Sod’s law

Sod’s law is alive and kicking.  Here’s a story that will probably not warm the cockles of your heart but the telling of it will considerably ease my  pent-up frustration  and hopefully rejuvenate my flailing failing ailing sense of humor which is no humor at all.

Yesterday with a song in my heart and a spring in my step I made my way to the nearest train station, planning to take a train to the next town where there’s a huge naval exhibition.  German and SA warships!!!  Come aboard!!!   Experience the power!!!!!

You can’t ever even get into the naval dockyard here as a visitor – I tried sneaking in once and got thrown out.  I also tried telling the guard I was a script writer and wanted to do some research for a film script I was working on.  He stared at me as if I was a spy or Dreaded Infiltrator.  And threw me out.

So, imagine my delight when they said we can all come aboard.  I envisioned a quiet, atmospheric, stimulating day being overwhelmed by the massive power of said warships and all their guns and things.  I also envisioned a quiet peaceful walk along the beach on my way to the train station.

Firstly, the wind whipped up so by the time I got to the station I was more or less shredded.  Then the trains had stopped running and the queue for the buses was 3 miles long.  Bit of an exaggeration.  I piled into an African taxi and indulged in 15 minutes’ worth of paranoia because nobody else wanted to take this taxi.  Why not?  Was the driver a known drug-dealer or white-women slave trader? Well, it was risk it or stand in a queue and be whipped and shredded and burnt to a crisp by the hot African sun.  So I stuck with my Taxi and my panaroia.  Gradually other passengers boarded –  and I was half squashed to death between very fleshy women, then forced to breathe greasy-old-oil-smelling Kentucky friend chicken stuck right under my nose.  Eugh.

Somehow we made it without accident, but when we got there, the whole of Africa had had the same idea as me.   I HATE CROWDS and the wind had become gale force.  Did I give up and go home?  No, not me.  I pushed onward like a Christian solder.  Was that a good move?  No.  Bad move.  Got on board a ship which didn’t look powerful at all, but as if made of plastic, had no guns and there was nothing to look at.  Worse, we all had to go single file up and up and up and up 4 bloody ship-storeys in the whipping, shrieking, shredding wind.  Only one way down – all the way up first.  Holy bloody cow.  I considered jumping overboard as the wind would surely have carried me to land, but given my luck of the day it probably would have dropped me in a desert or a pride of hungry lions.

So up I went, head spinning, sure I was going to die.  Then I realized there was absolutely no security.  Anybody could have come on board with a bomb.  Suddenly every Joe looked like a potential criminal.

On I ploughed, enraged with god, furious with the damn navy, why didn’t they advertise that there’d be nothing for us to see?  All the interesting things and rooms were under lock and key of course.  Bad temperedly I crawled off and pushed and shoved my way, blaspheming, through the thronging masses, blocking my ears to some thumping loudspeaker music and the raging blasting wind.

Only to find there was no transport going back.

Hot, disheveled, pissed off, disappointed, I passed an ice-cream joint.  All I could think of was “I need pleasure.  NOW.”  Forgot about having diaorrhea all last week.  Ate the ice-cream oh creamy cold bliss.  There is still a god.

Even got an African taxi going my way.  Thank you Jesus, this horrible day is over.

Did I say something about sod’s law?  The taxi dropped me off half an hour away from home.  Footsore, legsore, earsore, whipped and shredded, I began my hot, windy, deep in the heart of Africa, uphill trek home.  And that’s when the recollection of last week’s upset tummy was rather forcibly forced upon my focus.

Just, just – just! – made it home. The rest I leave to your imagination.

Bloody hell.  What a horrible day.

The moral of the story?  The stupid navy should have let me into the dockyard when I wanted to go and look around, then I would have already known that there’s nothing to see.  And they shouldn’t have shown us ships made of plastic and not powerful-looking at all.

As far as morals go, it’ll do.

So it’s back to white rice, coca-cola and immodium.  Yum.


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