It’s been quite a week since I landed back in Chennai on Sunday, so much has happened that it would be quite boring to even list it all out, but  can sum it up in three words. 

Hospitalisations and Crises. 

I’ve had a lot to think about and I could probably easily write a long piece on the nature of mortality, our place in a huge dazzling universe and the legacy that we’ll leave behind. 

Fuck that though, I’m immortal.*

But if I do go, I want to go out like my Granddad. 

Peacefully in his sleep, untroubled by his last moments, slipping into blissful rest aided by a few beers and some shots of decent scotch. 

I certainly don’t want to go out like his passengers, screaming in terror as they crossed the reservation into the oncoming traffic. **

THIS is the view in front of me as I type, my campaign against my Guns N Roses T-Shirt has continued unabated and it went for a swim in the pool this morning and is drying on the table in front of me. 

It’s holding up pretty well really, which sort of sums up the week and how things are. 



There’s a lot more laughter on the TotallyFuckedProjectOfAbjectDoom (TM) these days, we’ve all worked out that the only way to get through this and maybe get our lives back is real team work, which for a lot of us extends to the late cab journey back to grab dinner before the restaurant closes. 

I had a lovely meal of four quadruple vodka and tonics last night and I believe that there may have been some food served at some point too, best of all I stitched my German counterpart up with the bill for a table of twelve people. 

It’s still hard to imagine that this place was a fort all those years ago and it staggers me to think about the months-long boat journeys, backbreaking work and frankly ludicrously hot uniforms that those soldiers had to cope with. 

If they were lucky, they would have had somebody in their troop who would read and write, so they could send letters to their families and have the replies read to them many months later. 

I’m sitting here typing this on an iPad, listening to music on a bluetooth speaker and will be transmitting the whole thing via a wireless network to some strange thing called the Interweb or something. 

I’ll be calling home via Skype or FaceTime or old fashioned cellular technology and I’ll get real-time updates on the world back home. 

We live in a world of everyday miracles and are truly blessed to be alive and able to enjoy the world around us. 

It’s turtle hatching season here and the staff in the beach hut have played mum a few times to some batches of baby turtles whose parent didn’t get back to see her eggs hatch. 





They took this batch to the sea a few hours after I took this photo and released them straight into the water, giving them all an equal chance to live and maybe one day return back to this beach. 

It’s a nice gesture and it sort of sums up the attitude of most people here, I’ve grown to like them a lot. They work hard and I see small everyday kindnesses so often that it will be strange to go back to the harder, colder world of London and commuting. 

My friends the crows are watching me type and perform the odd fly past to remind me that they’re still here. – They’re actually hoping I’ll leave my sunglasses on the table, they love the shiny stuff. 

I’m in a good place inside my head and I hope that you are too. 

Have a great Friday and enjoy the weekend.. 

*So far anyway

** a Bob Monkhouse classic

And so, we move back round full circle. 

I’m back in my cottage in the hotel in Chennai, having just spent a long day trying to get the various factions of our dysfunctional little project to play nicely and maybe NOT send emails that they think nobody will see (duh).

And yet, I’m actually quite happy – a few things happened in a very short period of time that in themselves don’t mean anything, but actually added up to me genuinely crying with laughter earlier today. 

These things were:

• An old friend and colleague
• New friends and colleagues 
• The Devil (more later)

The last time that I wrote, I was off to Delhi, more accurately, Greater Noida – a huge building site that is on a scale hard to imagne in the UK. Miles and miles of new office parks, satellite towns and roadworks – maybe 200 square miles plus. 

The hotel was.. OK. adequate.. Excellent staff but. 

Oh dear GOD, the location. 



I tweeted that it was the next location for The Walking Dead and I’m standing by that, it was genuinely awful outside and I could never quite be bored enough to go for a walk. 

Anyway, so far, so meh. 

The local office was amazingly welcoming and made sure that my two day agenda was compressed into one so that I could sightsee and shop a bit, they also gave me a guide from the team who I now owe lunch as he paid on my one breakaway from the table.. 

So we saw the parliament, “Old Delhi” and this man who strangely didn’t seem to want any money… 



On Saturday, I went to Agra, so that’s the Red Fort and the Taj Mahal. 

And the self trolling started again. 

I woke up at 6 for an early start and after five trips to the toilet felt safe enough to get in a car for two hours. 

I dozed for the time that I wasn’t doubled over with cramp on the joureny down and my excellent and very professional driver got us there before 830 AM to beat the rush. 

Somehow;  we also picked up a “complimentary’ guide who would take me round the sites. 

The most pressing thing for me though, was:

• Is there a toilet and will I need it?

And…

We’ll divert from my gastric problems here for a second. 

The official site of the Taj Mahal estimates between 2-4 MILLION visitors per year – Indians pay @£5 each, Foreigners pay @£7.50 each. 

So at a conservative estimate, £10m in revenue per year. 

Amazing huh?

All for a glorified headstone. 

Anyway, I paid my £7.50 and was then allowed to visit the bathroom. 

But… 

I had to pay for a few sheets of toilet roll.. 

Let’s gloss over the dank, filthy horror that I then entered and thank all the dark gods for the fact that my system was empty, because, let’s remember those maths. 

At least £10m in revenue PA, with volunteers undertaking specialist work for repairs.

Ten. Million. Pounds. 

One Billion Rupees. 

Per Year. 

One Billion Rupees. 

ONE BILLION. 

You’d think they could have a flushing toilet. 

Anyway, the trip was interesting, I’ve now seen the romantic Taj Mahal and the less romantic prison opposite where Shah Jahan was locked up by his 4th son in a palace coup for the last four years of his life. 





I also watched (still doubled over with cramps) – old fasioned craftsmen make wondrous things from marble and semi- precious things and then spent a small fortune buying gifts, probably over the odds, but you know.. provenance and things.. 



I was glad to leave though, Agra is a genuine shithole, given it was the seat of power for a Muslim king, the sight of pigs roaming the streets was ironic but not at all funny. 

Once back in Noida, I went to bed, until Sunday and packing time. 

The flight was delayed by an hour, normally no big deal but an old friend was meeting me at the hotel having driven down from Bangalore.

So.

I got in the hotel car and retreated to Twitter for amusement and this is where it all picks up again. 

Innocently; I tweeted that I was back in Chennai, only to be confronted by @antichrist_666 telling me that I’d die here.. Abuse went back and forth, I forgot the time… 

And arrived back at the hotel to be greeted by my old friend and a group of new friends from the (mostly) German contingent of the project who made a show of bowing and scraping as I arrived. 

I may have possibly had a huge smile on my face.. 

We had dinner and drinks and I sort of forgot that I hadn’t eaten for 48 hours, so the vodka worked very, very well. 

 All too soon, dinner was over and my friend began the long journey back to Bangalore and it was time for me to actually check into my room. A stunning location overlooking the sea and at least 30 yards away from the nearest neighbour, so pretty much ideal. 

I unpacked, brushed my teeth and tried to crash, noticing a small rivulet of water heading toward the door, whether from the sink or the toilet, I couldn’t be sure – and didn’t care. 

I woke up early this morning, ate a tiny breakfast and breathed a huge sigh as I settled back into the life of sunbathing, swimming in the surf and chilling. 

For the last ten minutes, I wore a T Shirt in the pool to avoid the almost inevitable first day back sunburn and then washed my shirt and shorts in the sink. 

With a rivulet of water running down the floor. 

Thinking that I’d help maintenance out, I took this photo. 



Yep. 

Water and a bare wire.

Which shouldn’t have been funny, but made me remember THIS:

And started a whole new line of abuse 

All of which ended with me in literal tears of laughter in the middle of a facetime chat and feeling that whatever the next few weeks hold; that life is still fun and every day holds a promise of sorts. 

Anyway, here’s to:

• Jeelani
• Jens
• Thorben
• Bryan
• Ludo
• Jakob

And @Antichrist_666 

You made a potentially dull return to a hotel into something I actually wanted to write about. .. Thank you. 

Edit

And so the circus moves on. 

I’m sitting in Pune right now but will leave here at 5pm local time for a flight to Delhi that will get me to my hotel just in time for last orders if I’m lucky. 

When I started this little series of posts from abroad, I mentioned how strange things were, how I’d have to adjust. 

That’s still true, but India is huge and there are big differences between cities and states, never more true than in the case of Chennai and Pune. 

Chennai is a BIG place, it takes hours in a car to get from end to end, with frequent disruptions to traffic caused by toll roads and the placement of arbitrary barriers on a carriageway – how the locals don’t smash into them more often than they do is a mystery. 

Pune by contrast is a BIG place, it takes hours in a car to get from end to end, with frequent disruptions to traffic caused by, erm, traffic. That’s it, no tolls, no barriers just a swarm of cars, lorries tuktuks and bikes. 

Politics in Chennai and Tamil Nadu is a messy, corrupt affair, with a government that has just spent a huge sum of money celebrating the birthday of the ruling party head – who currently lives under house arrest for bribery. 

Politics in Pune and Maharashtra is a messy corrupt affair, with some ministers upstaging John Prescott by being completely illiterate and with all parties desperately trying to show how they emulate this man. Chhatrapati Shivaji – founder of the Maratha Empire. 



A bit like Prescott trying to identify with Henry V really. 

It’s in the layout of the city and the incredible warmth of its people that Pune stands out. 

The roads are wide and are being constantly expanded, new bridges and infrastructure across the river, a bustling military presence. – The Bombay Sappers being just one of the units stationed here, a total of five military units surrounding the city, including the air force base. 





The streets are mostly clean and I’ve seen sweepers and cleaners every day on my journey to work and although there is poverty, the shanty towns are smaller and there’s less of them. 

Even so, seeing THIS from the back of a car isn’t easy. The little girl isn’t begging, there’s a standpipe across six lanes of road from the huts. 

She’s halfway there. 

And then she has to walk back with a full bucket. 

I doubt she’s wondering when her first iPhone will turn up. 



The city is definitely better off than Chennai though, there is heavy industry including massive car plants for Volkswagen and Mahindra across the river from the office here, oil processing and miltary support factories. 

IT is also a growing business, Fujitsu have a building a few hundred metres away.  It’s relatively cheap here compared to Bangalore or Chennai and the standard of life is definitely better for most people, even if those flats in the picture look a little grim by our standards. 

The landscape is fairly green at the moment, it’ll get less so until July or so when the monsoon rains kick in and repopulate the rivers and lakes. I mentioned in an earlier post that I could see huge birds of prey over the city, here they are, the Indian Spotted Eagle. 

Imagine that, eagles in their dozens over a city centre. 



I’ll be leaving the office soon to go to the airport and play the silly security dance again and I’ll be genuinely sorry to leave. In all likelihood I’ll be back soon and for the first time on this trip I’m actually looking forward to a repeat visit. 

So – Chennai is basically Liverpool.(but nicer)

Pune is more like Bath. (but much bigger) 

Bring on Delhi… 

Oh.. 

the next pictures are of the office gardens…  Think on THAT from your current view. 





So, the roadshow has moved on from Chennai to Pune, with an early alarm for 5am set on Sunday morning (11:30PM in the UK, so i caught the tail end of some weird twitter chats), cabs and flights booked and all that needed doing was:

• Get up
• Get Ready
• Finish Packing
• Leave (after taking one last picture of the dawn over the sea)

Well, that was the plan anyway, the local microbes had another idea and weren’t too interested in what I thought. 

It’s Tuesday afternoon as I write this and they’re still having fun with my system, twisting invisible knives inside my intestines and making sure that I don’t stray too far from the comforts of the bathroom. 

The trip to Chennai airport seemed much longer than the journey in and was only brightened by the fact that it was daylight and I could see all the things that I’d missed in other journeys, but I was genuinely glad when I got there. 

Despite it being a domestic terminal and my ticket clearly being for an internal flight, the uniformed jobsworth at the door to the terminal took great delight in checking my passport, before pronouncing my airworthiness with a flourish that I completely ignored, now totally in thrall to the microbes and their daggers. 

Check-in was smooth, as was security and I managed to get seated in the lounge in plenty of time to eat and drink … er nothing. 

Still, the flight was on time and my seat was in the first row, so all eventualities were covered. 

The flight itself was smooth and on time. 

Getting off the plane and being asked for my boarding pass was a novel experience, as was walking past half a dozen planes on the tarmac to get to the entry gate. 



Still, it didn’t take very long, my bag was the third on the belt  and the hotel driver was waiting for me when I exited the airport and drove me smoothly and efficiently through the chaotic traffic to the hotel, where the security guards seemed both more alert and friendlier than my previous stay. 

Check-in was ready for me and had a document ready to sign and I was looking forward to crashing and sleeping through some of the pain. 

Strangely, I had to wait 15 minutes for the room, but was eventually shown to a good quality business-class room with all the amenities, I unpacked as quickly as I could and decided to go for a quick orientation walk. 

Pune at first glance was very different to Chennai, the roads are wider and cleaner, the area that I am staying in houses two hospitals, a police station and an Ashram, it’s all very pleasant, they even let trees grow in the roads and pavements, strange, quirky and somehow OK on such wide roads. 



Huge birds of prey circled overhead as I walked and I was in quiet awe of their size and gracefulness, often stopping to look up and just watch as two or three of them floated past, looking for prey. 

After thirty minutes or so, I went back to the room and started to doze, only to be woken by the phone. 

*muffled and grumpy* “Hlo”

“Are you packed and ready sir?”

“Huh, I’ve just unpacked”

“Yes sir but you are in the wrong room” 

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing sir, we just put you in a holding room until yours is ready” 

*Mutter, Grumble, Sigh* “OK, I’ll get packed”

Fifteen minutes later, a porter arrived to take my freshly packed belongings to my new. 

Suite. 

It’s huge, far too big and around 75% of the price for a smaller room in Chennai. Entrance hall, Lounge (with dining table, sofa , desk and a huge TV), dressing area, bathroom with a huge bath and steam-room shower – and a huge bedroom. 



They’d left chocolates and fruit and wine as gifts, sadly all I could face was water. 

I felt miserable and slightly lonely having left all my friends and colleagues behind in Chennai and with a week of being alone and possibly unwell in front of me. 

I unpacked again and then decided to get my head down and doze for a few hours, waking up around 830PM local time, still feeling delicate but knowing I needed to eat something.. 

The hotel (the Taj Blue Diamond – I genuinely recommend it) has three restaurants and a bar, I headed for the Chinese restaurant as the safest option and set about navigating the menu, reluctantly eschewing alchohol and asking instead for mint tea. 

The head waiter saw that I was occasionally wincing and asked if I was OK, we then discussed the best options on the menu for me and I ordered a chicken soup with lemon and coriander with sweet and sour pork as the main dish. 

The mint tea was made with fresh leaves, with a tiny bowl of honey on the side and the food – though deliberately spiceless was delicious, all three or four mouthfuls of it..  The head waiter, Ganesh ( I have already made it a point to write and thank the hotel group for his help) said that the best thing for the morning would be some yoghurt and banana and duly went to get my bill. 

He then returned with a perfectly packed bag of bananas and wished me a good night’s sleep. 

I felt genuinely humbled by his solicitude and the extra effort that he and his whole team had gone to – all for one sickly westerner and went to bed feeling somehow less lonely. 

I did absolutely nothing yesterday, or the nearest thing to it anyway.

I woke up early thanks to the crows that now seem to be exclusively settled by my cottage, helpfully telling each other that the sun has risen or that a squirrel has woken up  – or something. It’s hard to tell with crows, they may just be trolling me for not letting them steal my sunglasses.

Deciding that I wouldn’t get back to sleep, I wandered blearily to the gym where I did a workout that I learned from ‘Felix’ – a commonwealth champion bodybuilder at Le Sport in St Lucia. He’s a fantastic trainer and hates being called Julian (his real name) – if you ever get the chance.

It’s a great workout and just uses a few light dumbbells – and it hurts.

Once I’d finished this act of self-abuse, I wandered languidly through the floral arches that link the pathways in the hotel and drifted into breakfast for my usual feast of pineapple juice and bran flakes.

I amused myself with catching up with Twitter while I ate, it was around 2.30 AM UK time, so there wasn’t a lot to read and I then ambled down to the sunbeds like a heavier-set, more thuggish Noel Coward, exuding calm English aplomb as I settled in to an hour of quality time with the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, pure blue skies and a blazing sun.

Having worked on my glowing tan for an hour, I floated languidly to the beach and into the cool embrace of the ocean, accepting the rolling breakers and drifting with the tide.

At no point did a big wave pick me up, hurl me seventy yards down the beach, pull my shorts to my knees and dump me underwater.

That didn’t happen, because nobody saw it.

Probably.

Having now worked out that I was essentially a small floating toy as far as the currents and waves were concerned, I forgot about any dignity and actively sought the bigger breakers and let myself be smashed into the sand again and again, laughing aloud at times.

After frolicking in the ocean for an hour, I settled back into my sunbed and sought the solace of shade and relaxing music for another two hours before I drifted to my pre-booked, two hour massage session.

Ninety minutes of which I slept through.

I finished the day with a spicy local curry and vast quantities of the local vodka, eaten in full view of the sea that had made me feel like a little kid again.

Then went to bed, with the gentle serenade of the crows, doing their level best to keep me awake and occupied.

A pretty great day, all things considered.

Although, I now have a nice sunburn, thanks to the sea, the breeze and my losing track of time.

It was worth it.



It’s a fact that a large percentage of Indian men over the age of 25 or so have moustaches. More accurately, they have a moustache and neatly parted, short hair. 

Behold an exemplar of this cultural subset.



If you yourself have ever observed this phenomenon and wondered at the origins and genesis of a look that spans generations; wonder no more. 

The Thunderdog Research Institute (TM) has carried out extensive work on your behalf and can now give a definitive answer to a question that has eluded both scientists and philosophers for years. 

We need to wind the clock back one day to yesterday, Saturday 28th February 2015. 

Once again, I found myself having to work on a Saturday but decided that getting a car to the office was a bad idea and that I would hire a room in the hotel. 

So.. after breakfast, I went to reception and asked to hire a room for the day, for three people. For some reason, I was shown the Boardroom, which seats 12 in splendour, but it’s the closest room to my room, so I gladly accepted. 

However, I was informed that I had to go to my room and dial 0 (Reception), where I would be transferred to the relevant desk. 

An hour and a half later, two wasted calls and no contact from the ‘sales team’, I decided that an hour on teh beach was more important and went to the desk opposite reception. Which turned out to be the relevant desk, the young bloke on there was embarassed that I hadn’t had a call back and gave me the room. 

The room was fine, but we wondered if it came with faster wifi and so a technician duly came along, listened to our questions and then sent for help. The senior technician told us that if we wanted faster wifi, we all had to sign  up for the premium wifi service. We thanked him for his help and just got on with it. 

Work was done, we went to the pool at dusk and I was invited to dinner by my German colleagues who wanted to escape the hotel and go to a restaurant nearer central Chennai. 

Being the sober and sensible person that I am, I probed for details on this restaurant, where exactly was it? What was the name? Was it listed in any guides? And finally, most importantly for my delicate palate, highly tuned taste buds and sense of general propriety, did it serve beer?

The Germans thought about it, decided that it may not and I graciously declined their offer, favouring the siren call of alchohol in huge quantities and adequate food over gastronomic perfection. Rather nicely of them, they decided that we could go elsewhere, so The Thunderdog Research Institute (TM) went into high gear and engaged the concierge desk; who under heavy questioning produced a list of five restaurants. 

I ordered us a car and waited for the evening’s delights to begin. 

Things got off to a cracking start, the favoured restaurant as provided by the concierge was almost walkable, just five minutes by car and a right turn onto the main road rather than our normal left turn for work. 

Our driver said that he would wait for us,and as giddy as schoolgirls, we trooped into the chosen venue of gastronomic  delight.  

The restaurant looked great, a huge open space and some partial views of the surrounding landscape, we were seated quickly and comprehensive menus arrived. 

Cutting swiftly to the chase, I asked for four large beers. 

“We don’t have alcohol here sir, sorry”

“That’s ok, have a great evening, goodbye”

And, leaving a slightly stunned waiter behind, we went back to the car and explained to the driver our strict criteria. He knew just the place, it was very new, well decorated, aircon and 10 minutes down the road. And he assured us that it served beer. 

We arrived at this palace of earthly delight, purveyors of delicately spiced, aromatic food , the recipes for which were handed down from the gods to chefs who have undergone ordeal by fire and chili juice and duly walked to the very attractive door. 

A neatly mustachio’d man opened the door for us and invited us in. It was still early and there were no other diners, so there werer no clues as to what might be bought. 

The Thunderdog Research Institute (TM) once again asked the question of the day.

“Before we come in, do you have beer?”

“Yes sir”

Grinning like idiots, we entered the restaurant, menus were produced as if by magic and we got into the business of serious ordering. 

One of our colleagues had decided that they would rather drink something refreshing and after a long conversation in which a number of questions were asked, the drinks order was this. 

3 beers 

I’ve done remarkably little today, breakfast, gym, sunbathing, a a couple of beers in the pool, a short walk along the beach where I sat on some rocks for a while (and got nicely burnt), catch-up TV, a short doze and a longer walk along the beach at dusk.

It seems like a lot written down like that, but I’ve drifted along today, brain nicely in idle and I’ve enjoyed it so far.

I have 3 cars ordered to take 12 of us into the nearest town at 730 local time (2pm to most of you) and we’re going to try a local restaurant for a change.

Also today, I have continued my irrational but committed effort to wear a T Shirt to destruction.

It’s a pristine 1991 Guns N’ Roses ‘Here Today, Gone to Hell” shirt that has only been worn once before. I’m not exactly sure why it’s being subjected to daily wear and washout, but it has.

I’m determined to destroy it or wear it so much that it’s unrecognisable.

Sitting on the rocks for a while was wonderfully calming, nobody walked past for the whole time and the most effort apart from breathing in the salt air was to take one single photo.

I walked back to the pool feeling strangely serene and finished my beer in a reflective frame of mind.

It must have showed; as the pool barman engaged me in conversation about life in the area, his job, his town and his belief that the local people have a drink problem en masse. According to him, if the bars are left open all night, people will drink all night and no work would get done.

I disagreed, but then thought about Liverpool, so shut up fairly quickly.

My new friend also offered to do a beer exchange service for me – I buy at local rates (£1.30 a 750ml bottle) and he exchanges for a cold one from the fridge (hotel rates £4.50 for the same beer). I’m considering the merits of a case in the room now….

It’s dusk as I write this, the crows are going absolutely mad in the trees above, there are hundreds of them and the sound is strangely hypnotic, almost like a language that I could understand if I just listened a bit more.

The light is fading quite fast and the sea is at that curious pale colour that it gets just before darkness falls.

which means it’s time to get ready for dinner.

I’m looking forward to our trip out tonight, it’ll be good to see something a little less sanitised than the hotel, I suspect the food will be spicier too.

Have a good Sunday, I feel the real Thunderdog barking and growling in my subconscious , so may actually tell some more of his story soon.

I’ve never really talked about my job, mostly because it’s boring. This isn’t Facebook and I’m not here to share the details of my fairly mundane life.

I work for an IT outsourcing supplier and I suppose that the best description of what I actually do is “Mong Wrangler”.

I have a real job title, but the work changes through each project or service that I work on. What doesn’t change is human nature, which makes the problems I’m asked to fix come back around to the same set of issues every time.

Arrogance
Not listening
Not thinking for yourself
Budget restrictions
Bad Management
No teamwork

All of this is at the top of my mind at the moment, I’m working on a toxic project that should have been drowned at birth and also taking on a pretty large, troubled service.

I’m now going to be in India until April, mostly Chennai but a few other cities too. Working with the offshore teams needs a completely different skill set to working with UK staff. What’s interesting though is that the people here accept 6 day a week working with 18 hour days as being acceptable.

I’m in awe of their capacity for work, if not always their ability, but that’s why I’m here, to help them.

This trip is 5 working days long so far (I started writing this from the office on Saturday afternoon and have just got back to the hotel at 7PM) and I think I’ve gone native.

Which is bad news for the UK team.

From this end of the conference calls, I can see their lack of leadership skills, their willingness to blame relatively junior Indian staff for every mistake, their lack of patience and their utter spinelessness in the face of a difficult client.

I can also see that offshore mid-level management is appalling, the staff are workhorses led by lobotomised donkeys.

It’s all a dilemma quite frankly.

Staff that have worked at insane levels for months now are being pushed by a client to work longer and harder, because that always fixes things.

For. Fuck’s. Sake

I can’t fix the management style here, nor can I replace staff in the UK, as much as I’d like to jump on a flight and point out some home truths.

Like, their levels of stress are high because they haven’t done enough research and don’t have the confidence to push back to the client.

Like, having ‘Consultant” in your job title doesn’t make you an expert.

So, all I can do is to work with the local team, show them the stuff that I’ve learned the hard way over a long time and show them that we actually care, a little bit.

I instituted ‘Pizza Friday” yesterday, from now until I leave. the whole team gets a pizza delivery and everybody stops work for 10 minutes to chill out.

We’ll be having a little award ceremony next week to reward the team members that have gone the extra mile.

I don’t actually think that this will boost performance, but it’ll cut the sick time down and maybe build a better team.

Maybe.

I’ll keep on rounding the Mongs up, wipe off their dribble and get the flavoured window spray stocked up.

On the plus side, I can hear the roar of the surf as I type this, hundreds of crows are having their early evening chat and I’ve seen a couple of bats flitting between the trees, ghostly wings shining in the light.

I’m supposed to be night-clubbing with the Germans in the team tonight, but the idea of just sitting by the sea, drinking cold beer til midnight and a good night’s sleep is winning the discussion in my head so far.

I’m adjusting to this place and think that the adjustment back may be quite tough too.

The beach and beers are calling me.

Have a wonderful Saturday wherever you are.

I walked on the beach before work this morning.

Before that, I went to the gym, had breakfast and spent some time sunbathing and swimming in the pool.

Then sat on my veranda and half-typed , half-stared at the sea for a while before showering in the open air.

I’m working UK hours in a place that’s 5 hours 30 minutes ahead, so 1:30 AM UK time is when my alarm is going off at the moment.

It’s 31 degrees outside and will now get hotter day by day for the next two months, I more or less melted walking from my hotel room to reception today before getting into the car to go to the office.

An alien world passes before me every day.

Stray, almost generic dogs wander the streets, cows sit in the middle of the road, calm and relaxed in the knowledge that cars will actively avoid them.

Goats roam the roads by night, unknowable eyes glinting against headlights.

There are open fires on the streets, whether for warmth or waste disposal; I don’t know. They glow red and orange on back streets and in doorways, flickering shadows on walls and buildings.

Women still walk along with baskets on their heads; posture perfect and seemingly unaffected by the heat and the weight that they carry.

Up to 5 people in a family ride a single moped, with shopping and luggage, crash helmets are for wimps.

It’s a place of remarkable contrasts, the hotel is luxurious, has a good gym, a swim-up bar, wi-fi and possibly the most inept ‘technical support’ people I’ve ever met (more of that another time, I think).

the nearest village is incredibly poor, there’s no running water, a seawater well for clothes and cleaning and a water tower for drinking.

Indigenous high-status people are somehow more entitled and lazier than almost anybody that I’ve ever met in the UK – they don’t walk anywhere if there’s a buggy available and treat the staff in ways that would likely get them assaulted back home.

The streets are ‘safe’ – well for me anyway, I’m not sure that I’d like to be a lone female here, but they’re uncomfortable, there’s much more attention and direct appeals at begging than anywhere else I’ve been in the world.

Huge potholes, piles of rubbish in the streets, and people urinating and defecating in public are all pretty normal here.

I’ve got around 7 weeks in total to go on this trip and I think that I need to get my head around this new world fairly quickly.

I’ll post some updates on an occasional basis .

Apparently I have to go to a nightclub on Saturday…….