Omosh has for the past few days been a man intimately acquainted with the nuances of suffering. His stomach has been objecting strongly to its contents, and has expressed this displeasure in powerful bursts of diarrhoea. Omosh has made his own beaten path from his workplace to the facilities, and periodically the rhythmic thumping of his footfalls as he plays Russian roulette with his digestive system, rushing frantically for the White Throne.

While Omosh equalizes the pressure within and without, those not on the know are wont to react differently. The most drastic of these was the old man found trembling under the bushes. Upon further questioning, the old man revealed that he had fought in Burma and he knew the sounds of an Elephant gun when he heard one.

But after a brief rule on his ivory throne, Omosh returns to his duties without the bother of washing his hands, and within no time is whistling merrily and tunelessly as he energetically applies his hands and knuckles to kneading the chapati dough. For Omosh is the head chef at one of our leading eating establishments.

As he kneads the dough he hails the arrival of Kamash with a hearty laugh. Kamash is supplementing his income from the catering industry by striking out with a bit of farming. In fact, it is from his farm that he has just arrived, having spent the entire morning digging and furrowing the soil. He did not posses any oxen but what was beyond question was that after a hard morning’s toil he indeed smelt powerfully like one.

A harried waitress collides heavily with Kamash and within moments the isles of a beef stew lie around the islands of Kamash’s big, muddy boots. A son of a soil most days, today he was exceptionally so. Earthy, loamy soil clung grimly to his boots. With a muttered oath Kamash stepped out of the stew, earth suddenly cascading.

The waitress, a believer in wasting not and wanting not, gatherers the beef and soil seasoning into a bowl and it’s back to the stove for some quick heating.

Someone comments about Kamash’s hand-eye coordination and Omosh is overcome in paroxysms of mirth. He takes his hands out of the chapati dough and slaps his grimy thighs with amusement before resuming duty. Tears roll down his cheeks and mix freely with the chapati dough

Kamash has by now removed his sweater and reveled that underneath is a vest whose pigment flits from white in odd areas to a golden brown underneath the armpits. Anxious to get to work, Kamash stuffs several bunches of kale under his left arm and a bundle of french beans under his right. Realizing that he needs to somehow carry the knife, a passing waitress is convinced to hold it in such a fashion as to allow him to grip it with his teeth. And it is thus Blackbeard sets off for duty.

Bertha the cook shrilly demands for Omosh to step on it. Bertha’s red eyes are the very image of the determined employee to work off a debilitating flu. As she deftly spins and flips the cooking chapati with her left hand, she blows her nose with her right. To introduce variety she occasionally changes hands.

Prudence clicks noisily as she discovers while slicing ginger she has inadvertently sliced a passing cockroach into half. After all of a second of thought, Prudence leaves little doubt that in for a penny, in for a pound. She proceeds on to slice the cockroach into quarters, then eights and soon the very finely chopped ginger seasoning is ready.

It is at this point the consignment of meat arrives. It is in a creaking cart being pushed by a beefy, sweating gentleman in a bloodstained white coat. The ashes from his unbelievably pungent cigarette are absently shaken off into the meat.

Omosh temporarily leaves the dough to inspect the meat. This he does simply by grabbing pieces from the cart and examining them from a range of a couple of inches. Some of the pieces of meat appear to be anatomically impossible to be beef or goat or sheep. The discovery of whiskers at the bottom of the cart triggers a fierce bargaining session and finally Omosh accepts the meat.

The butcher is stopped at the door by a bellow and a moment later he reaches into the air and easily catches the dog collar that has been tossed at him, as well as an admonishment to be careful what he forgot in his cart.

A trio of waiters appear with dishes from a tables they have cleared. They quickly divide the leftovers into three

1) White gold – Barely touched food & salad. These are promptly put on new plates and sent right out
2) Gold – Food sightly contaminated by tomato sauce, etc. This is rinsed in the rusted container in the corner.
3) Copper – Unrecognizable. Tomato sauce, chill, already been chewed, etc. This is converted into soup

And so before we sit down to our meal let us let Omosh hurry to relieve the tensions within

PIC OF THE DAY

Thank ye Ms K

After an initial panic, President Mwai Kibaki walks confidently after remembering that his fancy dress outfit, a clown, is safely in his office

En Vogue – Hold On (To Your Love)