Most people hate spam – don’t they? I don’t mean the processed meat product called Spam, although I understand that it’s not nearly as popular a snack these days as it used to be. I’m referring to the daily diet (in my case) of “spam” which finds its way into my emails. By far the most prolific of my spam emails come from a country called Burkina Faso (or Fiasco, as I say to myself for fun); in truth, until I started to receive the spam, I had never even heard of the landlocked West African country (geography has never been my forte). My email address must be on a list that is constantly doing the rounds of the opportunists living in that poor country; the strange thing is that, although the names change and the amounts vary, the basic story is the same – the author has been maltreated, a rich relative has died tragically in an accident (probably murder) and it is impossible for the abused to receive the inheritance without my help (my bank account details in return for half of the $28,000,000!).

I am often addressed as “Dearest One” or “God Elect” (my favourite) and, even more comical are the names of the senders. These are just a few of the ones I remember – Janet Warlord (a regular), Captain Jessie Balsam and Miss Tapioka (I hope she gets her just desserts).

To date I haven’t been tempted to partake of the offers but I have visited BBC NEWS online and genned up on West African geography and political affairs; I note that Burkina Faso means “land of honest men”!

Just came in:-

Hi Friend My Name is EricK Rhama Benson, I am a banker by
profession. I hail from Burkina Faso , West Africa. My
reason for contacting you is to transfer an abandoned $5.5M
(Five Million  Hundred United States Dollars to your
account 40/percent will be your share.
The owner of this fund died since on July,2004. with his
Next Of Kin. I want to present you to the bank as the Next
of Kin/beneficiary of this fund.
Further details of the transaction shall be forwarded to you
as soon as I receive your return mail indicating your
interest.feel free to contact me through this email below
this drrha123456@voila.fr my number +22664424661
your full name  and your  phone number only.

Thanks
From Dr EricK Rhama Benson

Burkina Faso country profile – Overview

A poor country even by West African standards, landlocked Burkina Faso has suffered from recurring droughts and, until the 1980s, military coups.

A popular uprising forced long-term leader Blaise Compaore from office in October 2014.

An interim administration was put in place for a year, after which elections are to be held.

Burkina Faso has significant reserves of gold, but cotton is the economic mainstay for many Burkinabes.

This industry is vulnerable to changes in world prices.

A former French colony, it gained independence as Upper Volta in 1960. Since independence, the military has on several occasions intervened during times of crisis.

In 1983 Capt Thomas Sankara seized power and adopted radical left-wing policies.

He renamed the country Burkina Faso, which translates as “land of honest men”.

In 1987 Mr Sankara was overthrown and killed in a coup by his erstwhile colleague Blaise Compaore, who went on to re-introduce a multi-party system.

Burkina Faso has faced domestic and external concern over the state of its economy and human rights, and allegations that it was involved in the smuggling of diamonds by rebels in Sierra Leone.

Troubles in neighbouring Ivory Coast have raised tensions, with Ivory Coast accusing its northern neighbour of backing rebels in the north and Burkina Faso accusing Ivory Coast of mistreating expatriate Burkinabes.

Call me an optimist if you will but, when the slutty looking young blonde used a four-letter word as she came out of her front door onto the pavement, my first thought was that the expletive was being directed at her boyfriend.The cat glared with black-rimmed slitty eyes at us, snarled, said something incoherent, and wagged her barely covered tail while her embarrassed boyfriend walked on ahead of her. I turned to my sister, who was in the front passenger seat of my new second hand Peugeot Cabriolet, and then to my niece Katie, who was scrunched in the back seat.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I said and then it dawned on me, “Do you think it was for him… or us?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mary, who, bearing in mind her broken leg, was by this time considering how to get out of the car.

“Oh, it was for us alright,” Katie elucidated (she has better hearing than her mum or me), “She doesn’t like people parking outside their house.”

We had more important things to do than worry about the truculent cat; we were off to Book Club. Mary hopped up the hill heroically to Reuben’s cottage, which was right at the end of a little terrace next to the church wall. I had never been to the terrace or our bookclub leader’s new house before but I was not surprised to find it utterly charming and quaint.

To be candid (not to be confused with Candide Thovex, the French skier; or candida – ouch!), I wouldn’t doubt that people think I have a “soft spot” for Reuben but the truth is that everyone has a “soft spot” for our handsome and talented leader. In fact, and to be quite frank, I’m very fond of all the bookworms (except for Mary, Katie and Liz, whom I love dearly).

There is Lynne, a dedicated reader and member of at least two book clubs. She knows Reuben’s mum and has known our leader since he was a baby. Lynne is kind and will always stick up for the underdog although she is tolerant of others’ opinions when they differ from her own; like yesterday, when Robin said he hated the book, “The Curious Incident of the Dead Dog at Midnight” (or something like that), and I agreed with him.

“I really liked that book,” said Lynne, “I felt I was in the mind of the Aspergers boy.”

“Oops,” I answered, “but that was what we disliked.” And we both laughed.

Robin Bookworm is very clever and challenging. He always comes up with something philosophical or profound to set you thinking but he may not necessarily hold the views he espouses. When he thinks he needs a hair cut I think his hair is at its best because he has nice curls like a Roman emperor. I still like him even though he hasn’t read my book (and probably never will because he must think it’s “chick-lit”, when everyone else knows that it’s literature).

Diana is a fun girl with a great sense of humour. She has read my book, loved it and could relate to it. We are similar and that makes me feel good because now I can be sure that really I am “normal” and not an alien.

Nearly everyone loved last month’s book, “The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst”; the story about the Teignmouth sailor who faked his circumnavigation of the world by boat for the “Golden Globe Award” in nineteen sixty-eight (?). I can’t be sure of the date because I didn’t read it, nor did Mary or Katie – we were too caught up with other things and the Kindle version wasn’t “enabled” for text to speech (amazingly, I’ve grown accustomed to the Kindle voice – of an American high school girl). Recently, the actor Colin Firth was down in Teignmouth for the filming of the book, which was why it seemed a good idea to choose it for our reading.

Towards the end of our meeting Reuben passed around various paperbacks in the hope that we would find inspiration for next month’s reading matter.

“What about this?” our bookworm leader, who was sat next to me, handed me ‘Portrait of the Artist'”.

“No James Joyce thank you – my Kindle reader has been reading me “Ulysses”, I objected and the paperback quickly did the rounds without further comment.

“Okay, so what about ‘The Monk’?” Reuben tried to keep a straight face.

I took one look at the image of a monk with a tonsured pate and I pulled a face. I noted that Diana greeted the book with the same reaction.

“I know,” said Reuben as he read the back cover of another book, “you’ll love this one. It holds a very special secret – it’s the secret to what every woman wants!”

“That will do me,” I smiled and looked around the room to search approval from the other four women. “What do you reckon?”

“What’s it called?” asked Diana.

“‘Candide’ by the French philosopher Voltaire,” said Reuben.

“Tell them again,” I urged.

“It holds the secret to what all women want,” he complied, “but wouldn’t you prefer ‘The Monk’?”

“No,” said Lynne.

“Majority rules,” I said with the tacit approval of all the ladies.

That settled, we were finishing our cups of tea when Robin tapped me on the foot.

“I have an announcement of sorts. Don’t you think we should ask Reuben to play something for us on his guitar?” suggested Robin.

Our meeting ended beautifully with Reuben playing guitar, first inside, then outside in the garden. To be candid with you, without reference to any book, and without having to try too hard, our rather special bookworm leader (cum professional musician, photographer and all-round good egg) already possesses that elusive secret. Not that I have any favourites in the group, of course…

Chris and I have been a bit “down in the mouth” in the tooth department for some time, ever since our old dentist (not really so very “long in the tooth” – just a little younger than me!) got swallowed up by a big-toothed company that makes money out of managing small dental practices. With the take-over, and the make-over to the premises, came the pinch (or the bite); our six monthly check ups were extended to twelve months and the company promise of “A whiter smile” seemed much less likely. Our previously jolly dentist became jaded and rarely showed her own “pearly whites” on our annual visits.

It’s funny how a happy dentist inspires confidence. Gradually, Chris and I were losing our former “Colgate ring of confidence”; worse still, we had begun to fear that we were going to lose our teeth! Chris’s hopes for a new bridge were dashed (our dentist implied it was “a bridge too far”), and, after my root canal filling and the unfortunate incident with a piece of hard popcorn, it was a case of “hard cheese”.

My dad had always espoused American dentistry (just look at the film stars’ teeth) and I dreamed of going to the land where, “if you wish upon a star, dreams really do come true”; failing that, I had the idea of going to Hungary for cheap implants. In fact, I had begun saving for my dental holiday.

But “a new brush sweeps clean”, not, as you might suspect, a new toothbrush (we’re way past that) but a new dentist – a Polish dentist – and she’s in Dawlish. We had our initial check ups today. Chris went in first and came out beaming.

“She’s going to give me two new bridges,” Chris whispered as he sat next to me, “and it will be on the N.H.S.!”

Several minutes later I came back into reception. I was elated.

“I’m so happy,” I gushed.

“We know,” Chris answered, turning to smile at the receptionist, “we both heard you.”

“No! Did you hear everything?”

“Well, no not everything,” he chuckled, “just the squeal of delight followed by, ‘I could kiss you!'”

And if you’re wondering… Apparently I’m not a lost cause after all; my teeth are better than I thought and I won’t be off to Hungary just yet. My new Polish dentist is going to give me a whiter smile – with a crown and a veneer – and it will be on the N.H.S.!

While watering the flowers on the balcony I was thinking about a conversation we had at breakfast this morning; well, it wasn’t exactly a conversation, more a monologue from Roland, our friend in Australia. Nowadays we all use Whatsapp for our free messaging, calls and “verbals” (that’s what we call voice calls). Chris and I were having our breakfast and listening to Roly’s “verbal”.

You may think it banal but we often talk about food – what we have had for breakfast and what we intend to have for dinner – it’s a bit of a joke (and of considerable interest to an avid, but not entirely successful, dieter).

After guessing, correctly, what were having for breakfast (miserable porridge in my case), Roly continued his monologue by declaring:

“I haven’t thought what to have for dinner yet. I’ve had so much soup recently that I’m souped out, same with curry – curried out, and I’m ‘meated’ out. Plus I’m fed up with loads of bread…”

I smiled to myself as I directed the hose at the pretty birdbath, which our friend bought us as a thank you present when he stayed last year; it suddenly occurred to me that if Roland had put his words in a different order, and with a twist, he would have sounded like a much more positive bachelor.  Like this:

“I’m fed. With loads of bread I’ve curried out . I’m souped up and I’ve meted out so much soup recently that I haven’t thought what to have for dinner yet… same with curry.”

I know, a bit mad – it’s odd what strange thoughts come into your mind when you’re watering… and hungry. After that I made a big batch of butternut squash soup, and my bowlful was delicious.

Two hours ago I sat down at my laptop to write a funny blog post about… well, perhaps I shouldn’t tell you in advance or I’ll spoil the fun for next time. For now, suffice to say that it related to getting ready for a barbecue. (Tune in tomorrow.) Obviously, something distracted and detained me. It began when I downloaded photographs from my mobile phone into my computer – I was looking for some photographs to accompany today’s intended post – and I noticed there was a film clip amongst the photos. I put the clip into the “My Videos” file and viewed it. The film took such a long time to download that I wondered if there was something wrong with my computer. There wasn’t. I hadn’t turned off the record button properly and the film kept recording from the inside of my shoulder bag, which was quite funny because the camera focussed on a particular hole in the crocheted material and the image seemed to wink every time my bag moved slightly.

While I was in “My Videos” I found that many of the clips inside the file were unnamed, therefore I had to take a look at them before giving each a title and filing them away. As you might imagine, several were rather funny and one, in particular, stood out. And that is why I have chosen for today’s blog post the transcript of a humorous conversation that took place four years ago when I was in Australia.

My friend Lorelle and I had gone with Bill and Lita, my car enthusiast brother and his gorgeous wife, to a vintage and classic car show; we were driven in Bill’s 1957 F.C. Holden, which was to become part of the exhibition. While Bill had gone over to speak to some mates we girls walked around the show. A pretty blue sports car, with two men inside, pulled into the space in front of us and the driver let the engine purr for our delectation…

Me: (To Lorelle) Listen to that car – that’s a nice little engine.

Lorelle: Yeah. (Pauses) It’s a Porsche.

Me: Ooh, ooh (with pleasure and pride) a Porsche? I’m a Porch (pronounced as Porsche). That’s my surname (loudly for the benefit of the Porsche driver).

Lorelle: No, a Porsche (softly, to save my embarrassment).

Me: I know (aside to Lorelle). I could pronounce it like that – couldn’t I? (Pause.) That’s my maiden name! (Loudly for the driver to hear). I should have your car!

The driver, in his forties and wearing a sporty cap, gets out of the car.

Driver: (Looks at us and smiles.) Well, you can have it for a certain price.

Me: Really? Does that mean you want money? Or do you want servitude?

Driver: Both!  Both, with me. Both, with me.

Me: What? (I scoff.) A life-long slave?

Driver: (He tries to keep a straight face.) That’s what I’ve been looking for.

(A pause. Lorelle and I are probably turning to look at each other.)

Me: Well, I could be a good slave.

Driver: You all talk yourself up but when it comes to action, then you all seem to go missing.

Me: Oh you think so (laughing), probably. Probably after a few years anyway! (Pause.) Lovely car!

Driver: Thank you!

Finis.

It is eight o’clock in the evening and I’m in the shower – it’s my way of putting a full stop to work for the day. I always think about things when I take a shower, especially one at the end of the day because that’s when I usually take longer… to have a bit of peaceful contemplation. I expect I’m normal and you do the same.

I am thinking about renewing my membership at Dawlish Leisure Centre and attending gym sessions, “Bums and Tum’s and Zumba classes – you’ll perhaps remember that I started my fruit and vegetable diet two days after finding how small my wedding dress is – both of them! (See the earlier blog post entitled “A Tale of Two Wedding Dresses – A Mystery”).  Suddenly I imagine Alex from Aquacise shouting out:

“Feel the burn!”

That is what fitness trainers say – isn’t it?

I’m thinking that today of all days I would not have felt like going to the Leisure Centre even if I had had the time, which I didn’t. I turn my face into the jet of warm water and I am trying to remember if I went cycling this morning. I figure that sounds weird – I know I went cycling recently, but was it this morning or yesterday morning? After nearly nine stultifying hours of constant cleaning – windows (inside and out), all the paintwork, every piece of furniture in the guest suite, hoovering and scrubbing marks out of the white carpet (so many marks) – I have rather lost track of time. I do recall that, yet again, the tide was out at Cockwood Harbour, and I wonder how it can be that the tide is always out when I cycle there with Chris.

Whether or not we went cycling yesterday or today is immaterial – yesterday and the day before were nasty house-working type days aswell; the thing is that we’ve been so busy getting the guest suite ready for our visitors that there has been hardly any time left in any one day for anything else. I decide I will put off renewing my Leisure Centre membership for another week (or such time as a spot of leisure presents itself) and “Feel the burn” then.

Funnily enough, just at that point I feel some burning alright. I look down at my knees, which are red and swollen, and I laugh to myself – I have carpet burn!