Zambia World Wide

All these non-sexual, sex games were doing nothing for my REM sleep, however, so, when Browning was at his most rampant, I had to prepare an informal rota for the other guys to be called to do some substitute cabbying on my behalf. I never did ask how much tribute they exacted for their taxiing services, but bleary eyes & contented grins at the breakfast table often spoke silent volumes and it seemed politic to leave it at that.

Not that the 'tramp, tramp, tramp' of a succession of tramp feet hadn�t borne some fruit for the sex starved yours truly, but, happily for me, it came about as I returned from an airport shift to find both the Mess and our nomadic house guest, Tommy, trashed by the wild excesses of a woman he had brought �home� with him, with the intention of doing a Browning, but without the latter�s magic touch. Clearly he hadn�t properly communicated his sordid plan to the�intended participant, for, at the sight of him stripped for action, she�developed a violent fit and proceeded to destroy our furnishings and Gobey, in that order.

In any case, I�discovered him to be a gibbering wreck of an unclothed swain, cowering in�the corner of our doorway, whilst she was handing out his clothes to passing house servants. You had to be impressed with such strength of purpose�and I certainly was taken with her. She easily could have settled in Apacheland, Glasgow and never have suffered a minute�s problem with the proletarian hoodlum�derelicts who were her neighbours. So the Gerry cab service swung into action once more�and I returned her to her parents,�very cautiously, but�successfully, suggesting a date for the weekend.

The prim Code of the Hodes precludes me from revealing any details of the subsequent�intense relationship, but let me advise you of this: if an�unwelcome couple of decades of�purity�have finally�to be cast aside, you can�t do better than fulfilling the experience with a fully trained sales assistant�from Holdsworths Pharmacy, in possession of both an encyclopaedic knowledge of stimuli for the tender areas of the�male torso�and�access to�a full menu of modern contraceptives, the latter at staff discount, yet. 49 years on, I salute her memory, her energy�and her all-round�feistiness, with a contented smile and a small, retained shiver of terror.

Lusaka was turning out to be a comfortable fit with my lurid expectations for it. Sure, I now had to pay back the hard-won loan for the Pogo, so money was tight, but I had transport, lots of friends of both sexes, a very pleasant billet�at number 19�and enough to eat. More than sufficient, actually, as I was a defalcating Mess Officer extraordinaire. Even Paddy had backed off from his initial�truculence somewhat, having realised that I knew my way around a sorting office; then again, as a typical Mick�he spent most of his time brooding, bricked up in his office, occasionally feasting on a hunk of raw meat hurled in by one of his acolytes. Pretty well, I had the run of the place; no-one knew or cared where I was supposed to be and, playing on this, I made a spectacular grudge payback.

Bryson had a little cubicle of his own, from which he would disappear on money-making activities that benefited only him. No-one understood quite�how he got away with this, but we decided that, in Federation days, he had been�bush-trekking with Paddy, when a�maniacal Christian, like Alice Lenshina, had attacked the duo with a Gideon Bible or somesuch weapon, the thrust of which Bryson took full in the chest, earning undying gratitude from his boss, who rewarded him subsequently by awarding him unaccountability. Whatever the reason, the lazy, self-serving sod was never seen to do a proper hands turn in the serious service of the Department, reclining secure in his little office, bedecked with personal mementoes and uniform changes.