So far away from home

Life as an exile in the DRC was not easy. First of all, you don't realise until you get there just how decrepit Africa can be. You know all those Tarzan movies?

I trudged through miles of bush and jungle looking for people, passing small encampments of gorillas and chimpanzees. After a couple of days I began to wonder if maybe I should have taken a closer look. Maybe those were not chimps after all. Maybe the natives of rural Congo just haven't been able to afford Gillette products since their economy is so bollocks.

But that was just the rural areas. I eventually managed to secure a ride by public transport (seven of us on a swaybacked mule) to Kinshasa. I, however, could not find work as a journalist there because, as you probably know, the economy is so bad that the leading daily in Kinshasa comes out only twice a year. Sometimes, to cut costs, they repeat the same Modesty Blaise strip.

I needed to get a different source of income. So I looked to my other great talent and became a high street gigolo. It's not a bad way to make a living, by the way, once you get over the client's scabies.