Friday, 18 November 2011

The Interview

Having worked tirelessly to get back in the “normal” workforce recently, it came as something of a pleasant surprise when I was asked to attend for an interview. That in itself isn’t so surprising, what was surprising is that this job was top of my wish list and to get the opportunity to interview for it was a great…. opportunity.

I prepared myself the best I could for the big day. I went out and bought a whole new outfit. I suited up to the nines so sharply I resembled a younger, Welshier Don Draper.

It's like looking in a mirror!!
All that was left to do was present myself and rock their socks off with my witty, intelligent and concise interview technique, which basically involved me stealing Don Draper’s entire persona.

Yes, I like Mad Men.

I entered the interview room to be confronted by four middle aged women with bad haircuts, cheap clothes and skin that was the wrong side of ripe. 

Enter our lair!
This was the kind of scenario that ol’ Don lived for. Within seconds he would have had them eating out of his hand and asking him to be their boss. I intended to follow the same path. If Don Draper had taught me anything, it was this: "You want some respect? Go out there and get it for yourself."

However, there was just one tiny flaw in my otherwise flawless plan.

As I was introduced to the cast of the Bitches of Eastwick, I felt a slight unease and realisation running through my mind. People generally look for traits in others which they possess in themselves. It’s a fundamental rule of human nature. I may have many enviable character traits, but being able to relate those to four forty something former house wives with a maxed out Primark store card was a big ask. Short of starting the conversation by asking them if they had watched some angry working class soap or a brain numbing realty TV show last night, I was already on the back foot.

No matter. As soon as the interview questions start, I would give them little option other than to consider me the front runner for this position.

Then shit got serious.

Question 1:

"Quantify using your strategic analysis review experience, how you correlate the subject matter of the primary criteria within the confines of the agreed employment description, emphasising the essentially required person specifications relating to previous performance and subdivision parameters."

My mind raced. Wait, was that question even in English??

No, can’t have been? I only caught about a third of the words she actually said. To be honest, I think she was using an Elvish dialect I was not totally familiar with.

My mouth opened and vague, jumbled words spilled out.

If pie charts had had anything to do with the question I have no idea, but she seemed to pick up interest and wrote something down when I said the phrase “core management liaising skills”. However she seemed less interested when I talked about “like..patient confidentiality stuff, you know?”

I have no idea what my answer sounded like to them, but to them this is probably the kind of answer I gave and how I looked giving it:

Deciding to tag team me into submission, the questioning moved on to the next battle-axe in a blouse.

I could feel the blood rushing around my head. Had it started to drip out of my nose yet? I couldn’t be sure. I reached for the plastic cup of water that had been set in front of me and took a nervous sip. I resisted the temptation to throw it over them to see if they would melt. But my guess is yes, yes they would.

Surely the first question was just a tester. A kind of “no win situation” or “Kobayashi Maru” if you will, that would show them how a person reacts under duress and extreme pressure. I was wrong.

Questions 2:

"In response relating to the objective status of information queried, you are presented with misleading or nonmisleading recognition measure assessed information. If you are required to ascertain the validity of said information in a time structured manner complying with the employer’s code of conduct, do you feel this is systemic of a client testimony compromise or due, in part, to the previously mentioned queried information disassociation parallel?"

I started to sob a little at this point.
The question was longer and more confusing than the first. I quickly scanned my memory for key words and cues that could help. I sat there with my mouth open staring at the ceiling. I had to say something.

A long and exasperated sound seeped from my larynx. I wasn’t totally sure, but I think I might have been having a serious stroke at this point.

I started rambling again. A half remembered reference to “conduct” lingered in my brain as I checked off meaningless phrases and platitudes relating to this subject. I rubbed my now numb face in the hope of sparking some semblance of life into my answers, but all that came were stories of “client interaction” and “petty cash…reimbursement.. bus tickets..photocopy chart, list, prescription doctor”.

They witches cackled and sneered as they wrote down notes on their little forms. Their writing too small, far away and upsidedowny for me to read. But I knew what they were writing. I KNEW!

“HAHAHA. Can’t believe this guy is actually trying to answer these questions! He’s not even a 47 year old woman! Why would we hire him?”

Almost unbeknown to me I had stopped talking and they had moved onto the third woman and her question. By the time I had I had stopped talking and she had started, she was already half way through her question but I decided that I would at least try to get one question reasonably understood and give a decent answer.

Question 3:
"How do you feel, empirically speaking of course, you can respond to a work scenario that is conceptually heterogeneous in appearance, but displays homogeneity characteristics upon further effective and target led investigation."
I sat there and thought about it….. 

For what was a VERY long time
I had nothing.

Literally NOTHING!

Not a single word of her question made any sense and I had already used up every single reference to my skills and experiences that might otherwise allow me to tread water for a few minutes.

As Don Draper would have said: 

“I'm glad that this is an environment where you feel free to fail.”
I stroked my hair and started rocking back and forth in my seat. 

They all just looked at me for what seemed like an eternity. I now knew how those poor bastards in Dragons Den felt when they cracked under the pressure and couldn’t even remember what invention they were trying to sell.

I had no choice but to ask lady number 3 to repeat the question. She looked at me with an almost palpable level of disgust and contempt and then proceeded to repeat the question like she was trying to teach basic reading skills to a retarded 3 year old kid who grew up a middle child in a pack of wolves.

“HOW….. Do you.. That’s YOU!!! FEEL, EMPIRICALLY SPEAKING, of….………Course………
She gave me no hints or help as to what the hell she was talking about, but just repeated the question word for word in a much slower and patronising identical manner. 

This brief rest bite did give me a brief opportunity to leave my body and observe the car crash that was happening before my eyes. It was not a pretty sight in all fairness. Whoever that guy in the suit is sitting behind the desk should really wipe the dribble from his chin.

I feigned new and appreciated understanding of the question and gently nodded in some sort of realisation that the words she said now made sense.

I did not.
But the penny had not dropped. I was as lost as I had been at the start of the question, but at least now I had been given enough time to formulate some sort of answer. I figured anything had to be better than just sitting there like I had been struck down by a severe and sudden case of “locked in syndrome”.

Again I prattled on about “people skills” and may have even given a short speech on how.....

At this point, I was seconds was from reciting the lyrics to Shiny Happy People
More scribbles on their notes as I continued to give them a show of bewildered false conpentence not seen since they banned the circus from training Apes to ride Horses. 

Which is probably a good thing
The one thing I clung to during this time was the knowledge that my torture was almost over. I wondered if they used similar techniques on terrorists? They probably should. I was so confused and dumb struck that at this point that I would have happily run out of the interview room screaming about “Firm but supportive management styles” and “Database information review process” if my legs had worked. But this was the last question, so how bad could it be. It would be asked by what seemed to be the most friendly and senior interviewer. She even smiled at me and gave me a reassuring look.

Question 4:
 "Please give me your definition of avocation oriented success in which you can specify the techniques used in interdependence of conceptual targets in which you exceeded the agreed upon supposition of the work environment without having to rely on presumption of duty."

I started to shake. My breath came in short deep grunts, interspersed with the primal howl of a wounded animal. I rutted the floor with my shoe. Some sort of reply came from within. I had no idea what I even said, but I think I may have cursed her house in Klingon at one point.

Then it was over. 

I had worked on a funny joke regarding the “What are your weaknesses?” question, but they didn’t even have the good grace to give me the opportunity to use it. In case you’re wondering, it was something about being a “bit of a racist”. There was a whole setup and punch line thing that doesn’t make sense out of context. What you think you could do better? 

Needless to say I didn’t get the job. I have requested some feedback from the interview panel. A little bit in order to pick up some hints, but mainly to try and remember what the hell I actually said.

I’m quite annoyed and dismayed why people would want to turn an already tense and nervous situation into a full on mental torture session. We all have access to a thesaurus, but that’s no reason to take the piss. I really don’t know what they hoped they would get out of their petty and silly actions? Maybe the job had already been “promised” to someone else and this was their way of just stacking the deck, or maybe they were just jumped up, self-important fish wives who needed to try and make themselves look better than they actually were. Either way, their loss.  

Never mind. Plenty more interviews out there, meaning I get to do this all over again in the near future.


Thursday, 15 September 2011

The Zombie Apocalypse Survival Guide: Part 1

“Damn it! Damn it all to Zombie Hell! You finally did it. You finally unleashed the end of days.”

Who can forget that classic quote from Charlton Russell from the classic motion picture: Rise of the Zombie Apes. Who knew that it would so accurately foreshadow the future apocalypse in which we now potentially find ourselves. Having seen this event coming for so long, I took it upon myself to prepare a Zombie Attack Survival guide for you, my dear reader, cause let’s face facts here, it’s just a matter of when, not if, this guide will be needed.

Please note that much of this guide can also be used in the event of an alien invasion, nuclear war, the Germans having another go or uprising of underground dwelling monster race of Crab-People.

Chapter 1: Preparation

Forearmed is Forearmed. The more armaments you have at your disposal, the better chance you have of coming out of this alive. It’s no good popping down to your local hardware store once the Zombie apocalypse has hit because it's probably going to be clossed. You need to prepare yourself now.

The best weapon in dealing with Zombies is a good old fashioned “lobo”. A lobo is a lobotomising weapon that can be used in combat by just about anybody. It is the only real option when fighting the Zombie hoards. A gun will run out of bullets and quickly attract other Zombies with its noise, and while a bow and arrow or crossbow is a good medium/long distance weapon, it too suffers from the same animation problem as the gun, along with its slow reload time leaving you open to close quarter attack.

There are many different types of lobo you could invest in. This is mine:

I call it "The Re-Deadinator"
It covers all bases. You got the broadsword for your traditional skull cracking. The gun for your close combat head shots, when you got no other choice. And finally a sharp knife that can be used to stab through the eye of a zombie, into the brain in case you run out of bullets.

I highly recommend that you choose something heavy and strong. While a baseball bat might seem an obvious choice, it just has very little weight behind it and you will need a swing like Babe Ruth to destroy a Zombie’s brain with a single swing. The best choice of weapon would be a sledge hammer/pick axe combination deal. This will provide the weight of a heavy hammer, with the brain piercing power of a pick. 

Here are some basic Zombie killing techniques for you to memorise:
The Sword Skull Crack.
The Gun Brain Splat.
The Knife Eye Kebab.
Where to get food?  Your first instinct during a Zombie apocalypse will be to run out to the supermarket and fill up a trolley. DO NOT DO THIS! 

A typical Supermarket 4 minutes after an Apocalypse.
You must avoid large congregations of people at all costs as everyone else will have had the same idea as you, leaving you to battle it out with other healthy humans in a fight for what little resources are available. During the Zombie attack you must start thinking differently. You must forget the “rules” of society and think outside the box.

Old people are easily confused, overpowered and stolen from. You most likely have many elderly neighbours and relatives who will have cupboards chock full of yummy food. 

As old people are pretty much dead anyway, you will be doing them a big favour by taking their food and denying them the curse of Zombification. However, should you wish to end their suffering quickly and humanely, this is a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and not just get a healthy supply of food, but to also test your lobo Zombie killing skills. Old people are perfect to practice on as they are 80% Zombie anyway. The moan a lot, suffle along like they've been dead for a week and eat things that would make a billy-goat puke. So hack away good reader and be sure to take a moment and acknowledge the sacrifice these elderly people have given you.

Be at peace innocent ones.
Fortification: Having got the jump on many of your competitors for what little resources remain available, it is now time to baton down the hatches and wait out the first wave of Zombie attacks.

A good cushion fort can withstand anything up to a level 3 Cloverfield attack.
You must proceed to your home, lock all doors and windows and bunker down for a minimum of 2 weeks. With careful rationing you will have more than enough food and water to last this time. Make sure to keep curtains and blinds closed at all times as you do not use any lights that can be seen from the street, less you attract Zombies or gangs of marauders.  

There is always time for Disco, but we must all make sacrifices.
Always have an escape plan in case of home invasion however. I highly recommend having a second story window from which you can escape in an emergency situation. Always keep your essential supplies in a bag next to this window should you be forced to flee in a hurry.

Clothing. As the Zombie virus is spread through bites and sylvia, it makes obvious sense to try and protect yourself as much as possible when presented with a Zombie attack. Even basic cotton clothing is enough to protect your limbs from Zombie bites, so be sure to cover up your arms and legs at all times. Another top tip is to wear tough, thick gloves. You will most likely be doing a fair amount of hand to hand combat with Zombies so it makes sense to protect the area of your body that is going to be in closest contact with the Zombie mouth. 


Coming in Part 2: The Hoard Arrives.....

Thursday, 4 August 2011

Dead Poets Society 2: The Dead Shall Rise

Please be aware that the following blog entry you are about to read could be very damaging to your health. Those of a nervous disposition and anyone currently taking heart medication are advised to stop read right now and leave this page at once.

During my mid teen years, I occasionally knocked out a free flowing and eloquent poem to better verbalise my teenage frustration and curiosity. Long thought lost forever, it was only recently when clearing out a load of old junk that I happened to come across these lost masterpieces.

Reading them now in the cold light of day some 15 years later, it is clear to me that my teenage years were a festering mind funk of putrid wonderments and gibberish. I hereby present you, dear reader with the full, unedited and complete works of one WG Mullins.

I shall attempt to analysis and uncover the truths in each poem as we process. But be warned, the following words are not for the faint of heart. Together we shall delve deep into a troubled psyche and uncover unexplored emotions and anger. Peeling back the veneer of time and aged wisdom, we shall dissect and ingest all the clever word play, verse structure and symbolism entombed within these long lost masterpieces.

Strap on your Beatnik beret and sit back daddy-o. Things are about to get wild.

Poem 1:

The Night of my Life

I’ve started smiling
But for no reward
They look at me with carrots for cats
Common people.

Drink, for my thumb has a beer
Cool man, I mean really cool.

Walking is a trip of life with empty shells
But where are the cracks?

23-24, why are bats bind?
Owhhh, why are bats blind?
Maybe because I have 9 legs.


I have hurt a tea bag.
His brown blood flows forth from his soggy skin
Why do I treat it so bad?
Ah, ah ahhh, yeeeeeeeeees.

Carrot, cat, kick, kite, car, kill.
Kit Kat?

Has it gone bright black?

Ah “The Night of my Life”. An action packed and energy filled far out trip into a universe of infinite possibilities and dangers. Currently negotiations are on-going for a feature film adaptation.

Let us analyse.

The first verse is a clear indication that I had recently had some sort of good news, which was not shared with my nearest and dearest. Carrots for cats would suggest that I was in combat with some strange, as to yet undiscovered vegetable/house pet hybrid. I can only assume that they were attempting to take over the work and replace the “common people” with “Catots” overlords.

In the second verse things start to get a little clearer. “Drink, for my thumb has a beer” is a clear indication that the writer has supplemented the childhood thumb sucking tradition for consumption of alcohol. A damning indictment of modern parenting standards? I think so.

In verse three we find our protagonist continuing his combat with the catots, “walking is a trip of life with empty shells”.  An obvious reference to the now empty “pods” that the evil hybrid creatures and be born in. An excellent verse for story progression and character development. “But where are the cracks?” he asks. Searching, as are we all for answers in these dark times. “IN THE BIN!”. And the first act draws to a close with realisation that answers cannot be found by looking at the cracks, but through the cracks! Through the holes that we all have within us, allowing us to combat evil in new ways.

Verse four is where the action really starts to crank up. “23-24, why are the bats blind?” is a reference to the power of sonar. Hearing the truth if you will, which can be half the battle when battling something evil. Continued questioning prevails throughout this verse. It is not enough to shout out the truth, you must repeat it and repeat it until the message gets through that we are under attack and something needs to be done. “Maybe because I have 9 legs.” SHOCK! The protagonist has been struck down by the mutating alien virus he has been trying to stop. He doesn’t have much time, he is racing against the clock in order to save the world.

I AM BLIND! The protagonist has lost his way, he is now questioning himself and his ability to lead the fight back against the alien hybrids. A classic third act twist.

Now we get to the big finally action verse. Realising that there is nothing to be done, but wipe them all out, our hero attacks, and attacks hard. He scythes through the evil hybrids, knowing that they are just following their primal instincts and know no better, but he cares no. Blood flows and the body count stacks up. This is a dark day indeed.

“Carrot, cat, kick, kite, care, kill. Kit Kat?” Could there have been a more eloquent and powerful sentence ever written in the English language? If there is then I certainly haven’t read it!
The Catots slowly die, through kicks, kites and kills. All that is left is the metaphorical “Kit Kat”. A symbolic breaking of the two wafers of our different civilisations. Always to be interconnected, but never to be together. Powerful, powerful stuff.

Has it gone bright black? The hero dies I think. Or there’s a power cut or something. Maybe a bulb goes out?

Now onto “We Apologise for the Delay”. A damming and ahead of its time study of the effect of crass consumerism and commercialisation have on a modern society. Read it and weep for the lost generation.

We Apologise for the Delay

Time, it is an eternal struggle.
But for some it is an excuse
The cooperate fat boys
Fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.

(The life of a belly button)

I see it coming towards me

The lie, they lie, why do they lie to me?
Do they think I am scared of bellies?


(The life of a belly)

Shall we? No
Shall we? No
Shall we? No
Shall we? No
Shall we? No
Shall we? Yeeeeeeee… No


They think I am a faceless belly button
But no
My belly will make them pay.

Brum Brum

Now let us analyse.

Verse one sets the stage of an epic battle that shall ring throughout the ages. We are not just fighting cooperate greed and callousness, we are fighting for the very future of our souls. The poem starts with a stunningly clever and heart breaking prologue. “Time, it is an eternal struggle.” No matter where I go or what I do, I feel this will always be the most personal and real sentence I have ever written. It just doesn’t get better than that. But if that wasn’t good enough, I then go on to expand from this original opening salvo and continue to blow the readers mind wide open! “But for some it is an excuse, the cooperate fat boys, fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.” WOW! How I was allowed to get away with writing such incendiary and dangerous prose back then I will never know. Taking aim directly at the highest echelons of government and Royalty, I tear down the very building blocks of dogmatic control that enslave the population of this great planet. Is this first verse responsible for the end of Communism? I don’t know, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t? But it’s just a bit funny that they both seemed to occur at the same time isn’t it?

The second verse continues the great tradition of rebel poetry by taking on the target in the most direct and dangerous way possible. Through the metaphorical symbolism of the belly button. “Squashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” I said! Yes, I said it! And I meant it!!!! Never let it be said that I am afraid to be controversial and daring. I would carve every letter of that sweet, sweet word into the chambers of Government if they would let me. Forever a statement to the power and fighting spirit of the belly button.

Verse three moves into high gear. The scared foolish power centres of the world combine in an attempt to stop this revolution. Offering pennies for souls and promises for placate people. The constant “Shall we? No”, a verse of a child’s tears as the powerful and strong bring down the full force of the corrupt upon an innocent civilisation.

Thinking they have won, verse 4 gives us a complete 180 as the masses fight back against their evil oppressors. “They think I am a faceless belly button, but no, my belly will make them pay!” represents the collective joining together to no longer be a belly button, but to be the BELLY! In a shocking twist that will leave M. Night Shyamalan crapping himself we discover that the belly buttons are now the bellies. Forever doomed to repeat the cycle of button and belly for the rest of time.

“Brum brum”. Yes, brum brum indeed. Brum brum indeed….

Finally we come to “No Title”. The most heart aching and personal of my poems. Even reading it now brings a tear to my eye.

Or at least it would if I could actually remember what it was about? Honestly, I have no friggin idea. I think I was just randomly writing down words with no real sense of what and where they were going. Maybe it was some kind of spontaneous prose that I was working on, but it’s more likely to be a bunch of random song lyrics jumbled together.

No Title

Why is life such a bitch
Giving you crap and feeding you shit
When all day long all……
What is it that makes me queasy?
You want is to wear pyjamas in the day time.
Doctors gives ohhhh-hhhh-afternoon
Coffee spoons and books to beat the bed with
Playback illness?

Measured with coffee spoons.
I am shrinking!
Child has an accident
No illness, blue or white hair is hard
Hmmm, hmmmm, girl doesn’t belong
Marks make her evilllll

Hmmm, hmmmm, hmm
Church on the road
Don’t understand?
Parents, evil beard, stopping on floor

Hmmm, hmmm, hmm, hmmm, ahhhhhh
Ahhhhhhh, ahhhh
Finish, frogs, fighting on my head an in the tent
Nature is evil
Tools are sharp and fingers look like wilder beasts
Shades of my body are laughing
Don’t get it?
Neither did the animals.

Let us analyse.

Uhmmm. Ok. This is where things start to get a bit weird. Did I ever mention that I spent a part of my teens locked up in a mental institution for the criminally insane?

I honestly think this poem may have been the one that cost me put there. I don’t even remember writing it, and bizarrely the original looks like it has been written in human blood. Though not mine… For some reason I remember it isn’t mine.

A rambling and incoherent jumble of “ahhhh” and “hmmmm”, I feel confident that this poem was in fact a statement of intent to be posted to the Police before I began my crime spree.

I even remember buying a hammer, shovel and knee pads after writing this poem. What the knee pads were for remains lost in the fog of time, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with poisoning the countries water supply. Is that weird? Maybe.

Thankfully I started taking medication after this incident and have not had a problem since. I’m doing so well that I stopped taking the meds last week and now feel completely fine. In fact, I feel so fine that I think I may write a new poem for the first time in 15 years!


I’m coming people, coming to get you all
I’ve been asleep for a long while, but now I am awake
Awake like the apple in the orchid that knows no pain

Evil seeping into my eyes like a clown into the night
Honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk
Dinky donk?

I look over the hill and sky, my domain, my prison, my wimberry tart
Custard, cream, single or double? No matter, all cream is the heart of a mother
MOTHER! She makes me listen to the sun. No sun, just rays of hats

Tip topping toeing tying tired teach tell tiddle.
Soon the darkness will come
Soon I will speak with the power of a cat on fire

LIFE/LIVE/little Billy don’t know what a toothbrush is
Weep for Billy
Weep for his jaws of death!

I gotta say, I’ve gotten so much better at this down the years.

Friday, 20 May 2011

Big In Sudan

While casually looking through the visitors and locations of the people who visit my blog, it came as something of a surprise to discover that I seem to have an ardent fans and supporters living in Sudan? As some of you may know, Sudan is currently in the grips of a political, moral, civil and religious war, with hundreds of thousands of its citizens having been killed from either direct combat or starvation and disease inflicted by the conflict in the Darfur region.

Undeterred by this seemingly hostile environment, I decided to travel to the Sudan and thank my fans in person. Was it dangerous and stupid? Yes, absolutely. But I grew up on the mean streets of the South Wales Valleys, a place where militant coal miners regularly form unlicensed Welsh Male Voice choirs and where you have to travel nearly 20 miles to get a Burger King. So don’t talk to me about poverty and putting my life on the line cause I’ve walked through the fires of Hell to get some curly fries I’m sure a few pissed off Arabs with machine guns and attack helicopters are nothing compared to the one way system on the Porth by-pass.

Porth By-Pass: 8:30am on any given weekday
Chartering a flight to the Sudan proved somewhat difficult owing to the whole UN embargo thing. But some perseverance coupled with several pound coins (which equates to a year’s wage for those people), managed to get me a single propped jalopy that flew me in from Egypt. 

Landing in a dusty and barren landing strip, I surveyed the Sudan environment around me.

"Thats some quality work"
 Large holes pitted the runway and scorched the earth. Destruction of runways is pretty much the first point of business in any war as it cuts off supplies for the opposing army. Without food, provisions and weapons, the enemy is there for the taking! Admiring their gutsy and well executed bombing runs I was unaware of the rustling coming from behind me.

I turned round and found myself staring at a thin, dirty looking man called Mubingto. He wrongly assumed that I was some kind of relief worker and was there to help him for some reason.

I explained the situation the best I could to him using my (admittedly) rudimentary understanding of the Sudanese language. 

I showed them print outs of Batdad and Animals That Deserve to Die in the hope that they may have some kind of knowledge as to who my mysterious fans were. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he scanned over a badly drawn caricature of Rebecca Black with a bowl of cereal. He instinctively knew that I wanted to explore and find people who had an internet connection. Were there people in this part of the world who were even online? The answer when it came was understandable in any language. “One”.

 This “One” must be the people I’m looking for. It would be a 3 day hike through hostile jungle...

Searing hot desert

Snow-capped mountains 

And deep, dry valleys. 

He had heard about this town, the town of the “spiders-web signal” and “magic glass box”. Up until I had arrived he had assumed that it was just a fairy tale, something that was impossible, achievable only in the most cheese fever induced dreams. 

But now that I was with him, he started to see it as a sign from the mighty Goat God, Guhindi that he should lead me to the Promised Land and that he would be rewarded with life eternal and a Facebook account.

The trip was arduous and difficult. We dodged bullets and bombs, drank Pepsi Max at room temperature and suffered through patchy 3G reception. Just when I thought poor little Mubingto could carry me no further, we came to a clearing in the forest. A path lay before us at our feet, leading towards a place.. A special place, a place that I had travelling half the world to find....

I approached the town slowly. It was so unlike anything I had seen in Sudan that I was convinced that I was having another of my cheese hallucinations. I reached out and touched the sign that bore my name. I was real.

I slowly started to walk into the town. Pristine houses lined the spotless streets. I could sense eyes on me as I slowly advanced towards the town centre. They remained hidden as I turned the corner and moved towards the figurehead of the town to find....

A giant, solid gold statue of me!
I gazed up at this majestic figure of wonderment. What did it all mean? A town elder exited the Church of Winning-ication behind him and slowly advanced towards me. 

They say you should never meet your hero’s. What they don’t say is that you should never meet your God’s either, as it will only result in mass disappointment and running for your life with a village of pissed off Sudaniesians chasing after you. Managing to escape and barter my way out of the Sudan, I returned to Wales with one less set of fans and a harsh lesson learnt. In the future I will stick to posting links from the safety of the virtual world and never again make the mistake of actually interacting with other humans.