The weekend's activities

The weekend began on Thursday, with the visit of Comfort. Comfort is our masseuse. After an hour of persuasive needling and noodling, one feels like sleeping for a week. She has a magical way of doing the arms. If I were rich, Comfort would be live-in on tap. But perhaps that would be too decadent? She's upped her rates which is a bit annoying though.

Meanwhile, our lovely gardener Donatus has had his home squashed by the FCT's merciless bulldozers. Currently its Utako's turn to be flattened. He called me in desolation on Friday. Hopefully, we his client-base can raise enough money collectively to see him and his family quickly reaccommodated.

I'm getting bored of troughing through Phillip Roth's American Pastoral. I find it all too laboured. I can't quite see where the literary adoration comes from. Perhaps it helps to be a navel gazing American shovel full of nostalgia for a 1950's golden age? He's such a misanthrope. Living in Nigeria, its a bit too much ploughing through the wordsworthy snarls of a malcontent looking backwards. In my boredom, I started reading a collection of Chekhov short stories I picked up in London a few weeks ago. I read his 4 page story, The Student (the version linked to here is not the version I read - I read the newish Penguin Classics version which I think is a much better rendition). Its an incredible piece of writing, with a tantalisingly enigmatic message about the nature of time and the connectedness of human suffering at the end. The idea he leaves you with is like a flower that blooms with further thought. Its not often one comes across ideas that grow by the day in this way..

I woke on Sunday to PHCN-death yet again. The power cut lasted for just 12 hours so it was quite a short one. We're slowly learning how to cope - this time we didnt chop and cut all the fruit we'd bought from the market - just the water melon which was quickly polished off.

Then to the British High Commission to watch the footie. England were distinctly underwhelming. They are simply not in the same class as Germany, Argentina, Italy or even France. Sven keeps on buggering about with the formation. I'm a cricket person so I have no in-depth understanding of football tactics, but having one striker up front doesn't seem like a good idea, whatever players you have. No wonder England struggle to score goals. I sat next to the British High Commissioner. He had a St George on his cheek. What with people draped in England flags and wearing cheapo plastic England hats, it felt like a late night Calais-Dover crossing.

Its a busy week ahead, so I'd better stop here. But I must write about an incident at the Hilton in my next post..