Sentience in a seed-pod

Sons of motherfucking bitches!

Alright, now I've got it out of my system. Due to some confusion, which is partially my half-arsed fault, I have to stay over here for the weekend. For a number of reasons, I particularly would like to get home tomorrow as scheduled. Now is the time to be philosophical Geoff. Perhaps something eminently cool will happen this weekend that will change your life forever. Still. I've run out of clean clothes and I'm grumpy.

At the place where I'm staying, many of the regulars are the wives or girlfriends of some seventy mercenaries held captive at Chinubi prison. Apparently there was some shenanigan with Mark Thatcher involving a possible attempted coup of Equatorial Guinea. Bear in mind that I never watch the news, so this is all hearsay. So there they are, in prison, in a foreign country. Tough break. Can't go home, and rat poo in their porridge. So others have it worse than I. Meanwhile, the wives chief activity, apart from fortnightly ten minute visits, appears to center around bitching about the other wives: how they dress when they visit, how they talk to the guards. I guess it lets off some steam. I wonder how I'd handle the same situation.

Anyway, I hope I can find something to entertain me over the weekend. I have a reputation to uphold. Adjusted date of arrival: Tuesday, 32nd of January. I couldn't bear it if they kept me here till next month.