5/29/2004 12:14:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|The thin edge of the wedge. The Ops Manager just called me to let me know that a good friend and colleage had been given his termination of contract papers yesterday. It came as a shock, because this colleague had been in North Africa for a while, and was returning in the expectation of his contract being renewed. I will be meeting him up later for lunch, and to lend him a sympathetic ear. This bit of news has made the entire office a little jittery, with everyone now rushing around updating resumes and renewing contacts. I'm still good for a little while, because I'm currently engaged under secondment contract to an associate company within the group, but my position is by no means secure. Looks like some of the ladies will have to leave, much as it would dismay me to have that happen. I certainly cannot afford to be upkeeping a stable when my source of future income is tenous at best. As Graham is so very fond of reminding me, no one's job is guaranteed. I spent most of last night prepping Kim's race bike. It was a mad rush to the hardware store getting things like fuel cans and duct tape and multimeters. I was also looking for those folding director's chairs but couldn't find any. If anyone knows where I can get one by today, please let me know. The amount of information I have in my head about a certain make of Italian racing motorcycle makes me feel like I should start making a living out of it.|W|P|108580410330311413|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/28/2004 10:12:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Girl Friday |W|P|108571041035619228|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/27/2004 03:25:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|The 100mph Blowjob
This is something from my past. Someone, who shall remain unnamed, happened to own a 1965 Aston Martin DB5. And at the time was dating a very blonde, very good looking young lady, who happened to work for a famous company in Britain. They were driving in his Aston down the highway one fine summer day, and he decided it would be a good idea for him to get a blowjob from her. Whilst he was driving. Down the highway. At 100 mph. Needless to say, the young lady was sporting enough to grant his request, and was soon merrily bobbing her head up and down his lap. Now, for those of you who don't know much about vintage sports cars, please note this. The Aston was built in 1965, which basically meant no power steering, no power brakes, no power anything. You had to do everything using brute force. In addition to this, vintage cars with the Aston's tire requirements did not come with radial tyres. If you know anything about tyres, you will know that radial tyres are far superior to cross ply tyres in terms of puncture resistance. So, at 100 mph, with his fly open, and a young lady sucking on his penis for all she was worth, the Aston's cross ply front tyre decides it has had enough, and proceeds to blow out. Explosively. With an extremely loud bang. Which caused said young lady to clamp down hard with her teeth on said penis. And then resulted in the Aston leaving the highway very quickly, breaking through the barrier fencing, and ending up in a field. As the car rolled to a stop, with 2 very ashen faced occupants, the driver hastily looks at his equipment to determine if damage control procedures are required. Which they thankfully aren't. He then turns to the young, blonde, lovely passenger, and notices blood coming from her lips. Which makes him panic and look downwards to his equipment again. So he asks if she's ok, and she said she's fine, just bit her lip when she was on the upstroke as the car left the road. And she then remarks, oh, by the way, you came, and spits it out on the dashboard. The Conolly leather covered dashboard. This posting came about after a conversation with this guy.
|W|P|108564478076043136|W|P|Repost.|W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/26/2004 04:49:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Miscellaneous Ramblings My brain seems to have short circuited today. I can't seem to string 2 coherent thoughts together. I suppose we all get days like these, where your brain seems to be stuck in a permanent idle mode. I'm looking forward to Friday, when some go-faster goodies for Kim's bike are due to arrive. We're going to bang them on, and head out to the track early Saturday, to maximise free practise time. It will be nice to smell the fumes and hear the noise after all the shit that's happened over the past week. I also have news that a very critical part I need for my race bike is due to be shipped. Thanks Leo. Hopefully the bastard doesn't dick us around anymore. Otherwise I'll need to head down to the island state with Transformer and have a rummage around the yard. When you coming back from Canada? |W|P|108556139314447747|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/25/2004 02:24:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Broom broom. Things are gearing up for round 2 of the MSS. I have agreed to crew for a friend, who is running the yellow Ducati 748 which I can been seen riding squidly elsewhere in this blog. Kim is a young chap who used to work for Microsoft, and is on a 2 year sabbatical. After some discussion with me, he decided to campaign in the novice class in this year's MSS round. A total of 10 races. He is quick, but unfortunately not fast, due to the fact that his bike is very down on power compared to a Japanese 4 cylinder 600. Typically he is giving away some 2 to 3 seconds per lap. 3 seconds may not sound like a lot to you, but it is a lifetime in racing terms. We will be heading to the track this weekend, for practice, qualifying and race day. The plan is that we intend to be consistent throughout the season, preserving the 2nd place that he got for the first round. If he can hold on to second place for every race, then at the least he will be runner up in the novice class, and if some luck comes our way, Best Novice is not out of reach. The main challenger is another young lad from India, Dilip, who intends to make a career out of professional motorcycle racing. His parents are sponsoring him, and he has the skill and talent to make it so. If he gets his hands on some top flight machinery, I think we shall be seeing more of him in the Asian and Asia Pacific series. The main issue will be whether Kim decides to invest in a faster machine, which he can carry forward to next year, or just treat this whole season as a laugh. The way things are turning out, he's gotten the red mist, and has Dilip square in his sights. Which would probably mean I'll be going shopping for a full monty race 600 before the end of next month. If he picks up a semi factory ride next year? Well, it would mean that I might be giving my job up for race team management. Another friend, Brent, who was the Open Class champion here last year, has returned to Australia. Where he is doing miserably. The standard of competition there is extremely intense, unlike here, where about 80% of us are gentlemen racers, who are doing this as an expensive hobby, as opposed to a racing scene like Australia, where everyone goes all out to win. Open Class boasts of the fastest machinery, and also the most expensive. I will be entering a few Open Class races this year, just to keep my edge. I certainly will not be winning any races, but would like to show some young whipper-snappers that us old guys can still kick arse. |W|P|108546631002515171|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/25/2004 01:50:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Still Life. |W|P|108546489172175072|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/24/2004 03:25:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|What can I say? It has been a most difficult week for me. Work has been shifting into a higher gear, with the consulting team being told that the job will be finished on schedule, hang the cost, come hell or high water, no matter what. And in order to fulfil the wishes of the powers that be, some things have fallen by the wayside. I have noticed that almost all of us are making mistakes. The quality of our work is dropping, and fast. We no longer have the time or luxury to check and double check our work. Nobody wants to make sure that essential services are where they are supposed to be. "You wanted the water, you should have checked before they plastered the wall" Hey! FUCK YOU BITCH! You're the engineer in charge of plumbing, you check it to make sure it's there, not me. And she had the cheek to say that this country was 40 years behind hers. In which case go back to Hong Kong bitch. I've been to Hong Kong, lived there, worked there. If it wasn't for the fact that the British set it up as a trading post a 150 years ago, it would be a fucking sleepy fishing village with everyone singing 'International' and you would be working as a whore. How can family of 5 live in 600 square feet is beyond me. And Hong Kongers has absolutely no culture of their own. Aside from chasing the almighty dollar. And you come to work here and tell me we are 40 years behind you? But naturally, as a professional, I just grinned at this 5 foot 2 inch slip of a girl, and simply said the above, without the insults, expletives or raised voice. But it still doesn't change the fact that I'm not supposed to be checking your work. I filled in a Design Change, and requested a service to be installed 4 months ago. My company agreed to pay for it. The contractor agreed to perform the work. It wasn't there when I did a walk around last Friday. It ain't my fucking screwup. And saying that I'm supposed to be checking your work, but hey, what the fuck do I know about plumbing? Well, quite a bit as it turns out, and definitely more than you do, but still, you design a water pipe, you go check to see if the fucked up contractor put it in. Sorry, it wasn't a good weekend, it hasn't been a good day, and it looks to be a bleak week. The only thing I'm looking forward to is going racing this coming weekend. Perhaps a session with Mr. Walker, Mr. Gordons or Mr. Beam is in order. Or all three. Any takers?|W|P|108538360508741080|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/21/2004 09:54:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Girl Friday |W|P|108510470878226729|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/19/2004 01:00:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Not the Girl Friday. For K. The way the sun shines in your eyes. The way you smile when you think no one is watching. The grace you show.|W|P|108494295120125158|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/19/2004 12:20:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Roundabouts Been busy with work of late. Somehow, the Project Director seems to think I'm spending too much time behind my desk. So he's tasked me to do something really really horrible. He wants me to mark the floors for the equipment layouts. I mean, like why can't the relevant consultant concerned with the area/equipment do it? It's not like they're terribly overworked. One of them, G., comes in at 10 a.m. every day. Every single working day. And ostensibly goes home at 6:30, to make up the hours. One day I stayed late myself, to see what he actually got up to. All I saw him do was chat on the phone in his mother tongue to fuck knows who. It wasn't like he was doing any productive or real work. When he was questioned about it, he had to cheek to ask the PD whether the PD wanted his presence or the quality of his work. Oi! Twattie. You call yourself a consultant, at least have the fucking decency to be a professional and observe the posted working hours. To top it off, he has no qualifications, except for a technical certificate issued by the Navy, and he has the fucking cheek to try and tell me what should be done in my area of specialisation. When that happened, I did something I haven't done before. I brought the certificate showing my professional membership in the body concerned and pinned it up on the wall behind me. I usually hate showing off these kind of things. I did it to obtain a professional certification and standing, and to provide myself with some personal satisfaction, that I could actually qualify to join an elite group of professionals. But because of this cunt, everyone thinks that I'm showing off. Well, maybe I am, but at least no one tries to second guess me or my observations and findings anymore.|W|P|108494047815343817|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/17/2004 09:50:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Recovery. Well, the weekend is over. It was a time of rumination for me, and yes, you can include all the cow connotations you like. I spent almost all of it sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, flipping channels, with the curtains drawn. Sitting there in my shorts, with cans of Pringles, empty pizza boxes and crushed tins of beer all around me. It was a weekend of total vegetableness. Completely and absolutely switched off. I didn't even bother firing up the computer. Breakfast was cornflakes and milk, and lunch and dinner was pizzas. I called the pizza place nearby, and told them to send large pizzas every 4 hours. I was supposed to get my sorry arse down to the track for a session, but I simply couldn't motivate myself. A couple of friends called early Sunday morning asking if I was going, but I said no, because 1. I didn't have a functional race bike, and 2. I was too damn lazy to drive 30 miles to sweat my balls off for 3 hours. And thus another 48 hours has passed. Another 48 hours which I'm never going to get back. What happened? Well, on Friday, we had a meeting in the home office, where we were told that the current office location was going to be shut down, and we would be moving into the offices of our sister company, where I'm currently seconded, in order to save costs. No big deal, companies do that kind of shit all the time. But the sister company is absolutely the most shit pile worthless scum bag politicking infantile collection of morons I have ever seen. A company where teamwork does not exist. Where everyone is good at avoiding responsibility and blame. After discussing this in the meeting, the MD of the home office said he blames the head of the company, and the heads of the various divisions. Which is absolutely true. In my experience, the best run companies have been dictatorships. Usually benevolent dictatorships. The above news, in and of itself, was not cause for me to be upset. The second bit of news was. Which made me quite quickly have to think about my future, and my career. So I spent the entire weekend thinking, and considering options. And I have put together several contigency plans based upon the situations most likely to happen. We call this Risk Management, which is something I specialise in for my company. And no, we aren't talking about effete financial type risk management. The Risk Management I do usually involves situations where lots of people die. So I now have a set of options, which makes me feel better. I guess the biggest difference between me and someone else is that I have the resources to consider options and implement them. If things happen the way I want them to, then this time next year I'll be in Vienna. If they don't, then I'll be sailing a yacht in the South China Sea. Oh, and I think I put on about 30 pounds.|W|P|108475874012768788|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/14/2004 03:34:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Feeling Mangled. I just received some very upsetting news today after the meeting in the home office. It's taking some time for the news to sink in and for the implications to make themselves apparent. It look like a whole new game is being called into play, and this news is going to make me miserable for some time to come. I now need to seriously rethink my entire future. If I have a future. |W|P|108452010119135232|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/14/2004 03:17:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Girl Friday. |W|P|108451909845377519|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/13/2004 05:28:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Finding Nemo Many years ago, a lifetime ago, I was working in the oil and gas industry, in an area where the sea was noted for its ferocity and extremely unforgiving nature. I was tasked to go out to one of a group of Production and Pressurisation Platforms. This particular platform relied for its power and compression needs on a gas turbine. This turbine was from a manufacturer now ceased operations, but their turbines were noted for being very powerful, but also very tempremental. As a specialist, I was required to attend to the periodic maintenance of a pair of these turbines, and also attend to the occassional breakdown service. So I found myself, coming to the close of the year, fixing up a turbine which had decided to flame out at very odd occassions. After solving the problem, which required about 6 days of my time, working, eating, sleeping and living on this platform way out in the ocean, I was about ready to head back for shore, and told the Rig Superintendent that my work was finished and could he please book me a place on the morning chopper. He said fine, I was was all happy and went off to square away my gear. The next morning, the wind was howling, and it was threatening to blow up a storm. I was deathly afraid the helo was going to be cancelled and I would be stuck for another day on the platform. As I was having breakfast in the mess hall, the Sup comes to my table and sits down in front of me. He looks me in the eye and told me that another platform in the group was having a problem with its turbine and could I please go have a look. Well, actually, he did say please, but the way he said it told me that my refusal was not an option. So I sighed, and mentally totalled the extra allowances I was getting to soothe my wanting to get back on shore. I reported to the Radio room to arrange for my transfer to the next platform. And the Radio Operator told me the only way that they were going to do inter-rig transfers today was by rig tender. A rig tender is an 80 foot long work boat, and being a work boat, was not noted for comfort. This was not going to be any kind of sea cruise, because outside the R/O's window I could see the wind whipping the waves up to 3 metres. I then reported to the Main Deck, to arrange for transfer to the work boat. The wind was absolutely howling by now, and we had difficulty walking against the wind or standing up straight. Now, the normal method of transfer to a rig tender from the main deck, is by cargo basket. This is a round basket, with netting on 4 sides and gaps in between, where you put the cargo in the middle of the basket, and you stand outside hanging on to the netting. The crane operator looked at the wind, and said he would transfer my gear and tools first, and then only me and 2 others guys who were also making the trip. A word about my tools. A gas turbine is a specialised piece of machinery, and requires special tools to fix it. Diagnostic tools, vibration analysers, precision hand tools, things like that. Which made my tool box very heavy. So I put my tools in the basket, together with my gear, and the other 2 guys did the same. We then stood back and watched the crane lift the basket into the sky above the main deck. We walked over to the railing to look down at the tender, and saw the guys on the rear deck of the tender waiting with hooks to grab the basket. Why were they waiting with hooks? Because the wind was swinging the basket around like a pendulum. I looked up at the basket, and mouthed a silent "Oh, fuck!" The wind has suddenly gusted, and shifted the load in the basket. The basket was now tiliting dangerously to one side because of the imbalanced load. The netting was straining to hold everything in place, when it suddenly snapped. And all the gear, including my tools, fell off the basket and into 280 feet of deep water. I could only watch in a stunned silence, as I saw my $60,000 tool box sink into the ocean. |W|P|108444056482646080|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/12/2004 09:00:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Navel Contemplation I'm terribly sorry about the lack of an update in here yesterday. The power supply went off at 10:30 a.m. and never came back. We went down town to get some ice cream to cool ourselves off and upon returning to the office at 2:00 p.m. the office was still in darkness. And bloody hot. After sitting down for a half hour, I decided that work would be better served sitting by the swimming pool at home drinking beer with the laptop precariously balanced on my knees. As you can guess, not a lot of work got done. I just been informed that my presence is required back in my home office for a 'big, big' meeting on Friday. Things haven't been going too well for the home office. They have not obtained any new work, and the future looks bleak for them. I was constantly reminded that my secondment to the sister company is a blessing, because the other staff are sitting in the office, worrying about their future. The fact that many, if not all, major projects in this country are politically motivated, counts against the company I work for. Being a foreign multi national, many are loathe to forwards projects to this company, due to the perception that the money will flow back to the country of origin. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't deny that there are companies who come to this country, and proceed to send every cent of profit back out again. Not this company. The profits are very carefully apportioned between re-investment and reserves. Since the company set up shop here some 7 years ago, profits have only be repatriated back once. The company believes in utilising the maximum local resources, and the MD, who originated in the home country, has now made his permanent home here, and obtained citizenship. Several of my expatriate colleagues are also planning on buying property and retiring here. If that isn't investing in this country, I don't know what is.|W|P|108432364022019805|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/12/2004 08:44:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|What did this meal cost? The above meal included fresh coconuts, beer, a very large bottle of Coca Cola, a large bottle of mineral water.|W|P|108432264198889753|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/07/2004 10:51:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Sometimes I Despair I am currently involved in a project to build a public service building. An essential public service building. The company I work for was tasked with the provision of the essential equipment, and I was seconded from a sister company in the group to this company. The reason I was seconded was because the on site project team lacked someone with my qualifications and experience, and the main project company was asking questions as to why they did not have people on site who were qualified. Thus, I find myself back in the construction game. Dealing with a bunch of people who couldn't care any less about the building, or about the quality of their work. They perhaps don't realise that what they are doing is leaving a legacy of their work, for the use of the public. I find it sad that a sense of professionalism and pride in work is absent from this site. Everyone is only interested in covering their arse, and everyone else can go to hell. As long as I'm covered and you can't blame me, buddy. Today I had to look at a mounting for a projector. A big projector. For an auditorium. The vendor supplying the equipment came with us on site, and I showed him the mounting for this projector. Which vibrated if you so much as breathed on it. I told the vendor that this was unacceptable, and asked him to install a proper isolation mounting. He looked at me blankly, and asked me what an isolation mounting was. I could only let my jaw drop in disbelief. This guy was supposed to be the vendor's engineer, and specialised in the installation of this type of equipment. And he had no idea what I was talking about or wanted. I despair.|W|P|108389829149053269|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/07/2004 08:37:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Girl Friday |W|P|108389027299727800|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/06/2004 03:38:00 PM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Like Toy Soldiers The occupation of Iraq by Coalition forces has now taken an ugly turn. Images of the abuse of Iraqi prisoners have now surfaced, and spread widely through the media. Claims and counter claims about the authenticity of the images are being thrown about, and everyone has their own 2 cents to say about it. I have this to say. The United States, and the rest of the Coalition, invaded a sovereign country, on inadequate, incomplete or erroneous information. They were not requested, or required, to do so by any governing body, dissenting voices, mistreated citizens, whatever. They brushed aside the wishes and requests of the greater majority, and sought to impose their will on another people, culture, religion and way of life. The whole Occupation has no descended into a quagmire of guerilla attacks, car bombs and sniping. The ones suffering are the citizens. This might turn out to be Vietnam revisited. And this is the thing. The armed forces who are in Iraq, are purely and simply a political tool, utilised by their political masters, to achieve political ends. And politicians tend to forget one thing. Soldiers are, first and foremost, professionals. The very best of them are proud, highly trained, and efficient in their craft. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, is killing people. Armies spend millions teaching soldiers how to kill, stalk, endure hardship and deprivation. Using them as an occupying force is a gross misuse of their skills and capabilities. And when soldiers get bored, they tend to do things like this. Soldiers view humanity, and the value thereof, slightly differently from civilians. They are conditioned from early in their training to view the enemy as something less than human. Should it surprise anyone if soldiers who feel victimised, are bored, and under constant guerilla attack, start brutalising prisoners? So why persecute the soldiers for doing what they were trained to do? If anyone should be blamed, it should be their Commander in Chief, and their government, for putting them there in the first place. Never blame the soldier, for the armed forces, in a democratic country, are sub-servient to the government of the day.|W|P|108382919839519035|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/05/2004 08:23:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|How to destroy a $70,000 motorcycle in one easy lesson. Step 1. Buy motorcycle. Step 2. Go to track. Step 3. Start having delusions about being the next Valentino Rossi. Step 4. Get passed by a more experienced, faster rider. Step 5. Attempt to show more experienced, faster rider how it should be done. Step 6. Slide on your arse watching your new motorcycle being turned into scrap metal.|W|P|10837372315350185|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com5/04/2004 11:55:00 AM|W|P|Desmodromic|W|P|Kill Bill My jaunt down south to watch the Clubman races was a washout. I came down with a terminal attack of lazyitis when I saw the river of vehicles heading towards the toll plaza. It was unbelievable that a 4 day weekend could cause so many to leave the big city. I guess city life must that bad. I headed back towards home after dinner, and decided to pull into the gas station near home, where I regularly fill up my vehicles. The fuel gauge on the truck was showing the little yellow light, so a top up was necessary. And the station was packed with cars. Completely and absolutely. There was no room going in or coming out. The reason for this insanity? The price of fuel was going to rise by 2 cents at midnight. 2 fucking cents. Per fucking liter. I saw this twat pull up in his little 850cc Kancil, and pump in $11.00 worth of fuel. Oi! Twattie! That means you just saved 20 fucking cents. The cost of a box of fucking matches. The owner of the station, an elderly Chinese man who knows me well, saw me fuming in the truck, and allowed me to cut the queue. I stomped out of the truck and asked him what the hell was going on, and he told me about the afore-mentioned price increase. I told him I didn't understand why people would come and top up their tanks just to save 2 cents. Sure, if your tank was already empty, fair enough. But just to add another 10 or 15 liters? Come on. Don't the stupid dickwad drivers understand they would burn that savings up in driving to the station and queuing for their turn to pump gas. Dumbfucks. Penny wise and pound foolish. And I proceeded to pump in exactly 112.38 liters worth of fuel. Netting me a saving of $2.24. Not even enough for a plate of noodles at the market tomorrow. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I was there with an empty tank, and I had to wait 20 minutes before I could gas up. I happen to drive one of 2 production vehicles on our roads with the biggest fuel tanks, one being the type of truck I drive, the other being a Range Rover. So, yeah, filling up either of those tanks would garner some sort of savings. Filling up the tank for a fucking Kancil ain't gonna save you fucking shit, bubba. Bill used to work in this country, doing some work for the very splendid white elephant of an airport we have sitting on swampland. One day I'll tell you about airports, runways, soil testing and settling. Bill and I were golf buddies, and we shared many a good time at the course and in the bar. Bill stayed in this country with his wife and kids. At the end of Bill's contract in this country, the company he worked for decided to close the office, since they did not see the chance of future contracts. So Bill, his wife and kids, made preparations to move house, which in the case of Bill's 3 kids, involved a lot of packing. In and amongst all this, Bill was tasked by his wife to dispose of the rubbish, a task which Bill sailed into with gay abandon. Right up till the point where Bill's wife asked, where is the box containing my jewelry, which I put into a large plastic bag? There was a sudden silence in the Bill household. Followed by panic stations. Bill was running helter skelter, down to the big dumpster in their condo, only to find that the dumpster had been emptied earlier in the day and the trash was on it’s way to the landfill. A frenzied drive to the landfill failed to turn up anything. Understandably, Bill’s wife was very upset. Bill asked me what he could do, and the only thing I could suggest was that he melt his credit card getting replacements. Bill and the family left the country the next day, and I was reliably informed that divorce proceedings were being implemented |W|P|108364297056660062|W|P||W|P|Desmosedici@gmail.com