Along with being bluddy sicker than the hounds after a good week’s romping in the wet Baskervilles... I have to nod in admiration for how life always lives up to its ironies.
Weeks of sitting around getting border, I have a moment of creativity to restart the blog, only to almost instantly be pummelled with work to an extent that leaving the office at 5 is a luxury, let alone attending to hobbies.
And I am meant to visit it up in the Free State from tomorrow for a week. Except this time it won’t be in the prettier parts.
But I really want to go, cause we’ll be meeting some of the kids that the project’s actually meant to helping.
That would be nice. Having faces to my beneficiaries.
But now let me take myself and my Plague to the Cop Shop, for a good old finger printing. To assure the Aussie government that I am Police Clear.... as well as HIV clear (!), TB clear, Foreign Mother Tongue clear, and fake birth certificate clear.
Who would’ve thought it would be so bureaucratic to weasel oneself into an island full of Criminalised Offspring!