DAY 67: PROJECT FACE LIFT

I have just won the 110% Award at TBWA. This means that I won absolutely nothing except a pat on the back and a smidgen of god-damn respect. Which is OK, I guess but a new car with brakes that work or a Shetland pony dressed up as a Scottish Highlander would have been cool too. So what is the 110% Award? Well, it's a Global TBWA initiative whereby anyone in the agency (creative,suits, strategy, IT irits etc) can submit any idea they believe is cool, out-the-box and 'disruptive' for any of our clients. The best work is then chosen, and the entire agency gets summoned to view all the work in this weird, scary auditorium that we have in the agency, where the winner is then  announced. Being the winner means that my idea then goes into production (if client agrees). Great. Happy days, right? NO. WRONG. FAIL. The problem is that I am about 75% sure that my idea is not going to be able to be pulled off...how should I put this...legally. Unless I shag the Chief Councillor Sultan King of Bronze Statues in South Africa, or Jacob Zuma. Which I am about 85% unwilling to do (the other 15% is if CCSKBSSA is in fact also a sexy Scottish-French wine farmer and has a chameleon rehabilitation centre). Anyway, I'm rambling. Here's a crudely Photoshopped interpretation of the idea...and then we'll get to the part where I need you to help me break the law:

If the council doesn't give me permission, I'm going to be needing volunteer 'statue face polishers' from around the country to help make Project Face Lift a reality. That means you. I will provide your team with ninja suits, ropes, a couple of tins of Brasso and indemnity forms (releasing me from any responsibility in case of injury, death, arrest, or a sudden allergic reaction to Brasso)...Any takers? Seriously. If you're crazy, or bored, or have a fetish for extreme polishing email me at indigoconcepts@gmail.com

DAY 60: EISH, ETHEKWINI

DAY 54: THE JABU REPLACEMENT

DAY 44: GUYS, I'M BEING TOTALLY SERIAL

Last night was the first time since I arrived in Durban that I felt like I hadn't made a terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible mistake moving here. I think things are starting to sort themselves out in this head of mine.

I have finally fallen in love with the brands I am working on and am starting to see how much potential they have. I want to be part of giving them a real sense of humour and quirkiness. I just want to turn my brands into something beautiful. Shit. Balls. I'm starting to sound like Posh Spice in a consultation with her plastic surgeon. But guys, I'm being totally serial. It's half man, half bear, half pig. It's, it's a,a,a....A MAN-BEAR-PIG! I digress.

Besides things looking up with the work attitude, people are slowly starting to warm to me. Just the other day the security guard at the front gates of TBWA actually greeted me, even though I tried to run him over with my car. And this morning my new crack dealer gave me twenty bucks off a rock. Just kidding, T. Brown. I digress.

One of the dumbest things I have done in Durban since I arrived is take on the challenge of learning how to surf. My incredible ability to drown in 2 feet of water and my distinct lack of melanin are both sure signs that I was not made to frolic in the ocean.

Other signs include: A general fear of water, being a chicken shit, an imagination that keeps making me think a giant squid tentacle has brushed past my leg, and looking incredibly stupid in a wetsuit. Thank God my surfing instructor is The Surf Yoda, otherwise I think I would have thrown in the towel ages ago. 

Surf Yoda: Take this next wave, you must. Hmmmmmm.

R. Brown: Are you insane? NO. It's too big.

Surf Yoda: Be afraid you must not, you one with the wave must be.

R. Brown: No Fucking way.

Surf Yoda: Coming, the wave is. Yesssssss.

R. Brown: I can see that!

Surf Yoda: Most likely smash into a million pieces against the bottom of the ocean your head will, if you take not this next wave. Herh, herh, herh. 

R. Brown: Yes. I can fucking see that.

Surf Yoda: Hmmmmm. Yesssssss.

(wave attacks me and dumps the board on top of my head, before depositing me on the shore where I proceed to throw up salt water and coffee.) 

Surf Yoda: Ha, ha, ha. Funny, that was. Yesssssss.

DAY 41: DEAR STEVEN PAUL JOBS, CEO AND SULTAN KING OF ALL THINGS MAC

Here's the first song, There's no video to go with it, just an AWESOME pic of The Mac Daddy doing 'The Don' (kind of) :

DAY 39: HELLO SPROGLETT!

So the father has gone away for three months in order to open some sort of factory in Johannesburg that will apparently change the way the world sees scatter cushion fibre. I can't wait. On the up side, this means that I get to take my new found 7yr old half sister for ice-cream and rides in Renault Brown without his permission. I can't understand a word The New Thai Wife is saying, so just make up my own conclusions:

New Thai Wife: Waa daa HOMEWORK? Yabada BATH haacabaa BED yoaagaboo SPELWING TEST TOMOWOW!

R. Brown: What's that? Oh Ok, you need to do some Thai things and hang up the washing, well then I'll just take The Little Sproglett off your hands for a while. Come along Sproglett, let's go for an ice cream.

The Sproglett is amazing. It's super cool to have someone ask me loads of questions about who I really am. Innocent questions that I never thought I'd ever have to answer, which admittedly I answer with lies because I want her to think I'm awesome:

Sproglett: Wachel, where have you been my whole life?

Wachel: Well, I've been in the DRC for the past 8 years, mediating peace talks between Joseph Kabila, and the militant rebel leaders.

Sproglett: Oh. That's nice.

Aaah. I love The Sproglett.

Other pearls of wisdom I have passed onto her thus far:

• Donkeys were once Unicorns until the Chinese Government bought the rights to chop off all their magical horns and sell them to the Mexicans.
  

• Barbie was modeled off of our great, great grandmother, Barbara Brown.
  

• A pig has one vein running through its entire body.
  

• Vanilla ice cream is made from Crickets blood, that's what makes it so white. Chocolate ice cream is OK though, it's just made from chocolate.
  

• The Father was once a dwarf until he got leg extensions. Ask him to show you the scars from the surgery.
  

DAY 35: THE WEIRD DURBAN HITCHING CULT

"Hi. I'm an incredibly gorgeous guy. I'm smart and creative and probably have a giant ding-dong. I'd show it to you if I didn't have this wedding ring on my huge fucking finger. Oh, meet my wife. Yes she is incredibly beautiful, a little dense but that doesn't matter because that's only your opinion, R. Brown. Our age? Um, we're both 23 but we've been married for about 15 yrs already."

Durbanaats. Stop getting hitched so young. You're freaking me out. At least wait until you've grown pubes and know how to count to 10. I know all your friends are doing it, but that's because they've been brainwashed by The Durban Hitching Cult, which was founded by a group of Durban junior school jocks way back in the 80's. These guys realised that they'd probably all amount to useless, flabby oxygen thieves by the time they hit their thirties and decided to all get hitched before they stopped pulling chicks.

These guys are dangerous. They have passed on the ancient wisdoms of The Durban Hitching Cult to other junior school jocks, which then brainwash the B team rugby players, preying on their vulnerabilities and insecurities of never making it into the A team. And then suddenly the whole of Durban is married. Seriously. Why am I the only person who knows this shit? Gawsh.