Crazy mad people

My aunt's house gets crazier by the day. Everything about it is swathed in madness. My aunt curses like no other 60-year-old I know. Her daughter is mad bonkers with a cutting opinion on anything and everything. And her lodger, well, he just baffles me. I was thinking I'd stay until after christmas, however at this rate I am not sure.

A builder was meant to come to the house on Monday, however he never turned up. Since the no-show, all hell has broken loose. I wake up to hear my aunt f-ing and blinding, then she gets on the phone to her daughter who hangs up on her before her lodger gets in on the act by saying, "Well I would have done xyz".

All I hear is noise, all the time.

Hence why I've been trying to entertain myself by other means. I went to Celina's Resort the other day and supped a fruit punch while I drank in the sight of the thick black mud which was devoured by the muddy sea.

In need of some exercise, I then walked along the sea wall, encountering a plethora of junkies and mad people after which I got the bus home where I met another mad man. The 70-year-old insisted on getting off at the same stop as me before showering me with a bevvy of questions including: Are you married? Can I have your number? Why don't you want my number? The best,however, was "Don't you want a big man like me, or would you prefer a teenager?" Brilliant! How about neither you crazy!

It amazes me how old folks here actually approach girls who are over half their age and think with a bit of viagra they can have their wicked way.

My aunty recently told me about an old man who was getting it on with (what I hope)was a legally aged, consenting teenager. Several viagra tablets later, the dude conked out on top of her. Oh dear.

So that's about the length and breadth of the madness that's going on here. I am not really sure how long I will be able to stick it out. On the upside, I am coming on a treat with the steel pan and I now have a grand total of four songs in my repertoire! Yeah!

Drums rock!

A change

What a random rant my last blog was! Even I wasn't interested in it. And I wrote it. Oh dear! Does anyone really care what happened to the paper? Probably not. Anyway, I will draw a line under it. I am feeling pretty blue today. It's strange how you can travel a million miles to get away from your old life, but you can't travel a million miles away from yourself. Situations change, but people don't.

I am feeling a little stagnant at the moment. A feeling that was devouring me in London. However although you can change a situation or a place pretty easily. You can't change how you feel. Which, is essentially, what matters and to a large extent, the problem. People have the power to make themselves feel happy, sad, satisfied or lost.

With regards to myself, I seem to be experiencing an extreme dissatisfaction with my life. Which is strange, considering I have just had two amazing months travelling. I guess a feeling as such was bound to hit me at some point, I just wasn't expecting it to be here in the motherland. In some ways perhaps I was expecting too much from it. Some kind of life changing experience. A bolt of lightening. But when that bolt of lightening fails to materialise one can't help but feel disappointed. In some ways the saying is true. Expectation, indeed, only brings sorrow.

Til tomorrow.

Oh the shame

Oh dear. An almighty blunder occured when I was in charge of the paper. I am so embarrassed. Although I have to stress, it wasn't my fault. Everything was changed at the last minute. I checked the pages five times as the editor told me if there was any mistakes I would get fired. I checked them another five times. And then stupid graphics sent the old page to be exported. Hence why the front page story didn't relate to the turn on page 13. Oh man!!! Cringeworthy or what. A whole page was wrong!!! On a Sunday as well. I feel like Piers Morgan. When he was fired. Although I didn't publish anything false. And I haven't been frogmarched out of the building. Yet. However I can't get away from the fact that it's embarrassing.

Anyway, I will try and keep in mind that it was not my fault, although it sure does feel that way. It's like when someone says something's been nicked, and although you dealt no part in it, you can't help but feel guilty.

It's weird though as I couldn't sleep on Saturday night. I was awake with worry. I must have a sixth sense. Surely. If only I had that when it came to the opposite sex.

It's not right, but it's okay

So here I am, at my job, again. However, on this occasion, I'm not going to talk about the monstrosity that is work! Oh no! Instead I will write about what I've been doing. And what a backward country I am currently residing in. To be honest it's not that bad, I'd even go as far as to say it's entertaining. Today I arrived at work to find a roll of toilet paper on my desk. I like loo roll paper as much as the next person. However it was a quite a surprise. Apparently staff are given a toilet paper allocation each month. Yes, that's right. A toilet paper allocation. Men get one roll, women get two. Bonkers I know. But kinda good. I just need to make sure that I don't get a bout of diarrhoea before October 23 (ie the next time the paper is dished out).

Aside from their crazy toilet culture, I've also been immersing myself in the world of steel pan drums. An amazing 70-year-old man called Roy Geddes is teaching me to play and he is awesome. He's quite possibly the deepest (albeit preachy) man I have ever met and so far I have learnt the F scale as well as Doe A Deer! Oh yeah! It's only a matter of time until I have a band of my own. I think it will be called the Browntones. Other than that, I've been to Bartica, seen Eddy Grant's island house, declined my father's hot friend because of tiredness and had my sidies waxed off for the same price as in England. Shocking, no? I've also tried tirelessly to meet a minister. He keeps palming me off. So I've been harassing his secretary.He's now ignoring me. Oh dear. Tomorrow, I have another drum lesson, then on Friday I am going to West Coast for some roasted aubergine. I can't wait. My cousin actually makes the best food in the world and my belly is ready for it.

So on that note, I will be seeing ya.

PS How can that 13 year old child get everyone under the sun to read her blog and not one person reads mine!!!!

The sign off?

Ageism is rife.

I think I might die...

So it's my sixth night in a row working. And, to be honest, this could quite possible be the worst job in the world. It's horrible. I hate it. Even more than my last job and that's saying something. Would it really be inappropriate to quit on Monday? I think perhaps. But given my current state of mind, I think it's the only thing I can do to save my soul. I am working for one sixth of my pay, six nights a week and it is quite possibly the most awful thing ever. And I mean ever. Hang on I think I've said this. This is slave labour man. Total and utter slave labour. If this is Guyanese culture, then they can stick it up their fat ass. I come to work. Go on facebook. Sub some terrible stories. Check my facebook again. Look at hotmail. Develop a sense of paranoia. See who's on messenger. Get told my job description is sub-editor. Cry because this too horrible a thought to contemplate. Have to listen to another annoying sub-editor. Want to smack her in the face. Infact I want to smack everyone in the face. Oooh rage is what I feel. Pure and utter rage. I am thinking the only way out is to head to Panama. Perhaps I can seek salvation there and speak alot of pigeon Spanish again. That's all from me.

Time waster

I am worried. My blog is no longer thrilling (was it ever?). Instead, it may be worth less than a shilling. Sorry, I just wanted to rhyme. I am still in Guyana, working, six night's a week, proofreading, words, many many words. Oh man, it is sending me potty and partially blind. Worse yet, the work is sporadic, so this means I get itchy fingers. Which means I constantly check messenger. There's no one there as there's a time difference. And I send emails. Many emails. I've never written so many emails in my life. I am worried that as I send so many, certain people won't reply. Especially after my dream last night. Which I can't go into, as I am a little ashamed. Oh well, they have been sent. What can I do? What did I expect? The content is not even as bad as I am insinuating, but as I have nothing to do, I will procrastinate. I like that word, procrastinate, and I like this new style of writing. Short, sharp sentences.

That's enough about work. I went to a visit a man today. Not just any man, but a steel pan player extraordinaire. Man, this dude was amazing. And deep. I start on Monday as part of my little Guyanese culture fest. His garden is packed with plants. His garage is packed with awards. And his house is packed with dogs. I am going to be visiting him three days a week. So by the end of the month, or however long I last, I will be able to start my own band. Excitement ensues and boredom engulfs. So I will go.

The sign off?
Give me some work!

The mother of all motherlands...

I almost feel like this new chapter should herald the start of a new blog. You see, back in February, I visited Guyana, the land of many waters, many bottles of rum and where my many (well two) parents are from. From the moment I stepped off the plane I was taken by the intensely hot humidity, the soft breeze caressing the palm leaves and the shot of golden El Dorado rum you got upon entering Cheddi Jagan International Airport. I felt like I belonged and it was part of the reason I chose to leave my life in London and travel around South America as, I wanted more that anything to end up in Guyana and stay here for a couple of months, get in touch with my roots, pen my novel, drink rum and perhaps find a goat-herding husband. So, here I am, at my first day of work (however that's another story).

I've been here for a week so far and already it's been quite an adventure. As to how long I will stay, I'm still not sure. Given the fact that I'm at work and bored already is probably not the best sign, however hopefully, finger's crossed things will pick up and get better.

So one week ago, I arrived back here. Of course, it was a culture shock all over again as I am sure it was for my pal. Especially when we both learned what a crazy albeit lovely mothering (and smothering) Aunt I had. Everywhere we walked she came, anytime we crossed the road, she'd shout "get in the corner", and anytime we wanted to go out she'd ask why. But she's cool and fun and it's one way to experience the culture. We spent the week galavanting around town, drinking and hanging out with my dad's smokingly hot, hippie-esque, 55-year-old friend. Man this dude is amazing! He smokes special herbs, he sups virgin pina coladas, does yoga, listens to Michael Buble and dances as though he's making love. In fact I think I am in love, although I am pretty sure he is in love with my friend! Damn, how I wish I was white sometimes. It would have given me an edge in this town.

So as my friend departed on Saturday, I thought it was best that I get myself a some kind of job. The Merdien bar beckoned, but the pay was a pittance. Hence, why I am sat at a little newspaper at 11pm on a Monday night proofreading pages about garbage pile-ups and women getting beaten with a bat. Nice, right? Everyone keeps saying to me "you won't last long", and at this rate I probably won't especially as I have to work six days a week for one sixth of my pay back at home. However I will not let this hinder my plan, even the dead cow and dog spewed across the street yesterday won't send me running from this garbage-infested country! I wanted to come, learn about my roots and so forth garner a better understanding of myself. It may take a while, but I guess I have four weeks (if I so wish) of proofreading (god help me, as soon as monday hits, I am beggin to do some reporting), sipping rum and getting bitten by mosquitoes.

Heaven help me!