Whos given up everything to follow a dream ?

[Chim]

Thanks guys. Will pop part 2 later, up to my tits in paint at the moment.

[Adenauer]

Fabulous

[Hasbeen]

Yes, I've done it.

Early in 1968 I achieved one dream, when I signed a contract to drive an F1 Brabham Repco in the Oz Gold Star series, our F1 championship. It had taken 6 years to work up to this.

I wasn't bad, & managed second in the championship series that year. Then we had our international series, with the worlds top drivers here, & I knew I was never going to be a world champion. I had no desire to be a big frog in a little pond, so I retired from motor racing & went sailing.

Probably due to the disappointment of not being as good as I had hoped, I found I was unhappy in my marriage. I signed the house & car over to her & moved on.

I had an exchange reconditioned auto components business, doing brake, steering & suspension/shocks gear. It was a successful & growing business, but I was no longer enjoying it either, so when I got a good offer for it, I sold out that too.

I got enough to buy a nice if aging, 40Ft racing yacht, & set it up for single handing, with a enough left over to feed myself for a couple of years.

After a time sailing around locally in the Sydney area I got more adventurous & headed for the Great Barrier reef. I meet some nice people & was starting to enjoy life again, but still had no plans, no dreams to follow.

A number of those I met on yachts were heading for New Guinea, the Solomons, or New Caledonia, so I thought why not, & sailed to New Guinea. I found my way to Rabaul in New Britain, where I was asked to set up a small diesel engine overhaul system for the Daihatsu dealers. This took 4 months, & I met a lot of plantation owners in for a few days from isolated plantations on atolls & other islands.

These planters all had a tale of woe about getting anything repaired out on their islands. I got pretty friendly with a few of these, & promised to go & sort a few things for them when I'd finished my engine overhaul line.

I spent a year overhauling mostly generators, tractors, boat engines & outboards, with a growing waiting list of customers. One of these Graham, who'd become a mate was bhing one night, that he had been quoted $60.000 for a small jetty to take the little 100Ft cargo boats that picked up his copra. The jetty had to be steel, as marine borers destroy timber up there in months.

Some of the skippers would not come if they had anchor out, & load the hard way, from canoes. They were demanding a jetty to speed up the loading.

We decided to try building one ourselves, using cast in place concrete piles, using some of the dozens of 44 gallon drums around the place as formers, & scrap steel from WW11 junk all over the area. It took almost 3 months of fooling around, developing a technique, but we ended up with a great little jetty.

With in a couple of months the skippers had spread the word, & I had plantation owners chasing me to build them one. With a little practice & forward planning I could build one of these in about 3 weeks. I was building about 10 a year, earning good money, & having 5 months a year for fun, in this beautiful area. I may not have dreamed this dream, but I had found it without even looking.

Edited by Hasbeen on Tuesday 20th November 16:42

[minimalist]

This is an inspirational thread.

Chim, don't be too long with that painting...

[WorAl]

I have, twice now. Walked from a well paid job to set up my own company, with nothing but a red bank balance for (dis)comfort. Less than a year in I entered into a partnership with another company. 18 months later, a healthy bank balance and a good stock to sell, I walked as I still didn't have a contract/any official documentation in place, I don't have a leg to stand on if it came to court proceedings, so putting this one down to a bad experience. Still that £70k would have been nicer in my pocket than theirs, but you live and learn.

Now I have to start again. This is the third time I've had to build a company from scratch, I'm even more determined now, but going to head in a different direction with it.

[Marcellus]

Yes... Mrs M and I quit our good jobs, sold the house, loaded the car with the essentials and dog and headed for the French Alps to run a ski business!

We don't live there now, but we still have a ski business (differnet from the one we planned) and Mrs M has gone back to a proper job.

[King Herald]

Hasbeen said:

Yes, I've done it......................

.................. I may not have dreamed this dream, but I had found it without even looking.

Cool story! A life worth living.

[mikial]

Great story HasBeen, I dedicate this to you from the self depreciating,indefatigable William Shatner ,


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPBt4IuQEbw

[K50 DEL]

Chim said:

Thanks guys. Will pop part 2 later, up to my tits in paint at the moment.

You can't possibly still be drowning in paint.... where's part 2 man, we're all ears here.

[whirligig]

Yes Chim - come on!

[Famous Graham]

Three times.

Sort of. Ish. (It certainly doesn't beat a few tales already told).

First time was selling a flat in Reading to "emigrate" to Edinburgh in 2006. I knew no-one up there, I just knew I had to get out of that stehole. (Note for Puggit and anyone else from north of the river - Caversham is not Reading. I know you like to hear that ).

I was lucky though, I worked for my old man, and he also lived in the frozen north, so was happy for me to work from home and fly me down to the office once a week for a day and a night.

Until he wasn't.

I'm not entirely sure what tipped the balance, but it certainly wasn't my work ethic or my attempt to immerse myself in Scots culture so much that I could barely stand. Pretty certain, anyway.

So the ultimatum was - return to Reading and go back to office 9-5 or be off with you. It was no decision at all. Edinburgh is quite simply the most beautiful, vibrant, diverse and fun city I have ever encountered. Quite apart from which, I had made a huge amount of friends up there (and not FB friends either - these people actually exist. Although most of them would have the average PH demographic throwing Wall St Journals at them and scrabbling for the keys to their Porsche to get away. Yes - hippies)

Which led directly to instance number 2 :

Second time was why I became an insufferable bore about anywhere you could backpack to in Canada, west coast US, Peru, Chile, NZ and Oz (with quite a few notable exceptions in the latter two, because I ran out of money). Incidentally, I also became an expert in how to ps off a PHer's wife in 5 seconds flat. I was quite impressed with that, albeit in vast retrospect. And distance.

9 months that was - funded by some saving, a redundancy (see above) and the sale of an S2000. Aged 34 (so all you young'uns getting twitchy - don't panic just yet )

Third was an opportunity with work (totally unrelated to the old man) and is why I am typing this from Boston, having been offered the possibility of relocating 2 years ago (and it actually finally happening 1 year ago).

The thing is, I miss home. A lot. And by home, I mean Edinburgh. When I returned from my travels in 08, I felt nothing flying into Heathrow. But when, three weeks later, the plane banked over the Forth Bridge and the left wingtip pointed at Arthur's Seat...well, if I'd caught the fker who was chopping onions 3 rows behind me, there would have been words.

Boston is a fantastic town and I do enjoy living in the US but, as someone said earlier, it's not about location, it's about the people you surround yourself with - family & friends. It has been great, and will be great, I'm sure, for the other half a year I'm intending to be here for, but the pull of Edinburgh, and all the people I know, miss and love is just too much. And the city itself is one of those people in a way that Reading or Boston could never be.

TL;DR Tried it a few times and I now know where I'm going to be buried. With unwavering certainty.

[blindswelledrat]

Chim said:

Blah blah blah blah blah

I loved reading that. Finish it in an equally long-winded way. You write well

[RDMcG]

Left a very good job in Ireland at 25 with a box containing a camera and clothing. Arrived in Montreal and started again.End of an important relationship had left me eager to restart.

Very liberating - you have no identity,no status,no history. You are in fact,nobody.

I have worked globally and it has been an adventure right through. I occasionally go back to visit,but even during the days of the Celtic Tiger it never occurred to me to go back.

Married twice,second one very successfully,son with whom I have a great relationship,and worked for amazing people all the way through. Now consulting part time at 64,invested in a few things,have a few cars and fewer regrets.

[Matt Harper]

Hasbeen said:

Probably due to the disappointment of not being as good as I had hoped, I found I was unhappy in my marriage. I signed the house & car over to her & moved on.

Am I reading this incorrectly, or are you saying that you scked your wife, because you discovered you were no good at motorsport? A bit harsh, maybe?

[5potTurbo]

blindswelledrat said:

Chim said:

Blah blah blah blah blah

I loved reading that. Finish it in an equally long-winded way. You write well

He does indeed.
Now, Chim, hurry the fk up - your long post was on Saturday!

[King Herald]

Matt Harper said:

Hasbeen said:

Probably due to the disappointment of not being as good as I had hoped, I found I was unhappy in my marriage. I signed the house & car over to her & moved on.

Am I reading this incorrectly, or are you saying that you scked your wife, because you discovered you were no good at motorsport? A bit harsh, maybe?

I doubt it was quite that simple, but he did give her the house/car so not all that bad.

His lousy driving abilities probably totally destroyed her self-confidence, and her faith in men, but this is PH afterall so it doesn't matter.

[Chim]

I’m back guys, painting is now complete and we can now head off to the ferry for the next installment of "out of Africa" or to more precise, into Africa

So at last our soggy butts are sat in our seats on the coach. At this point the clock has just ticked past 3.00am in the morning.

Point of note here, It is an incredible quirk of human nature that despite the obvious catastrophic events surrounding you in these situations, events, that should on the whole, reduce you to a jabbering wreck sobbing incontrollable in a corner, we do in fact react in the opposite manner. Suddenly little victories become major achievements.

So in this vein we sat on that bus, famished, having not eaten since early the previous morning, knackered and as mentioned sopping wet. Despite all this we where grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire cats. This feeling achieved with nothing more than getting a seat on bus that we where supposed to be on in the first place. Most strange.

Finally the ferry docked at 6.00 am in the morning and our little coach boarded to very much applause from its many pissed off but surprisingly stoic passengers. At this point our thoughts where very firmly fixed on an extra large full English breakfast and lashings of hot tea that we where about to throw down our throats. The anticipation of this as we left the bus was positively electric.

fk me, did the boat sink prior to docking. The entire lounge area that we emerged into from the loading deck looked like world war three on a bad day. The thing was a wreck and the crew…. well suffice to say I have seen healthier looking week old corpses. Weathering a hurricane in the middle of the English Channel was no doubt something that they had not banked on when they signed up for a life on the ocean waves.

I should point out at this point that the storm that night was in fact classified as a hurricane and turned in to a rather famous event in meteorological circles and is fondly remembered by these types. Fondly, it must be said, is not the adjective I now use to describe it.

So, there we where, standing open mouthed purveying a scene of utter destruction as the bedraggled looking crew, brooms and bin liners in hand, do their best to clear up the mess. On wandering up to bar, or what was left off the bar, we enquired of the steward as to the possibility of some breakfast, or perhaps some light refreshment.

He never spoke, which at first thought could be considered quite ignorant. To be fair though he had no need to speak. His look rather portrayed everything that he wanted to say. That look roughly translated into;

“does it fking look like we are in a fit state to lay on a fking buffet for 300 people. Perhaps you have not fking noticed that the ship is a wreck and the fact that it’s still fking floating is a bit of a miracle. Now fk off.

So we did, opting to sit in a corner ad watch quietly as the crew went about the task of rebuilding the ship.

An hour later though we where back on the coach and leaving the sorry ferry behind and heading into the port of Calais. “Looking good dear” I say “Its only 8.00am, if the driver puts his foot down a bit we could still make Rotterdam on time”. My beloved it has to be said did not share my optimism at this point. In fact by this point I think she was ruing the day we met.

So onwards driver and don’t spare the horses. And off we set……….to the end of the car park….where he stopped.

“Sorry folks, out of driving hours” he announces from his seat.

The eruption on the coach at this point was comparable to an extinction level event. Amid the tumult of voices the driver could be heard pleading for calm “please everyone, I assure you it will only be a short delay, a replacement coach has been called in and is already on its way here”.

So we calm ourselves down and prepare to wait, again.

It’s worth mentioning at this point that mobile phones did exist back then, the fact you would have to have taken out a small mortgage to cover the cost and booked another seat on the coach to bring it with you though meant that the good old telephone box was still very much the defacto standard. Having considered that it would be a very good idea to give Jim a call and let him know what was happening, another couple of small problems sprang to mind.

Firstly, in the driver’s wisdom he thought it would be a really good idea to drive to the end of the car park in Calais. Now I don’t know if you have ever been to this port, if not let me tell you an interesting little fact about it. The car park is fking huge; in fact it’s so fking huge that a good set of water proofs should be packed for walking across it just in the case the weather takes a turn for the worse half way. I kid you not, this thing is massive, and we are parked at the arse end of it.
Secondly, pre Euro days there was a little thing called the French Franc. Now I was quite proud of myself for having the forethought, which is very unusual for me, to go the travel centre and purchase some foreign jobby money. Unfortunately at this point my crystal ball was broken and I assumed that the foreign jobby money I needed would be Dutch Crona. As such I had no fking foresight that I would in fact end up in bloody France having to use the fking telephone.

Still, could be………there I go again, tempting the lady. Did I mention the fact that it was still pissing down with rain.

An hour passes and still no sign of the promised replacement bus. I resolve to the fact that there must be an a foreign exchange counter in the terminal and decide that it time to brave the hike across the car park. “Hi, how you doing driver” says I. “Yea” he grunts back. “Would it be ok if I just popped across to the terminal building that you have kindly parked some three miles away from, I need to use the telephone”. He looks at me with that, you really expect me to helpful expression on his face. “Yea, no problem. If the replacement bus comes before you get back though we will go without though” he says helpfully.

It had be said, the British view of customer service back in the day left a lot to be desired. Short of a stand up fight, which I would most likely lose, I knew that there was no way I was going to change his view on this. Should the bus arrive in my absence, her indoors would be dumped on the tarmac along with our bags as the bus sped off into the distance.

So I returned to my seat looking at my watch. 9.00am, still time me thinks.

By 10.00am my brain had gone into catatonic melt down and I was ready to implode. “fk it, I am making that call” I say to no one in particular, as the good lady its thankfully sleeping at this point. The thought of her waking up half way to Holland with me still in France though was actually quite amusing, it really is amazing where the mind finds ways of extracting humor in the worst circumstances.

So with a look of disgust thrown at the driver on the way past, I set off for the terminal.

15 minutes it took me to get there, another 15 minutes to get my French francs and another 15 minutes to work out how to use the fking French version of the payphone to dial another country. To say I was rather up tight when Jim’s cheery voice greeted me on the other end of the phone was somewhat of an understatement. The most surprising thing about the whole conversation though was not my inane and almost hysterical ranting and excuses but Jim’s reaction.

“No problem Steven, you just take it easy and call me when you get here. Don’t worry about a thing”.

Very strange, I expected at least a hint of peed off’ness for wrecking his schedule. Still, some good news was.. .well… good. The walk back to the bus, well I say walk, it was more of a sprint actually. My humour at the thought of dearest waking up half way to Holland with an empty seat where I should have been having turned into mind numbing fear of the fury I would face when we met up again. Thankfully though the bus was still sat where I left it.

The clock had just clicked over to noon when the replacement bus turned up to huge cheers from the tired, hungry and extremely pissed off passengers and we all eagerly trooped off and boarded our bus to Rotterdam.

The first thing to note on this bus was the driver… he was French… and as per the French want they have a propensity for not speaking English. I have found over the years that this is not due to them being unable to speak English, they are in fact taught it all through the school years. This propensity therefore is more grounded in the fact that they hate the English with a considerable passion, refusing point blank to sink to the level of communicating with them.

So off we go, destination Holland, route through Belgium. Thankfully one of the passengers managed to overcome the language barrier and spoke a little French, much to the obvious annoyance of the driver. With this talent he managed to persuade him to make a comfort break in Belgium for us to grab some food. This though he firmly limited to 15 minutes.

Said stop arrived and we all pile out heading for the food counter. It was a long line, a very long line. The smells of hot, fresh food wafting from the various trays where sending my stomach into a frenzy. You could have heard the rumbling over the sound of the previous evenings hurricane. That was not for us though, the length of the line dictated the choice of food, a service station sandwich pack or nothing.

10 minutes into our allotted time and the bd is peeping his horn and getting ready to pull out of the car park. Sandwiches abandoned we pile back on the coach.

My partners hatred for all French people, ferry operators, bar stewards, bus drivers, train ticket collectors and weather forecasters was at this point diverting her fury from me… thankfully.

At least the rain had stopped.

Now it appears that the bus company that we booked with had found itself in the position of having to react to this unexpected set of circumstances. In this instance they had phoned round every bus company in France to try and find one that would pick us up at Calais and take us on to Rotterdam. When one finally agreed it was on the proviso that payment would be made to them prior to setting down said passengers. This was agreed and a cash pick up point arranged at the bus companies little office in Antwerp.

It is at this point I again diverge to bemoan the lack of technology back in the day. It strikes me that prior to the invention of satellite navigation that bus drivers found themselves driving aimlessly around cities that they had never before visited, completely lost. I would guess that many passengers on continental trips have lost many hours of their life’s to the complete lack of navigational skills by these chaps.

So it was that we found ourselves going around the very beautiful city that is Antwerp….. in circles. It has to be said, my overwhelming memory of this city is the Jewish population. I had never actually seen a Jew dressed up in the full regalia before, here they seemed to make up the majority. By the time we left though I never wanted to see another one again, ever…..Four fking hours we drove around this city. How the fk hard could it be, it took less time to find the tomb of tutan fking khamun than it did to find the fking bus office.

Finally though we pulled into the Rotterdam Bus station, very hungry, very tired and very emotional. It was 11.00pm at night. With our original schedule we should have been on our Bus back home an hour ago.

The reality of our situation, standing in a cold wet bus station at 11 oclock at night began to sink in. All I had was a telephone number. This number belonged to a potential employer that was expecting to interview me at 11.00 am that morning. Standing here, faced with the prospect of having to call him in the hope that he throws me a lifeline was not a great feeling.

Her indoors broke down in tears at this point. She had, understandably, had enough.

I found a phone and made the call, what transpired next took us both by surprise.

“Hi Jim, its Steven. We have arrived in Rotterdam Bus station” I said down the phone with a measure of great trepidation. “Steven, thank god. We where getting really worried. Great to here you’re safe and well” came back `Jim.

Slightly taken aback by this reaction I stammered down the phone “emm, thanks Jim. Was one hell of a journey, really not been great and I am so sorry for having to call you at this time of night.

“Don’t be silly, just delighted you are here safe and sound. You can fill me in on the details when I pick you up. Just sit tight, I will call Bram and let him know you are safe and sound and we will get you through to him” said Jim. All I could manage back was “thanks Jim, see you soon”

30 minutes later a very nice Merc pulls into the bus station and out pops Jim with a very warm greeting and off we went.

The Journey to meet Bram passed with the telling of the tale of whoa. A very sympathetic Jim listened patiently and consoled my beloved and me. To my continued surprise, nay, astonishment, it seemed that Bram had arranged a hotel for us for the evening and would meet us there when we arrived. The hotel as it turned out was an incredibly posh country estate affair. On entering the reception we where met by Bram.

Bram turned out to be a rather short, podgy not quite yet elderly Dutchmen with impeccable dress sense and smile and demeanor that would have the Arabs falling over themselves to buy sand off him. His English and his manners where impeccable and he took an immediate shine to my rather bedraggled other half, greeting her with a cuddle and words of condolence for the experience we had endured.

It’s safe to say that she was immediately enamored with this charming little Dutchman who bore an uncanny resemblance to a stumpy version of the fat controller. His ability to charm her, and me for that matter, in the manner of the granddad that you always wished you had, was something to behold.

We where quickly ushered into the restaurant. Bram we quickly established was a very valued member of the country club. It was now well past midnight, Bram however had held back the Chef and now passed on orders for a meal for us to a very attentive waiter. To save us from the embarrassment of hopelessly perusing a menu written in Dutch he asked if we liked steak as this was a particular specialty of the Chefs. Our reply in the positive as we slavered at the mouth was passed on to the waiter in the form of our order.

Now it has to be said that my tastes over the years have matured with experience. At this point in my youth though my idea of good steak was something that had been cooked to within an inch of total destruction. I had never heard the words Medium rare uttered and blue to me was simply a colour.

Thus when our steaks arrived, with our charming and cultured host giving us that Walla look, we both could do nothing more than utter the “Mmmm” sounds, accompanied by pained grins as the still mooing cow stared back at us from the plate.

Like everything else during this bizarre experience we faced it stoically and cleared the plate. Despite the hunger, every mouthful of this new found delight was somewhat of a trial. The looks on the face of my other half as she chewed and smiled sweetly through her grimace are now priceless memories.

So the meal ended, Bram showed us to our rooms, wished us a good night and arranged to pick us up at 11am in the morning.

We both collapsed in bed, totally bemused by the whole experience. Beloved though was completely and totally taken with this charming little old Dutchman.

Now it gets strange. The next morning we had a leisurely buffet breakfast and Bram arrived promptly at 11am. Taking beloved by the arm he led us out to his waiting S-Class and we took the short drive to Bram’s humble abode. Well I say humble in the loosest sense of the word. Very loose in fact, the place was a mansion. In Holland land prices are very much at a premium. This place though seemed to buck that little hurdle to the extent that the grounds appeared to take up half of Holland.

So we are ushered in to the home of Bram where his lovely little wife greets us like long lost relatives. We are settled with proffered cups of tea and biscuits and our tale of whoa is told again to a very attentive Mrs Dehond. Following this we are then taken in the lift, yes the house had a lift, to his offices. His very attractive secretary is dispatched to get teas and we are settled in what can only be described as a presentation suite.

Now at this point I really did not expect my beloved to accompany me. My idea of an interview for a grand a week job went more along the lines of the traditional grilling. This being conducted by a range of management bods and IT experts that would quiz me endlessly on the knowledge that I possessed. I should have been sting myself by this point. Instead I found myself largely ignored and the other half taking centre stage and shooting the breeze on a range of subjects with Bram.

At length we came on to the topic of the job. Bram proceed to bring up a presentation by projector on Gabon. The best way that I could describe this particular part of the experience is timeshare. Back in the day it was very hard sell, you would be settled down to a very glossy presentation and bombarded with images of the perfect lifstyle in the Sun. I had actually been to a couple of these, just to get the proffered free gift that they used to offer. This free gift invariable turned into something completely useless like a holiday to Spain that turned out to be for one but you had to take someone else and this surprisingly cost you twice what it should have.

Still I digress. Bram took me through the position. It was with Shell International in the picture perfect location of Gamba in Gabon. The presentation portrayed a life of luxury in the Shell camp of Yenzi. We would be given a gorgeous house in this custom-built expat community overlooking the beautifully Endogo lagoon, the largest fresh water lagoon in Africa. We would have our own maid and Gardener. The yenzi club had its own pool and a dizzying amount of activities for the spouses, from running the expat magazine to looking after the radio station.

For us blokes there was an 18 hole Golf course, fully equipped Gym, a range of speed boats on the Lagoon for our pleasure your choice of 4x4 for extensive off roading activities on the plains, Fishing in the Atlantic and 300 miles of totally unspoiled deserted beaches, all just for the pleasure of the expats. Hell, this place made Stepford look positively grubby.

The sales pitch went on, I would have all my bills paid back home, I would earn 1000 a week, tax-free. I would have 300 a week in expenses money. Although what I was supposed to spend it on I could not fathom. I would work 5 days a week, 8 till 4 with a two-hour lunch break. I would spend 3 months in Gabon with 1 month off back home or in a location of my choice. I would get first class return flights to this location of my choice.

“So what do you think Steven, is this for you” Bram asks. I look at beloved, she is grinning from ear to ear and looks like she is about to explode with excitement. “well” I open cautiously as Bram looks on with an excited and expectant look on his face. “it all looks great” I was about to continue with what’s the catch when Bram steps in. “Well, that’s settled then. He turns to my beloved. “You are going to love it Denise” and gives her a bloody hug. I am more than a little shell-shocked at this point.

Bram then proceeds to the details. He will arrange my flight from Glasgow to London, from London I will fly to Charles Degaul. From here I will then fly on to Libreville airport in Gabon. Once I get to Libreville Mr Yubi will meet me.

Mr Yubi is duly described as a tall black man. At this point Bram opens a little safe in his office and comes back with a large sum of notes in various denominations. I am handed instructions for the Mr Yubi meeting, this involves handing Mr Yubi 1300 French Francs and my passport.

Once he has this Mr Yubi will then see me through customs. From there I am expected to get a taxi to the airport that will take me to a smaller airport for my Flight to Gabons second city, Port Gentil. From here I get another Taxi to the Meridian Mandji Hotel in Port Gentil where a room will be booked in my name. I will then spend the night in the Mandji hotel and will be met in reception at 10am by an Australian by the name of Mr Baker.

Following this, I will be taken to the one of his houses in Port Gentil and will then fly down to Gamba, where I will work, the next morning.

He then hands me a load of local Gabon currency, CFA, and an envelope with 2000 pounds in it to cover any expenses.

Ok, lets take a step back here. From my perspective this all sounds like a sub plot in a James Bond movie. st like this does not happen in the real world, you don’t apply for 1000 pound a week jobs in the small adds, you don’t get whisked off to paradise with all expenses paid on a whim. People don’t just hand you thousands of pounds based on you seeming like a nice bloke. For fk sake, the guy has not even asked me if I can spell IT yet. This is just way to bizarre for words.

Beloved though is totally taken with it all. It is further explained that she will follow me out on my second trip to allow me time to get our house chosen and for her to pick out the furnishing and get everything packed up for our new life. All furnishing for the house in Gamba will be paid for, she just has to shop and choose. Ikea being the recommended place as they will arrange for shipping to Gamba. By this point she is a jabbering wreck and is all but jumping up on down on her chair. I am at this stage merely a participant in the show.


Will stop here again, past my bedtime. The next installment will take me on the ride of my life to deepest darkest Africa.

[NightRunner]

Very good!

MOAR!

[B17NNS]

wolfy1988 said:

CHIM!

Please continue.....

This.

[200bhp]

Am I the only one who, within the first couple of paragraphs of Chim's tale, clicked onto his profile to see if it all paid off?