Making a plan

I just realised I haven’t posted in a while. This is not good for maintaining a fan base. Sorry about that but I have been very busy. Some people may find that hard to believe but it is true.

Firstly I moved house. Well, flat actually. After six years of crawling up that sodding hill in North Wales everyday with some shopping; it was time to go. I would miss the view but that was about it.

So I sold just about all my possessions, even most of my beloved Rhodesia memorabilia, but I needed the dosh and I couldn’t be arsed dragging the stuff around anymore. I thought I would miss them but not really. I think completing The Gokwe Kid made me decide that I can keep it all in my head. I kept some important bits, my three wall plaques and my police diaries and a few other small bits and bobs.

I have them here in my new flat in….Germany! Yup, I have come full circle and I am back to where it all began three decades ago. It is a cute, brand new pad and unlike that damp, rotting hole in Wales, this one is toasting warm with buckets of steaming hot water as much as I like and not once a week when I would reluctantly turn on the boiler and watch with horror as it chewed a £1 a second in juice. Nah - none of that crap anymore.

You see, when problems arise us Rhodies are world famous for what is called ‘make a plan’. Maybe sanctions did that to us. We couldn’t simply wander into a shop or pick up the phone and someone on the other end could solve your problem. Nope, no chance. That was because I was always skint (still am) and we had a lock on our phone at home.

My parents were very tight. I wasn’t as crafty as my late brother Michael. I found out the cheeky bugger worked out that you flicked the bit out of the middle of  the dial and there was the screw that held it in place. Somehow he had ‘managed’ to procure an extra dial and simply swopped them over. I gather that the phone was then locked away in the parent’s bedroom because mysteriously the phone bill was still rather extravagant.

Michael wasn’t to be bypassed with that one so he simply bypassed the problem and the phone bills still climbed every month. It was his best friend who was responsible for his undoing. Garth, rocks up one Saturday and asks John (Michael’s step-dad), if Michael was around. Now, John says ‘Yeah, hold on I get him,’ because he had seen Michael cruise in only a few minutes before. So he wanders into Michael’s room, goes in and he isn’t there. Fair enough, maybe he is having a wazz, but a quick look-see around the small house and still no Michael.

Confused he tells Garth and the two wander about calling his name. Then, going back into Michael’s bedroom, they hear ghostly talking. It is coming from the built in clothes cupboard. John opens it and there is Michael – on the phone! The crafty sod had got himself an extra phone and some cable, gone up into the loft and spliced into the line and ran a new one into the clothes cupboard. I don’t know what the punishment was – but now that is what I call making a plan.

So, I also made a plan and here I am. A tiny town called Töging am Inn, west of Munich. It actually has ‘city’ status but I would question that because they don’t even have a post office. This place makes Gokwe look like a thriving, bustling metropolis. Still, beggars can’t be choosers and when the piper plays - ‘I come a’running bwana.’ I don’t have to do that too often which is great because that gives me plenty of time to get on with the next book. More about all this in the next posting – I don’t want to overload attention span, plus I need to get a beer.

The Gokwe Kid - Oktoberfest 2012

Hi all. Well, that turned out to be a bit of a lemon. First the weather was shite and I was roped in to help my eldest build up flat packed furniture and install lights etc, for his new pad in Munich. Some of the instructions beggared belief. Timi, my youngest, also helped out and was extremely puzzled whilst building a set of drawers that the instructions stopped at phase two and were then repeated for another three pages!

So it was Wednesday the 3^rd before I finally got to M.O.A.P (Urban Dictionary - Mother Of All Parties) around the Oktoberfest, peddling my masterpiece. It was German reunification day , a public holiday, so it was well attended by wealthy Germans. No one else can afford the place. No Aussies or Kiwis and Surf Africans around. I rocked up a week too late. Oh well. I did rope in some new groupies though…

A litre of the specially brewed beer is now 10 Euros. I recall in 1980, when I first went to the fest it was a quarter of the price. As for eating something like half a roast chicken – you need to take out a second mortgage.

 

The Sword of Damocles is still hanging over my head with my last submitted Open University exam. It seems my redesigning of a hand powered tool (to wit - a vibrator), didn’t go down (or up) very well. Ag shame hey! Still, next week on Thursday I have the BIG exam and that is that. Just need 40% and job done.

I have noticed that Amazon has dropped the price of my book! That has nothing to do with me. I hope they still pay me my massive £1.40 odd royalties per copy.

Plus, things are moving VERY fast for me. Stay tuned…

The Gokwe Kid – PRINT COPY available NOW

Well, what a slog that was, but worth it in the end. I reckon it is just about perfect and the tweaking didn’t help when I uploaded a wrong version and lost another half a day. But that is now all history, as from this very moment, the book is available on all Amazon outlets.

I have put a link on the right for .co.uk and .com

(Images and 'Look inside' takes a bit longer. But if need be you can see 'inside' on the eBook versions)

It is quite a biggy – 410 pages of mad antics, with guaranteed laughs.

So of you go and buy loads and loads just in time to give to friends, family members and (if you don’t like it), enemies. This is one book you will not find in a charity shop for it is truly a gem (gawd… I do go on).

Now the next stunt will be the Oktoberfest. I tried to get a banner printed in time but balked at the cost. Not to worry. I have a Rhodesian Flag and I will tack on some Gokwe Kid logo. Then I have the antics filmed and have them up on Youtube.

Many thanks to all that have purchased the Kindle versions. Please don’t forget lots of lovely reviews.

That’s it. Next report will be from Bavaria. Stay tuned. 

The Gokwe Kid – In Print

Apologies for not posting for a while. That is because it seemed to take forever for the Yanks to send something in the post.

BUT, finally, yesterday the proof copy arrived. I opened it and burst in to tears. All that time and effort, all those years fighting manic depression; sitting alone studying with the Open University and writing – all came together at last. Sure, there will be some rocky roads ahead, but at last I have come out of the dark and into the light. 

The book is fabulous. I spotted a few small layout and justification mistakes and a couple of pictures need tuning a bit. This shouldn’t take more than a few hours to rectify. Then it gets uploaded again and, if all goes to plan – you can buy it around about Tuesday. (Amazon) This is so exciting.

In fact, my guardian angel has been working overtime. I received today another two packets. One is a box full of my ‘business’ cards. The other is a Rhodesian gilet jacket and a BSAP calendar I won in a raffle. I can’t remember buying the ticket. It was something to do with the BSAP get together in Ireland that is held every year but although I am always invited, I couldn’t afford it and also, it was getting stupid going on about a book that is ‘almost, nearly, about to be’ finished. Now it is.

More news. I am off to Germany to see my kids. Also, by pure luck of coincidence  – it is the Oktoberfest. Hah- hah. Bloody perfect. BECAUSE, I have been presented a massive marketing opportunity in a few days time. An opportunity to meet hundreds of Kiwis, Aussies, South Africans, Zimbos, Canadians, Americans, et-al, even a few British - at the largest convention on earth of pissheads.

It gets better. My eldest now has a pad in Munich, so no problems with accommodation. It is a dream – thousands of potential buyers - all out their heads. The photo opportunities with a famous author - all decked out in Rhodesian paraphernalia. Flag and all.

Of course, the drunken fans of the great Gokwe Kid won’t remember much later, but if they have a little card in their wallets, or purses, bum bags etc - complete with famous author’s signature on the back…get my drift..?

I can also hand them out to any one I spot using a Kindle on my travels. Sort of say something like,

‘Hi, please buy my book. It is very good and not expensive. Even if you don’t like it; you can always say you met the idiot that wrote the rubbish.’

And, I will be firing up pictures and maybe even short videos of my mad antics at rapid rate via my eldest’s smartphone. Not just here but on Facebook – The Gokwe Kid group.

Digital sales are coming along nicely. Many thanks, but I need lots and lots of lovely reviews.

Catch Ya all soon and start looking and ordering the print copy early next week.

The Gokwe Kid – All of it!

It is all good news! I am so excited. Part Two is now uploaded. Part One was also uploaded again due to a couple of small details that needed attending to. 

Price of Part Two is a little bit more because you get a heck of a lot – 21 hilarious/tragic, action packed new chapters. This book is unquestionably the most original story ever to be written about the Rhodesian Bush War. (And so says all of me.)

I have put them on the right hand side. Just click the image.

You can use any kind of digital reader. Also the PC. The apps are free. Click the image on the right.

Also – I notice that asking to be my friend simply clogs up the normal feed. I am never going to see anything you write. The best way is to join the Facebook Gokwe Kid group. That way I see you and can reply and comment etc. The link is on the right as well.

About Part Two –

The ‘Look Inside’ bit of the Kindle edition on Amazon duplicates Chapter 17 and 18 from Part One. I did this deliberately because there was no way I was allowing Chapter 19 (the actual start of Part Two) to go out there for every Tom, Dick and Harry to read for free. That chapter – The Great Battle of Gokwe took months to put together. I had to get hold of as many people as I could that were involved. Quite a bit of detective work, I tell you. And it is one heck of a story, especially since outside a small circle, no one knows about it.

Please comment as much as possible here and Facebook, and give lots of rave reviews. You can all really help me if you could do the following both on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

Click - ‘Like’

Click - ‘Was this review helpful?’

Click the ‘Tags’

AND...please please, Email all your friends and help me go viral, I need some bucks hey! Simply say - Google- The Gokwe Kid

I will try to keep up to speed here. However, I am under huge stress with university exam deadlines at the moment.

Also, after some musings, I have decided that the print version will come out as one book. But it is going to be rather large – maybe 420 plus pages. Loads of lovely pictures as well.

Price, not sure yet, but it will be under £10. I cannot go much less. Even at £9.99, I am lucky if I get 75 pence!

That is at any moment on the way to the printers and I await the proof copy.

Stay cool and enjoy the amazing story of the greatest bush detective of all time. (sic)

Catch ya all soon and I await massive sales with baited bated breath.

Oh – if you can’t see ‘Look Inside’ in Part Two; that is because it will still take a few hours to get into the system. It only went live this morning.

THE GOKWE KID – Now on Amazon

Yes, this is it. Finally after almost a decade of procrastinating I have done it. The book that will have everyone talking about is FINISHED.

Er, sort of. I gave up waiting for certain people to keep certain promises, so I simply in the end did it myself – and a jolly good result indeed. (With a little help from my friends.)

So, here is the plan – I don’t have time with massive university exams looming, to get this into print yet, BUT – it is an eBook.

The Gokwe Kid – Dick of the Bushveld (Part One) is available NOW from Amazon

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Gokwe-Kid-Rhodesians-ebook/dp/B008ZSD7X6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345470056&sr=8-1

Now if you are wondering what the heck is Part 1 about…well, er, it turns out the goddamn book, along with the pictures, was simply too huge! Something like 400 pages (A4)!

So I split it and Part 2 will be out this coming weekend. As Part 1 only went active this very morning, it may still take a bit of time before people outside the UK can buy it.

At this present time, Amazon hasn’t got pricing into place as is takes couple of more days as the different rates go through their servers for all the Amazon.countries, etc. But you can buy it - Price is £2.02. Just click buy. Why such a dumb ass price? I priced it 20% lower, uploaded the whole thing and the bastards whacked on VAT!

So, please buy and tell your friends – I am seriously destitute. There are three freebie chapters on Amazon as well, including pictures. And don’t forget to write lots of nice things on Amazon and Facebook and 5 star it. Also on the Amazon page is a ‘like’ button.

Part Two, will be available in a weeks time! Here is the cover. 

I have a new dedicated email address for all my fans to contact me and I promise to reply

gokwekid@gmail.com

And I have this special address for trolls –

upyours@trollmail.com

Many thanks to all of you who have waited so long and helped me with info, feedback and comments. Keep it up.

AND – as I composed this for my blog – I had put up a smaller version of it on various Facebook sites and a complete stranger,Catherine MT has bought a copy! Fame at last.

So off you go and buy and read and laugh and cry over the adventures of the great

 Gokwe Kid – Dick of the Bushveld

I will keep you posted…

London 2012 Chav Olympics

London 2012 Chav Olympics

More gold medals are expected in the Chav Olympics today.

After Britain’s incredible success yesterday as Cherry Choke – Coke (29), won the women’s Bingealong, (100 litres Hurling, Quick Jump, High Hump, Shots Pissed, Cock Tossing, 200 staggering paces and 800 kneel crawl), with a world record of over 300 defibrillator attempts to restart her heart more than her nearest rival - hopes are high for professional yob Jimmy Jobless (24), in the Arson and Rioting event tonight.

Interviewed yesterday, as he watched another former inmate of Brixton’s elite academy for retards, Masha Your-hedin, winning gold in Headkicking, Jimmy said through a cockney slang translator –

‘I don’t expect more than bronze tonight. The Spanish and Greek governments spend millions more than our stupid leaders to create such great athletes in this discipline. What have we got – ARTOS and the DWP - what useless fucking help are they hey?’

However, Paddy Pisshead (79) from Belfast is expected on the pain of a kneecapping if he fails, to win gold for team GB in the 100 Guinness in 10seconds, along with the teenage sensation Katie Gray in the Under 14 and Pregnant finals which is live on BBC1 shortly after the pubs close. Katie (13), as we know, became a celebrity as she was crowned ‘Queen Katie Drop-em for a Price’ overnight after winning the Jeremy Kyle reality show ‘Knobs and Knickers’.

Katie has had it rough ever since both parents died in tragic circumstances whilst working for some weird organisation in Afghanistan that was swapping bibles for top grade hash.

Happily, Katie’s grandmother, Chadee Gray (50), a failed writer of soft porn, who selfishly, at tax payer’s expense, looks after Katie, said that she would –

‘Maybe watch the cheap tart…’, on the TV if her part time partner, Roger, ‘…doesn’t come around to watch the pole vault.’

London 2012 Olympics exclusive – Zimbabwe’s Kirsty Coventry – an alien!

The world was left recoiling after it was informed by the head of GS4 that high powered scans, used by short term employed benefit scroungers (on really a penny above minimum wage), have picked up the fact that Kirsty Conventry, the much meddled Zimbabwean swimmer, is in fact the evil Gokwe Mermaid dressed in a rubber suit of attractive human female proportions.

 

Mr Cool Beans, the well renowned head of the world’s largest private security firm - who coins 750k a year for being a complete idiot, and Tory supporter.

 

Lord Coe, who is sort of in charge of London’s sporting extravagance paid with quantitative easing, when told of the allegations responded immediately –

‘Holy cow! Yes, I recall the Gokwe Mermaid incident. I thought the Mumbo-Jumbo witch doctors had sorted it out. Bloody hell, this bad news. Still, I must say, the rubber suit is very impressive. Well, it is just as well the thing was disguised as a whitey! There would have been some right stink otherwise. Strip the thing of all the old medals and prepare a firing squad.’

The infamous Gokwe Mermaid. Details are here in an exclusive for LOTR

Minutes  after Lord Coe’s comments hit the airwaves, supporters were twittering so much; the NHS A&E were overloaded with sprained thumbs and forefingers.

‘It is all that twat Danny Boyle’s fault,’ screamed one 65 year old Polish nurse as she gently pried the semi-melted smart phone from an Essex obese chav teenager’s crippled hand,

‘most of our staff were fucking around at the opening ceremony last night and are still too pissed to come to work. Is this anyway to run a country in the EU?’

The Zimbabwean government spokesman, Brainless Bunga-Bunga, denied all accusations.

‘I, aah… cannot comment because the West have imposed sanctions on anything I say.’

As the scandal rapidly unfolded, renowned scientific experts were quick to note that as Eastern Zimbabwe have a rare tribe, the Doma people, with only two toes, it was quite feasible that the Gokwe Mermaid had environmentally changed the usual dolphin tail ending in a fin, into a pair of legs. But they concluded on a serious note that they think it was all genetically engineered hanky-panky from the Chinese.

Meanwhile, latest reports are that the Gokwe Mermaid has fled to the Ecuadorian Embassy and asked for political asylum. It is also rumoured that there could be a bit more hanky-panky with some Aussie bloke also holed up there whilst training to win gold for swimming in shit for dear life.

The Gokwe Kid and the case of the nicked knickers

Sitting at his desk contemplating why anyone would spend quarter of a million pounds for a machine to make plastic wine glasses (part of his present university module), the Gokwe Kid received some grave news from Zimbabwe. Opening the letter for which he had to pay the transport cost (broadband), he read a remarkable report from his old sleuthing grounds –

Police probe mystery woman's underwear snatcher

New Zimbabwe [online] 23 July 2012-07-23

GOKWE police say they have been asked to investigate after 26 women went to sleep with their panties on – then woke up to find themselves naked, a newspaper reported.

The panties were later found in a heap in the local Njelele Village, and 17 were positively identified by their owners.

A spokesman for Gokwe police confirmed they were investigating the bizarre incident, adding that they were minded to exercise discretion and allow local leaders to try traditional solutions. Chief Njelele, the local traditional leader, has since requested police permission to conduct a witch hunt, the Bulawayo Chronicle reported.

The chief told the newspaper: “What happened in my area is so scary and everyone is in a state of shock and panic. I have called for a meeting with my subjects in the two villages where the incident occurred and I am scheduled to meet them so that we chart the way forward.”

According to Chief Njelele, on July 11 this month, “the majority of women” in two local communities under village heads Pauro and Chariseka went to sleep with their panties on – but mysteriously woke up in the nude.

 “After we reported the matter to the police at Gokwe Police Station, 17 women from Pauro and Charusekera positively identified their garments in the presence of the police,” the chief said.

“The remaining panties have not been identified maybe because of their state.

"Police, however, recorded 26 complaints from the village which tallies with the number of underwear which were found in the bush.”

The chief said he was in talks with police to invite self-styled prophets known locally as tsikamutandas to conduct a witch hunt to smoke out the “trouble causers”.

Whoever is fingered as responsible will be hauled before the chief’s court and punished – which could be in the form of a fine or expulsion from the village.

_ _ _

The great Gokwe Kid – Dick of the Bushveld, super sleuth, sucked on the slimy saliva dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. At last – something to get his nose into and solve yet another Gokwe mystery. Googling rapidly he looked up the word ‘innuendo’ (after several attempts to spell it correctly), and came to a cotton picking conclusion.

1. He had no time to fanny around on this case; no matter how funny it smelled.

2. Time was definitely an essence. One whiff that the Gokwe Kid was looking in every nook and nanny for the crook - he/she would will-o'-the-wisp away.

Rapidly the Kid checked over his budget airline sized, brown cardboard boy’s suitcase with its cracking, badly painted logo  - The Gokwe Kid Hardy Boys Pvt Dick Kit Kase - and smiled gently. Aah, those were the days. At least now, since he started university, he knew that he had spelt Kase incorrectly. Taking a black marker, he corrected the error into Kace.

The contents winked suggestively out, but sadly the polymer blow-up doll seemed to have degenerated over the last three decades and was quickly disposed off. The DNA kit seemed fine; even the microscope’s label ‘Property of Allan Wilson High School’ was still readable.

Throwing in a pair of shorts and a vest, the Kid had in a few clicks printed out an open return boarding card for any business class flight to his homeland with Air Zimbabwe from Gatwick. He knew from his immaculate memory  that they flew regularly. He could hop on anytime.

Before that the brilliant detective tossed into the encrypted search machine for head dicks a few key words – photo – panties – pervert – images, and soon had an idea of the type of culprit he was looking for. He wasn’t too bothered that it looked like a white man on some British council estate - this was negligible. It would be the body language he would recognise.

After hitching to Gatwick, he was rather alarmed to hear that there were some delays. Every minute counted. The Kid needed to be sniffing the culprit out before the scent went stiff and cold. Using his incredible powers of subtle questioning of every person wearing a uniform in Gatwick, the Kid concluded after 3 days that, it appears Air Zimbabwe has gone tits-up and will not be flying to the UK in the very long next foreseeable future – ain’t that just the pants!

Cold case closed.

Mugabe - My Part In His Victory

Mugabe - My Part In His Victory 

by

Chris Walmsley

Hi all. I have been rather busy (my last OU module)  and stressed, hence no contact. However, I did manage to read the above book recently and will give you my opinion.

Chris was an NSPO (National Service Patrol Officer), with the BSAP. It appears he was one of the first (give or take 400 odd) and at the age of 24 he is called up in January 1974. This was all very interesting, like, how the government decided that anyone with a degree would make cracking police officers regardless of the fact several appear to be either lumps of lard or - fanatically, rugby possessed psychos. (A theme that does become rather tedious - along with rowing.) So, as such, his regard for us more cerebrally questionable regulars as I would become, is well documented but can be taken tongue in cheek or perhaps a bayonet in author’s anal orifice - depending on what mood and intoxication you are in when you read this memoir.

Punctuation and grammar are of high standard but unfortunately, the clown who told him that inset paragraphs are a thing of the past and every one should be started double spaced down and in line; was spaced out on double rums. It is very annoying and does hamper the relatively easy flow of the narrative. (Please note that Facebook is just as backward and we are forced to also write the same dumbass way.)

Chris is a highly qualified economist (Rhodes University – oohhh), but not smart enough to realise getting a Kindle version of his book on Amazon for £1.99 might bring him in a few more sales. As an economist he writes economically and there is very little speech. When there is it is idiotically simply carried on into the above said not indented paragraphs.

Chris starts slow but eventually he is at the police academy of Morris Depot. Here we read what other writers have done before - bore us silly with how boys become men (lol) whilst throwing in some humour of questionable talent. But, we make an exception as he is not a creative writer - just an intelligent bean counter. He disguises the name of his squad’s various ‘torturers’ and describes them with enough variations of ‘ye olde cliches’ that even Charles Dickens would vomit in his grave.

Next bit is about his various postings and rugby games. It is…okay. BUT, it is after he leaves the police that he writes about what he should have done in the first place! He was very deeeep inside all the sanctions and foreign currency allocation stuff. Now that is very interesting. He knew about shenanigans that made writing on the wall immediately get censored… and as such, by mid1976 he was pulling finger to get the hell out of Rhodesia just as when ME, the future ‘The Gokwe Kid – Dick of the Bushveld’, arrived to rescue the country! (Book coming out soon.)

Historically - there are a couple of minor details I will ask the man about. He gives enough not to bore those that know and conversely enough so as not to bore those that haven’t a clue about Rhodesia. (His observations, whilst in Ireland as a student, are very interesting. Some of his fellow student’s view of his origins as a ‘racialist, land thieving, slave driving, coon flogging, white colonial bastard plantation owner’, are rather eye opening.

Finally –

Whilst the fact he plays with numbers and looks a bit of a wimp on the back cover photograph; Chris comes over as rather hardcore (unless he telling porkies), and I hazard a guess it took him some courage to write some of the more heart breaking stuff. So, all in all, I give 4 out of 5 stars.

Available here –

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mugabe-My-Part-His-Victory/dp/1908447648/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1342702050&sr=1-1

Mugabe is dead and wishful thinking

Lifted from the Guardian here

"The president is well and away on a private holiday to help his daughter prepare for postgraduate studies, but we are expecting him home this week," one of the officials told Reuters. "But some sick and malicious people are spreading false stories about him being seriously ill while others are saying he is dead or dying out there."
The two officials confirmed Mugabe was in Singapore but declined to give any further details. Asked whether the president had also used his 10-day trip for a medical checkup, one said: "We are not going to be engaged over rumours, speculation and wishful thinking."

This wishful thinking I came across on Facebook –

Mugabe’s death goes viral

In extraordinary scenes, the President of Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe, was filmed in his death throes. The appallingly poorly dramatic footage was captured on a Singapore hospital cleaner’s smart phone as the African liberator wrestled with the Devil.

His immediate family can be seen gagging and vomiting as the dictator’s cancer ridden innards finally exploded in what can only be described as really some serious bad Juju. One of the attending doctors, Professor Winkie Wankie Woo, witnessed the terrible battle of wills –

‘A huge, luminous gas, erupted from his anus, filling the hospital ward with a stench so evil, it even made the Devil cough! But even as a huge hole appeared next to his bed, with flames leaping towards him, he refused to go quietly.’

The dramatic footage shows a shadowy shape, dragging the fatally ill dictator out of his death bed, still hanging on to a couple of title deeds of white owned farms, ranting and raving about white gays and Ian Smith.

Shockingly, as Mugabe is forcibly shoved head first into a bubbling, boiling brew of pure filth, by what witness say was obviously the Devil because he had horns and a pitchfork and no halo and wings; his immediate family were ransacking his clothes cupboard and fighting over packets of uncut diamonds they discovered in the pockets of his Gucci suit.

Singapore authorities were quick to close down the YouTube video on the grounds it shed them in a bad light, but did point out that they were still expecting the hospital to be paid for the treatment that they have rendered.

However, First Lady, Grace Mugabe, was overheard to express doubts of coughing up for the bill –

‘Pay for treatment? What kind of treatment is this? I bring an African hero here and all they do is let him get pushed into a pile of shit! I have to pay for this? You can kiss my ass!’

The Gokwe Kid – Back to school

Apologies for not posting for a while. I am back at university and working very hard, as this is the last big one so as to get my degree and really must concentrate. I made a right dog’s dinner with the first block and exam. I will tell you more about that later. Meanwhile, having caught up, I am in the throes of trying to do the next exam. Now, in this module, called Design and Designing, I have to, for Block 2, do a design brief. The idea being, if I studied correctly, I would come up with a proposal of something to a manufacturer.

So I get this idea, and work away and then…as usual, I get this flash of inspiration and it is all there. However, one slight snag. I took a huge risk in the last exam, but even my most faithful followers of my lunacy think this bit might, just might, be pushing the envelope a little tooooo far.

Oh well. Ag Shame, as I did have a right laugh writing it. This is my answer to just one of the loads of questions I have to answer…

So my plan is to present a design brief for a cool system of storage racks for…well read on.

Question 2(b): User profile

I ruled out a large swathe of the human population for several reasons. The list I have narrowed down to a few essential facts. The Inuit natives of Alaska, Siberian reindeer herders, the nomadic Bedouin tribes of the Saudi Peninsula and Antarctica scientists are not on it. This is because I realised large top loaded freezers do not fit in kayaks or sledges and camels get the hump (as the constant roaring of the petrol powered generator disturbs their sleep), and in the Antarctica they have the biggest deep freeze on the planet working for free 24/7. That left a handful of potential users. Most of them appear regularly in the Daily Mail [online] that I occasionally glance at for research reasons that we as students must do to expand our cerebral capacities.

Here is my user profile -

User characteristic

Age: 37, but looks twice that.

Sex: Obviously she is having far too much.

Physical limitations: Due to her debilitating, genetically inherited disease (she was diagnosed with obesity disabilities at the age of seven), shifting off the couch just to use the toilet is a pain in the arse. This odd fact has nothing to do with the product proposal. Quite the opposite actually. My proposal is about filling orifices, not emptying them. Suffice to say she isn’t very active; unless procreating.

Top loaded freezer experience: Quite a lot actually. At the age of 9 she threw a serious wobbly when the Walker’s crisps ran out from the pack of 24 she had opened just after dinner and the drunken male friend of her mother popped her in one for half an hour - so as too ‘chill out a bit’.

Motivation: None whatsoever.

Attitude: A rather bad one.

I developed the following persona for someone falling within my user profile.

Hillary-Porsche Swindleton is a single mother with seven children from five different multi-cultural sources. They all live at home with her except the youngest, 23 month old Victoria-Mercedes, who is serving at present a 16 month custodial sentence for ‘borrowing’ a two pence lollipop from a 99pence store during last year’s riots. Hillary-Porsche is presently heavily pregnant with twins from her present boyfriend, a Zimbabwean asylum seeker who works part time as a delivery driver for Iceland. She works hard as a labourer. Many of her labour takes several hours but she says she is getting used to the job and finds it now relatively easy work. Hillary-Porsche lives in an area of the United Kingdom with no glass houses but a lot of stone throwing.

Her biggest problem is feeding her ever growing offspring. To help, the council has supplied a large, top loaded deepfreeze which has replaced the space in the kitchen where the sink would normally be, but next to the microwave, a 20litre deep fat fryer, a bucket full of disposable knifes and forks, and a large industrial sized wheelie bin.

Hillary-Porsche struggles to satisfy the ever increasing demands of her brooding, bored, benefit bred children. To make thinks easier for her, the freezer is constantly stuffed stupid with food delivered from Iceland every Thursday by Lovemore Sibanda, her on-off present boyfriend. For a kiss and a cuddle he drags the full bin out - bang on time, and fills the freezer. However problem arises with the storage for the various ‘Zap Em, and Crap Em’ microwavable delicacies. Due to the poor internal configuration of baskets and Hilary-Porsche’s difficulty in lifting anything heavier than a two litre bottle of 8% proof cider, the smartly packaged, plastic packets, get packed higgilty-piggilty. In fact, it seems that Lovemore simply tips the lot straight into it.

As a result, there are often massive brawls between the children. For example - such as when the eldest, Horatio, a gay 25 years old, claimed he failed once again as a contestant on X-Factor (tenth attempt), when Simon Cowell reduced him to tears by cynically telling him

“You don’t have a fat chance in hell of ever singing for your supper.”

 When Horatio explained he was very weak because he couldn’t find the faggots he wanted for lunch as they were buried under halal pseudo KFC chicken strips, pork loin chops, that didn’t appear very kosher, and piles of Chinese made pizzas that his half-brother of Naples ancestry eats 24/7; he was laughed off stage. As a result he suffers from lack of self esteem and gets depressed even when watching repeats of the Jeremy Kyle show.

It is therefore imperative for a clearly marked system of storage baskets attached to a mechanised system that creates easy access for every conceivable taste and cultural preferences. This includes having a receptacle to contain exploded bottles of frozen sauerkraut that, for some bizarre reason, Kozlowski, the 12 year old son (named after an infamous Polish plumber who came to repair a broken toilet seat), enjoys eating the stuff - broken glass and all.

The Gokwe Kid and the Lawnmower.

A Rhodesian bedtime story.

Salisbury, Rhodesia - 1971

Once upon a time, far away in darkest deepest Africa, the 13 year old (future) Gokwe Kid, bored as usual, decides it would impress just about everyone (not), if he should drag the lawn mower out of the tool shed and cut the grass. Obviously the garden boy wasn’t around; otherwise he would have correctly chased the insane Kid around the garden with a big stick, rather than let him have a go on the fiendishly complicated machine.

Mindful of Rhodesian Health and Safety regulations, the Kid was correctly attired in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. Standing bare foot he thought about kick starting it, but that would hurt his toes. The Kid already knew the basics of the petrol powered contraption from observing father teaching faithful garden boy how to use it  - along with the usual death threats should it stop working because it had become ‘brokhin’. The whole procedure looked very simple. Just turn a little tap on (that lets the petrol dribble into the engine), and pull a bit of rope like crazy; until the thing starts roaring.

Due to the lack of strength, the Kid needs both hands to pull on the stick attached to the rope and promptly has the machine lying on its side. Adults are capable of holding onto the handle bar with one hand to balance it - whilst jerking the wire something stupid. Anyway. The Kid solves this problem by standing on the engine block and after much tugging, in a huge cloud of blue smoke; it erupts in a mighty roar.

The Kid now played with the funny lever stick thing on the handle. He had watched the garden boy use it whenever he got to the grass that grew so thickly over the poo pit. He thought this throttle up and down malarkey was daft. Better to have the lever all the way down all the time, making the machine scream and shake in violent excitement - for surely this would make the grass cutting go twice as fast?

Feeling pleased with himself, the Kid pushes it around in crazy patterns and is alarmed by the terrible noises made whilst trimming the rock garden. Lucky for him, at the back of the violently shaking contraption is a very strong, metallic blue metal box. This is to catch things in. Like large rocks that make so much noise as they pound into its sides leaving lots of pretty dimples with the paint now cracked at the nipple. The Kid wanders around some more and after a while he notices that the cut grass is following him like a green corridor carpet.

The Gokwe Kid ponders this for a while and decides maybe the newly dimpled bucket box is full! He recalls seeing the garden boy sort of jiggle it till it came off. Grabbing the handle perched on the top of the metal box, he wags it around and lo and behold it falls off. The bucket is very full. Not just with grass but with lots of strange objects like lumps of soil and large stones and a very thrashed prickly pear cactus. The Kid scratches his head and then his bum hole to help him think. He thinks it is better he tip it all out over the fence and into the next-door neighbour’s fish pond.

With box well enlightened, unlike the Kid, who now ponders if he should perhaps clear the rear passage on the still roaring and vibrating machine. Not being a total fool, the Kid thinks that putting his hand inside could make his hand go very pear shaped and his fingers meet a prickly end. He remembers that very morning he had, out of boredom, thrown a large stick for his dog to fetch. The dog found this game boring so the Kid retrieved it now and poked into the lawnmower’s rear orifice. There was a terrible bang and the stick was thrown again for the dog with such tremendous force that the dog next door went to fetch it! Such a stupid dog.

Now with that all clear, the Kid is faced with the logistics of putting the box back on. As the machine was at full throttle, it shook terribly, and the Kid was forced to really ram the tin box around hoping it would grasp a counterpart of some sort when - he accidently hit some wire thingy that was in the way and it flicked up an end onto the tin box.

Suddenly, the Kid had a brief look at his guardian angel that would save his ass so often in the future (the poor thing aged prematurely from the stress), because – he became instantly a bright spark. Simultaneous thoughts shot through his mind  -

He remembered in vivid detail, sexy Miss Flowers, when she explained the difference between AC and DC in General Science class last week. The Kid had paid particular attention because the entire class had gathered around her desk, giving the Kid the opportunity to have quick peep up her dress for a hopeful sign of seeing some spider’s legs. But he now recalled the bit about DC current and its sticky problems. This the Kid realised he was now experiencing this particular experiment a million fold and regretted looking up Miss Flower’s dress.

And…

The most beautiful sound filled the air. A perfectly pitched, falsetto redemption of ‘My Way’. A dead ringer to easily win The Rhodesia X-Factor.

Editor’s Notes. This is incorrect. He is singing the famed African ‘Maiwaa’ or however it is spelt…this is an exclamation of grief surprise. Not ‘surprised grief’, there is a difference.) Pronounced like ‘My Way’ but put together as ‘Myway!’. The nearest English equivalent would be ‘Goodness gracious me!’, which, if you think about, it is a rather dumb expression. ‘Myway!’ is much better. You can change the decibel range, speed, frequency and repetition - Ad infinitum

It is unique. For example –

You wake up and go down stairs (if you have any) and in the kitchen (if you have one) the goldfish has died. You say ‘Myway’ once. (Slow, soft, sad tone.)

You find out your mother in law was run over by a hijacked Taxi. You say ‘Myway’ twice. (Shriek it out loudly but not quite laughter type tone.)

You receive a letter from the bank saying all your credit cards have been cancelled.

You then say ‘Myway’ as if you have just been electrocuted by a short circuiting sparkplug on a lawnmower. This you scream often, at a high note with constant repetition.

And…

The Kid realised he had created a new kind of beat box break dancing of electrifying proportions, guaranteed to win the coveted Rhodesia Has No Talent contest. Spasmodic, non choreographed jerking movements, timed perfectly with short bursts of urine soaking the front of the boxer shorts along with pulses of ‘parp-parp’ exiting out the rear end. All this whilst permanently partnered with a clattering, chattering lawnmower.

And finally…

In a stroke of pure genius, the now multi talented Gokwe Kid, realised he would also be known as the next Thomas Edison. He would appear on Dragon’s Den (Rhodie style), and get the required $50 backing for only 95% share of the firm for his petrol powered, fully automated external defibrillator. This was sanction busting entrepreneurship of all time. Still, the Kid would need to make a plan how to get rid of the chopping blades. It wouldn’t be much of a sale if you managed to restart some retard’s stopped heart, only to chop his head off in slices of skin, skull and brain scattered every where. Still, these problems could be eliminated and properly thought about if the Kid lived, because…

He was dying. At least condemned murderers get to sit in a fancy chair. They don’t have to do some macabre dance of death on tip toes. Whilst small sparks erupted from his bulging eyeballs, the Kid was buggered how he was going to be finally either sent to his maker or get rid of the crazed machine before his lungs finally fried. Luckily, his own stupidity saved his worthless skin. With the throttle on full whack it had chewed up some serious sanction rationed petrol, and after a few loud coughs, the machine shook dramatically a couple of times - and died of thirst.

And so The Gokwe Kid lived another day to spread more anarchy, but he had learnt a very valuable lesson. If he ever gets to have garden one day, it will be covered with AstroTurf.

Dedicated to Beri Hayter because I need her help on my next course.