The moral of the story being, if there's a camera around, insist upon them waiting for you to change. But they'd all so earnestly and gently requested a gigabyte apiece of digital photos of themselves with an Indigenous Person. The photos are already plastered across the internet. And whereas everyone else is neatly, appropriately dressed, Indigenous Person is still in her cycling attire and desperately requiring of the services of a hairbrush.
So, if you read anywhere online that the traditional folkloric robes of Grace's City of Residence are reflective, slightly muddy and worn with grotty trainers... it was me wot started it. And you heard it here first.
Ah well. At least I wasn't naked. Small mercies...
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1 comment:
Naked ??! so you get those dreams too then?
Actually, on Saturday nights in the town, the queues for the nightclubs exhibit plenty of (mostly tasteful) naked flesh - we are renouned for our hardyness as a Northern race. (Or perhaps we can be seen as an uncivilised bunch of tribal sub humans - it can be hard to tell the difference sometimes)
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