Back to the Grindstone

Fekkin Lostit in KSA
As you can imagine my return to Riyadh was awful. I tried to cheer myself up by counting down the remaining days – only about four months, but it was the most desolate feeling. There was no hope now that Bongo would ever move me out of the penthouse, but he did remember that there was a second bedroom there that was not used, so he started giving me flatmates.

There was an old German engineer who stayed for a fortnight, and an Indian architect who stayed for a month. I didn’t mind, it was a bit of company. But I had to stop attempting to make beer while these guys were around.

For the last few months I had been completely overloaded with work, and had been begging Bongo to get me an assistant. Eventually he agreed that if I could find a Filipino with about two years’ experience he’d hire him. I kept interviewing guys, and passing the good ones on to Bongo for a second interview. And then nothing would happen. I guess the money was wrong, or Bongo just didn’t make them an offer, but what it meant was that I was struggling to keep up with an impossible workload. Bah!

Bongo sent me one guy to interview, who had previously been working for Bongo, but had been 'laid-off’. Not sacked exactly, but no longer employed. This guy said that he would only come back if he was paid for all the time since he was laid-off. I reported this to Bongo, who went mental and told me it was none of my business and la-la-la.

Ah well, grind, grind, grind.