A very small number of people will be as disappointed as I was that the Blue Mango has closed its doors in Kampala. Once, it was a thriving, budget-ish lodge and bar, highly recommended by all manner of pundits, a place which attracted once-fashionable adjectives like lush and succulent and sprawling. Now that I gather the vocabulary and see it before me, it strikes me that these were all euphemisms and that it was probably a brothel. At any rate, it's shut and the website, bizarrely, has been taken over by a bunch of health scientists.
Poems, anyone?
Sorry, this whole post was an in-joke.
Anyway
- trixie
- My birth certificate attests to my debut on a Saturday in the middle of May, 1977. You can thus deduce that I am a bullish Taurean, that I was born in the Chinese year of the Snake, that my Burmese animal is the Dragon. This means that I am wont to bellow, hiss, and breathe fire, to stampede, slither and fly. Because my birth certificate was stamped by a bureaucrat in service to Her Majesty’s Government, I am a citizen of the United Kingdom. Because both of my parents were practicing Australians, I am also a citizen of Australia. I have thus two passports both of which inexplicably contain photographs of some random grumpy refugee from an eighties hair band. This means that I am constitutionally duplicitous: I can change my mode from imperial to colonial at will; I can embody, at turns, Old World Charm and New World Pizzazz; I can personify the staid and stagnant as readily as the arriviste and anxious. I do not hold, nor have I ever held, a driver’s licence, a boat licence, a gun licence, a forklift ticket or a motorcycle licence. This means that I have never, ever had to moderate my alcohol consumption for fear that I might have to operate heavy or dangerous machinery.
3 comments:
Was it, perchance, a *bright* blue mango?
in this heat, my friend, everything is shining just as bright as a...
I want some photographic evidence of the place where it was.
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