Peanut Butter Will Save My Life

Recently I had one of the best weeks of my life.

And I think you were in it.

It was filled with, fun, love, laughter and most of all a LOT of cake.

I was surrounded each day with people that I love/admire/respect and did almost everything in one week that you can in England (well other than stealing a traffic cone on a drunken night out …..  I DIDN’T steal a traffic cone right??).

I realized I was blessed.

But then like the eejit I am I left it all behind to return to my life in sub-Saharan Africa. Yes I left behind the Spa’s, Tea rooms, Theatres, Cinema’s, Shops, Café’s, parks, Michelin star restaurants, babies, puppies,  for what? Well ‘ants’ it seems.

I must need my friggin’ head testing…

(BTW they do obviously have babies and puppies in Africa, but not my family/friends variety)

On a serious note I think leaving this time was emotionally harder than previously. My screaming like a banshee to the sales assistant in Brussels Airport sort of indicated that I wasn’t perhaps feeling too stable. But I really didn’t want a Versace Perfumes bag. I wanted my free miniatures. I don’t think throwing the aforementioned bag on the floor IS unreasonable when it’s so humongous that it couldn’t be folded to fit in my cabin luggage.

But still, back I came.

Now on the positive side the rains are nearly over, and I see beautiful blue skies and some strange unfamiliar birds reappearing in them. I have my stunning balcony view back, and the seeds that I planted in my tubs months back are now rewarding me with herbs and pretty flowers. And in all, I can once again see the beauty of Africa now that the cloud of constant rain has lifted.

On the other hand it hasn’t been the best of weeks, mainly I think because I put myself on a detox programme. No alcohol, cake, chocolate, crisps, peanut butter finger – nothing. I did very well for 3 days. Then my newly appointed project manager resigned. And the 2 best candidates for my project officer positions cheated in test leaving me with a big round cuddly joker as the only person I can offer a job to.  Think La La. That’s right I am employing a teletubby. In interview he listed his 3 weaknesses as “I laugh too much”, “I joke too much”, but then he couldn’t give a 3^rd answer as he was laughing too much!

Oh and the only other ex-pat who wasn’t a French man has run away, leaving me with just the 3 French. Admittedly I never use to speak to him, mostly because he was generally asleep of the time, but at least his presence in meetings made me feel a little bit less conspicuous amongst the Francophones.  Literally the man went on leave and simply didn’t get on the plane back. Now the way I look at it, if he’s from Bangladesh and finds it too hard being here, it really does confirm that I NEED to go out on a Friday night and get hideously drunk and eat pizza. How else will I cope?

So guess what?

I have a hangover.

It hurts.

I’m going back to bed to wallow in just a teeny bit of self pity, and then I’m going to get me a jar of the finest peanut butter I can find, get my finger in position, and then get on with living and surviving, with the ants and the French by my side.

xxx