Thursday, January 28, 2010
Two things I never thought I’d say:
1) I’ve hired a solicitor.
2) I’m meeting Richard Hammond on Saturday night.
The first one is the reason for all my jizzbagging down-in-the-dumps crappy somnambulant Will-I-Ever-Be-Normal-Again depressed goings on.
I’ve, over the last two weeks, hired a UK immigration lawyer to assist me with some rather tedious, constricting appeals in lieu of the House of Commons. With regards to my ancestry. And read up on every Act, Bill, case study & litigation document there is to be read about immigration and the UK.
All I need to do is the bar exam and I should be set to partner in Webber Wentzel & Bowens.
Holy fuck, has 2010 been a kick in the old ovaries thus far.
I was going to donate my kidneys to science once I kicked the bucket, but it would seem that I may need to give them to the lawyer when I run out of funds.
So maybe I’ll get to live there one day, maybe I won’t.
But I will be a helluva lot less fundworthy afterwards, if there’s one thing for sure.
In the meantime, and with a lining so silver you could brush your teeth with it, I’m meeting fucking Hammond on Saturday night.
Well blow me like a flute. Seriously, Hammond in Cape Town, and me standing right next to him. If you could GPS this, we’d be two little red dots bleeping together at Grand West Casino on your Garmin.
Carmageddon alive. The Top Gear team will be setting cars alight, playing car footie, teasing the Stig – Christ I’m excited.
British car comedy at it’s very best.
So if you’ve already got a ticket, or are still planning on getting one – what the fuck are you waiting for? For the Kia Picanto to be cool?
(Which, evidentally, is what I was driving around Durban yesterday for work – and schvitzing like a schwein sans air-con, in the most humid city in South Africa), go to Computicket now!
Just a few questions, because I’m out of practice.
Could I say any one of the following to Hammond without looking like I’m completely unhinged?
1) I really love you, but I am in love with another British chap a little bit more, please don’t be neggie.
2) Here. Read my fan letters. Call me.
3) Tell me, does my car actually need an undercarriage or is it fine that it’s still stuffed in the boot?
4) One of my Irish mates met you. You guys drank vodka and Red Bull together. I also drink vodka and Red Bull.
5) You’re hot. This is my Dad.
(Dad, will, in fact, be coming with me. Wonder what the dickens he will say to Hammond. Could be a make-or-break situation. “D’you know anything about planes? Don’t care much for cars.”)
Back to my litigating hole until Saturday. When I get to dress up and look pretty.