Tomorrow I face the public tribunal for wilfully and maliciously bashing an ashtray, itself a relic of war, into the head of a poor Angolan citizen with intent to kill, after first having stunned him with a one two combination breaking my left hand in the process, The lattter being the meat of the initial confrontation forming the assault charges just in case they don't get me for attempted murder..
Well of course I am guilty. Mind you, if the bastard had gone down with the first combination I wouldn't have had to hit him with the ashtray so wouldn't now be facing the 'with intent to kill' bit which, as my lawyer says, is a bit of a nuisance. Well I will bear that in mind next time I am defending my wife from an apparently homicidal maniac. Sadly, I am used to lawyer speak and 'bit of a nuisance' translates into 'doomed'.
I was actually naive enough to ask Marcia if my presence at the tribunal was actually neceesary. Why couldn't I just sit there in my room, small pack containing everything I would need in prison; a few undies, a big jar of Vaseline, condoms etc. and wait for the decision? Whichever way you looked at it, I was buggered. Was there any chance I could save myself the public humiliation?
Marcia wasn't having any of that. Apparently the Big Guns are coming tomorrow. Cheery news indeed but tomorrow is Saturday. Those wishing to see me dance a jig at the end of a rope have a vested interest in pitching out of bed. Will the big guns, right at this very minute getting slammed out of their heads in downtown Luanda remember that ever so teensy weeny and insignificant appointment they may have agreed seventy kilometres south of bed spaces filled with willing whores? I think not. As plans go, Marcia's was brilliant. Except that it is total Bollocks.
So we are going to Plan B.
First thing in the morning a few loyal retainers are going hose me down and turn me from this:
So that hopefully I can go back to being this:
Instead of this:
As plans go, it is pretty bloody thin I know.