Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Namaste,

Kahaang hai gusalkaanaa? Or to put it in a language that you might understand; Hello, where is the toilet? 

Andrew Beattie here, back again after only a day. Urge to write and all that jazz and so here I am back at the desk, drinking a cup of Darjeeling, which is delicious, and listening to Zee Avi, who is delicious, and pondering about the day, as is my way. Today, ladies and gentlemen, my old nemesis Karma found the weapon of Irony, and then beat me savagely and without mercy around the head with it. Let me explain.

As you can see from my use of local Indian dialect, yesterday I decided that I would be going to India next year and so I promptly dusted off my Lonely Planet guide bought the last time I decided that I would be going to India next year, which was 2008. I didn’t go to India this year but if I have to explain the reasons for this again I’ll kill a man and so let’s just say that I am not in fact the Messiah, I am a very naughty boy. That last sentence bears no resemblance to the actual reason that I didn’t go to India this year but I’m not changing it now. Anyhow, dusting off the book and getting the map back out, I became a determined man, a man that would next year be going to India, khaki shirts, Panama hat, the whole kit and caboodle. After spending a long night dreaming of India I arose this morning to the cold light of day and decided that today would be the day that I would begin to plan how the hell I would afford it.

You see, me saving money is almost like, but not really at all like, asking my cat to stop licking his balls; it might happen, but probably not. The whole money saving aspect of things isn’t helped by the fact that I work three weeks out of five with my current company, doing odd jobs, but then that fact that I do odd jobs is totally irrelevant. Let’s get back to Pot smoking hoodie Karma with his Irony baseball bat shall we. Over the past few weeks I have been doing little bits of content writing, here and there, which was just what I’d wanted, a bit of writing practice. In my utter short sightedness, knowing that there would be more content needing to be written I had a sneaking feeling that there would be more writing over the coming months for a good man, with a beard, long hair and a winning smile. Once Bill Oddie had pulled out at the last minute citing bird watching commitments I would be in the door and working away again meaning money for my trip, writing practice, kerblamo, wham bam, thank you mam.

Anyway, cut a long story short please Andrew. The end of the day arrived and my usual 3 weekly “can I have a chat at the end of the day please Andrew” conversations, the type that result in me being at home the next day not earning money, also arrived. ‘Its ok’ thought I, these conversations had also historically been followed by me being called back into work a couple of days later for another 3 weeks or so and so I swaggered over like Captain Morgan after a bottle of rum and fifty wenches. What I wasn’t at all prepared for however was the following, which is loosely based on the exact conversation that occurred only a few hours ago as I now write:

Boss: “Andy”

Andrew Beattie:”Yes Boss”

Boss: “I’m sure you overheard me talking earlier about the content writing. You see, the thing is I’ve found a company based in India who can do the content for a lot cheaper that you can and I obviously have to take a look at it.”

Andrew Beattie:”Erm, ok”

Boss: “I will call you tomorrow and we’ll sort something out as I maybe a few days coming up over the next month”

Andrew falls to his knees, tearing pages out of his lonely planet India guide before reaching his hands to the sky, crying.

Andrew Beattie:”Why, oh why, oh why. Why me, Karma, why do you beat me senselessly? Oh, damn you Karma, damn you.”

Boss:”Andrew?”

Andrew:”Sorry, drifted off there. Erm, ok”

It’s a good job that I possess both a sense of humour and sense of perspective but even I, for a moment at least, couldn’t get past the fact that the first bloody thing in the way of my holiday to India was the Indian version of me, the little rascal. Well, try this out Indian content writing Karma lover and see how it fits, erm, up your arse, “Fuck You”. I’ve just tried to find the Indian for ‘fuck you’ but Lonely Planet clearly doesn’t cater for the toilet mouths of this world. I wonder how tempting it must be though for a translator to throw the odd swear word in the book so that unsuspecting tourists when assuming that they are asking the way to the nearest train station are really saying “why don’t you go and take your big fat French face for a big shit you smelly bastard.”

Anyway, the whole thing hasn’t changed my situation a great deal other than I now need to look for another job to pay for the trips but then if I remember correctly, that was pretty much where I started out a couple of months ago. I also really knew this day would arrive soon and so didn’t cross getting a job off the list in the first place. That has nothing of course to do with forgetting to cross it off my list because I didn’t forget or take it off the list.

The tea is now cold and Zee Avi has stopped playing and so I’ll go for now. Thank you for being here to listen to my little story and sorry it wasn’t as interesting as the title would have you believe. Until next time,

Onwards and Upwards,

Namaste,

Andrew

P.S. White Rabbits