Sugarbabes

Having done my grocery shopping late on Friday night, Saturday saw me just strolling around the shops doing window shopping amongst all else I could afford to carry lightly as I wasn't driving.  Actually I'm waiting for my old banger to be collected by a son of a friend of mine who has shown interest in it as I gave up driving to work and I'm now in my 5th month of commuting.  Owning a car is something short of commiting a criminal offence these days.  If the environment care brigade doesn't guilt-trip you, then local government action to tax car owners at all given junctions certainly finishes you off.  A colleague of mine comes to mind on this latter annoyance.  His borough, has now introduced higher taxation for those that drive larger vehicles for parking bays.

Talk of parking bays gets me - isn't it interesting to see how persons become so attached to a piece of land infront of their house that's not even their land?  I can understand someone jumping up and down like a drunken monkey on finding a car parked in their driveway - that would piss me off too I guess.  But surely here in the UK with all these terraced houses etc - people still haven't quite come to terms that the streets do not form part of the lease for their houses!  Some nasty little minds have even gone as far as put punctures in tyres of those who dare to park infront of their houses!  that reminds me - while I was away some upstart went and bumped into my old banger - poor thing wasn't even moving anywhere!  Just as well there's a buyer willing to take it off my hands with the dent.

I started to type this blog late Sunday night but got sidetracked.  I made the mistake of leaving on my ID on-line which soon saw me seduced away to chat to friends I'd not heard from for ages.  Before I knew it, I'd lost the plot to what I'd wanted to blog about here as most of what I was going to say ended up being chatted to my friend.  That's the thing with these instant messenger things - they are good but can be very destructive in managing your time on line.

Therefore I can no longer blog about the sermon or the various characters in church that tickled my forever wandering mind as I sat through this Sunday past.  I had to listen very hard as I'd gone in dressed in typical african garb - I'm not getting enough attention there of late you see as I get confused for one of the same crowd so I needed to make a statement.  Failed to carry this off well though when my kids started talking and gave the plot away.  For a while there, the vicar thought I was a new member to the congregation and had him going trying to impress me with what the church had to offer me.  Why is it only the visitors get star treatment in church?  BTW the sermon was on the greatest do-it-yourself book ever written and would you believe it - yeap you got it!  The bible. Now why would anyone not have worked that one out?

After such a spiritual start to the week, imagine when I come across Richard Dawkin's comment in the Times today. The wit of this man!  Fancy saying there is no God and that all who claim to have seen or believe in God are just delusioned souls suffering from the same psychosis akeen to those declared insane by society.  though he did have a point there - I mean what's the difference between Peter Sutcliffe (Yorkshire ripper) who claimed God had told him to kill women and Bush and Blair's claim for the current war in Iraq?   Richard went on to state that visions are not good grounds for believing that ghosts or angels exist - I can almost hear the uproar in the papal grounds! 

Oh well I will still hold on to what I believe if only to keep my head above water and get the vicar to certify a form for my daughter to get into that faith school. 

My current life albeit not comparable to this little 13mths old toddler David (that is, the life he is stated to have had before lady luck shone on him) none the less I too want Madonna to adopt me.  Though I guess I don't actually qualify on most counts.  My parents are still alive, I live in the UK, I'm past the cutesy age of being carried and whipped into shape and probably wouldn't attract any attention from the papparazi.  So on those vital misqualifications, Madonna cannot be blamed for not opting for this old goat.

According to one journalist, a comparison is made of the kind of life David would've had had he stayed in Malawi to what he is now faced with. Entitled a tale of two lives:

Life in Lipunga - family life would've been an orphanage, weekends inclusive with no education and relying on charity for food and likely to die of malaria or some other chronic illness before clocking 37.  Good old footsubishi would've done for transport and guaranteed to have no life income - of the monetary kind anyway.

Life with Madonna on the other hand now sees little Davey family life being spent in a £5.7mansion here in UK, with weekends at the family country retreats in Wilts and attending school at some very posh Frenchie place. He could eat whatever his palate dictates and his adoptive mom being into all sorts of exercises every thought of, the body would not stop to get ill coupled with all the best health care there is on hand. As for income, why worry, there's a good chance of just sitting back and waiting for a slice of  £300 fortune.

Now is there any illusion left why Davey's biological dad isn't complaining and admonishing all you "self-styled lovers of David to leave my baby alone".  Believe me - I too want to join Madonna's family and I'm jealous as mud that little Davey beat me to the post!  So you spoilsport Human Rights Consulates etc..take note. 

Mind you I do hope Davey doesn't go Michael Jackson way not knowing which way is black or white what with "mommie" prancing around in a leotard ...

I have come to the maddening conclusion that all workmen are the same the world over. 

Three weeks into my return, I noticed that the leak in the bathroom upstairs from the toilet was very serious business.  The fact that the bathroom is located directly above my kitchen pressed this home much sooner than I'd otherwise have cared to take drastic action.  By drastic I mean getting the job of repairing the leak seen to immediately as opposed to putting it off as I usually do - I've become quite good at the ostrich routine of late.  It keeps me sane.  After realising that the emergency call out meant 72hrs turn up by the local repairs, buckets to catch the leaking water in the ceiling of the kitchen became a normal fixture. I drew the line at using saucepans - couldn't leave it down with anyone to eat from my place were that to happen!

After a week of living in what was fast becoming a reinaction of Titanic in its initial stages, the kitchen ceiling threatening mutiny, the repairers turned up, confirmed there definitely was a leak in my upstairs bathroom.  I basically lost access to my upstairs bathroom - a sacrifice worth it, given the rebellion my kitchen looked to carry out.  A much better surprise was on the way (at least that's what I thought!) when I was told I was going to have a new bathroom suite.  There was a catch though, I had to take time off to facilitate this and considering my leave was eaten up already, I had to scratch may head around this!  My poor head did protest - but would I listen to it?  Oh no, I was gonna have my new bathroom suite if it killed me - and kill me it is almost doing!

The fellas to bring this bathroom suite to a reality came - convinced me to start the work ASAP and that they'd have it done within 5days. (I do believe I'm getting very gullible in my old age!).  It's hard to lie at my workplace - basically it's hard for to lie, my mouth runs away with me and I find myself putting my foot in it!  Besides, one can only have so many deaths in the family.  I've killed off so many of my relatives that work gets suspicious if I mention someone has died.  That's one excuse out of the window.  The kids were in various places with school activities which I'd already mentioned to colleagues. This ruled them out too.  Fortunately mom was around for some of the days to chip in around these "scheduled works".

Well workmen bring a whole new meaning to "work" and "men". The initial troupe came alright - stripped the whole place, cleaned up and said they'd return to finish off the following day.  In the meantime, we couldn't use the bath - only they omitted to tell mom this was for just a day. A fact I found puzzling especially as I wondered how we were to know the sealant had taken properly for the bath. Being curious as ever, I forgo their notification the following morning and filled up the bath just to check and lord behold, there was a leak in the outlet underneath.   Anyway, the following day, the troupe didn't surface, nor the day after.  Not amused, I rung their offices.

Surprise, surprise, the troupe came less than an hour after I'd been off the phone to their boss.  These guys however were not plumbers so couldn't sort out the leak in the bath system - they were painters you see and one has to take note of specialists when they make calls!  Fair enough I thought, but you guys are all under the same contracting company, how about some communication eh?  Well this is like waiting to bleed blood out of a stone.  They have an unwritten rule of not communicating even though they work in the same company and know each other jolly well.  It's part of their money generating scheme you see.  Anyway the painters & decorators managed in the course of 12hrs to do just one side of the wall, which they then said needed to dry off - so they'd return the following day to finish it off.  Well guess what, they too disappeared the following day and got lost- possibly at the pub.  I tell you by the 5th day, with a house looking like a building site, they hadn't even cleaned up when they left, you could say I was not very a happy bunny.  Fuming and royaly pissed off after spending all day Friday waiting for them to surface just about tipped the scales of my anger to a full blown fury.  Even my boss couldn't reprimand me about taking a day off to stay in to wait on these guys!    Honestly workmen demand more time than showbiz persons - the main difference being one gets screwed for crap appearance most of the time!

Monday saw me on the phone to their manager who again took out his "whip" to remind the boys to put in an appearance to placate the ranting crazy woman.  Placate is exactly what these cowboys did, case of they came, saw and walked out after god knows exactly what they did that day!  My bath was still leaking, my walls were still waiting to be stripped and redecorated or tiled (thank God I told them not to remove my existing tiles and mirrors!), and the rubbish they were leaving was now taking up residence underneath the bath! Cheeky buggers!  Talk about nightmare workers!  Well I took off another Wednesday morning and lay in wait...Soon as it hit 10am and they'd not shown as they said, I was back on the blower to their manager who tried the same placating crap.  The cowboys came shortly after, again..., went about stripping and sealing where necessary, took off the radiators, sealed all else that was unfinished then walked out on a departing well known phrase ... yeah you got it. "we'll be back in the morning". Even Arnold meant it when he said those darn words - well without the "morning" bit of course!

For a job quoted and pushed to take 5days, it's going into a month!  With the temperatures first approaching what they ought to be in winter, I have a beautiful bath in a cold unfinished bathroom suite!  Oh well - at least the leaks into my kitchen are no longer!  Talk of the kitchen reminds me - I need a new kitchen suite and prayers to boot for that happening!

Hi Friends,

Drinking Cold water after meal = Cancer!

For those who like to drink cold water, this article is applicable to you.
It is nice to have a cup of cold drink after a meal. However, the cold water will solidify the oily stuff that you have just consumed. It will slow down the digestion. (a lot to be said for drinking cool water from clay pots as practiced by our ancestors!)

Once this "sludge" reacted with the acid, it will break down and be
absorbed by the intestine faster than the solid food. It will line
the intestine. Very soon, this will turn into fats and lead to cancer. It is best
to drink hot soup or warm after a meal.

A serious note about heart attacks

HEART ATTACK PROCEDURE: (THIS IS NOT A JOKE!)

Women should know that not every heart attack symptom is going to
start in the left arm hurting.  Be aware of intense pain in the jaw line. You may never have the first chest pain during the course of a heart attack. Nausea and intense sweating are also common symptoms.  60% of people who have a heart attack while they are asleep do not wake up.  Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep however or you  may think you are dreaming the pain.

Let's be careful and be aware.  The more we know, the better chance we could survive... 

Scenario: Let's say it's 6.15 pm and you're driving home .

Suddenly you start experiencing severe pain in your chest that starts to radiate out into your arm and up into your jaw. You are only about five miles from the hospital nearest your home.  Unfortunately you don't know if you'll be able to make it that far.  You have been trained in CPR, but the guy that taught the course did not tell you how to perform it on yourself.

Could help themselves by coughing repeatedly and very vigorously. A deep breath should be taken before each cough, deep and prolonged, as when producing sputum from deep inside the chest.

A breath and a cough must be repeated about every two seconds without let-up until help arrives, or until the heart is felt to be beating normally again.

Deep breaths get oxygen into the lungs and coughing movements squeeze the heart and keep the blood circulating. The squeezing pressure on the heart also helps it regain normal rhythm.

In this way, heart attack victims can get to a hospital.

The burden of joys of Halloween...

 For those of you who may not know what this public holiday which is about to descend on us is about - Halloween, I think it's a pagan practice of devil worshiping that has been commercialized and made to look innocent and fun. For luck of finding anything to entertain us in the winter months, persons take to dressing in ghoul outfits resembling dimembered corpses or a cross between the Texas chainsaw massacre and Michael Jackson's Thriller video.

They then go forth to play a version of knock-down ginger or is it tommy knockers? on strangers homes.  (Salespeople take heed - there's a method to this madness which might just work to your cred! ) The idea is they knock: you answer; they ask you "trick or treat"?; and you get the choice of picking whichever takes your fancy.  

In my years of answering the goddamn door, I've yet to see or hear a trick worth getting up to answer the door for,  let alone hand out the treats I and so many others are pressurised into buying and stocking up in wait for this carry-on. Most often I think some of us do so out of cowardice - your really don't wanna upset those ghoul-lookalikes less they follow up a visit when you least suspect and push dog-excrement through your letterbox!  This is almost comparable to a similar scenario of kids on streets chanting "penny for the kid" - the "kid" in question is no other than a haphazardly made doll in remembrance of Guy Fawkes who wanted to change the layout of English politics.  If he only knew how his act has been a source for so much enterpreneurship - in fact his infamous plan appears to have gone down in history more so than those who got him punished, ... returning to some of these kids on the streets... you don't wanna annoy them by not donating something to them when they stop to ask you - you may walk away with something not quite so nice as a memoir.

So we cosy up to Autumn/fall, watch the leaves on the trees change colour before joining the circle of life.  We start reacquainting ourselves with the pub/bar scene in addition to all those warm puddings/desserts and fat-laden meals to keep our bodies well cushioned for the cold months up ahead.  And so we keep a watchful eye out on any resemblance for entertainment before Christmas takes a grip, making Halloween a start of winter diversions ... better head on down to fill up those treat bags to lay in wait for those tommy knockers!

Research Associate, Institute of Cellular Medicine, £21,461 - £31,525

Musculoskeletal Research Group, Institute of Cellular Medicine

Newcastle University is a centre of excellence in clinical and translational research, and has close link with the Newcastle upon Tyne Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust. The Faculty of Medical Sciences has achieved the highest grades of 5 and 5* by national and international assessors in the most recent RAE 2001. The purpose-built £4.5 million Clinical Research Facility, a joint venture of the university and the Newcastle Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust, is equipped with state-of the-art facilities and is well-placed to promote bench-to bedside translational research.

This exciting post, funded by the faculty, for a duration of 2 years, is available to develop research into the role of regulatory T cells in clinical autoimmune diseases. In our department, we have assessed to several well characterised patient cohorts including systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE), psoriatic arthritis and spondylo-arthropathy, early rheumatoid arthritis, sjogren’s syndrome as well as autoimmune polyendocrinopathy candidasis ectodermal dystrophy (APECED), a condition with organ-specific autoimmunity and is linked to targeted mutation of the AIRE gene. Successful applicant will be expected to lead research into the role of regulatory T cells in mediating both systemic and organ-specific autoimmune processes and to establish projects into the role of cellular interaction of regulatory T cells with parenchymal and other non-immune cells in end-organ tissue damage.

A PhD in relevant subject is required. Experience in cellular immunology and immunohistochemistry will be an advantage but not essential. Starting salary is £24,161 – 31,525 p.a. depending on skills and experience.

Informal enquiries should be made to Dr. Fai Ng, Tel: +44-(191)-2228125 or e-mail: Wan-fai.Ng@ncl.ac.uk.

Closing date: 23 October 2006

Job Ref: A764R

To apply for this position, you should submit your written application, including a CV giving full details of your qualifications and experience plus names and contact details of two referees to Dr Wan-Fai Ng, Clinical Senior Lecturer in Rheumatology, Musculoskeletal Research Group, Catherine Cookson Building, Faculty of Medical Sciences, University of Newcastle, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE2 4HH.

For further information: http://www.ncl.ac.uk/vacancies/vacancy.phtml?ref=A764R

I took a call from a longstanding patient of ours today and the it's what transpired during this phone that reminded me of an incident I went through in Ug.  I know some of you have been asking me to pour out more than I've already bored you with on this, but heck, if this poor woman had to listen to me, then all the more for  you guys to suffer.  To be honest - I'd all but forgotten this incident - I know - I've already remarked on my poor memory...You see I lost some of my stuff when my luggage dilly-dalied on the way back here - stupid cases didn't know where they were heading and even when found they just couldn't stay closed and gave access to all and sundry that cared to feel around.  Ming boggles as to how combination locks were picked!!

There's a new tarif about in the UK - well those of you in the States might find this to be old news actually because Iets face it, you guys are way ahead on the freebies when it comes to network communications, on phones anyway. This might explain Big Brother's actions ...and so this patient was sharing her good news with me on having secured a line with BT that allows her free phone calls on all national dial-outs and I'm like - pity this has not caught on in Ug or any African states come to think of it.

You see I bought this international SIM card before leaving the UK. The spiel the sales person gave me was enough to get me to credit the SIM card with as much dosh as I could muster to cover my verbal hankering to my kids etc... Lord behold my excitement at inserting the SIM card when I got to Ug only to find that although it registered Celtel - that's just as about as far as it would function!  I tried to take it up with Celtel - what wonderful customer care they have!  Basically they asked me to pay for the SIM. I smelt a rat and kindly requested to have my card back to take it up with the guys back in the UK. On attempting to use my handset with a local SIM card  - my handset came up as blocked.  This didn't half piss me off to no gain I could tell you.  Not for luck of trying , the damn cellphone was as useless as a Dodo!  Just as well I'd brought two handsets - one to flog off to tide me over my stay - I'd heard there was a market for them you see, well I was fortunate the person who'd promised to buy it was patient to wait until my leaving Ug!    Just that those damn issues with security prevented me bringing in a fair number.  Ug is quite expensive actually - you spend more but earn virtually zilch. 

So I was left to using it as a reminder for taking my medication etc...But wait for it, my vodafone prescriber was still in overload - only my network subscriber in the UK quietly ommited to warn me to cancel or switch off my voicemail box!  That safely explains one of my bills on return - I am about to pay a visit to that nice salesperson that sold me that SIM card which proved to be fruitless...and while I'm at it, this bleeding handset needs replacing too.  I don't know what the heck is going down with the tech designers for Nokia and SonyErics' - the battery life is crap for the SE, as for Nokia well...

Lemme try and take you through the joys of a woman's annual physical - not for the faint hearted I should advise.

The annual physical are words that strike fear and embarrassment into a woman's heart.  Some women deal with it by avoiding it altogether.  They think if they go for a check up, their body will automatically manufacture diseases so they prefer to take the ostrich approach to medicines.  Others race off to the doctor's office when they chip a nail. 

I don't know a lot about the male's annual physical , well actually that's a fib... but then again why spoil a man's perspective to blog. I imagine they get their vitals checked.  They get to aim and neatly deposit urine and sperm samples into a cup.  Mind you - they too need to have their "assets" checked out  no doubt - at least I'd advocate those who don't to definitely start doing so. Then they pay the bill, arrange the next annual physical and head back to work.  We women also get our vitals checked - albeit a little differently.

It starts with a cup for the uine specimen.  Why can't they make it a wide rimmed cup?  We have to balance precariously with our hose and skirt around our ankles, careful not to sit on the seat.  We've got one hand holding our blouse out of the way so that we can see - or rather estimate - whether we're going to hit that cup.  The other hand is holding the cup with two fingers while we pray we don't miss.

How about the mammogram?  We stand in a chilly room, stripped to the waist while a technician handles our girls.  I  guess we should be grateful that it is a female technician but more than once I've wondered if a male one might not be more apropos. (Something I read somewhere about this woman obsessed with air travel of recent so she could get to be frisked comes to mind!) We could then rationalise his arranging our breasts this way and that.  We could forgive him for taking two freezing slabs of metal and mashing out boobs between them while cautioning us to hold still.  There is no soft music or flowers, the technician calls you 'miss' and never once do you get offered a cigarette afterwards. (Not that I mind personally on this but still...!)

You head off to another room for the Marquis de Sade of all examinations...the Pap Smear.  Good gracious - 'pap smear'?  In this age of marketing hooks and public relations, who on earth thinks that that is an attractive name for this state sanctioned molestation?  You enter the room to find a table adorned with things left over from the Spanish Inquisition.  The table sits there trying to look innocent accompanied by grey, cold stirrups festively dressed in pot holders and a strategically positioned lamp.  You climb aboard wishing you were someplace else - any place else - back in the mammogram room even.  You lay back and wait for your doctor.

The doctor apparently believes that your examination should be on public broadcasting because she enters with a small troupe of passers-by.  You're asked to put your feet into the stirrups and assume the position.  You've normally reserved this position for your husband or lover but there you are, in full access mode with everything clear up to your tonsils exposed from the bottom up.

You realise that your dignity was merely compromised during the mammogram but now, you feel your dignity shrivel up as the doctor rolls up on the stool, flips on the lamp and the passers-by gather together to observe the cremation of your pride, self worth, dignity and joie de vivre.

"Please slide down further and relax your knees," the doctor says and reaches for what looks like barbeque tongs and a shoe horn. 

"Relax my knees"? Is she trying to be funny?

"This will feel a bit cold." They can put a man on the moon but they cannot warm up gynaecologicaly instruments.

You lay there while the doctor examines you, pokes things into you that you suspect might be unnecessary if not illegal.  The theatre crowd steadily avoid your eyes and you stare straight up to the ceiling wishing for death  or aleast unconsciousness.  You bemusedly wonder if your doctor actually goes home and has dinner after this.

After what seems like days, the doctor finishes mining your body, snaps off her gloves, pats your knee and says, "You can get dressed now." And the whole party troops out.

You lay there for a few minutes feeling like a two dollar hooker who got stiffed out of her two dollars.  Dismay has set in like rigou mortis.  You feel the lubricant the doctor used seep down your legs.  You consider screaming but decide you didn't want any more attention that day.

You dress quietly after using two boxes of tissues to tidy up.  As you step out into the street you feel as if the world had changed while you were in there undergoing your rite of passage as a woman.  Everything is grey like the stirrups and you feel the sudden desire for a good stiff drink.  You head home and call in sick for the rest of the day.  You close the drapes, grab a shower and pour yourself a large glass of something strong.  You lived through yet another annual physical.  You know it's a good thing to do; you know you're gladto find nothing wrong with you.  it makes sense to have your yearly check up what with the scares about cancer, AIDS and a host of new bacteria and viruses.  You know you need to take good care and to remain always aware of your health. None of it was fun but after a few belts of booze you relax and giggle. Next year you're going to get drunk then go to your appointment.  You could sell tickets.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been working on thrashing out a few ideas that are driving me around the bend.  You see when I went to Ug recently it was not only to compare the developments harped on about by those that have been going back and forward, but also to see how I could best put my existing skills to use to serve my motherland in addition to those I feel are in most need of them.  I have had to stay up late on most evenings and weekends to jot down ideas as they invade my grey matter to the point of becoming almost reclusive.  This hasn't boarded well with those close to me I have to say, least of all to my finances.  You see I was aiming to put in some extra hours of overtime to make ends meet.  Life is definitely not a bundle of laughs as a single mom - though come to think of it, it could also be hell in a marriage/relationship whereupon you have a  for a hubbie!  Still that's another story not worth going into ...  Come to think of it, I still can't get my head around the story of a dead woman that was kept alive on the machine to incubate her unborn child...  I really am going insane!

I read somewhere in a news article that us single  moms are more likely to take to smoking as a way of compesating - well for one thing - I just cannot afford the damn stuff and another, I hate having dog-breath.  Anyway, you young people out there - smoking is not good for you and regardless of aiming to make beautiful corpses, it just aint worth the pain of lying on a hospital bed with tubes stuck up your nostrils hyperventilating like a fish out of water.  Now there's a sight that doesn't make it into the beauty awards I can tell you.

I've just realised I missed an opportunity to meet the great man that managed to escape the claws of the military junta back in Ug! (Well what's going down in Ug can almost be comparable to what's taking place in Burma if the dispatches programme on last night is to be believed!) My mom is not best pleased about my remiss, especially as she has unfinished business with him - she last met with him way back when still back in Ug and probably wanted to reminance over old times!  My memory is so bad - not helped by my concentration span of a sperm whale.  I really really need to sort my memory out before I forget myself...Anyway, back to my intended plan of action to see myself in living and working in Ug...

Starting to search into redeployment into Ug is no easy task let me tell you.  Where exactly does one start anyway? So much information can lead one to get more confused than when they first start out. Should I look to paid employment - or starting up a business? If it is to be paid employment, which companies or organisation is best placed for my type of skills and will my relocation costs be met? If it is to start up a business - how in the heck will I be able to network amongst persons I've never had much in common with? It's bad enough networking here!!  I had such a relaxed face on returning to the UK, now you could be forgiven for thinking my face is a map of a rugged country. It's also beginning to get grey and dull coupled with the constant rain that is threatening to drown out any plants that dare think we were heading for a mediteranean climate change.

 I've had to lay out my action plan - now that's an interesting thought - it took me almost a week to even understand how to start on this!  By the time I started this, I realised I had to be upgrading on my skills by attending courses which could justify that I could actually do what I'm already doing.  Typical - you spend months if not years doing a job only to find that you've become so adapt at looking like the PC you share ideas on!  It's only a matter of time before you are relegated to the backroom pending recycling. 

The old lady I shared a journey back home with today could have a story or more to tell on recycling!  Now that's another thing... how in the hell do I always manage to get into conversation with the most interesting human beings?  I'd no sooner than sat next to this lady and she went into full throttle about all sorts ranging from where she bought her knickers to the cost of her very comfortable shoes.  (They really were quite good shoes too and she had a cashmere coat which her niece had given her to boot! )  I actually felt offended - she was stealing my limelight.  It's usually me that goes off at a tandem.  Still, I got to hear about all her 93yrs and her 90yr old sibling.  She mentioned her age in a whisper for fear others would recognise her as being too old.  I must say she was in good shape - she could still walk albeit her shopping trolley acted as her walking aid and she was quick to remark on how sturdy it was.  I liked her actually - she was able to make the long dreary bus journey worthwhile.  Makes a change to the sullen silence that is like a written commandment amongst fellow commuters.  People are so scared of smiling let alone greeting each other in public.

Now I must get back to updating my diary of action plan towards returning to live and work in Ug - I wonder if there's a job centre in Ug worth sending my CV to