Management, in the ying and yang form of Jeremy and Ali Sed turned up today unannounced and stayed for lunch. (I felt like a character in an inter war years bourgeois novel when I told Mohammed we had two extra for the table; he lived up to his part in the scenario by not turning a hair, and doing us proud).
They were here to examine the 'new' premises. Jeremy had taken photos - it looks like shit. But what the fuck? My only hope is for compensation in the form of a day off amidst the confusion of the move; though, it must be said, there's a fag-paper's difference between a day at work and a day at home so far as enjoyment goes.
March 2004 I first came out. Fifteen months? Fucking hell! There have been several holidays but, to date, I’ve spent almost 46 weeks actually in Libya. And I can safely say that each week has been more difficult than its predecessor. Forty six down, and four to go.
I've come up with a clever wheeze. The big problem is that I'm weighed down by sad experience of Libya and it's people, and that's left me cynical and bitter. So, I'm going to pretend to myself that I've only just arrived on a four week contract, try to look at it freshly, and with the cheerfulness that goes with ignorance. The move to a new building will help this self deception.
Four weeks? Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.
And this really will be my last trip. We can never know what the future holds, but frankly I cannot envisage spending time in the Islamic world ever again after this.
Last night an uncomfortable thought drifted over from the Christian part of my consciousness and kept me awake: that being this unhappy and alienated, wasting days that could be spent with those one loves, all for the sake of a wage packet, is sinful. A shocking waste of God given time.