Once Upon My Green Carpet
It was stuff beer parlour legends are woven out of. Tutu had pissed himself all over my carpet and sleeping O.J. at 2 am in the morning, drunk as Obatala on creation day. The sound of splashing water broke through my befuddled sub consciousness and cognac fuelled sleep shortly before O.J.’s bewildered Hey! Heeey! Heeeyyuurrghh…! And then all hell broke loose. It seemed Tutu had mistaken and misjudged the size of O.J.’s open mug thrown back over the carpet because the brother had calmly stood over snoring O.J. and practised his aim with a staggering but steady squirt right onto…( well, in deference to O.J.’s dignity I leave the rest to your imagination) and the rug. Doesn’t sound much of a legend, eh? Well, consider Tutu’s in his later twenties, impeccable corporate type, some ten good years at a leading insurance house on Lagos’ bustling business Mecca; The Island, and here’s the best part – give or take 4,380 hrs of green bottle active duty, in the course of which he might have downed...