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Diego Clayton was born in Uruguay in 1942. He enrolled at the Escuela Nacional de Bellas Profundas to study the Humanities in 1958, after gaining work experience as a vet's assistant and as a mountain guide for El Cerro Pan de Azucar. Clayton paid for his student years by doing night shifts at a corn beef factory, yet despite this tiring schedule, he passed every exam with flying colours, or as the locals say, with COLORES DE VUELO.
Everything was fine until the winter of his final year, when Clayton took on the job of being the cleaner of Professor Tito Vale's villa in a suburb of Montevideo. One afternoon, during the lunch break, Professor Tito Vale told Clayton that he wasn't happy with the general standard of cleaning and furthermore, 8100 pesos were missing from the fruit bowl.
Diego Clayton couldn't believe what he was hearing : "I am being accused of theft by an arrogant a$$hole!" he exclaimed.
In seconds, their verbal altercation flared into a MASSIVE fight and Diego Clayton battered the young Professor senseless. It took five students and the janitor to subdue Clayton, but by then, the damage was done and Professor Tito Vale lay unconscious in a bloody heap in the mezzanine.
Everything was fine until the winter of his final year, when Clayton took on the job of being the cleaner of Professor Tito Vale's villa in a suburb of Montevideo. One afternoon, during the lunch break, Professor Tito Vale told Clayton that he wasn't happy with the general standard of cleaning and furthermore, 8100 pesos were missing from the fruit bowl.
Diego Clayton couldn't believe what he was hearing : "I am being accused of theft by an arrogant a$$hole!" he exclaimed.
In seconds, their verbal altercation flared into a MASSIVE fight and Diego Clayton battered the young Professor senseless. It took five students and the janitor to subdue Clayton, but by then, the damage was done and Professor Tito Vale lay unconscious in a bloody heap in the mezzanine.
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Every time you lose your cool, you lose control and at times the cost could be quite high. So learn to manage your temper.
As a little kid growing up on a sheep farm, Martin was a bright, hardworking boy, prone to losing his temper and getting angry. He would end up saying harsh words to his friends and family without often realising the impact of his angry outbursts.
Intent on mending his son’s ways, Martin’s dad decided on a plan. He gave his son a sack of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the wooden fence at the back of their farm. The son agreed. The first day, he hammered 35 nails into the fence. As the days passed, the number of nails hammered into the fence gradually decreased. It was quite a task going all the way to the back of the farm and hammering a nail. Young Martin figured it was easier to just control his temper and not get angry.
And then, one day, he did not lose his cool at all. A day of no nails! Delighted, he told his father about it. And the father said that for every day that Martin did not lose his temper, he should pull out a nail from the fence. Martin did as told, and some months later, all the nails in the fence had been removed. Martin was pleased. And so was his dad.
The father led young Martin to the back of the farm and pointing to the wooden fence he said “You have done well, my son and I am proud of you. But notice the holes left behind by the nails? They will never go away. The fence will never be the same again. It’s like that with our anger too. When we are angry, we say things that leave a scar. And no amount of apologizing thereafter can ever remove those scars. Remember that!”
Moral: It’s a lesson that we should remember all our life. And it’s a lesson we would all do well to take to heart too. Keep your cool. Don’t lose your temper. And you will see a significant improvement in your relationships. People will like you more, they will respect you a lot more – and you will find that hardly anybody gets angry with you. If you find yourself losing your cool often, maybe you should set yourself a punishment equivalent to hammering nails on the fence. Like Martin, you too might then find yourself controlling your temper a lot better. Good to remember that you can never really win when you get angry. You always lose -your temper, your cool and a whole lot else besides.
Saying “Sorry” is like using one of those erasers on the top of a pencil. It’s easy to use, it feels like you have erased what was written, but the marks remain on the sheet of paper forever. And in this era of instant messaging and on-the-go e-mails, it becomes even more important to watch your words. If you are upset and want to shoot off an angry e-mail or message, hold it! Draft a mail perhaps – but leave it as a draft. Don’t hit the ‘send’ button whilst you are angry. Tell yourself that you will take a look at it the next morning, and only then send it. Chances are, with a cooler head the next morning, you will realise the folly of sending out the angry email. And it does not matter that you are in the right, or that you think your anger is justified. If you lose your cool, remember, you lose. Period.
Next time you are angry and want to say something, take a deep breath. Pause. And maybe say nothing at all.
As a little kid growing up on a sheep farm, Martin was a bright, hardworking boy, prone to losing his temper and getting angry. He would end up saying harsh words to his friends and family without often realising the impact of his angry outbursts.
Intent on mending his son’s ways, Martin’s dad decided on a plan. He gave his son a sack of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the wooden fence at the back of their farm. The son agreed. The first day, he hammered 35 nails into the fence. As the days passed, the number of nails hammered into the fence gradually decreased. It was quite a task going all the way to the back of the farm and hammering a nail. Young Martin figured it was easier to just control his temper and not get angry.
And then, one day, he did not lose his cool at all. A day of no nails! Delighted, he told his father about it. And the father said that for every day that Martin did not lose his temper, he should pull out a nail from the fence. Martin did as told, and some months later, all the nails in the fence had been removed. Martin was pleased. And so was his dad.
The father led young Martin to the back of the farm and pointing to the wooden fence he said “You have done well, my son and I am proud of you. But notice the holes left behind by the nails? They will never go away. The fence will never be the same again. It’s like that with our anger too. When we are angry, we say things that leave a scar. And no amount of apologizing thereafter can ever remove those scars. Remember that!”
Moral: It’s a lesson that we should remember all our life. And it’s a lesson we would all do well to take to heart too. Keep your cool. Don’t lose your temper. And you will see a significant improvement in your relationships. People will like you more, they will respect you a lot more – and you will find that hardly anybody gets angry with you. If you find yourself losing your cool often, maybe you should set yourself a punishment equivalent to hammering nails on the fence. Like Martin, you too might then find yourself controlling your temper a lot better. Good to remember that you can never really win when you get angry. You always lose -your temper, your cool and a whole lot else besides.
Saying “Sorry” is like using one of those erasers on the top of a pencil. It’s easy to use, it feels like you have erased what was written, but the marks remain on the sheet of paper forever. And in this era of instant messaging and on-the-go e-mails, it becomes even more important to watch your words. If you are upset and want to shoot off an angry e-mail or message, hold it! Draft a mail perhaps – but leave it as a draft. Don’t hit the ‘send’ button whilst you are angry. Tell yourself that you will take a look at it the next morning, and only then send it. Chances are, with a cooler head the next morning, you will realise the folly of sending out the angry email. And it does not matter that you are in the right, or that you think your anger is justified. If you lose your cool, remember, you lose. Period.
Next time you are angry and want to say something, take a deep breath. Pause. And maybe say nothing at all.
Geordie - it's like ma granny used to say, "Count ten, son, before ye batter somebody."
Well, Dotchinite, Diego paid a quick visit to his flat and packed a bag pronto - in haste, like. He raided the fridge for salami and some tins of corned beef. He smashed his piggy bank and stuck the 360 pesos in his sky rocket. Diego was on the run.
Meanwhile, back at the college, lieutenant Artur Panuflage was asking some pretty serious questions...
Meanwhile, back at the college, lieutenant Artur Panuflage was asking some pretty serious questions...
Hey Dotchinite??! How come you asked about Diego? What about Tito - he is the one who was assaulted and taken to hospital...FFS!! 
Diego hopped on the first bus he could find, known to the locals as EL PUERCOESPIN AMARILLO - The Yellow Porcupine. He sat at the back, in a state of shock, as the adrenaline rush began to wear off. He left the bus when it stopped at the red ash football pitch by the charity school for poor children from the nearby cantegriles. He clutched a goalpost but his grip became steadily lighter until he collapsed.
He lay there for almost an hour until a well dressed woman in her fifties found him. At first, she thought of robbing Diego, but she was disappointed to find so little money as she rummaged through his bag. Instead, she looked around for help and paid a vagrant 50 pesos to help her decant Diego into an abandoned shopping trolley. The woman wheeled Diego to her workplace, a brothel called Ropa Deportiva Sexual.
He lay there for almost an hour until a well dressed woman in her fifties found him. At first, she thought of robbing Diego, but she was disappointed to find so little money as she rummaged through his bag. Instead, she looked around for help and paid a vagrant 50 pesos to help her decant Diego into an abandoned shopping trolley. The woman wheeled Diego to her workplace, a brothel called Ropa Deportiva Sexual.
I'm sure Ken Masters would agree with me - I'm bl00dy sure he would...if he was here, like...!
Okay - 20 minutes have elapsed...I was hoping Ken Masters would have turned up by now to say, "I agree with you, Vel."
Then I would have said "See? See, I told you Ken Masters would agree with me."
Then I would have said "See? See, I told you Ken Masters would agree with me."
Ken Masters (for it is I) agrees with Vel.
That do? Usual amount/account, thanks.
That do? Usual amount/account, thanks.
Ken, where were you, man? The bases were loaded, man. Still, better late than never - at least I have been proven to be right and that is no small thing. Ken Masters (for it was he) agreed with I, Velasquez. It will have to be PESOS this time, Ken. For the rest of you, I just want you to know that Ken Masters will not be receiving REAL money from me and it is all just a jokey Internet thing unless Ken resorts to lawyers and costly legal wrangling, etc that could drag on for years.
Can't believe the bad feeling towards Professor Tito Vale on here. If Ken Masters were here, I bet he'd be similarly nonplussed.
Has it been established yet that Diego Clayton DIDN'T steal the money?
Can't believe the bad feeling towards Professor Tito Vale on here. If Ken Masters were here, I bet he'd be similarly nonplussed.
Has it been established yet that Diego Clayton DIDN'T steal the money?
The woman who rescued Diego was named Kay Chappie-Robredo and she was the Madam of this shabby brothel. She was originally from Berkshire, an ordinary middle class
girl who worked in a solicitor's office until she met Walter Robredo, a suave cattle baron from Salto, at an art exhibition in London, England in Great Britain. Kay Chappie was swept off her feet - BARRIDO DE SUS PIES COMO UN PEQUENO BAILARIN as they say in Montevideo - and they were duly married within the year. The couple lived in domestic splendour at the Robredo beef ranch in Salto, where beef is king and pork is nuthin'.
That is, until May 1951, when a bad case of paramphistomidae trematoes struck the cattle and they had to be destroyed. Walter Robredo was only insured for 20 cents in the peso, and anyway, he knew that the farm's reputation could be ruined forever. He held out, refusing to send for the government vets until it was too late. He served four years in jail for willful negligence that placed the general public in grave danger. Walter also paid a ruinous fine that left him bankrupt. Such was the harsh policy of the Salto Agricultural Dept. in the early 1950s.
Kay turned to the bottle for every answer, drinking the ranch cellar dry, then moving in with a succession of hombres malos - or "dodgy geezers" as they say in Berkshire.
Only her contemptible pride kept her in Uruguay when the lush fields of England beckoned so sweetly. That, and her season ticket for Salto F.C. who played in a home kit very similar to the colours of the Argentinian national side.
girl who worked in a solicitor's office until she met Walter Robredo, a suave cattle baron from Salto, at an art exhibition in London, England in Great Britain. Kay Chappie was swept off her feet - BARRIDO DE SUS PIES COMO UN PEQUENO BAILARIN as they say in Montevideo - and they were duly married within the year. The couple lived in domestic splendour at the Robredo beef ranch in Salto, where beef is king and pork is nuthin'.
That is, until May 1951, when a bad case of paramphistomidae trematoes struck the cattle and they had to be destroyed. Walter Robredo was only insured for 20 cents in the peso, and anyway, he knew that the farm's reputation could be ruined forever. He held out, refusing to send for the government vets until it was too late. He served four years in jail for willful negligence that placed the general public in grave danger. Walter also paid a ruinous fine that left him bankrupt. Such was the harsh policy of the Salto Agricultural Dept. in the early 1950s.
Kay turned to the bottle for every answer, drinking the ranch cellar dry, then moving in with a succession of hombres malos - or "dodgy geezers" as they say in Berkshire.
Only her contemptible pride kept her in Uruguay when the lush fields of England beckoned so sweetly. That, and her season ticket for Salto F.C. who played in a home kit very similar to the colours of the Argentinian national side.
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