Plastic pork spoils my date with Sarah, the ghost hajat
Nov 12, 2005
A friend sent me mail about how simple Chelsea was to beat. He said there were four simple steps.
A friend sent me mail about how simple Chelsea was to beat. He said there were four simple steps.
Step one; lose a match to a non entity like M’boro. (in fact lose another big game for better effect). Step two; get your loose cannon of a captain to condemn most of his team-mates. Third step; loft a deep cross to a seemingly nondescript midfielder, one of those criticised and a player of no known aerial ability, and step four; having nothing to do with the crossed ball, let him just head it back with eyes closed.
Wenger refused this advice and returned home crying. Fergie accepted it and he liberated my weekend. Otherwise, I would have gone ahead to register the weekend as ‘none of these’. The reason being my botched outing with Sarah, the ghost Hajat.
It was actually our first night out. I proposed the outing knowing that she would refuse as usual with all the hype about customers being ‘lonely’!
But she accepted! Because she is a capo who wanted me, I expected her to pick the bills. That is why I was not worried about my sh20,000 in the pocket.
But when we arrived, she just sat there ignoring the bills like the Movement big wigs kept looking at the nomination forms for the party chair.
We were at Tropical Village, along Ntinda-Kiwatule Road, just after Zanzi Pub. The joint comprises several huts linked by paved ways in a green environment meant to qualify the name.
A friend told me that in those huts, light is dim enough for a kiss to go unnoticed from other huts. From outside, the place was cool and green. I had assured Sarah it was a posh place. You should have seen me swallow my word when we were forced to spend most of the time chasing off mosquitoes. Her impression was that the place was cheap and low grade. But who would expect words like Tropical and village to be upper class? I cooled her down saying when she tests the pork, she will change her mind. But when the pork came, I almost hid under the table. A plate of sh2,000 in such a joint is supposed to be real quality. But this one was a disaster.
Either the pig had been fed on cement and concrete or it was a DP diehard in its life. They had also kept it for too long on the fire and all the softness had disappeared. Sarah pecked at the plastic pork, piece after piece before dropping back the plate to look at me with a shame-on-you-look. Worse still, we had to shout for service from the waiters who were busy dancing away at the counter some distance off.
The loos are fine, but the outside is full of litter and used straws. I agreed with Sarah — that was not the place to take an angelic dove like her. “Look, I don’t understand what you are talking about!†she burst out. “And I definitely don’t understand why you do this to me!â€
At which point I felt perfectly within my rights to tell her that I also didn’t understand why she thought I owned the place. I cannot be blamed for the sins of the world — I am not M7! But that only worsened her moods.
She just bolted off and took a taxi back to town. Good riddance! I had remained with only sh200 in my pocket.
Ends
Step one; lose a match to a non entity like M’boro. (in fact lose another big game for better effect). Step two; get your loose cannon of a captain to condemn most of his team-mates. Third step; loft a deep cross to a seemingly nondescript midfielder, one of those criticised and a player of no known aerial ability, and step four; having nothing to do with the crossed ball, let him just head it back with eyes closed.
Wenger refused this advice and returned home crying. Fergie accepted it and he liberated my weekend. Otherwise, I would have gone ahead to register the weekend as ‘none of these’. The reason being my botched outing with Sarah, the ghost Hajat.
It was actually our first night out. I proposed the outing knowing that she would refuse as usual with all the hype about customers being ‘lonely’!
But she accepted! Because she is a capo who wanted me, I expected her to pick the bills. That is why I was not worried about my sh20,000 in the pocket.
But when we arrived, she just sat there ignoring the bills like the Movement big wigs kept looking at the nomination forms for the party chair.
We were at Tropical Village, along Ntinda-Kiwatule Road, just after Zanzi Pub. The joint comprises several huts linked by paved ways in a green environment meant to qualify the name.
A friend told me that in those huts, light is dim enough for a kiss to go unnoticed from other huts. From outside, the place was cool and green. I had assured Sarah it was a posh place. You should have seen me swallow my word when we were forced to spend most of the time chasing off mosquitoes. Her impression was that the place was cheap and low grade. But who would expect words like Tropical and village to be upper class? I cooled her down saying when she tests the pork, she will change her mind. But when the pork came, I almost hid under the table. A plate of sh2,000 in such a joint is supposed to be real quality. But this one was a disaster.
Either the pig had been fed on cement and concrete or it was a DP diehard in its life. They had also kept it for too long on the fire and all the softness had disappeared. Sarah pecked at the plastic pork, piece after piece before dropping back the plate to look at me with a shame-on-you-look. Worse still, we had to shout for service from the waiters who were busy dancing away at the counter some distance off.
The loos are fine, but the outside is full of litter and used straws. I agreed with Sarah — that was not the place to take an angelic dove like her. “Look, I don’t understand what you are talking about!†she burst out. “And I definitely don’t understand why you do this to me!â€
At which point I felt perfectly within my rights to tell her that I also didn’t understand why she thought I owned the place. I cannot be blamed for the sins of the world — I am not M7! But that only worsened her moods.
She just bolted off and took a taxi back to town. Good riddance! I had remained with only sh200 in my pocket.
Ends