Friday, 22 February 2008

Lost notes

My life, at work, runs through Outlook. E-mail. Meeting requests. Telephone numbers.

My Outlook is broken. There's a man in a room far away, magically moving the pointer on my laptop, desperately seeking a solution. I wish him luck.

So what to do?

You can't but fail to notice, if you stroll by my desk (though what you would be doing in Ergon House, Westminster is beyond my imagining) that the place is stacked high with unread reports, unloved arch-files and uncapped felt-tip pens. It is time for a clean up.

I've found some torn of bits of notepad from Kenya. The great undiscovered novel? I fear not.

God is Abce (?. not sure about this one. It seems to be in someone else's handwriting)

Lions don't care
A baboon stole my ketchup.
Africa is hot + wet
Elephants, reticulated giraffe, buffalo that won't mate, baboons, black faced monkeys

Africa is very muddy and Kenya is very green. Suprisingly like England in the Highlands, with retangular pastures though the animals are different

Stopped and 6 guys run up to us w/ fresh catfish (whole). Cook buys one and we travel onwards (I remember the Cook's name was Matthew. He was incredible. Could knock up a feast, even in the wilderness) Also bought illegal charcoal (not us, the Cook) from nomads. You have to plant two trees for everyone you cut down.

Roads switch from supoth (?) to disintigrating, seemingly a random. (Truly, I have never expereinced anything like a Kenya 'road' and it remains the abiding memory of the trip. Even more vivd that the lions shagging in front of our truck. Drivers prefer to drive off-road along many stretches)

Rural store-fronts are brightly branded

"Mighty meaty" "Ever Ready" "Safari Com Cell Phones" "Men who Care Pumbers Merchants" Comman usage is bar/butchers (by which I think I meant that many shops combine those two services in the same building, indeed, in the same room)

Baboons by the roadside.

Flamingos + flamingo carcasses.

As black as a shit pit (that's one of Steve's, I'm sure)

That's all.

Dostoevsky I'm not.

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