The Commute

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The Red Buses of London are plain and dull. The matatu of Nairobi are nightmarish. They are plucked from the mad mind of some depraved bus watcher. They present a multitude of wonders. For a start, they are bedecked, festooned and swathed in wild depictions of notables. I have ridden in multiple buses decorated with … Continued

The Training

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You, dear reader, may have gathered that I do not hold much love for the type of training which I have had to endure. Frankly, I find them a test of endurance rather than an exercise in anything else. Patience is the only virtue which they teach. Imagine with what fearful dread I anticipated three … Continued

The Jazz Festival

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Enough of the boring administration, I have had enough. I have weathered wearisome buses, tiresome training, and mildly diverting settlement into this country. I have suffered the boredom of organised attempts at fun, with the grace becoming of a Bolshoi ballet dancer. So it was with delight that the Safaricom International Jazz Festival danced out from … Continued

The Hotel

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So I have arrived in Kenya. Unlike others, I, in eager anticipation of that delicious bureaucracy of border crossing, had kept my papers in order and walked out from the squat Jomo Kenyatta Airport into the awaiting arms of the organisation I’m working with. Our rag-tag group had their possessions thrown into the back of … Continued

The Journey

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The day had come. I set out for London and for Kenya with a slim suitcase loaded with linen and khaki. There was to be a final training session to prepare us for the wonders and woes that lay ahead. This was, as every training session is fated to be, awfully underwhelming. How a hungover … Continued

Stop looking at its bottom

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How the personal tone of the internet age is dragging figures of authority down among us, and why that’s a very good thing. ‘Stop looking at my bottom,’ giggles your fruit juice carton at the breakfast table. Bleary eyed, you squint at this roguish patter, printed incongruously alongside the more familiar corporate trappings of an … Continued

My second coming

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Coming out would be hard enough once; but it’s actually a life-long process. Here I am in Leamington Spa, my hometown. I’ve returned to the motherland, complete with new Morrisons superstore and prepubescent fashionistas on every corner. A more accurate title for this piece would have been ‘My Constant Coming’, but I fear this would have conjured up far too many unpleasant and frankly terrifying images. … Continued

Too pure to be pink

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Do you remember your first crush? Our writers take a potentially embarrassing trip down memory lane to relive the joy and pain of their first loves. Memories of my time at primary school are limited, given their fairly unexceptional, suburban nature. But there’s one particular incident that has stayed with me, since it involved what … Continued