I slept with a cholera whore…A Christmas thought

I spent most of last year fishing my hands around in an overflowed urinal pulling out cigarette butts – and that was one of the more fun aspects of the working at Australian bar in Montpellier.

The piece de resistance was not the days on end spend sliding around the floor scrapping chewing gum off with a chisel, nor the South African boor (not Boer, no) with the face and charm of a chewed beef jerky, but the day the septic tank burst all over the dance floor. That happened at 15:57, so I decided it was as good a day as any to knock off three minutes early.

But in the scheme of things, the mantle of most icky job descriptions goes to Matt, who recently departed for Sudan.

As a crucial member of a logistics team for an admirable NGO, one of his jobs will be that, in the event of a cholera outbreak, all the corpses’ orifices’ are stuffed with bleached cotton wool.

So, as we pull up a seat at our family table to tuck into our annual non-denominational festive dinners, spare a thought for Matt, and just hope he’s wearing double gloves.


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