Well...the end of the world inevitably lurched proudly into clear view or so it seemed in this backwater area of deluded Expatland - the rumours of the last eleven months had hardened briskly morphing into the black scab of an unspeakable degenerate truth. The world ends Tuesday 6.30 pm.
To compensate for this irredeemable impending disaster, for that is what it is, desperate (but enjoyable) Bacchanalian Dante styled orgies were hastily and lustfully held in the bars and hotels at the weekend and, as the rabid realisation took hold red-veined, gout hobbled Johnny Expat of every hue, blotch and addiction battered down the armour plated door of Al - Oddbins for desperate entry and stumbled and scrambled feverishly grabbing armfuls of whatever remained on the soiled shaky shelves and broken-doored fridges...even the Pakistani Shiraz and the traditional fermented Azerbaijani aged and fermented dog testicle.
Licenses had been begged, borrowed and blagged as the whole of jaded Expatland cashed in its monthly ration in a 48 hour frenzy. In the 50 degree heat and humidity queues of Soviet proportions doubled round the block, the shelf-stackers and sales staff struggled to hold back the pulsing crowds needing judicious amounts of pepper spray and freely wielded electronic batons from the Nubian muscle to hold back the eye bulging fearful fretting license waving souls aghast at the incipient Horror.
The crowds were mercilessly kettled and removed by the dead hands of the law and the shutters slammed and sealed at 7.00 to a bitter chorus of ululating, wailing and sobbing. It was truly a brutal sight of degrading desperation, futile frustration, and middle-aged middle class junkie despair as the hour of tomorrow's end of the world moonrise Horror gets ever and forbiddingly closer.
To compensate for this irredeemable impending disaster, for that is what it is, desperate (but enjoyable) Bacchanalian Dante styled orgies were hastily and lustfully held in the bars and hotels at the weekend and, as the rabid realisation took hold red-veined, gout hobbled Johnny Expat of every hue, blotch and addiction battered down the armour plated door of Al - Oddbins for desperate entry and stumbled and scrambled feverishly grabbing armfuls of whatever remained on the soiled shaky shelves and broken-doored fridges...even the Pakistani Shiraz and the traditional fermented Azerbaijani aged and fermented dog testicle.
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| Scenes of feral despair at the booze shop |
Licenses had been begged, borrowed and blagged as the whole of jaded Expatland cashed in its monthly ration in a 48 hour frenzy. In the 50 degree heat and humidity queues of Soviet proportions doubled round the block, the shelf-stackers and sales staff struggled to hold back the pulsing crowds needing judicious amounts of pepper spray and freely wielded electronic batons from the Nubian muscle to hold back the eye bulging fearful fretting license waving souls aghast at the incipient Horror.
The crowds were mercilessly kettled and removed by the dead hands of the law and the shutters slammed and sealed at 7.00 to a bitter chorus of ululating, wailing and sobbing. It was truly a brutal sight of degrading desperation, futile frustration, and middle-aged middle class junkie despair as the hour of tomorrow's end of the world moonrise Horror gets ever and forbiddingly closer.
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