Sweet success

I have spent the last 2 days passively and last 2 hours actively trying to open a bottle of wine. I have a corkscrew but of the type that must have been used in the years BC coz it leaves you to your own devices once you've done the screwing bit. I even went online on tips on what to do. It's one of those nights when a drink sounds so tempting. Let's just say that the solution involved a window and an odd angle!

And there's oh nothing quite like the taste of success ...!

Of Leopards and Tall Tales

I was going through the paper this morning when I came across the story of the leopard. Apparently, there's a leopard that has made Eastlands it's home. It goes about mauling dogs and sheep and leaves the carnage behind.

Some dude coming home at 1am some night apparently came across it in a fight with dogs and must have thought he should quit drinking for its negative effects on one's perception. He got home and called out his wife to verify and she confirmed that it was indeed a wild animal. I don't however know how much weight I want to put on her confirmation. I mean think about it. She was probably seething at her husband's tardiness until around 11pm when she decided to turn in. Then at 1am, she's woken up by her idiot husband probably thinking to herself "we talked about this ... he has a key ..." Then instead of the well rehearsed apology she has heard over and over again, listens to him tell her over the waves of intoxicating fumes he's emitting that he saw a leopard ... I'd be surprised if she didn't just give him a prized glare, turn over and go back to sleep!

But seriously, you may want to reconsider having a late night out in Buru this weekend ...

Of Walks and Poor Energy Planning

So in my new hood I walk a lot. Being a user of public transport, I find that walking some distance saves me the trouble of connecting with 2 mats and gets me to work faster. If I lived anywhere other than a developing 3rd world country, my walk would be considered cool and even helpful to the environment da-di-da. Well too bad coz I live in Kenya and always get quizzical looks from anyone I tell I walk some distance on my way to work (not to mention questioning looks from strangers as I go about my way) *sigh*

Anyhoo, on one of my walks I chanced upon a vehicle that had stalled on an incline and had caused a snarl up behind it. I figured from the look of the guy in the car, that, having sent someone running with a jerrycan, it must have been one of those days when the poor sap just didn't have enough money for fuel and was praying the the sock he had put in would do the job. Well it hadn't. I was feeling sorry for him when I realised it had GK number plates. Surely the government could afford fuel I thought to myself and I strained my head to see what department the vehicle belonged to. It was all I could do to restrain myself from keeling over in gails of laughter when I realized that the car belonged to the Ministry of Energy!!!

Have yourself an entertaining day!

Here today, gone tommorrow

I've very recently been forced to face the trancient nature of life. A couple of days ago, an aquaintance was walking in town going about her business when her phone rang. She chatted with her pal and told her she was planning to do a little shopping before going home. The time was 3pm. It was the day Nakumatt burnt down. No one has heard from her since.

Yesterday some pals dropped me home after a birthday dinner only to be rammed into by a speeding Touareg less than 100 meters from my gate at an intesection. They were in a strong car but it spun and landed on its side stopped from rolling continously on by an unlikely obstruction. The rack will probably be written off. They got away with a few scratches thanks to their belts though the one who hadn't belted up required medical attenton. Questions abound. What if ... what if ...?

This life is not your own.

30

That year has come and gone again. I make the bold move of declaring age and present a poem:


I sit on the edge of the great three – oh
And ask myself how much further to go
‘This can’t be mid-life’ I wonder aloud
‘Got so much more to do to make myself proud’

Can’t say I regret the time that’s gone by
Not sure I’d change much even if allowed to try
For living is in the day as each it passes
And there are many a tomorrow for one and more chances

And yet I feel so young, like it had just begun
A little smiling kid, face turned to the sun
So I guess what’s important is the age you are inside
‘Least that’s what I’ll tell myself as I watch the years glide

Phew ...

Now that looks better don't it! I was finding the page a twinge dark. I really like the way the new blogger has simplified things for we the not-so-tech-savvy. Thanks B. Granted I'm light years behind many of you, but at least I can do something here & there.

If you lke the pic up there, do visit the landscapes link to the side. There are really great pics there.

Cherio.

New Year New Cheer

I've only just realised that I haven't blogged this whole year! No good.

And what a year it's been so far, what with America's bold Obama move. I must say that the results of the american elections have shown, where nothing else probably could, that the american electorate have come of age. America is indeed a country to emulate, a country that has, in a relatively short span, turned almost colour blind. That's something for us in Africa to think about as we go about voting in tribal 'chiefs'.

Congratulations Mr. Obama and may you stand true to the ideals that lead you to the oval office.

Of Idiots and Cops

So jana I left home late (as has become my norm recently) and was caught up in the jam. I was in a mat and was glad when the overlapping started (don't you just hate that when travelling by private means?!) But the thing with the mat guys is that they're sharp and they send someone to be their look out for cops.

So there was this doola who decided that he's had it with being overtaken and he joined the overlapping bandwagon. He didn't notice the other cars trying to pull into the lanes and he kept zooming past, pleased with himself. As fate would have it, he met with cops at the end of the road and they stopped him and asked him to get out of the car. Now the reason he's a doola is he decided the cops are thoroughly unfair and are picking on him since they didn't stop the other cars, and he told them as much in flowery language. A dude this is Kenya. He refused to get out of his car but forgot he had left the passenger side open. They were 2 cops and one got in through the passenger side and fished him out. The poor guy was worked on bright and early in the morning before being whisked off. I wonder what he was charged with? Resisting arrest? Obstruction? Possession of an illicit substance? Being a member of an out-lawed sect?!

Many ways not to skin a mbuzi!

Of my many untold stories, the one that keeps me chuckling every once in a while as I go on my way is the story of the goat. Until recently I lived in South B which is really your average Nairobi middle class area that has something for everyone. In such places, it is not surprising to see a goat being grazed within the estate when the festivities of Christmas and the New Year draw close.

It was therefore no surpirse to me when that happened and I would smile to myeslf whenever I saw the animal and hope that I would be invited to the bash of its downfall. Christmas came and went and then the post election fiasco occuerd and I had few thoughts to spare for the goat. So it wasn't until sometime around March (well we can all be slow) that it dawnd on me that the mbuzi was still around and still grazing. By June I was wondering ... 'Kwani they can't think of an excuse to chinja it?' So one day I approached the owner and asked her what gives?

'Ah huyu hatuwezi mchinja sasa' I was told in a coasto accent 'huyu ashakuwa pet kwa watoto'. It is upon hearing this that I remembered that I had often seen her kids playing with the goat and speaking highly of it. But that's not even the cruncher ... not only do we have a pet mbuzi in my court, but it even has a name. The damned thing is called 'Rehema' ... and it itikas when you call it!!!

Dunia ina mambo!

Of Idiots & Pick-up Lines

So the other day I was walking the short distance from a supermarket to my home in the evening after work. It had been a tough day and I was just generally tired and in need of my warm bed and the opportunity to flip the pages of the thrilling book I had been reading.

As I walked along, my mind lost in my own thoughts and listening to music from my phone through earphones, I became aware of a vehicle that was crawling along beside me. Realising that the guy behind the wheel was trying to get my attention, I unplugged my ears ready to give directions to whatever place he was looking for.

"You look tired," was his opening line and I thought to myself 'Oh brother'.

"That's beacause I am," I said.

"I bought some chicken for dinner today," was his second statment. "Why don't you come along and we could share the meal together?"

I mean really! What kind of pick up line is that? In what parallel universe would some poor damsel be so thrilled as to receive an invitation for chicken (which by the looks of the guy she might have had to cook) that she'd jump into a stranger's car, poverty notwithstanding. Is this what the Kenyan woman searching for a relationship has to contend with? Really! Needless to say I got rid of him through one brief statement but as I walked along I shook my head in wonder.

I have chicken! Eish!

Of Abattoirs and Sanitation Ministers

Sometime back, say around 1999, the powers that be, presumably parliamentarians, thought it wise to enact a law governing environmental issues in this country. And so it was that the National Enviroment Management Authority (NEMA) came to be and I think that the whole set up is generally a good idea.

So it was that NEMA, in carrying out its statutory duties, gave notice to 5 abattoirs in the Dagoretti area to get their act together or get shut down. Upon the expiry of the notice 3 months later, when not enough had been done, the 5 were shut down. Good no? I mean, if you had seen those places on the tele you may wish to sooner become a vegetarian than eat their meat ever again. Those guys wear long thick gum boots because they wade in calf deep filthy murky water (I don't want to imagine meat falling in and just being retrieved and sold at my local butchery). Then there are those scavenger birds that eat to their fill, piles of waste ... *shudder* yuck!

Anyhoo, the Dagoretti MP, who just so happens to be the Minister for Public Health and Sanitation, in a very public show visited these abattoirs and declared that NEMA ought not to have closed them down in the manner they did and should in fact have given them some time to clean up adding that a lamentable 10,000 people were rendered jobless by the closure.

I sit back, scratch my head and wonder. Madam Waziri, is it your stand that the Ministry of Public Health AND SANITATION would rather that Kenyans were poisoned by contaminated meat than 10,000 jobs be temporarily lost? Is it your stand that 3 months notice is not notice at all? Is it your stand that NEMA, which was quite frankly only doing its job, should watch itself in its zeal of undertaking its duties in your constituency?

Real bad show.

Of Inappropriate Office Tunes and Mannerisms

So, yesterday afternoon a new guy joins our office. I must have been out when he was doing the introductory round as I missed it. So I wonder who he is and what he does, but that doesn't get me too wound up as I'm very busy. Not more than 30 minutes after the guy has been seated opposite me (yeah ... open plan offices) he starts to whistle. Who reports to work and on their first day starts whistling? But that's not even the worst of it. What is the guy whistling ... wait for it ... "I like the way you do me, do me ... do me I do you ..."!

"What really is the world coming to?" I ask myself. What happened to the good old days when the work place was a serious place where respect for those around you meant that you kept the extraordinary aspects of your life to yourself? A little stiff perhaps but you know ... sturdy. I sighed, gathered my thoughts and went back to work.

Then his phone rang ... You guessed it. The full uncensored version "Do me, do me, do me, do me ..." The junguz in the office turned some deep shade of fuchsia pink!

Chasing time

Yesterday wasn't a very good day for me. It was like the god of lethargy and slowness had chosen me as his victim of the day.

It was evening and I was in a rush (Tuesday movies are back to 200/= and I'm a Kenyan like that). I was meant to meet someone who'd deliver a letter for me but being caught up in the jam, I got late and they left and I got upset. I managed to get a plan B, who however somewhat compliated my life when discussing the modeof delivery, but that marked the decent of the dark cloud.

Next, I dashed to some building where I wished to get some certain un-speakable beauty treatment done, only to find that they were so busy they couldn't slot me in. That wasn't the bad part. The bad part was that I didn't know what they were called or what floor they were on since I had just heard about their good services, and so had to go up and down the whole building looking for them.

Then I went to the bank to pick an ATM card. Whereas there were 2 counters and both were busy, I sat on the dge of my seat waiting for my turn. When it finally came, I stated my purpose as consicely as possible hoping to be in and out in 2 minutes. The guy on the other side of the counter was obviously tired after a hard day's work and anxiously watching the minutes tick by. He slowly took my details and went to pick the card. Just as my luck that day would have it, the client who came in after me and was being served at the other counter had a collossal problem that apparently needed the full attention and input of both bank guys and I was left staring at the wall as they gave him full assistance. "But I was here first," I quietly thought to myself as I watched the minutes ticking by.

When that was finally over, I popped into a certain shop and after picking my purchases, went through the exact same thing at the till. The chick who was behind me was served before me since they knew her. People, what the hell is wrong with our customer service!

Anyhoo, I somehow managed to get to the movie on time and was well entertained. At some point I figured that getting upset at the world doesn't make things work faster.

Best foot forward?

Well I went and got myself a new job. I had gone for the interview ages ago and was called the other day. I'm very happy with the new place but I think I need to change my mind set. On my very first day I went out for an almost 2 hour lunch when I have a one hour lunch break! As though that weren't bad enough, on my second day, I got to work 45 minutes late!

Really this is meant to be the time to put the best foot forward, show them I was a good choice nini ... but noooooo! Granted I had very good reasons on both occassions but I don't think that new employers are looking out for good excuses!

Learn from the error of my ways and try to make a better first impression.

Of Drugs and Side Effects

So I’ve been unwell and it’s been a real downer. And predictably enough, the worst part was the drugs. I finish today at lunch time and can’t wait. Probably go for a drink later on to celebrate the end of antibiotics!

Anyhoo, when I was given the dawa I decided not to read the box or the ka-slip that comes with it as I was sure I would get each and every side-effect if I knew of it beforehand. So when I got through one of them, I read the slip and was shocked to find that the drug has been found to be carcinogenic when tested on lab rats! I mean really! What’s the point of having the ability to send a man to the moon and a bot to Mars if we can’t cure illnesses without causing CANCER! For crying out loud all I had was a tummy infection which I find a tad more convenient than radiotherapy! Then the other drug’s side effects included a pre-disposition to seizures!!!

On reading some more I recognized most of the side-effects as what I had taken for granted to be caused by the infection. One was a furry feeling in the mouth which I would never actually have understood but for the experience (you don’t want to know). Another was a feeling of daftness which they described as a feeling of confusion. I was much pleased to realize that that was a side effect and not just a natural mental state. I’ll watch for improvements.

Well now I’m glad to say that I’m better and roaring to go. I only wish someone would take the time to make drugs look more appealing and taste better … and of course make them less harmful than what they’re curing.

Of Christian Rock and Daima

So this long weekend, I chose to go to Sherlock’s Den on Sunday. They had promised a great array of rock all night long and I thought that that would just make my evening perfect.

I’d been thinking of doing a meal there since they had such exotic named dishes on their menu, but not being overly hungry, I decided to settle for a cheese pie. So it came like 20 minutes after I ordered it, lukewarm and without cutlery. Thinking that must have been an oversight, I sent the waiter for a knife and fork which he brought back with a cheeky smile. I came to realise the reason for his amusement soon enough when I found that cutting through the pie with a knife and fork would have given Samson a hard time … even with his locks. My boyfriend, thinking (as all men do) that I was just being a damsel in distress tried to remedy the situation and took over the attempts at cutting. When that failed, and short of asking for a chain saw, I just bit in. Heh!

I interrupt this imagery to take you inside the pie. As I bit in and struggled to bite through the cheese, I realised what the problem was. They must have used a chunk of Daima cheese which they didn’t even bother to grate. You must here understand that Daima cheese products are very special. I once bought a chunk of Daima cheddar cheese for its cheap price and almost threw it out. Chewing on it is like chewing on rubber that just won’t let you get the better of it. You chew and chew and when you get tired just swallow coz that’s one battle you just won’t win!

Anyhoo, upon walking in, I had noticed a band setting up and positioned myself strategically to get the best out of their performance. They tuned their instruments to Systems of a Down, and it was all I could do to stop myself from dashing forth and giving them a list of my requests. After waiting patiently and downing more Black Ices than I otherwise would have, they begin. I don’t know the 1st, 2nd … 3rd songs and then I realise why: this is a Christian rock band. I was so sad. Not that there’s anything wrong with Christian music but I really felt cheated. It was like going to a book store only to find that it was a zoo. Mis-representation was the problem. The band (Rock of Ages) by the way was very very good … especially the kid on drums.

I left and went to Choices which is yet to disappoint me!

Of Drycleaners and Attendants

Let me tell you that right now, drycleaners are the very bane of my existence. Well that was true until a few short minutes ago. Let me explain. It begun on Saturday afternoon when I thought it would be a good idea to take just about all my suits for cleaning at the drycleaners at the local shopping center. They do a generally good job, save for the seemingly excessive quantities of chemicals they pour into the clothes … they could almost make your eyes tear! This was such a big step up from the place I used to dryclean in the CBD where clothes would come out reeking of sweat after cleaning. My pal joked about this saying that maybe they also ran a clothes hire business. What we won’t do to save a shilling!

But I digress. They told me that I could go for the clothes the next day. So on the Sunday of the infamous countrywide blackout (dark Sunday?) I go for them during said black out just to find the shop closed. I chalk that off to their not thinking that guys would come for their clad in the dark. No biggie.

Enter Monday evening when I make a stop over on my way home to pick the suits. “Madam pole sana,” I’m told “Lakini hazijakua tayari.” (“Sorry lady but they’re not ready”). I’m put off and disappointed since I only have the reject suits for the next day that I was just about to give out to charity. I would have preferred not to wear those but what to do? In my head, I quickly think that the blackout must have stalled the cleaning process and sigh heavily. It does not however help me put my mind at ease that the guy attending me keeps insisting that I must have taken the clothes for cleaning late on Sunday and that’s why they are not ready. *Sigh*

It’s Tuesday and I’ve had a disappointing and difficult day. All I want to do is curl up in bed with my novel while listening to relaxing music. For lack of anything to wear the next day, I pass by the cleaners thinking it just a quick stop. So the attendant picks my receipt and goes to the back to look for the clothes. Minutes tick on and on. And on, and on, and on. Trying very hard not to get worked up, I ask another attendant to find out why it’s taking so long. After a minute, Attendant No. 2 comes out and informs me that my clothes were mistakenly taken to another branch. I want to cry. Turns out that the other branch gets its clothes cleaned from this outlet and their overzealous or just daft employee picked my clothes with the rest. I really have no fight left in me. Almost as bad as the news of the missing clothes, is the fact that Attendant No. 1 kept me waiting unnecessarily long for bad news and didn’t even have the decency to face me in person but sent a minion!

Wednesday just starts off awfully coz I feel I look bad in a strange suit. I try to greatly minimize movement away from my desk so as not to be seen (this of course turns out to be the day when my bosses want to send me on excursions in the most unlikely of places (Murphy’s Law)). During my rounds, I confide my drycleaner troubles to a pal who clearly does NOT know how to help. He tells me that I’m unlikely to get my clothes back and reminisces about the time when his pants were lost by the cleaners. He says that they told him just what they were telling me until they finally admitted the loss. Not one to take his property lightly, he made a big deal out of the whole thing and finally managed to get compensation. Joy.

Evening comes and I slink off to the cleaners all along hoping that this will be the last time I’ll ever have to go there again. “Ah madam … ni wewe” I’m told by yesterdays Attendant No. 1. “Sasa … hizo nguo hazijakuja bado.” (So, it’s you? Your clothes aren’t back yet”). This time I don’t hold back. I throw the book together with a dictionary and the encyclopedia Britannica at them for good measure. I explain, in no calm tones, that I have nothing to wear the following day and that it is not reasonable to keep someone waiting for such a long time. They assure me that the clothes will be there within the hour since the offending branch has sent someone to deliver them. We agree that I’m to come back in an hour’s time when I’m assured the clothes will have arrived. Thoughts of reporting the matter to the cops as theft flash through my mind but I wait.

So yes that’s where I’m from and I did manage to get the clad. They seem well done to me and I’m primarily relived that my pal’s prediction did not come to pass. As I left, the attendants gave me a little lecture about how to err is human and I shouldn’t get annoyed when all can be so easily rectified. Oi! It would be a wonder if they ever got a whiff of my money again!

Of Singers and Not

So the other day I was on my way to work. I grapple with public transport so I got into a mat and sat restlessly wondering if we’d ever get to town. I like public transport in so far as it affords me an opportunity to read books while in transit since I’m just a book buff (if there is any such thing). Anyway I had finished my previous book just the day before and didn’t have much to do. I remembered that my phone was one of those that store music and figured that that was what would entertain me on this journey.

I took out my earphones and went about untangling them, happy that I had found something to do. As if inspired by my actions, the young, prim, important-looking lady next to me in a hip hair style and a power suit did the same. I really had no problem with her other than to think in a childish voice in my head ‘copy-cat’. I listened to my selection of music and all was well with the world - until the girl next to me starts singing.

Take a step back in order as to better understand the situation. This is an junk of a nissan (late risers can’t be choosers) and therefore has no music. Those without today’s state-of-the-art telephones (but do I say) are left to listen to the chugging of the exhaust pipe and rattling of window panes for entertainment. Enter Chick-D who thinks that the only reason she’s not Céline Dion is that she was born in the wrong continent. And it would most certainly have helped if her voice was in the same category as Céline’s … or Mary J’s … or even the mama of ‘Nipe Shilingi’ fame (whatever happened to her?). But that was not the case. She reminded me of that guy in Idols who during the auditions sang an own composition that went “I really really love my mom …”! I mean, she would have made that ever so mild Tanzanian judge on Tusker Project Fame II (Dan Kiondo) pull an Ian and maybe call her a ‘twit’! If your not with me, let me just break it down and say that her voice was really really not good (politically correct).

And then the chick picks up momentum as she steadily manages to ignore all the curios glances she’s getting from the whole mat. At some point, she’s singing along to a spirited Jang’o Christian song and I seriously feel that it’s all she can do to keep herself from waking up and dancing.

People! Do some among us not grow up with siblings who bully away all inclination we ever had to sing along to anything playing on our walkmans/radios? Do we not have friends (for some of those TPF and Idols contenders) who tell us that we just can’t sing? Do our dogs not growl in agony as we pretend to be Barry White in the shower? Je huu ni ungwana?

Of King and Loos

Heh! Now let me give you the story of the day that transpired just a few minutes ago. I was sitting right here at this comp not 30 minutes ago when I felt the urge to go for a long call (heavy lunch). The office is housed on the 7th floor of our building and the loos are near the entrance at each wing. We had recently suffered a spate of stolen taps and the management has not been happy with us.

Of course these thoughts couldn’t have been further from my mind. I went about my business beginning with the wiping of toilet seat and placing of tissue around it and proceeding with what comes naturally. As I was in the stall, I was briefly aware of the opening of the main door into the loos and some activity. I didn’t think much about it at first but something about the movements; perhaps the length of time during which they proceeded in a seemingly haphazard way, got my attention. My attention was only held momentarily, though, as my mind zoomed to the King (Stephen King) that I’m now reading. I’ll put it this way: right now my job and life generally are just getting in the way of when I can finally get back to my book. It’s a creepy story about cell phones and the part they could play in Armageddon should someone trigger them. The part I was at on my lunch break had to do with the protagonists being crept up on by the bad guys and wondering what to do next. From here, my mind automatically switched to a book I’ve had in the works that is inspired by King in content and which has something to do with a young lady stuck alone on the 7th floor of a building when things start getting spooky. I briefly wonder how I’ll carry the story forth then quickly switch my attention back to the person making strange noises outside. What if it’s a boogeyman of sorts? What if they’re doing something they don’t want me knowing about and upon my emergence they grab me and jump out the window with my last site on earth being their face? (At this point I remember thinking that that would be rather unfortunate as I would rather go face down). I drummed my feet on the floor, partly to shake these thoughts out of my head and partly to let the person of strange loo habits know that they were not alone in case they were doing something untoward like stripping.

Anyway, I think I’ve been particularly slow minded (politically correct for dim witted) today since I got to bed jana late after watching the match and haggling with a cab driver (story for another day). Well I heard what sounded like a hanger drop then soon thereafter water started to flow. Except that it didn’t sound like water in a sink but in a shower. The door opens and closes. And that is when (finally) the pieces started to fall together. Could it be that the phantom of the disappearing taps had visited our floor again? I got out of the cubicle and regarded the scene before me with the dumb look of surprise. The Phantom had indeed come back and this time gotten away with 1 of the 2 precious taps.

Well now I wait to be questioned by the building’s security on what I might have seen. What if I’d gotten out of the cubicle and met this person face to face in the act of removing a tap? Would they have attacked me? Would I have had the good sense to cry out for help? Would my voice have abandoned me as happens to many of King’s protagonists? I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.

Of Demeanors and Smugness

So the other day I was on my way home after a hard day’s work when I chanced upon some kids who seemed to be collecting money for some charity or other. I have always thought that a rather harsh way of collecting money for a good cause: sending out primary school kids to stalk strangers and beg for money while quickly and almost always inarticulately explaining what it was for. I thought that if I were the Minister for Education, I would not permit such activities to be sanctioned by Kenyan schools. I wondered what the charity would be. A new school fence? A new school bus? Assisting needy students? As all this went through my mind, the kids I was expecting to accost me for money looked at me and at the young lady who was walking astride me on the other side of the street, and quickly crossed over to pester her for money.

I felt as though I had been slapped. “What …. How … Where” I asked myself. How dare they! In a split second, they had concluded that they had more chances in getting money out of her than me! The audacity of some people (young though they may be)! Granted, I may not necessarily have parted with some cash … but I could have been convinced.

On cooling off and losing my sense of indignation I wondered what it is that had brought them to their conclusion. I have been told that I at times carry a headmistress’ severe expression on my face when I walk alone, deep in thought. Could that have been it? Or maybe it was the fact that I was dressed in a boring dark suit and she was dressed in a young-hip way? Could it possibly be they thought her younger or prettier? Maybe they just preferred her hairstyle!

Does the way you carry yourself say something about you that you’re not aware of? Where my demeanor seems to say ‘You better leave me the hell alone’, what does yours say? Are you inviting (like my pal who keeps getting countless marriage proposals from seemingly serious men) or foreboding? Friendly or curt? And does your ‘look’ say it to everyone or just a few (in my case the young and innocent)?

I went off pondering these thoughts. I was however glad to note, from the corner of my eye, that the girl across the street had declined to invest in their noble cause and couldn’t help but smile to myself, smug as I thought ‘serves you right!’