Of donkeys, gin and stiffness.

If I die in Sweden my son will smuggle my ashes to South Africa and strew them on the Salt Rock Beach. How he will manage that is still unclear but I imagine that I will fit very snugly in a bottle of gin. Preferably Bombay Sapphire; The colour blue will set off my ashes beautifully.

I do not wish to be buried in a frozen grave. I froze enough during life. In after life I will probably be reincarnated as a donkey. The donkey will like the Kingdom of Sweden even less than me. Donkeys are not my favourite animal, rabbits are, but I think some of my friends will certainly wake up as donkeys. Some have done that already and not all them because of their anatomy.

Having said that about death, the present is finding me as stiff as a corpse but still very much alive and kicking. That would be because of my close encounters with a girja, which is Russian for kettle bell, which is English for torture. My one weighs 4kg and is round and cold and hard. I would have preferred pink, but couldn’t wait for the Laura Ashly edition. This kettle bell is presumably going to make me muscular, fit and steaming hot. I know that because I watched the mother of all kettle bells on YouTube, Pavel Tsatsouline and he is muscular, fit and steaming hot.

The reason why I am suddenly into kettle bells, is that I washed and polished my car for 3 hours the other day and realized that my arms are as weak as over cooked spaghetti. That stiffness had to be rectified by a Thai massage. In retrospect it would have been cheaper to pay a machine to wash my car. Much cheaper than a massage and a kettle bell.

The girja