Whenever I see a red plastic chair, I immediately think back to my character-forming years spent on the Bougainville Copper Project. For us, that red plastic chair was the height of creature comforts; indeed, the only comfort.
I was still single then and very young. To me, Bougainville was home which came in the shape of a 9x9ft donga tastefully decorated with PLAYBOY centrefolds of girls waxed to the point of martyrdom, where one's wordly possessions easily fitted into a 2ft-wide metal locker, and one's needs for comfort were satisfied by a red plastic chair on the porch.
Life was so simple then; we were still so innocent!
