Byeee we've left you NOTHING

Today the rest of my family left to go on holiday. I decided to stay behind because I have stuff to do - a play and an art course, more about those some other post - and I don't like the surfer's paradise where they're going that much anyway.

So they left. They got in the car with all their stuff and they left. They woke me up at 6 o' clock when they did this just to make 100 hundred per cent sure I wouldn't oversleep. That was a good idea actually but as a result I had 3 hours to do nothing before I finally went down to my art thing at 9.

It was amazing, though, I showered and watched some Eddie izzard and read a bit and did some drawing and facebook and such. It was the laziest morning I have ever had, I should do it more often.

But then my stomach started snarling at me and pulled me into the kitchen for food. "I'll make some eggs," I thought, "I'll have a peanut butter sandwhich, maybe some cereal." I walked over to the fridge, flung open the door and...

It was empty! Nothing, nada, niks, qanda, a vaccuum of food! I rooted around in the vegetable tray for a bit and found a dead apple or two. There was a bit of juice, true, but no milk, no jam, no cheese, nothing edible! Eventually I toasted a bit of bread and smeared it with the thinnest layer of letover peanut butter. It wasn't much but it did seem to last.

So yes, I can understand that you may need a fair amount of food on a twelve hour drive but please leave me some next time. I have a stomach too!

Durban is boring, I'm going to hunt pirates

This was the sentiment of my uncle - looking a lot like a pirate himself - about the latest pursuit of his boating carreer. He is a freelance captain, or something like that, hired by the rich and infamous for anything between smuggling people out of Dubai to taking them on leisurely travels to the Carribean or Madagasgar, home of the famous lemur, that alcoholic, nicotene addicted "cross between a cat, a dog and a monkey with the nature of a dolphin."

He is a man with as many stories as there are hairs on his head (and there are a lot of those) and this next venture is set to be right up there with the time he got thrown in a Pakistani prison or the time a 94 year old woman warned him not to grow old. His job entails travelling to Madagasgar where he will

and proceed to lead the hunt from the beach whilst looking big and intimidating enough to make sure his recruits get the job done right. So he won't actually be shooting the scurvy bastards but he'll be behind the whole thing.

A sort of eye on the sand if you will.