booking spanish wheelchairs & other strange occurences

Had a bit of an eccentric day yesterday.

You gotta understand though – there are always peaks and troughs.
An example of a peak in the past would be the day I bought a piano by accident.
Or when I named my pet rat Chad Jean-Gilles North Dakota Craig O’Toast.
Or when I got a rat. As a pet. At 26. To begin with.

Yesterday was a good indication of the dysfunction.

In that you eat a sandwich in the traffic with protracted mastication.

Or you bark like a Dobermann at the dude at your window who insists on asking you 3 times if you’ll buy a patio dust cover.

Or you book and pay for flights to Mexico via the UK.

I’ve been invited to Christmas in Dorset. This should be rather amusing.

Flights across the world momentarily bankrupt me for the remainder of this month.

Dropped half a house mortgage on air travel yesterday.

In a wild panic try and book the cheapest internal flights in Mexico to Cancun. On a Spanish website that won’t translate, so you have to whack random paragraphs into the Translate tool manually.

And then you book and pay for a wheelchair. By accident.

What.
And couldn’t deduct it from my total pay. I pressed ¿Pago? like 8000 times.

So one of us windowlickers will be using the chair, that’s for fucking certain. It took me and hour and a half to book flights and I manage to book a fucking wheelchair as well.

So I’m broke but very excited.

Saw the most beautiful piece of fuckberry pie in our building yesterday. He's friendly and cheerful too. Very very nice to look at.

Had a lot of very mind numbing work to do yesterday, and as a result, that makes me eccentric. Crazily-manual data loggings for too long a period, can ensure that my creativity somehow oozes itself out elsewhere. And mostly I just break into song or play a sonata during lunch.

Yeah it’s weird. No one said it would be easy.

Anyway, two of us decided that we’re going to turn our Irish colleague into one of our client’s company mascots because he has such a startlingly amazing mo.

No really, don’t bother competing this Movember. He’s Lord Kitchener. Simply sensational to look at.

We decided we’d make him famous through corporate mascotting and viral advertising, we’d give him a catch-phrase, make Facebook groups like ‘If 1 Million People Join This Group We’ll Turn [Kitchener] Into Acme Inc’s Logo Boy’, and we’d all retire rich and I’d buy a yacht and set sail around the Mediterranean eating tapas and brinjal.

Then I had dinner in Parkhurst with all my Engaged Girls. Bless, it’s quite heartwarming to see how happy they are.

I ate a Basil Mania, had a gin and Fanta, and thought:

God. It’s been an eccentric day.

PS: My mate phoned from a hotel in Pretoria:
'There it is! No ways!'
'There is what?'
'The Bible in the top drawer.'

toodaloo

So I'm off to the Seychelles tomorrow. I got excited for the first time last night. While you poor sods spend your weekend in a smoky local watering hole, I'll be drinking rum daiquiris on a sandy white beach.

This is both a tropical-paradise-island holiday, as well as a family reunion, as well as an historical tour.
Three genres of holiday stuffed into one, basically. As I've mentioned before, my mother's side of the family are Francophiles, some growing up in the Seychelles.

The family, from all over the globe, have flown in. My crazy aunt from Canada, being one. She dances on tables, hates a good drink, hates sharing a little shiroot with me and got busted for smoking pot at school. Also known to fart loudly in public much to the embarrassment of everyone else. We get on like a house on fire.

I'll also be meeting about 6 000 cousins, and visit the home of my grandmother. My 'Grandmere' is my second mother, one of my most favourite people in the whole world. We only speak French to each other, she totally digs it. I love her to pieces, and am looking forward to seeing where she was brought up - within the upper-echelons of the Colonial bourgeoisie. On a coconut plantation on Praslin island. We'll be staying there, and on Mahé, the main island.

My grandfather hasn't been well lately, so I'm hoping this holiday will give him a new lease on life. My step dad, always with great gnashing of teeth, deals with my mum and her ever-giggling sisters very well:

Peas,
The sisterhood is rearing to go. One thing you won’t do in the Seychelles is starve to death. You’ll be able to open up a grocery shop if you need extra cash. I hope your Mum has booked a bakkie to move you around. Coffee you can have intravenously, there’s enough of it. And some mysterious foreign stuff, your aunt bought from Canada. They think they're going to the 3rd world. Talk about taking coals to Newcastle – they're actually discussing taking canned fish to the Seychelles. Hope they’ve organised some sugar, maybe some coco-de-mer… At least the blow-up mattress didn’t make it from Canada.

As for your aunt's farting problem, the roof hasn't lifted off yet. She's eating healthier, which is maybe resulting in reduced gaseous exchange with the outside environment. I’m holding thumbs for you while in the Seychelles. Maybe she’s building it up to a surprise, while you all share a confined space.
After the airport, I'm rushing home to tuck into all the stuff they will have to leave behind, including half the food your grandmother bought.
I need some male company at home at the moment. There's oestrogen everywhere. Your cousin also needs a wingman, she's glad you'll be around.
Your step-dad.

Bring on the snorkelling, white sandy beaches, sun, cheap Seychellwan rum, eccentric family members, speaking French, and spicy Creole food. This holiday has been the shining light at the end of a very overtired, overworked tunnel.

I'm gonna miss Mr 747 and Chad. But I'm sure I'll survive.
Toodles until then.

PS: My New Zealand aunt got the boobs in the family. We don't quite understand it. Mum, Grandmere and I are a little short in the noombie department. I plan to do get to the bottom of this via some family tree-tracing.