tHiNkEr’S rOoM

Few things are simultaneously exciting and terrifying like flying. I love everything about flying except the takeoff, and specifically the bit when the plane levels out. There was a flight I once took when I was sure that the damn thing had stopped mid-air and was deciding whether or not to crash. I love the rest. flying over the clouds, taking photos of clouds and formations and leaving the air flight hostesses in no doubt that the only time that powdered gunk they call milk will be introduced into my cup I will at the time be flying not as a passenger but as cargo. There’s no way I’m paying outrageous fare to drink powdered plaster of Paris. I know there is real milk in the galley and by George I’m going to get some.

In light of the unfortunate Air France crash, I recall a few years back I was flying from Gaborone to Jo’burg, and the passengers, (both of us) were asked to strap in by smiling stewardesses. We obliged. They then began the traditional volley of instructions on safe flying and halfway through, unable to contain myself I put my hand up.

The one giving me the instructions looked taken aback at the occurrence. Clearly she had yet to be questioned.

“Now then, Kelly,” I began comfortably. “We will be flying at 30,000 feet, which is 9-10 kilometers up, and  this Boeing 737 weighs about 50,000 kilos. True?”

Kelly gave her best South African Airways smile. “True”.

“Should something happen, gravity will insist that those 30,000 feet above sea level be reduced to more manageable levels. So, let’s say we have engine failure. Without the engine a 737 has the grace of an obese hippopotamus in molasses soaked weetabix. This bad boy will descend with the momentum of the gods. We will hit the ground so hard a small hill will be created in China. True?”

Kelly smiled her most professional smile.

“But we might hit the water,” my fellow passenger said thoughtfully.

“Clearly you have never belly flopped at the local swimming pool. At the speed we’ll be going by the time the plane hits the water, we might as well hit concrete. Less damp. But I digress. My point is, fortune does not favour the poor fools in a 50 tonne aircraft that had a direct hit to soil or water having descended as quickly as possible from 9 kilometers up.”

There was a brief silence and my wisdom was digested.

“Seriously, Kelly, is there any point in all these precautions? Will me putting my head between my knees, acrobat that I may be, make a difference if the plane hits the Republic Of Botswana at several hundred miles an hour?”

Kelly did not have an answer for me. But she gave me an extra dinner and several bags of peanuts and fascinating stories of the colourful life of cabin crew.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, was pleasantly surprised to hear from characters who generally used His Name in vain.

The rationale behind sending our 200+ MPs to coast on some amorphous retreat ranks right up mystifies me. Completely.

I mean, let’s do some guesstimations.

There are about 210 Muppets MPs. I doubt any of these pillars of integrity will be spending two nights in a tent. Nor will they stay in a rustic bed and breakfast. These good people will expect 5, and of possible. 6 star treatment. Let’s say a room of prerequisite level of luxury, with meals is about 15,000 a night. So, for two nights the budget for the 210 Trolls MPs is 210 * 15,000 * 2 = 6,300,000.

Six million bob!

Now, we also need to get these wastrels MPs there. I don’t see them volunteering to take a Mash Auto or Coast Bus. So we will need to fly them there. A return ticket, according the Kenya Airways site, is 144$ which is about 11,520. For 210 golliwogs MPs that equates to 2,419,200.

MPs have long been accustomed to the term ‘per-diem’ and even say it in their sleep. Let us say they get 100 bucks to piss away spend wisely in case of emergencies. So for 210 garden gnomes MPs that would be 1,680,000.

And finally, they will no doubt need some sort of media kit – pens, writing pads, etc for them to purport to look busy while in fact sleeping soundly/ texting knowledgeable locals about where to find action learn.

This brings the total expenses to be about 10,399,200.

Ten million shillings.

Now the popular defence is that the UNDP is picking up the tab. This is bullshit for several reasons

• The UN gets is money from taxpayers all over the world. Someone’s money is being pissed away either way
• MPs can presumably speak and understand English in Nairobi (though I cannot vouch for this)
• There are many many more pressing needs that require funding – looming famine, internally displaced Kenyans, victims of various fires

This ten million shillings is just being pissed away for no good reason. It makes no fiscal sense.

If it is in someone’s KPIs at the UNDP to piss away perfectly good money spend money and this is their way of appeasing the bean counters, I feel sorry for that institution. If they really want to piss away those funds, let them have the meeting in Nairobi and donate the excess funds to various initiatives to support the various initiatives in need to support, such as feeding the hungry or settling and supporting the IDPs.

It speaks volumes that the UNDP is willing to piss away money during a global recession!

Amen!

What were you thinking??

Aah! Nothing quite like a swig of Pee and a mouthful of Shitto after a hard day’s work.

Aside from providing opportunities for MPs, assorted heads of state, as well as journalists with extra travel budgets and bloggers with miscellaneous grants to dispose of, just what, precisely, did the London Summit achieve?

Bonus points if the answer doesn’t include any of the following:

• Beginning the process
• Exchange ideas
• Concerted effort
• Commitment
• Engagement
• Grand plan

I’m just asking.

A family friend is getting married this Friday. As they make the final preparations I fondly remember being in that position a week before our big day juggling logistics, family, ulcers, priests, venues and suits.

I cannot tell a lie … there were times the AG’s chambers seemed appealing. And as D-Day drew closer even that seemed too much of a hassle and the local Chief’s mabati hut looked appealing. But soldier on we did.

I especially commend my wonderful better half because in addition to the wedding hassles, she had to deal with me, who is largely handicapped by being me.

When it comes to weddings, the human male is terribly handicapped by being a human male. Being a human male makes it difficult to contribute constructively to many aspects of the wedding.

Sample this tidbit shortly after the master plan for world domination had been tabled and approved by the coalition partner

Missus: Sweetie, what should our colour scheme be?
Mister: Err … colour scheme? (Racking brain for what a colour scheme is, then giving up) Black?

Or this exchange in a wedding gown shop festooned with tresses and trails

Missus: Sweetie, what do you think of this wedding gown?
Mister: (Trying and failing to come up with criteria for a nice gown other than tightness around certain bits) Er … hmm. Good question. Good question. It’s er … is OK.

Or this one in the suit shop as the groom was reacquainted with a coat, the last one he wore boasting  a school crest on the front pocket

Missus: Sweetie, which shade do you prefer? Azure or Aquamarie? ^* Actual colours stated may have been different
Mister: (Knowing neither colour, desperately pointing at the nearest one) This one. Yes, definitely this one.

Good times, good times.

At the end of it all it worked out perfectly. The bride showed up at the church. The groom showed up at the correct church. No one rose when the priest asked if there was anyone with objections. The rings had not been forgotten in a pocket of a suit that had been taken to the laundry.

Execution was flawless, despite my main contribution being approving the menu and denting my boss’ car. She did the rest. You, my dear, are amazing.

And every morning since when I wake up and look at wife and home, ever so slightly a different aspect of just how fortunate I am occurs to me.

And I say to myself yessir, you’s a lucky fellow.

Love, M

PIC OF THE DAY

I was in Othaya for a few days on official duty. It was an interesting experience. One of my first encounters was with a large animal of the bovine persuasion who attempted to tell me something. I could not understand a thing the animal was saying.

I’ve only just translated it with some help from some government official who speaks among other things, pure ass.

Suddenly, a lot makes sense!

AOB

Tomorrow is a day of great significance. More on that as it develops