You may have been tricked by my deceptive outward appearance into thinking that I am one of those well-adjusted types– the type that would like to be acceptable in society. This false impression could have been caused by the fact that I have lately taken to tucking in my shirts and wearing decent trousers.

I am so sorry about the misunderstanding, but I only wear pants and a tie is so that they don’t kick me out of public places that I need to enter for purposes of doing my job. Essentially, deep within, I am still a slob. Here, inside, my soul doesn’t give a shit.

The other weekend I was invited to Silk Oxygen by a generous PR firm to attend the a media launch of the publicity campaign to inform you, the huddled masses, of the imminent arrival of British Reggae band UB40.

But before that…

I live in a semi-rural third world village on the border of Kireka and Bweyogerere. To get to civilisation, where I work, I have to tread the beaten path to the taxi stage.

That path is very very dangerous—it is either a tumultuous river of flowing dust and I kid you not this dust is so heavy and vigorous that it moves to attack you —or it is a treacherous waves of mud that gravitate to shoes and trouser hems.

In a bid to reduce on the horror my workmates will undoubtedly suffer if they see me arrive at the office after walking through the slough of despair, I do two things. I have a deal with Kaziro shoeshine outside the office. When I get to work, I pass him my shoes and he cleans the Kireka off them.
The second thing I do is I roll up my trousers. I roll them up out of reach of the mud, then roll them down when I get to the taxi.

On this Casual Friday, I got to work and suffered through the allotted toil and strife, until sevenish, time for my glamorous event at Silk Oxygen. While there, I was selected by your favourite radio presenter, The Fat Boy, to battle it out with Beena Baby and Brenda Nanyonjo in a quiz for the grand prize of 30k airtime.

You can see me totally kicking their asses in the picture below.

My moment of glory was tarnished however, when I saw the full set of photos the next day.

The entire day no one thought they should tell me that I had forgotten to roll my jeans back down?