Thursday, 11 February 2016

Leaky. Smelly. Assange.

I have a creepy fascination with Julian Assange and his office-turned-apartment in the Ecuadorian embassy.  Does he use Just Eat?  Does he have a woven bedspread?  Who buys his toiletries?  Has he watched literally everything on Netflix?  The following story, taken from Popbitch this week, shows they totally read my mind:
“Julian Assange is still holed up in the Ecuadorian embassy but, from everything we hear, it sounds as though he and the current Ambassador are having a few problems with regards to house rules.
The Ambassador has requested that Assange keep his door open in the company of any female visitors (sensible) but he has also banned him from cooking with garlic or onions because he hates the smell, and the people who do the laundry/clean the rooms are always complaining about how bad it smelled in there.
The sanction is playing havoc with Julian's speciality dish: a hot-plate spag bol he likes to cook for important guests.”
FASCINATING.  I can almost see him now.  It's not a four poster, it's a fold up Ikea number.  A couple of those Poang chairs (surprisingly comfortable).  A rail with some identical tops (hang on, I'm getting confused with Zuckerberg.  Do they know each other???).
Also: the Ambassador sounds a bit like my Uncle Mike.  But I guess the onion police are preferable to the US ones.  Hell, anything is preferable to the US ones.
As for hot plate spag bol, well: you can take the hacker outa Townsville, but you can’t take Townsville outa the hacker...


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