Posts Tagged ‘mahe’

And just pop it in…

The lady on the online video says, stroke the cat, ease its head back, open the mouth from the bottom jaw and just pop the pill in.

The cat Minx says you can bloody well bugger off.

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Minx jinx #3

‘Do you know why her mouth is so pink?’ the other one asked about Minx to the vet.


‘No, I’ve seen dogs with it but never cats’ the vet replied.

Being two prior non pet owners we didn’t follow up. Bad move.

Minx got injected, shaved and sprayed with blue antibiotic stuff and we for good measure bought some ‘kill the lice’ shampoo – cue the hilarious Benny Hill chase of the cat around the flat as we tried to bathe her (told you non pet people). She did humour us by sweetly succumbing to a wet towel rub, but that didn’t help her pink mouth, and it was looking worse.

We went back to the vet, which is when we found out that there are actually two vets, both very nice, but only one clearly knows what she’s talking about, and yup she was the one that we hadn’t seen. Immediately, she diagnosed poor minx with having a female indolent ulcer,  but what did that mean?

Answer: A shed loads of drugs to stuff down her neck, and a lot more Benny Hill.

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Packing boxes

is tedious.

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Social Seychelles Jumble Jamboree #3

I’d been sensible – the Jumble Sale wasn’t set to start until 1pm, though the other one and I arrived about 11.30 with our stuff. A couple of guys had already set

Items for sale that have previously had an owner

up and we spread out our paltry offerings that were then dwarfed by the mass of stuff that the boss’ wife had to sell, which was a good thing, the punters came and they went away more than satisfied. I had no intention of buying anything, it being somewhat counter productive as we were meant to be getting rid of stuff, but – of course there was going to be one – the Nature Seychelles stall were selling binoculars. I mean come on, 150SCR a pair and housed in a natty real brown leather bag, what’s a girl to do? I blew our profits there and then. The other one sadly missed the point complaining that the binoculars were foggy – I reminded him we already had a pair anyway. I think I only added to his confusion. I also bought a necklace from one of A’s mates as a keepsake from the island I informed the other one, plunging us into whatever the jumble sale equivalent of negative equity is. A colleague pulled me up for selling free DVD’s for 5SCR – I mean 20p honestly, and anyway I argued, the person will value it more for paying something even it is Conan the Barbarian.

Highlight of the day was seeing the new baby of one of the newbies who was soooo cute though being left literally holding the baby as they packed up I did feel a little self conscious, like do you spend the whole time cooing at the baby or is it okay to stop and ignore it, you can’t constantly talk gibberish can you (some, the other one say, might argue that you can)? I did try to desist, but it felt totally wrong so I showed it my new binocular bag instead. Her, I mean, I showed her the bag. I think she liked it.

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It’s a thorny issue – where in fact does jumble end and tat begin?

Do you include the smart pink pin striped shirt that you’ve kept but not worn as you burnt it with the iron but always thought you’d could salvage it by just trimming it  and re -hemming, haven’t ever done it, but maybe somebody else would? Or is that just trampy?

What about the white shirt that is perfectly fine apart from the yellow stains around the collar and armpits FROM THE DEODORANT?

Slightly grubby tea towels?

Chipped mugs?

Opened, ‘I tried it once but don’t like it’ toiletries?

Any Little Britain DVD?

I’m not for a moment suggesting that I was attempting to saturate the Jumble Sale with all or any of these such things. I’m just putting the issue out there is all.

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Who says life isn’t exciting in Seychelles when you have a Jumble Sale to organise? I very nearly didn’t bother, what with having the trifling matter of finding a job and somewhere to live in the UK, but the ex boss’ wife shamed me into action as they were leaving the island too and had lots of things to get rid of. I put a call into the Exiles, Social Seychelles place de jour,  they were free and said why not? Tea and cakes on offer, a veritable smorgasbord of other people’s clutter to sift through and a lone CD that didn’t make it into my CD/DVD box consisting of contemporary jazz classics (there was a Jamie Cullum track on it hence my reluctance) to smooth away the afternoon. I just had to make sure I had enough people selling things and enough people willing to buy. A first stumbling block was what the Creole equivalent of Jumble Sale might be? Bric-a-Brac to Go? Probably not. Knick Knacks for Sale? Unlikely. Yard Sale? Too Yank. Other People’s tat? Too niche. Second Hand Goods? Confusing – does anyone sell first hand stuff?. Stuff for Sale. Doesn’t specify not brand new. Used Goods. Unsavoury.

Things you can buy that other people have bought and found useful but no longer want and now are selling for either  ridiculously high prices mistakenly thinking that the world shares their bad taste or at absurdly low prices hoping that this will entice the world to think that their bad taste is actually good and that they’ve bagged a bargain only for it to sit stuffed at the back of a drawer or wardrobe because no matter how much they say it’s in fashion, leopard print anything is sure to look plain tacky or that kind of thing’. Is far too long.

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The daily grind

Looking for jobs. Tedious, occasionally exciting, mostly depressing. Previous experience in public sector not proving particularly helpful. Three degrees – the group more useful than my bits of paper. Pish posh.

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10 reasons to love Seychelles

#1 The sun shines a lot
#2 Fabulous beaches
#3 Translucent topaz ocean
#4 Refreshing lack of consumerism/brands
#5 Giant Tortoises
#6 Amazing views
#7 Great walks
#8 Laid back ambience
#9 No reality TV/media rubbish
#10 Punches above its weight for a small island

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Fly by…

Two weeks came and went in a flurry of finishing things off, and thankfully not too many new things to do. I hate leaving places of work, usually because someone gets the embarrassing task of having to come up with nice things to say about you and then you have to say nice things back and a general love fest is had by all, you leave, and never see anyone ever again. Me jaded, cynical, nah – ‘let go’ from my saturday job at WH Smith’s when I was 15 not scarred me for life at all.

We had a lunchtime farewell, organised by the Boss and his wife with scrummy food and some bubbles.I was actually very touched, but glad that I had two days left so it didn’t quite feel like I was leaving, and on my last day, it felt like any other because there was no big send off, which is how I liked it. Weird that I be wouldn’t be back in on Monday. But I’d get over it, I’d get a lie in.

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Back to the old routine

It was my first day back in work. Apparently, they”d worked on as normal through the Tsunami warning, good old Brits soldering through. Amazingly, I remembered all my passwords, something of a miracle. I checked my 400 odd emails, caught up with people and then it was hometime. And only two more weeks left. Not bad eh?

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