Playing the hostess is about making your guests feel at home, especially if you wish they were ~ anon (with a little bit of nuttycow thrown in for good measure)

I know there are mixed views about the concept of guest bloggers. I think it mainly falls into two schools of thought. There are those who think that guest bloggers are a nice touch to keep a blog ticking over while the “owner” (for want of a better word) is away. There are others who have the understandable view that they visit a blog to read the writing of a particular individual and are therefore pissed off when some random arrives in their RSS feed.

I take the point.

However, at the risk of losing friends and alienating people, I’ve set up a number of guest bloggers to keep you entertained while I’m away in Kenya. I’ve scheduled their posts (another thing that I know people hate!) so you should have semi-regular updates here until I get back.

Some of the people writing are old hands. Some have never written a blog post before. Some are dabblers. I would encourage you to be as lovely to them as you are to me. Comment on their posts, argue with them, tell them they’re wonderful, whatever you like.

If you’re one of those who cringe at guest bloggers (and believe me, I’m not getting at you, sometimes I hate guest posts too) then I hope I haven’t annoyed you so much that you won’t come back and see me once I’m back in the country.

Bon voyage to me and I’ll try and come up with some suitably awesome stories. If not, I’ll just bore you stupid with photos of my holiday. (“and here’s one of me standing in front of a tree, isn’t it great?” “oh yes! this was so funny, you kind of had to be there but *snigger* there was this guy and he…. *snigger*)

I sat there, going through photos that I’ve taken and I couldn’t choose just *one* photo I was proud of (and by proud I’ve taken the meaning to be something I take pleasure in, not necessarily satisfaction/pride).

So anyway, I picked three four. Because I’m greedy.

Picture number one: Diani beach. I took this on our last holiday down to the coast. I love the curve of the wall I’m standing on which leads your eye from the beach to the sea. Ok, who am I kidding? I didn’t think about the curve when I took this photo – I just thought about how lovely the beach looked with no one on it. Although it looks warm I seem to remember it wasn’t. It was the middle of June and therefore winter – prone to sudden thunderstorms and cold weather (and by cold I mean about 25 degrees, so no, not freezing). Despite this, June is a fantastic time to go down to the coast – there’s no one else there which means you get the run of the beach. It also means that there’s no one in the hotels which means the fisherman always called round at our house first.

Picture number two: Samburu elephants. Ok, I think I could have framed this a little better but, as it was, I was just pleased to capture it at the point I did. Baby drinking, chap in the middle looking a little pissed off, fellow on the left looking particularly disinterested. The conservation work they’ve done in Samburu is fantastic however sadly, two years after I took this photo, flash floods ripped through the park and devastated buildings, equipment and cameras. Thankfully, no one was killed. It has, of course, completely changed Samburu not only in the way in which is looks but the way in which the animals and people there live. Nature’s an amazing thing.

Picture number three: the old man. I love this photo of my father. It was taken at the Safari Sevens a number of years ago. It was stinking hot and he’s quite content watching the rugby, White Cap by his side. All around him it’s manic but for me this is a picture of calm. I think it’s the hat.

Picture number four: Samburu airport. We were in the middle of the bush waiting for our little plane to bounce its way down the runway and take us back to Nairobi. The ladies, the lucky things, had a concealed long drop. The “gent” had to go in the bushes.

This blog post was submitted for the weekly gallery over at Sticky Fingers. This week’s theme was “A photo I am proud of”.

I’m not normally one for charities.

When I see a chugger dancing towards me (as they invariably do, I think it’s to make the poor unsuspecting public think they’re friendly and genuinely after a chat as opposed to grabbing your money) I walk a little quicker, I put my head down and I mumble. It tends to do the trick.*

I don’t like the fact that I’m giving money into a vast organisation which, inevitably, won’t go to help the people I want to help but will actually pay for the charity’s bubbly at the end of year bash. Or worse, paying some “consultant” to help “rebrand” the charity in order to get “optimized [of course, with a z] output from the consumer base” or some such.

However, sometimes, very rarely, I come across a charity that I can believe in, that I can give money to and that I know will actually make some real sustainable difference.

Nancy Crooks moved to Africa with her husband, Howard, at the age of 27. Newly married, with two small sons, she threw herself into enhancing the life for women and children in Africa. Over the next 53, Nancy ran many different projects, all of which focused around eduction and sustaining the environment. Nancy always enjoyed starting new ventures, getting them operational, and then handing them over to others to perpetuate.

 Her work in Africa spanned over 50 years until, last year, Nancy died of lung cancer, leaving behind a husband, family and many, many friends.

I was lucky enough to know Nancy throughout my childhood in Kenya and so know first hand how dedicated she was to making the world a better place. As you can imagine my delight when I found out that a foundation had been set up in her name: the Nancy Ellen Crooks Foundation.

The foundation is committed to continuing Nancy’s work and emulating her devotion to supporting, implementing and developing self-sustaining projects that hold the possibility of improving the lives of women and children in Africa. Currently, the foundation is focusing on two of Nancy’s pet projects: education and solar cooking.

So what can you do help? Please, spread the word. The foundation is unfunded, is not aligned to any political or religious establishments and relies on donations and grants in order to do its work. In order to get this money, I need to help spread the word. This is something I really believe in, hence me taking a break from the normal banality of this blog and requesting your assistance.

Read the website: www.nancyellencrooksfoundation.org

Become a friend on facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Nancy-Ellen-Crooks-Foundation

Follow us on twitter: www.twitter.com/TheNECF

Keep an eye on our YouTube channel: www.youtube.com/user/TheNECF

Have a look at our photos: www.flickr.com/photos/nancyellencrooksfoundation/sets/

Make a donation www.nancyellencrooksfoundation.org/contactus.html

*Note: This is a nuttycow endorsed method. No stealing y’all.

When will it be?
When will I move?
Where am I going to live?
Will I have a local café that I’ll spend lazy Saturday mornings in, watching the world go by or, more probably, will I think about going to a local café and watching the world go by but veto it and stay in bed instead?
How will I decorate the new place?
Will I go IKEA mad at the slightest chance?

The more I think about it, the more excited I am to leave. Which surprised me when I first came to that dawning realisation.

After all, I don’t hate my life. It’s pretty damn awesome. Or is it? Or have I got myself into a rut of comfort which I really need to leave? Isn’t it time I got out there, met new people and had a bit of adventure? Isn’t it time that I started enjoying the fact I’m free and single instead of constantly thinking that there’s nothing left for me?

When I was 17, being in my late 20s didn’t seem too bad. I mean, why would it? I was going to be married and happy by that point, right?

Now that my late 20s has hit, I feel like I’m past it. Friends around me get married and produce babies in quick succession. People change, priorities change and I haven’t.

Which is why this move will be good for me. It’s a chance for me to Ctrl-Alt-Del, start anew and see what life brings me.

No preconceptions, no goals, no expectations.  

No guilt about this trip.

You may or may not know that Obama’s father is a Kenyan. He and his family still live in Kenya, in a small village called Nyang’oma Kogelo.

The fact that a “son of Kenya” was running for President was exciting enough. The fact that he is now President-elect is something that most people in Kenya have never even comprehended. One of their own, the next leader of the most powerful nation in the world.

Ordinary Kenyans believe the election result means that end of all their worries.

I am very happy he has won because there will be development here in Kogelo

I am so happy he has won because I know I will also benefit. There will be development here in Kogelo and new jobs.

Here in Kogelo, we’re in another USA. [Now he has won], there’ll be a lot of development and that is good. There’ll be a lot of people coming to visit Kogelo.*

Obama’s grandmother is a new national hero.

Today it’s a national holiday in Kenya. A day for celebrating Obama’s victory.

And yet I can’t help but think that Kenya is actually the loser. It’s great that Kenyans are proud of Obama. It’s great that they have hope for the future. However, I am unsure how exactly they think the new President-elect will come to their rescue? Doesn’t Mr Obama have more pressing needs – like those of his own country?

Kenyans will soon come to realise that this election is not the end of all their problems. Kenya’s problems have to be solved by the Kenyan people. Through hard work and an end to the bribery and corruption rife throughout the political and business classes.

It’s time for change Kenya.

*all quotes taken from this article
** taken from The Daily Nation

Are we all here? Well then I can begin.

Welcome to this tour of Cow Towers. Sorry? What was that? No, penile dysfuntion is just down the hall. Yes, next to the “Why oranges are a poet’s best friend” seminar. No, you’re welcome. Right… where were we?

Oh yes, welcome to this tour of Cow Towers. Now, of course, due to the high profile and broke nature of Nuttycow you won’t see all of the living abode and you will be asked to look into your concious and donate £10. In the hat just over there. Thanks.

Welcome, welcome.

First exhibit. The Nuttycow handbag. Now, we all know that a woman’s handbag is a place of mystery. None more than this bag.

Note the Kenyan feel of the bag. The capacious nature. The fact it looks filthy but is actually just that colour. What’s in it? A good question.

As you can see, Nuttycow is a communicating beast. Work phone, Blackberry, normal phone. Packet of cigarettes (smoking kills, children), keys and two lighters. Don’t get too excited about the wallet. Nothing in it.

How many pens does one cow need. Quite a lot it seems. Make-up yes. Hairbrush check. Strange blue thing? A bandage for her ankle. No idea why she’s keeping it in her bag but hurry on, there’s lot to see.

Now, on your left you can see three things the cow finds it difficult to live without. The black thing? Her Moleskine diary. Invaluable. The green thing? Her wine book – here any wines the cow tries and likes gets written down in the book.  Very useful when shopping… which brings me to the black and silver moleskine – shopping lists. Organised yes. Sad. Also. On the right you can see some random assorted things which seem to have made their way into the bag. A camera from a recent wedding party. A pin thing from her bank for online banking and a badge that a fellow blogger sent her.

And now, with that section over, we can look at the area the good cow works in, introduce you to some of her family.

Ah, the computer. This is the hub of genius. This is where it all goes on people.

Yes, bare walls around her. Why? You may have not heard the tragedy that recently befell Cow Towers. Builders on the roof decided it didn’t rain in the UK. When they finished their work, they decided that instead of waterproofing the roof, they’d leave it open to the warm English weather. One huge downpour later, cue mould on all of Cow Tower walls. Hence the crapness.

Now here you can see the fireplace that isn’t a fireplace. Yes, still quite bare walls but the art that is there. Well, very high quality Kenyan art of course. Note too all the invitations on the mantlepiece. What a popular cow lives here.

Ah now, now this is interesting. Let me introduce Nelson the duck and Wellington the dog. Now, they’re quite shy and don’t have a lot to say but believe me when I say they’re a huge part of the cow family. Why the names? Well Nelson liked water (being a Navy man and all) so do ducks. Wellington? Well now I’d have to check the history of that one but I would imagine it’s just because Wellington is an awesome name for a dog.

And finally guests of Cow Towers let me introduce you to Bismarck. The tenants of Cow Towers are not too sure on Bismarck’s pedigree but he’s been friends of the family for about 3 years. Cow and N have seen this little plant grow from a seedling to the fine specimen he is now.

And there ends the tour my dear guests. Yes, Cow Towers isn’t very pretty or homely at the moment. The tenants have only been in the place for a year (and what with the rain debarcle you can understand their reluctance to ruin another set of perfectly nice paintings).

One day, dear visitors, these two will move into their own place. You can come and have a tour then if you like. It will be a lovely sunny place in the country. You’ll be welcomed with open arms.

Now, on your way out, please remember to visit our gift shop. There’s lots on offer. Cow print dartboards. Cow print bottles of gin. Everything the discerning visitor could ask for. Oh, we do gift vouchers as well.

Yes, thank you, thank you.

*counts change in the hat* 34p and a button. Cheapskates.

DISCLAIMER: Hope is one of the new bloggers I’ve recently discovered. She had an interesting post a couple of months ago. I have shamelessly stolen it – hope you don’t mind Hope?

Insert clever introduction focusing on subject of the day

Cue discussion of said topic with references to rugby/kenya/men/gin/bananas/sheep/all of the above. Argument with self about various different points of view on topic. Reference to other people who have discussed same topic.

Link to popular blog here with pertinent comment about how good/bad/famous/amazing/undeserving the writer is

Move topic towards personal anecdote making passing comments about N/love life/cucumbers/diet/house/cat

Funny punchline

End.

~~~

COMMENTS SECTION:

1. Agreement with blogger calling on personal experiences

2. Note about lack of correct grammar in post

3. Do you want a bigger penis?

4. Disagreement with blogger calling her all names under the sun

5. Disagreement with the disagreement.

6. Self promoting link

7. Comment on how fit Rupert Penry Jones is

8. Ever fancied an Asian bride? Plenty wait for you now!

9. Clever pun and/or link to article on same subject but written in a better style.

10. Comment made 3 months too late with irrelevant statement

They talk to them, sing to them, take them out for walks, collapse with them on the sofa, make them part of the family. Some, you buy pedigree. Some, you buy from the street kids on the roundabout and some… some just seem to turn up and make themselves at home.

And so it was with the house we stayed at in Mombasa.

Chairman Meow, Ghengis Cat and Mewgabe all, to varying degrees, shared our stay at the coast.

Ever present at the supper table, the best fed cats in town didn’t seem to mind their new names. They also didn’t seem that inclined to make their way back to wherever it was they came from.

Dogmatix turned up on the second day. Slinking along, almost apologetically until sure of her welcome, the barrel shaped mzee soon became part of the family. She was out enthusiastic (and only) supporter of impromptu cricket games.

At night, she helped herself to the sofa. She kept our feet warm when the rain belted down (the rain in Africa is like nowhere else. Huge drops of rain onto hot ground produce the amazing smell of rain and sun and murham)

But finally, of course, all good things come to an end. I fancy that when we finally drove away after a week in their company, I saw them, all lined up in the drive, a small tear on their furry faces.

They’d never had it so good.

I wonder what they’re up to now. What about you? Have you ever adopted a pet? Have you had one thrust upon you (I know you have English Mum!)

The earth was young. God was pottering around having a bit of fun. You know, making things with sticky back plastic and empty loo rolls*.

Anyway, it was a Wednesday and God had just created the earth and sea. It was late afternoon, God looked over his new playground and thought to himself “darling, it ‘s just so bleugh. We need more. I’m thinking colour, I’m thinking texture, I’m thinking a whole lot of this” (while he was thinking this, please imagine God waving his arms about in a designer type manner – thank you)

And so God decided to create some trees. Hoorah! Trees! Everyone likes trees.

He created small ones, he made big ones. Some had flowers, some had nuts. Some were just weird and even God was unsure on their purpose. And finally, right by that pond which is just to the left of that bush, God created the Baobab.

As the baobab grew up, he looked in awe at the plants and trees around him. They were tall, they were strong. They had beautiful flowers and rich purfume. He thought to himself “hey, since God made me last, I must be pretty damn hot”

So the baobab grew up with a little bit of an ego issue.

It was a hot summer’s day and the baobab was preening himself by the pond (baobab’s can’t walk very far). He was just shaking out his flowers when suddenly, he noticed his reflection in the water. And there he was. He wasn’t beautiful at all. He had poncy little leaves, hardly any flowers and man, did he need some moisturiser on his bark.

“Oi, God!” he shouted up toward the heavens

Silence

“God, I’m talking to you dammit”

He heard the sound of a Godly being getting out of bed and putting on his dressing gown.

A mildly hungover God said: Yes? What is it? Do you know what time it is by the way. It’s almost still nighttime.

The tree laughed, bitterly “Look, oh heavenly one, if you hadn’t been up all night playing chess with that chap in red then you wouldn’t be feeling so shit, would you? I’ve got a bone to pick with you. When you created me (thanks very much by the way) I thought I’d be hot. You know, flowers, fruit, maybe a dash of eau de cologne? And what do I see? Wrinkly skin, that’s what I see. Piddly flowers. What kind of a look is that for a chap? I need a makeover. I want some queer eye for straight tree guys down here now. Do you hear me?”

God did hear him. God heard him too well.

God reached down and grabbed the baobab by the trunk. Spinning the tree round, God replanted it. Upside down.

God went back to bed feeling pleased with himself. “That’ll shut him up” God thought.

*Non-uk readers probably won’t get the reference here. It’s all to do with Blue Peter, a kid’s programme on the BBC for the last, I don’t know, million years. Anyway, everyday they show you how to make something. Most of the time it involves sticky back plastic and empty loo rolls. Egg boxes are also a favourite.