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Saturday, December 12, 2009

my first day on the job and I've learnt two new phrases: poo-pond and bug-out bag.

A poo-pond is apparently some kind of large man made lake for unsavoury man made items, usually found on military bases and popular here I'm told. An ingenious idea, the poo-pond has it's own colony of bacteria that thrive in this environment afloat on a sea of excrement like butt pirates on a holiday cruise.

According to wikipedia a bug-out bag is a portable kit popular in the survivalist subculture that contains the items one would require to survive for seventy two hours when you "bug out", something that happens when zombies start chasing you and/or the world comes to an end. These bags are also particularly popular over here in Afghanistan, so much so that I decided to get two: one in black (sensible for all occasions) and one in tan just in case I do desert zombies at some point;

I was fascinated by the numerous sites dedicated to bugging out; there were all sorts of suggestions on the web for creating your own camouflaged bug out trailer or BOT. I thought I was being paranoid when I thought twice about buying a soft top convertible as it wouldn't provide much protection from a zombie attack...I did not realise however that there were people out there who are seriously preparing for this stuff.

After the excitment of the purchase of new kit and the discovery of new and more horrible ways for us to experiment with making hideous toilet facilities I fed the cats. As you will imagine, it wasn't long after my arrival that I'd hunted out the ubiquitous moggies, here we have a very large black and white thing with enormous paws and a rasping meow like a siren. He is accompanied by a timid wild furry tabby. From the clinic I can hear the black and white one's demands to be tended to by his humans. I giggled to myself as I ran outside into the freezing courtyard with a fine china bowl of chopped up south african sausage meat left over from dinner. The moggies house is on top of the generator and I slipped in between the sandbags to deliver the meat. A small dead chaffinch like bird had appeared when I fed them yesterday and now all that was left were a few straggly feathers, no feet or beak to be seen, the puss cats had snaffled the lot.

As yet, I have not been outside of the compound and it seems quite strange that I am in an entirely foreign country yet you'd hardly know it from here but for the supremely crap internet connection and the numerous choppers passing over head. So far I've eaten burger and chips, burger and chips and sausage and chips so not doing so badly on the butlins kiss me quick food front, think I might ask chef to do some afghan food for me as actually prefer it.

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