There are madmen out there. Even in the quietest, nicest of places. Seemingly the proportion in a given community or geographical area is pretty uniform. So whether you’re in Kensington or Tower Hamlets, Margate or Truro, you’ve got the same chance of being exposed to the actions of a ‘madman’. They say.

I was speaking to a contact in Ghana yesterday, a 28 year old teacher, very erudite and charming. She said to me, by way of opening our conversation ‘Wassup’. I’m not sure if it was interrogative or otherwise. Possibly a statement of intent.? She then wanted to know how old I was and if I was single. Hmm. I’m after business opportunities in the Gold Coast and I end up talking to an opportunistic match seeker. So much for using Skype in the early hours. Especially after several bottles of Masterbrew at the Aqua followed by a glass or three of London Porter (absolutley lishhh). Lesson learned, be clear headed and a bit more cynical when seeking openings in the marine services sector within West African oil nations.

Talking of ‘clear headed’ or rather the lack of such a beast, mummy was round last night for dindins, it was her 81st birthday and eldest son was trying to be a nice sunny wunny for once. All went well until it came time to drive her home. She wanted to stop at the local grog shop to load up with wine. Not good, mummy is a non-recovering alcoholic who is in denial. It does not a pretty site make. We’ve been through these situations before. I say tosh along the lines of ‘choose between having a family and the bottle’. Last night she chose the bottle, clearly and emphatically so. Not nice. So be it then mummy, chosse you bed and lay in it. Night night.

Night night to drunky mummy and Georgina Tuffour, whoever you are.

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