The 3rd Option

I have been away from my girls for 36 days by the time I get back to Johannesburg on Wednesday, that's a long time and add to that the lack of power, which in turn relates to a lack of water and hence no flushing toilet facilities.

Yes I can carry water up 2 flights of stairs for the toilet, but it has an odd metallic chemical taste and I fear that drinking it may lead to the spontaneous  origination of a third nipple or testicle, both which pose dilemmas I do not wish to expose. There is a mental picture I carry in my head of wearing a button up shirt and stretching back as we sometimes do, and lo and behold my middle nipple popping through and scaring all in sight.
The other option is far more graphic and disturbing, picture me running  . . . . better make that walking, slowly on the beach, I become lightheaded from the over exertion and fall over onto my back, legs slightly splayed. Lifeguard rushes in to "save and resuscitate" me, and by accident notices a third lump in my speedo. The third teste phenomena was stated on the coroners docket as my cause of death.
As a matter of interest, how would you walk with a third fella down there? Would you need to seat yourself with more care in lieu of perhaps sitting on one of the three?

This my friends is what goes through my mind whenever our power dies, for the record to date I have no glowing beams emanating from any part of my body so radioactivity can be ruled out.

On that happy note

Nite All

Rural Bathing

Two days without bathing and I feel as if I am on the verge of launching a new kine of body odour called "You're Feisty".

Our water is pumped up to a holding tank and then distributed as and when we require it, when we have a power outage, we have no water and the odour of the past creeps back like heartburn after a dodgy pie.

I had set aside 3 wetwipes from a restaurant chain and this would been my plan of attack if the electric gods once again felt us unworthy of their gifts. It's moments like these that make living in Africa great, we have so much we take for granted and yet we have this fickle structure that is as reliable as Blackberry's future.

I awoke and water ran from the tap and I had to fight down the urge to run down the passageway singing "Rock and Roll dreams come true". It was a beautiful moment and even though the water pressure was a weak as a priests alibi on a youth camp, it was enough for me to wash all the bits that needed attending to.

So here I am at my desk, sick as a dog with flu, but not smelling like a lemon scented wetwipe and grateful for running water and electricity.

Nite All