just can’t wait to become Nutters too. Not the greatest career choice in some ways, but I guess if you cant get your hands on a Robin Reliant Cream Mobile then nuts are your next best bet. Conclusion: Not the best job in the world. Arguably better than 'Shoeshine Boy' but largely only because it hasn't got 'Boy' in the job title. Pretty Turd.


Turd Job 3

Job Title: Freelance Tour Guide

Location: Angkor Wat, Cambodia, S.E. Asia

Job Description: Walk around the extensive ruins of Angkor all bloody day flogging tours to the tourists.

Qualifications needed:

i) Excellent communication skills.
ii) English a major bonus. Likewise French, German, Japanese, Spanish and Italian.
iii) Persistence.

Equipment Provided: N/A

Job Analysis:

Oh, this is a great job. The key to this job lies in the first word of its title, ‘Freelance’ Like the scores of other 8-15 year old boys and girls with whom you will work, your job is to approach tourists as they wander around the ruins and tell them about the ruins in whatever language the tourist happens to speak. (It aint gonna be Cambodian) Your principle problem, aside from the language barrier, is that, as you’ve never been to school, you can’t read, so you don’t actually know anything about the ruins other than they are ruined, old and made of stone. Another difficulty is that anyone who actually wanted a tour guide has already organised one with their hotel or hostel, or they’ve got a guide book that knows a heck of a lot more than you do. In other words, nobody wants your rubbish tours. This may come as a shock, but no matter how much you follow the tourists around telling them that the ruins are ruined and old and made of rock, they aren’t going to be very pleased with you and will try to ignore you. But don’t be put off! Stick at it! The early bird catches the worm and all that. Occassionally you might find that someone gives you some money so that you will go away. Well done! That’s you 10 p richer. All in a days work.

Turd Job Four

Job Title: Literature Sales Agent

Location: Saigon, Vietnam, S.E. Asia

Job Description: Prowl the streets of Saigon selling photocopies of books.

Qualifications needed:

i) Excellent communication skills.
ii) Must be able to recognise what a book is.
iii) Must be able to appreciate that bigger books cost more.

Equipment Provided:

i) Photocopied books
ii) String to tie them up.

Job Analysis:

This job isn’t as totally turd as it might appear at first sight. People will buy your books. After all, Mr Tourist needs his reading material. And, if you’re lucky and he has forgotten his glasses, you might even be able to convince him that you are selling him a genuine copy rather than a photocopied effort put together down the local shop and charge him more. No, as a Literature Sales Agent you’ll be all right.

Your main problem, as so often in life, is the competition. Not only does Saigon sport a ridiculous number of Literature Sales Agents, but there are two types that are always going to have an edge over you. The first is far and away the market leader in the Literature Sales Agent business. You’ll have to go a bloody long way, I mean really put yourself out, if you want to outdo this type of competition in the Literature Sales Agent trade. Luckily, this competition comes in the form of only one man so his impact, though colossal, is limited. Let me explain.
When selling your books you will naturally hang around places where the tourists visit. An obvious choice is the War Remnants Museum. It used to be called the American War Crimes Museum but a few years ago the Vietnamese government realised that although deep down they were still pretty pissed off at America for killing two million of their people, destroying much of their country and covering much more of it with land mines and unexploded ordnance, America had a lot more money than they did and so they decided to start being nice to America in the hope that America might start giving them some of that money. Certainly quite a few Americans now visit Vietnam, usually pretending to be Canadians, and they visit for all sorts of reasons. And so, as a kind of goodwill gesture, the Vietnamese have changed the named of the museum to the War Remnants Museum. They’ve also changed the name of Saigon, to Ho Chi Minh City, but the locals still call the city Saigon and the museum the American War Crimes Museum.

So there you are with your bundle of books, Literature Sales Agent extraordinaire, waiting outside the War Remnants Museum, waiting for tourists. I advise you to do your best to sell your books before the tourists go into the museum, because, you see, the museum is the lair of the acknowledged master of the Literature Sales Agent trade. It’s the Vietnam War veteran with arms amputated at the elbow and a face heavily disfigured from napalm or shrapnel or both. Almost half of his face has been burnt away and he has only one eye. How can you compete with that? It gets the tourists every time. I went in there with an American friend and after seeing the pictures of torture and decapitation of prisoners by American GI’s, the bottled foetuses hideously deformed by Agent Orange, the pictures of children, shortly before their premature deaths, similarly deformed in ways I cannot describe; after seeing all these things we bumped into the king of the Literature Sales Agents, the disfigured veteran with no hands. My American friend was reduced to tears and paid out 30 US dollars for two photocopied books, more than the cover price for genuine copies, and I paid the full price for another. That’s 40 dollars in five minutes. You’ll be lucky to earn that in a month.

The other type of competition is the cute 10 year old girl Literature Sales Agent like my friend Charlie. Charlie and sister are dropped off every night by their mother and then picked up a couple of hours later. I don’t know exactly how Charlie’s mother manages to ride her bicycle with the three of them on it, but believe me she does.

In truth, Charlie isn’t just a Literature Sales Agent, oh no. She has branched out and lives a dual existence as a Mobile Tobacconist Executor. (Though in truth, I suppose, you can do that too) But this side-line isn’t what gives Charlie and her chums the killer edge. Paper, Sissors, Stone is what gives Charlie and her chums the killer edge. Imagine the scene:

"Hey, nice man, you buy War And Peace, I give you good pwi, five dollar."

"No, piss off, little brat, I am drinking beer with my rich western friends."

"Hey, nice man. We do paper scissors stone, first to ten. I win, you pay double. You win, you get for free. Ok? Nice man."

Now, of course, Nice Rich Western Man can’t resist the challenge. Of course, as he is rich and western and very clever and Charlie is just a dirty little scrap of oik from some Saigon ghetto, he will win. On the other hand, if he refuses the challenge, he will never be able to face his family or friends again. So, whether it’s War and Peace or a packet of Special Filter, it’s game on. Now, you might think that it’s going to be fifty-fifty, that there’s no skill at all in a game of Paper Scissors Stone, or Rock Paper Scissors or whatever you want to call it, but you would be wrong. Charlie is bloody good at Paper, Scissors, Stone, she is a master, she beats bar loads of rich western tourists. She knows it and she skips happily from one bar to another showing the tourists how clever she is. And you, poor fellow, new to the Literature Sales Agent trade, can barely even remember the rules.

Cheese'm: Yeah, I noticed that. Oh well, what can you do? Incest is best...

Everyone else: nothing.

Posted 6:22 AM by Gobbler
Back in Blog

Hello! It's tuesday today, fancy that. Ive now been in my flat for two weeks. Blimey, time is ticking along. Its beginning to warm up here whcih means that the cockroaches will soon begin to wake up. There is a cockroach repellent on my floor, and dotted around the flat, but they will come... Like the Zulu hordes they will come. Thousands of them. Nice.

Well, I just came to post a couple of stories for you, so I wont hang around. Firstly a little story about the beginnings of a little trip that took place almost a couple of years ago, and secondly a charming conversation with a dodgy Belgian. Well, let me know if I'm going insane.

Prologue Blog

Dear Cousin, 1st June 2003

Very interested to hear that you have decided to go on a little holiday. I went on holiday to a foreign country myself once and to be honest I didn’t like it much. Why on earth you should want to go away is beyond me, but I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world.

I am very concerned that you may get into trouble whilst you are away, do be careful. It would be extremely poor form if you were to perish whilst away from home. I will be in communication with you as often as possible; please ensure you keep me updated about your whereabouts and how things are going.

There are many things that you are not aware of and many dangers with which you will be confronted whilst you are away. The following information concerns the principle guidelines for travelling abroad. Ignoring the following will drastically increase the danger of perishing whilst away from home, which, I have already stated, we don’t want to happen. Please read the following Rules Of Engagement carefully. Learning these rules will give you a good chance of coming through the entire experience unscathed.

Rules Of Engagement

§1 Concerning Foreigners

Foreigners are strange fellows in many respects and on the whole best avoided. However, it is to be remembered, an inevitable consequence of going abroad that at every step one is highly likely to encounter foreigners. Given this, it is worth bearing the following Key Points in mind:

Key Point i) The Essence of Foreignness

Foreigners are foreign. That is to say, they are not English, even a little bit.

Key Point ii) Language

Being foreign (as established in Key Point i)) they may have little or no knowledge of language. That is to say, they may not speak English. If that is the case, employ the following tactics in order: slow speech; increasingly loud speech; radical hand gestures.

Key Point iii) Types

Foreigners of any given type most generally congregate in large groups, known as ‘Foreign Country’s’. Key exceptions are the Irish whom, presumably because they are sick of eating potatoes, are to be found everywhere.

Key Point iv) Cuisine

Foreigner’s have a limited grasp of what constitutes good food. As an example, let us take the most important meal of the day; breakfast. Most foreigners think that breakfast involves two buns, a cup of coffee and perhaps a yoghurt, as opposed to some hearty meaty affair. Black pudding is a big no no even in a relatively advanced country such as the United States. In short: be prepared for the worst.

§2 Concerning Hippies

Hippies are not blessed creatures, they are damned and best avoided. Often they are not foreign but that is small consolation. Unhappily, they are often encountered in Foreign Countries. Happily, they are easily spotted as they all wear the same thing, like some mad twisted clique. The following Key Points outline how to spot, and thus avoid, these damned hippies.

Key Point i) Clothing

Hippies wear thai-dyed hippy clothing, usually flowing, loose fitting garments in varied hues of blue, green and purple. A common get-up is blue cotton fisherman’s trousers, white buttonless cotton shirt, sandles and purple saree. And that’s just for the men. I mean I ask you.

Key Point ii) Accessories

Hippies commonly wear rings. So much so in fact, they are not content with filling their ears and covering their fingers with them, but also their belly buttons and, most inexplicably, their toes.

Key Point iii) Hair

Hippies do not have hairstyles yet, interestingly, they do have hair. Lots of it in fact. It is distributed in a foul unkempt mop about their heads, faces and elsewhere, often tied up into knots.

§3 Concerning Transport

In general and where there is an option, it is strongly advised that a train is to be employed to get from A to B. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) We, the English, invented trains. They can therefore be relied upon.

Key Point ii) Foreigners, on the whole, cannot be relied upon to drive with safety. If you opt for a bus you are therefore putting your fortunes in the lap of the gods. And we are talking foreign gods here, which is unwise.

Key Point iii) A key aim of venturing abroad is to have a good time. It was correctly observed by Michael Caine in the film ZULU that trains are ‘damned funny’ and thus, of course, highly entertaining and, therefore, will help you have a good time.

Key Point iv) Hippies (see §2) do no use trains as they cannot afford them.

Peculiar Yet Important Point: Trains may arrive on time.

§4 Concerning Belgium

At first sight, Belgium appears to be an inoffensive and relatively unimportant country nestled somewhere in the heart of Western Europe. Furthermore, Belgians themselves have a similarly inoffensive and relatively unimportant reputation as creators of fine chocolates. This is a deception. Belgians are on no account to be underestimated. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) Politics

Brussels is to all intents and purposes the capital of Europe and this makes Belgium very powerful, and they know it.

Key Point ii) Transport

There is a secret underground monorail which is able to reach most of the globe. Its hub is Brussels. This is why Belgians are able to pop up in all parts of the globe at any given point.

Key Point iii) Language

Belgians speak English, French and German, which shows that they are very clever indeed. They also have their own secret language, which is I believe called Belgic. No-one except the Belgians can understand this language.

Key Point iv) Hippies

There are no Belgian hippies. While this at first sight appears to be a plus point, it is in fact quite unnerving. The question is this: why are there no Belgian Hippies?
I think I have made myself clear and I hope that this helps a little.

Good Luck,

Your Uncle


June 3rd

Dear Uncle,

Well, that’s it, I’m all booked. I’m leaving on Sunday, the 8th. I’ve got a nice big trip lined up. Thailand, Camdodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Indonesia, U.S.A., Guatemala, Peru, Chile, Bolivia, Argentina, Falkland Islands, Uruguay, Paraguay and Brazil, returning on the 22nd of December.

Thanks for all the advice you’ve given me. Some of the things you have told me seem a little strange but I’ll do my best to remember them as I go along.

All set, ready to go and looking forward. Happily I’m not nervous at all. I’ll be in touch once I get to Thailand.

Your Cousin,

Paul

***

"Pint of Stella please."

A pint of Stella. Thank the good Lord above. How much did it cost? No idea, it really didn’t matter. He took up his drink, took a long draught, retreated inside to a table, took another long draught, sat down, took out his cigarettes and took another long draught. Safety. For a while at least.

Three minutes earlier things had looked like they were heading for disaster as he had searched the terminal for a bar. How could there not be a bar? He had to find a bar, he needed a bar, yet somehow there didn’t seem to be one. "What am I going to do? What’s going on here?" He had desperately questioned himself. The thought of getting on that plane without being able to sit down quietly somewhere and gather himself. He wasn’t ready, it had all come to soon, he needed preparation. He had banked on the one last, final, relaxed pint. But it had seemed there wasn’t a bar anywhere and he was going to have to get on the plane as he was. No, no, it was all wrong! He had promised himself he would get to a bar and buy himself a drink and sit down, and then everything would be alright. But if there wasn’t a bar, what then? He hadn’t figured on that, he wasn’t prepared for that. His whole plan revolved around a bar and if there wasn’t a bar then his whole plan would lie in ruins from the start. What would he do then? Then he had spotted the bar and the world seemed a better place.

Everything was going to be all right. Yes. Crisis averted. It wasn’t so bad after all, and the flight was twelve hours and that was a long time. He was safe for now.

Three pints, five cigarettes and forty-five minutes later he left the comfort of the bar and made his lonely way to the departure lounge. He still didn’t feel all that prepared, but the flight was 12 hours and, yes, that was a long time.

***

The first steps had been endured and he was now on the plane. His first most pressing engagement upon boarding the plane had been a trip to the toilet. As he sat down in his window seat, squeezing past his two seat mates, he realised with apprehension that insufficient time had been allowed to facilitate the complete processing of three pints of the dreaded beater, that the tank was rapidly re-filling and that, despite his recent endeavour in the toilet department the time would soon come when he’d have to return to the lavatorial department.

After about an hour the situation was approaching bursting point so he troubled his what he had now learned to be pleasant Swedish seat-mates to get up so that he could once more try his luck. However, whoever had found their way to the cubicle before him was enjoying an extended conference with his one-eyed trouser snake. Whether or not he was perhaps partaking in a five knuckle shuffle or had perhaps elected to weigh anchor in poo bay he was of course not at liberty to speculate on, although that didn’t stop him from doing so. After five minutes his musings were interrupted as a block of turbulence was met and he was called back to his seat. This did not seem to please his Swedish comrades. They were not remotely impressed. They had stayed erect in waiting for his return and, as he had returned empty handed and full bladdered, the news that they would shortly have to get up again to let him try his hand once more did not appear to enthrall them.

Paul sat down with an apology, but the Swede next to him did not look happy. He looked, in fact, as if he was considering the various methods by which he could gain revenge on his evil neighbour the serial pisser. Paul looked away. He knew that the Swedes knew that he still needed the toilet and they weren’t happy about it. But what could he do? The Swedes began busily talking to one another. Paul pretended to be heavily engaged in the studying the views outside the window. But as it was pitch black outside this ploy didn’t carry much credibility, so he absorbed himself in his really-extremely-interesting-inflight-magazine instead. The pressure continued to build.

After his failed attempt to get inside the toilet he resolved to hold on until after dinner had come round, which it did a little time later. This ploy didn’t really work however as both of the Swedes tucked into coffees after their meal. Things were getting very serious. They might be supping coffee for hours! Who could tell what these crazy foreigners might get up to. As he was close to rupturing something he decided that he might as well go for it, that then was as good a time as any. It turned out to be not the great stroke of genius he had hoped it might be and did not appear to go down especially well with the Swedes. Thankfully neither of them spilt their drinks as they tried to accommodate him while he slithered ungainly past them. Any such display of free-flowing liquid might have prompted something similarly unfortunate in Paul’s internal systems and that certainly wouldn’t have cheered up the Swedes. Thankfully nothing else went wrong and the lager was finally removed from his system. If the turbulence sign had come on and he had had to sit down again the Swedes might just have cracked and attacked him. Returning to his seat he was finally able to relax. There was little chance now that he was going to be disturbed by conversation and he closed his eyes and relaxed; Thailand was still a long, long way away.

ldldlldldldlddldldldldldldlldldldldldldldldldlldldldlldldldldldlldlddldldldlldldlldldldldl

That is to say, that is enough of that for now.

And finally for now, and the most disturbing of the lot, is a little story. It sounds like we are dealing with the Evil Uncle himself, but it was in fact a dodgy Belgian. IT's got the temporary title of, erm,

Saigon. It's very niiiice

Or, Perhaps,

Nasty Old Bastard

"Won’t you stay for another drink?" Said the stranger. "If you have time. I am waiting for someone and would appreciate the company."

Paul agreed. "Sure." Paul settled back in his chair on the pavement outside the Happy Times restaurant in central Saigon and idly perused his new friend. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow. Late fifties with a heavy continental air about him. Cleanly presented in a nearly new white linen jacket, the European gentleman abroad. As the cars and bicycles and bike-taxis chugged and spluttered past them, the waiter came and they ordered drinks.

"Who are you waiting to meet?" Asked Paul.

The man smiled. "A friend of someone I know. It’s very nice here, don’t you think?" He smiled again, warmly. "Many nice things to do."

"You have been to the War Crimes museum and the Cu Chi tunnels?" Paul enquired.

"Oh, yes. Some time ago. Very interesting, very sad. I myself did not go down the tunnels at Cu Chi. It is not for me. You have been?"

"Not yet, I’m trying to go. I booked a tour for this morning but I was out very late last night and didn’t make it. I’ve booked again for tomorrow."

"Ah yes," said the man, "there is much to do in the evenings here in Saigon. The bars do not close."

The waiter made a reappearance with the drinks, serving the two of them carefully and returning inside with a bow. "And the drink is cheap." Said Paul.

"And the girls are very beautiful. Don’t you think?"

"Yes, they are. But half of the one’s you meet seem to be prostitutes."

The man looked affronted. "No no, my friend, believe me. That is not so."

"Perhaps you are right. It seems to be, that’s all. Either that or they want to marry you. They all seem to be one or the other."

"But they are very nice, don’t you think?"

"I try to stay away from them. I don’t want a prostitute and I don’t want to get married. I stick to the travellers I meet, it’s easier."

"Oh no, my friend, I think you should try it. It’s very nice. These Asian girls, I think they would be very good for you. They are very different from the girls in Europe. I think you should try."

"In a way you are right, I suppose. I did meet a Cambodian girl when I was there and she was very beautiful."

The man leant forward excitedly, pressing against the table. "Yes?"

"No, no. Nothing much happened." Paul told him. "She wanted me to go and live in her house in Pnom Penh for a week. Meet her parents, stuff like that."

"Why did you not do this? It’s very easy." He asked, a little confused.

"I didn’t have time for one thing. And, come on. I didn’t want to go stay in her house for a week with her parents. After that she’d want me to marry her. That’s the way it goes. They’re all like that, it’s not worth it."

The man again looked affronted and sat back in his chair for a moment. A rift seemed to have formed between them after what Paul had just said. The man ruffled his grey hair, then leant forward again with a smile. "I think you should have tried it. Cambodian girls are very nice. It’s very easy and very cheap. I have a Cambodian wife."

"You do?"

"Yes, she is very beautiful. I also have a wife in Myanmar."

"Really? How do you have two wives?"

The man shook his head faintly and lifted his head as if the question had never occurred to him before. He went on. "You should have married the girl in Cambodia, if she was beautiful."

"I’m not here to get married."

"Marrying a girl in Cambodia is very cheap. And very easy. It only cost me twenty dollars to marry my wife in Cambodia. It cost me two hundred dollars to marry my wife in Myanmar. That is very expensive, don’t you think? I had to become a Buddhist!"

Paul considered leaving, but he did not. "And she is beautiful too, is she, your wife in Myanmar?"

"Oh yes, I would not marry her otherwise. And she had never kissed a man before, I think. And that is very good. You should try it. Very fresh. Really! You should try it. It’s very easy. It’s very nice."

"Right. I’ll bear it in mind. Do you have any other wives around these parts?"

"No. I am engaged to a girl in China but I think there are problems there. I don’t think I will marry her. But today I am meeting the younger sister of a girl I know here. It will be very good. I am looking forward to it. You should try my friend, it’s very nice." He drew out the word nice for a couple of seconds, all the while nodding to Paul and throwing him a knowing look.

"How did you meet her?"

"I have not met her yet. I’m meeting her today for the first time. She has never kissed a man before."

"No, not her, not the younger sister. I mean the older sister, the one you know. How do you know her?"

"Ah. I met her in a bar a few nights ago. But I don’t want her, so I am meeting her sister. She is bringing her along today. It’s so easy, really my friend, it’s very easy. You know, her sister has never even been kissed by a man before. That is important. It’s very nice." Again, the long drawn out word ‘nice’. He took pleasure in saying it. "Do you know what that means, if she has never been kissed before?"

"Tell me."

"She is fresh. I can be the first with her, and that is very good. It is very nice, very good my friend, believe me. You should try it. It’s very easy. It’s very good to be with a girl who has never kissed a man before. You can be the first. That it very important. That is very nice. You must try it."

"I’ll bear it in mind."

"Really, you must try it. I can call her, get her to bring a friend." The man brought out a phone from his pocket, and held it up. "You would like me to?"

"No. Thank you."

Now that he had the phone in his hand he seemed to remember something. "Ah, I have a text message from this girl. You would like to see it?"

"Sure," replied Paul, who couldn’t help but be interested. It read: ‘I am very happy to be meeting with you. I like you very much!’

"You see?" Continued the man, "Believe me my friend, it’s very easy, it’s very nice. Her sister says she is beautiful, I hope it is true. Then things will be very good. Are you sure you don’t want me to call? Are you sure, my friend? It will be very easy for you I think, and very nice. You should try it. You can get a girl that has never been kissed by a man before. Very good for you I think. It’s very nice."

"No. I don’t want a girl. I’d better be getting along. I have to book my tour for the Cu Chi tunnels."

"Ah, yes. Of course, I am sorry. How much are you paying for the tour?"

"Four dollars 50."

"That is expensive my friend. I know where you can get it for 4 dollars, that’s a much better price. I have some time, I will take you there."

"I wouldn’t want you to miss your date."

"No, don’t worry my friend. If I am late it is not a problem. She will wait for me."

END

Yep, nasty little story that one. It's a nasty little world sometimes.

Laura: Whatevers good for you is good for me. My schedule is flexible to say the least. Glad the house is getting sorted, all takes time I guess.

E Unc: You remember this conversation by any chance?

Mum: Splendid. sent you an e

Posted 10:32 AM by Gobbler
Bottled Blog

You see, i came here to blog the little play ive scribbled, Hurricane Diane. If you thought that the 8000 word epilogue was a mission to get through, and failed that mission, which I think everyone did (I don't blame you) then you may well turn green if i slapped on an 18000 word play. Anyhow, I'm saving you the trouble because I'm too scared to post it in case you do read it and think it's utter drivel and decide to tell me so. I will post it one day. One day.

So as I'm not going to post that I'm fresh out of stuff to post on here today.

In Other News

I'm doing my best to keep the british end up. Not in the usual fields, or the fields that will naturally spring into such maladjusted craniums as Evil Uncle, but in cooking. "Whaaaaat, frigging Cooking??" Thats right people, cooking. I knocked the frenchies' and the dutchie's conception of English culinary ineptitude by cooking us all a roast chicken with roast potatoes and brocoli and carrots and home made gravy (no bisto here) and it werent all bad. As Florian summarised, "Oh, it is good. I thought you english only eat shit." In short, Blighty: 1, Continentals: 0. Mind you, he's not got very far with his melon yet.

Florians gems of wisdom

Bjornvig (Icelandic guy who's current raison d'etre is to familiarise himself with as many girls as possible): Hey, Florian, you've got the choice of either Catherine Zeta Jones or Penelope Cruz, who do you go for?

Florian: (after a moments deliberation) Ehh. I take both.

Ok, it mayent seem to be the funniest thing in the world but it actually is. So laugh, would you.

Gonna stop now.

hopefully tomorrow I'll have something more for you. Didnt get much work done yesterday, but today is another day...

Evil Uncle: yeah, probably shouldnt have bothered posting it. only of interest to about three people. no porn in there, so youve missed nothing.

Mum: jolly good. now i come to think of it, a pillowcase would come in handy!