Journal 10.01.2026.
Sawa Camp, Nuweibaa, Sinai Peninsula,
Egypt
I am going SHOPPING –
First, I must make a list here. That way I
can’t forget it at home. Unless I forget the telephone – tra-la-la – I’m a
poet!
This morning there was no power! In my
room.
‘Heaven’s forbid,’ I exclaimed, ‘What have
I done to deserve no hot coffee with my first doobie of the day at 6.45am?’
This was just as the Saadian Mountains
glowed from behind in front of me, in magnificent silhouettes, as the huge
glowing, red and yellow orb of hydrogen and helium arose - that some arsonist had
set a match to.
No answer. No problem. Rhodies make a
plan. Using my Swiss army knife I stripped plastic coverings and boppa (joined)
the bare wires of the 240 volt cable to an equally stripped USB C type cable
and plugged it into my fully charged traveler’s battery pack. According to the
picture on the back it has enough power to restart your heart.
Actually, the thing got a shock of its
life when I turned the kettle on. ‘BOOM’, it said. ‘Aaaah…’ screamed the kettle
– ‘Fuck me up the arse with a frozen stave,’ I screamed in astonishment at the
amazing failure of my now cancelled plans to patent this new Rhodesian invention.
I then went to the seating area of the
restaurant, horse whipped awake the sleeping staff and after ascertaining that
they had Whiteman’s Magic called electricity, and I had two coffees and
two doobies in a row and I felt as happy as can be.
I might add that one coffee is included in
my inclusive packet which includes water, BUT I refuse to pay for the second
coffee because it is not my fault that the Whiteman’s magic stopped
working because you lot kicked all the Whiteys (Mukiwa or Masungu or Pommies,)
out – just like you did with the Jews!! And you can replace my kettle and power
charger.
Fat chance of that happening. Never mind,
smoke another spliff, man – everything gonna be alright now…
SHOPPING. Due to fact that the local
supermarkets are poorly stocked and with a small variety of next to nothing
that any self-respecting Rhodesian would even attempt to decipher its contents,
and I would recall how in the good old days I could go down to Kambasha’s store
in Gokwe and stock up for bush patrol. Kambasha had EVERYTHING.
Even lots and lots of Willard’s crisps. I
actually once, as in my first patrol, and lacking experience and intelligence,
I filled my rucksack full of them. Two reasons. 1. Extremely light and would
supply me with the necessary energy to drag my sorry arse through the bush for
three days and 2. It would make a great pillow.
Sadly, on that very first night as I laid
on my back in my fart sack, sobbing quietly to myself that at even with the
daily $3.25cents Bush allowance it was a fucking hard job earning it, that
idiot of a patrol leader whilst trying to plant a coil in the darkness, sat on
my head!
The chip bags burst with a mighty BANG,
that announced our presence to every Gook within a 50 km radios and Patrol Leader
thinks he was victim of a surprise mortar attack, shat himself and I got the
blame, and, I had to eat chip crumbs and nearly starved. That was 1977.
Such is progress because the shops here do
have loads of packets of crisps and the locals and ignorant tourists throw the
empty bags away to float on the wind and gentle lapping shores.
Shopping –
I then typed the following into chatGPT.
Locate my location if you can because I am
not sure, but it is somewhere near where Moses hung about for 40 years, and
then, look for a shop as close as possible that can supply me with the
following – soft nylon trainers and please fucking note that I am not
interested in its carbon fucking footprint because they are made in China, and,
Small ear phones on wires because I WANT
ones with wires because the Bluetooth doesn’t work on this laptop,
And a small packet of evaporated milk
which means small, about 250ml and not any fucking giant cow’s udder you find
on special offer, and…erm..
And, a big fat felt permanent marker pen
in black so I can leave ‘TGK Was Here’ onto lumps of weathered artifacts
of biblical and historical importance, and,
Bread. The plastic kind the English eat so
that they all look like lumps of dough left in the rain for a week, but still edible.
For a week - for humans after that you give it to the dog if you can afford to
have one.
That is it for the moment.
NOW, pay attention, otherwise I may get
cross at your answer and beat you with Moses’s hammer…
Calculate my budget at just below the
internationally and who gives a shit, United Nations poverty level for humans. Take
into account that this is not the same as existence level which lacks necessities
such as food, water and a mobile phone. Those beggers offered a choice tend to
pick the latter so as to call for more aid rather than get a job.
Include in this search the cost of
transport in any motorised vehicle (NOT camels) to and fro of such shop, as
listed in the independently verified and acclaimed book, recognised as being as
about as accurate as the Old and New Testament - African and English Post-Colonial
guide for Knockers and Scammers - page 43, Capital 12 -Transport.
Adjust for the difference from car-jacking to friends, family and cronies, up
to stupid white tourist.
Take also into account my age and the
inability of the locals to learn even the most fundamental basics of my mother tongue.
Under Queen Victoria there was none of that nonsense with the peasants. Just
take the Chinese for example when the Brits fucked them over in the Opium Wars.
They soon learnt what Chop-Chop meant. Now since the decline of that
once great Empire, they think it means the speed of handouts.
IGNORE any stupid offers to have it delivered
by drone within 24 years by the likes of Amazon dot whatever, after it has been
approved by the Israeli Airforce.
Now I press enter and see what it comes up
with…
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment