Morgalogue

A few weeks ago, in an attempt to do something native and as a way of combating the kind of pot-belly prolonged curry abuse will give you, I joined ‘an aquatic club’. I’m not talking about a bunch of health fantasists with shaved chests meeting up to discuss the best swimming cap here – we’re talking old photographs on the walls, flunkys, wicker chairs, billiards, a bar, and arguing across tables full of food and glasses, the kind of men who thankfully haven’t squeezed into their speedos in years. Yes, it’s true folks … I am living the colonial life. And ironically, it’s about the most native thing one can do in Colombo.  (more…)

Ahem … hello.

I feel like a bit of a twat joining the world of ’self-publishing’. I’ve only recently begun to get any sense out of my diary so I sincerely hope not to bore anyone to tears with my low-grade rambling, or loose any of the few friends I’m lucky enough to have.

Anyway, I’m not forcing you to read it, am I ? Go on … piss off !