Thursday, June 15, 2006

Indoland or Bust 11ish



Well caress me bottom and call me McFiddle, its that time again. Strap yourself into the seat of destiny and down a shot of snakes blood as it is that time of the month when Ben enlightens you on his unbridled fun anf filthy antics in Indoland. Its Indoland or Bust number 11..............
Peter the Crouch what a legend. How can a gangly man like that be so maaizingly funny and at the same time a quality footballer. Its turly odd watching his limbs move around the pitch. But his goal brightened up a dreay game where England played lik they didnt want to be at the worlds biggest tournament. Pull your socks up lads, Sven show some passion you lame tosser and for crying out loud how quality was little Aaron Lennon?
Last day at the Red Cross.
I rocked up to work with old Miftah chub chubs and soon they had ushered us into a room and sat us down at a long table with some odd oozing delacasies on them which I refused to touch as they looked like leperous seeping wounds. It all turned out to be a little thankyou ceremony with all the chief honcho's and the little cheeses on our behalf. I was shocked as I was juts expecying a few handsaheks and the cerificate which I corrected the spelling on. But instead it was Mass Ben speech time as I had to stand up in front of the room of the Red Cross big wigs and make so silly impromptu speech about what I had learnt and what I had done and seen! Oh the joy!
After Miftah had translated it all I was stunned again. But this time it was a nice shock as the chief, chief, uber big boss man came into the room and presented both Miftah and I with some sort of large wooden plack with a brass front on it. It was like recieving an Indo Oscar really. It was a large heavy thing and I have juts done a trial run packing my bag and have no idea as to where I am going to put it. But that was not all I got. I was presented with a large wrapped box and old moody guts Fajyar who cheered up today made me ripp it open as I posed for photos with all the honchos and cheeses. Inside was a blood pack box and inside that was the strangest thing I have ever seen. It was a bamboo carved duck whacker. A thing that you hit a little stick againts it. All the sleers and vendors use them as it makes a piercing noise. Therefore for the rest of the day at PMI I pissed around banging it and shouting soto ayam (chicken soup). I went around the labarotories and invaded all the rooms. This however wasnt the end to the prestnts and I felt so guilty recieving them. I did present the place with a framed London postcard. I know it sounds tacky but it looks raher pro if I do say so myself. Alia a lovely girl who works in the blood room gave me a miniature Islamic drum and a miniture gong. They are tiny and really delicate but I was so touched by it. I never in the least expected to get anything at all apsrt from the laminated cerificate (easy wipe you see, juts like the argos catalogue). The limping crutch wielding 3 wheeled motorcycle driving alcoholic man in the office then hobbled up to me and the stench of rice wine made my eyes water. But he made me smile as he presented me with a bottle opener and said to me 'When drink, think me'. That was really nice as many times have I shared rice wine with him and his blackened teeth. I was so moved by all this kindness that I wish I had the money to go out and buy soemthing better for my work placemtn. But hopefully the fact that my uber massive 6000 plus words proposal which has been sent off to many Red Cross organisations around the world will be my lasting legacy as hopefully they can sit back and watch the cash roll in. I know thatt is a scenario for an ideal world but you never know.

The farewells started to hot up the night I left PMI as we had a host family and also a volunteer workplacement leaving ceremony thing. We have some official bollocks tomorrow where they have asked us to wear batik. Oh what a shame I accidently lost mine or it may suffer a spontaneous combustion in the carpark. This baytik bollocks ia an ugly printed materiual which is the Indo national dress or somehitng like that. In my eyes it is horrendously awful and I refuse to wear it. It break a fundamantal human right in freedom of expression if we are told to wear it. My expression is not to look like a complete toss pot waering the most awful shirt know to man. But the two stooges or projest supervisors to give them their proper title will probably kick up a fuaa like they always to at any thing tricvial. 'Its for the good of the team', they will say or some oither tosh like that. But I am not alone with this oppinion. I dont want to wear it and either does most of the Brits. Its juts too awful for words to describe. Its the sort of thing which keeps kids awaka at night and the sort of thing that makes people want to go blind by seeing.
Anyway away from that rant now. The farewell thing was utter balls. The event was painful to wacth and sit through where the worlk placement and then at a later one in the evening the host families spoke on the microphone while Rizky or screaching Ennnik with her pigeion feet transaletd it all. The picture slideshow of Hoogies digital photos played in the background and as it flashed photos onto a big screen through a projector there was a gasp from the Indos. Suddenly the pictures of us in the swiming pool flashed up. You see the Brits went for a swim as all the Indos even though they live on the worlds largest archepelego cannot swim. So we went swimming and as there were no Indo's there to cry at the sight of flesh (oh the wicked flesh) we could lounge around in next to nothing. I do this any way but for the girls it was a relief to show shoulders and to uncover their legs. But when these photos of scantily clad bodies popped up the gasp created an atmosphere thatt could have been popped by a pin. A bubble of 'oh my god' from the Indos!
This is somehting that they will have to get used to come Scotland. As as soon as the sun comes out in Britain we Brits take off clothes and bask in the sun. This will offend the Indos terribley who if they were to go swimming would fully cover up. Also I cannopt wait to see their faces when I have a free Tiger beer on singapore airlines. If one of them is sitting next to me they will think that the devil himself has manifested itself into my beer! Oh rock on with their cultural deveoplment. We Brits were asked to conform in so many ways, shapes and forms and I bet the Indos cant and further more wont be asked to conform or try to adapt like we have been doing so. For example I cannot evenb see an Indo enetering a pub even if no one in the group is drinking. Its juts silly really!

I am deading tomorrow formal send off from the city of Malng at the Myaors office. I bet they try and make us sing again. I have to recite a poem on laguage and I will be standing up and saying it in Indonesian. Therefore my pronounciation will be the Indonesian version of 'allo, allo'. Then we rock off to the beach. I cant wai. But before that its more football into the late hours of the morning! Last night they went mental for their former colonial rulers Holland. How strange!
Tonight I will stay up cheering on Ghana. My African mistress! Rock on the black stars!


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