Day one of being a freelance writer and I have been commissioned to write an entire website for a fabulous furniture manufacturer. Tomorrow I am working for one of HK's weekly magazines all day and then, because I am the boss of me now, on Wednesday I am taking my office to... Tokyo!
Krusty has a business meeting there, so we thought we'd take advantage of the accommodation to have ourselves a little weekend break. There'll be lots of strolls down memory lane for me no doubt, but in an unbelievable twist of fate, our hotel is in the one area that I hadn't really explored last time I was there.
Basically, most of the areas in central Tokyo are covered by a circular train line called the Yamanote. There are 29 stops on the circle, and in my last month of living there, I decided to visit one station a day and discover the city I was leaving (having failed to be more adventurous for the year I lived there...). Thing is, I only managed to cover 28 of the 29 stations. And the one I didn't get around to seeing, Shimbashi, is exactly where we are staying! The circle will be completed at last, and in the company of Krusty. How perfect.
I have found the little descriptions I made of each station I visited, and they are quite cute, so at some point I think I will put them online on another blog or something. Sometimes blogging can be a bore, but when you find what you wrote four years ago, it can be really entertaining...
Looks like I am going to become a Gitane again. See you in the Land of the Rising Sun. Sugoi Ne?!
30 June 2008
27 June 2008
I'm free
It's over. My last day has come and gone, and it wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be... I am now free! Freelance!! Weeeyyhheeeyyy!
26 June 2008
A sad day indeed
Well, I am devastated.
10 years ago, I discovered the most perfect dessert ever to be created. The most perfect food ever to grace this planet.
And today, as I was in the general vicinity of this food of the Gods, I found that... the restaurant that serves it has CLOSED!
How can this be possible?! How could anyone close down the place that has been the keeper of my dream food, the one dish that I always cite in that 'What would you eat if you could only choose one thing to eat for the rest of your life?' situation...?!!!!!
I cannot believe it.
In case you were wondering, 'that' dessert was Banana Sticky Pudding from Thai Basil in Pacific Place. Here is a review I did for a local mag:
"Thai Basil
LG/F, Pacific Place, 88 Queensway, Admiralty – Tel: 2537 4682
Eating in Pacific Place’s Thai Basil is like sitting down for a meal in the middle of an airport concourse, but never mind the ambiance – here, your mouth is where the party’s at, and everyone’s invited.
The portions, the menu stresses, are meant to be shared, so you can bring your friends along to enjoy the explosion of taste, or if you're feeling greedy you can just keep it all to yourself and scoff it down with a grin. First stop on the list, traditional Thai prawn cakes with a quirky plum and coconut dip. The presentation is impeccable, the dip with a twist is just sweet enough and although the cakes are not easy to eat they are expertly fried, surprisingly delicate and not at all heavy or oily. And at least they actually taste of prawn, unlike the prawn rice paper rolls with miso and peanut sauce - the first bite is pleasing as the creamy mayo binds the cornucopia of shredded cucumber and mint leaf, but however soft, sweet and fresh the package might be there just isn’t enough prawn to justify its title.
But there’s no room for complaints, because in the space of just two dishes, the night’s festivities have already been savoury, sweet, crispy, soft and refreshing – so far so good. Then come the sautéed baby bok choy. Just looking at them makes you feel good inside and the crunch of the first bite doesn’t disappoint. The crispy garlic sprinkled on top gives interesting texture and the bok choy has retained all of its flavour during cooking. The yellow prawn curry with spinach and okra follows with just enough spice and the most pleasing amount of creaminess. Six giant juicy prawns are also on the curry’s guest list and, topped up with some coconut rice and jasmine tea, it feels like there just couldn’t be a better mix of flavours.
But the best combination of tastes is kept until dessert; the layers of the sticky banana pudding build up from a creamy puddle in which sits a spongy banana pudding to a perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream and crumbled honeycomb on top. Crispy, cool, cakey, creamy, this truly is a dessert to travel from far and away for...
For that and all of the other flavours attending that night, this is definitely a meal worth putting up with an airport atmosphere for. Now get yourself to Thai Basil's boarding gate, pronto."
However lame you think the review is, the dessert was exactly that - crispy, cool, cakey, creamy. Just. Perfect.
And now it is no more.
I just wish I had asked them for the recipe before they left forever. I don't know if I will ever get over this.
10 years ago, I discovered the most perfect dessert ever to be created. The most perfect food ever to grace this planet.
And today, as I was in the general vicinity of this food of the Gods, I found that... the restaurant that serves it has CLOSED!
How can this be possible?! How could anyone close down the place that has been the keeper of my dream food, the one dish that I always cite in that 'What would you eat if you could only choose one thing to eat for the rest of your life?' situation...?!!!!!
I cannot believe it.
In case you were wondering, 'that' dessert was Banana Sticky Pudding from Thai Basil in Pacific Place. Here is a review I did for a local mag:
"Thai Basil
LG/F, Pacific Place, 88 Queensway, Admiralty – Tel: 2537 4682
Eating in Pacific Place’s Thai Basil is like sitting down for a meal in the middle of an airport concourse, but never mind the ambiance – here, your mouth is where the party’s at, and everyone’s invited.
The portions, the menu stresses, are meant to be shared, so you can bring your friends along to enjoy the explosion of taste, or if you're feeling greedy you can just keep it all to yourself and scoff it down with a grin. First stop on the list, traditional Thai prawn cakes with a quirky plum and coconut dip. The presentation is impeccable, the dip with a twist is just sweet enough and although the cakes are not easy to eat they are expertly fried, surprisingly delicate and not at all heavy or oily. And at least they actually taste of prawn, unlike the prawn rice paper rolls with miso and peanut sauce - the first bite is pleasing as the creamy mayo binds the cornucopia of shredded cucumber and mint leaf, but however soft, sweet and fresh the package might be there just isn’t enough prawn to justify its title.
But there’s no room for complaints, because in the space of just two dishes, the night’s festivities have already been savoury, sweet, crispy, soft and refreshing – so far so good. Then come the sautéed baby bok choy. Just looking at them makes you feel good inside and the crunch of the first bite doesn’t disappoint. The crispy garlic sprinkled on top gives interesting texture and the bok choy has retained all of its flavour during cooking. The yellow prawn curry with spinach and okra follows with just enough spice and the most pleasing amount of creaminess. Six giant juicy prawns are also on the curry’s guest list and, topped up with some coconut rice and jasmine tea, it feels like there just couldn’t be a better mix of flavours.
But the best combination of tastes is kept until dessert; the layers of the sticky banana pudding build up from a creamy puddle in which sits a spongy banana pudding to a perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream and crumbled honeycomb on top. Crispy, cool, cakey, creamy, this truly is a dessert to travel from far and away for...
For that and all of the other flavours attending that night, this is definitely a meal worth putting up with an airport atmosphere for. Now get yourself to Thai Basil's boarding gate, pronto."
However lame you think the review is, the dessert was exactly that - crispy, cool, cakey, creamy. Just. Perfect.
And now it is no more.
I just wish I had asked them for the recipe before they left forever. I don't know if I will ever get over this.
My first dream
I simply can't remember the last time I had a dream. I mean, I dream, every night, pretty vividly, in fact, but as I wake up every morning and bore the pants of Krusty with a detailed account of what went on, I realise that every single one of them is a nightmare. There are often rotting teeth, dying family members and chases involved, all of which leave me quite tired by the time I wake up.
Until yesterday. Krusty is in Korea at the moment, but as he woke me up with a morning call, I mumbled that I was dreaming that I was playing tennis with him. To which he screamed 'that's a dream! you've had a dream!'
But what if my subconscious is secretly trying to tell me that playing tennis with Krusty would actually be a real nightmare?!
Until yesterday. Krusty is in Korea at the moment, but as he woke me up with a morning call, I mumbled that I was dreaming that I was playing tennis with him. To which he screamed 'that's a dream! you've had a dream!'
But what if my subconscious is secretly trying to tell me that playing tennis with Krusty would actually be a real nightmare?!
Bamboo Death
I have just read the saddest story concerning rats in Burma. I know as the partner of Krusty the water rat I should be a partisan of the rodent, but this is just terrible.
You probably all know about Cyclone Nargis and its devastating effects on the population of Burma. Well, as one disaster is just never enough in this cruel world, the Chin populations of the bamboo forest of Burma have now been struck with famine as the bi-centennial Mautam (or Bamboo Death) strikes - basically the dense bamboo forests flower every 48 years, spreading hundreds of seeds around them, of which local bandicoot rats are particular fans. In fact experts think that the bamboo seed is an aphrodisiac for the randy rats, and as a result their population explodes, after which they all descend on the local fields for food, robbing the farmers of their crops.
The poor Burmese people now have no homes, no food and a terrible rat problem... Year of the rat indeed... I am going to have to have a chat with Krusty about his people.
You probably all know about Cyclone Nargis and its devastating effects on the population of Burma. Well, as one disaster is just never enough in this cruel world, the Chin populations of the bamboo forest of Burma have now been struck with famine as the bi-centennial Mautam (or Bamboo Death) strikes - basically the dense bamboo forests flower every 48 years, spreading hundreds of seeds around them, of which local bandicoot rats are particular fans. In fact experts think that the bamboo seed is an aphrodisiac for the randy rats, and as a result their population explodes, after which they all descend on the local fields for food, robbing the farmers of their crops.
The poor Burmese people now have no homes, no food and a terrible rat problem... Year of the rat indeed... I am going to have to have a chat with Krusty about his people.
21 June 2008
And now Krusty's (much less factual) version of events
We watched the Hulk today - and for those who haven't seen the movie the basic premise is that as Dr Banner's heart rate notches up over 200 beats per minute he transforms into a large green angry monster. While I watched the film I had one of those art reflects reality moments. My girlfriend is a "little sensitive" when it comes to background noise. (As I'm writing this article she has just commented - "Krusty - you don't have to type so violently do you?"). If I so much as quietly nibble some crisps or (horror of horrors) enjoy a mouthful of roasted peanuts then I can expect to incur her wrath. Anyway - back to the movie. To the front of us an innocent bystander had commenced popcorn rustling, soon to be joined in stereo by the shadowy figure 6 seats away to the left of us. I noticed the hairs on my girlfriend's arms stand on end, and a distinct tension in the air. (I was expecting at this point the cinema rats to come scuttling pass - animals have a sixth sense of impending disaster - but the IFC cinema staff are fastidious cleaners so I was disappointed on that front).
At this point I noticed immediately behind us the sound of a large crisp packet opening, and as the cinema Dolby Surround of rustling reached its crescendo the Hulk made its impressive appearance.
The reader may be imagining the scene of cinema-goers ripped limb from limb, litre cups of coke hurled at force and the screams and terror of people fleeing the theatre - but I will draw a veil over the next 5 minutes of action. All I will say is - if the amplification of my girlfriend's behaviour was proportional to her perceived amplification of the sounds around her, then what you have imagined is EXACTLY what took place.
At this point I noticed immediately behind us the sound of a large crisp packet opening, and as the cinema Dolby Surround of rustling reached its crescendo the Hulk made its impressive appearance.
The reader may be imagining the scene of cinema-goers ripped limb from limb, litre cups of coke hurled at force and the screams and terror of people fleeing the theatre - but I will draw a veil over the next 5 minutes of action. All I will say is - if the amplification of my girlfriend's behaviour was proportional to her perceived amplification of the sounds around her, then what you have imagined is EXACTLY what took place.
Popcorn Schmopcorn
Ever since I saw my first movie, I have had a bit of an aversion to popcorn. And after dragging myself out to the cinema today, I can confirm that I have only one thought about this satanic snack:
Popcorn should be banned. (Along with cockroaches and mosquitoes, of course).
What I don't get is that before the film, there is always some surreal cartoon asking people to turn their phones off, keep quiet and generally not disturb their fellow spectators - but what about rummaging around in a carton box and crunching loudly with your mouth open? Why is there no rule against that?! And surely, if it annoys me to hear someone else crunching, then the crunching noise in their heads must be even louder - can they hear the movie at all?
The other thing I just don't understand about popcorn is why watching a film necessarily equates to stuffing your face. It's true, during an evening screening, I must admit that I am not averse to the odd Malteser left to melt under the tongue, but what's the deal with an XL pack of caramel covered corn at 11am? We have been brainwashed into thinking that a film just can't be any good if our bloodstream isn't packed full of salt and sugar. And I suppose having your brain previously softened by popcorn preconditioning helps swallow the lesser quality flicks that the production companies are churning out...
Then again whenever the sun's out and I get a little hot, I instantly have the taste of Pimms in my mouth, so I guess my brainwashing has just happened slightly differently.
Today's crunching, committed by my neighbours to the left, back and front, almost made me miss the film (Louis Leterrier's The Hulk), which wasn't half bad. It wasn't completely good, but in the same way that Casino Royale was one of my favourite Bonds and Batman Begins was one of my favourite Batmans, this was by far the best Hulk I have seen.
Apart from the odd King Kong/Godzilla moment I could have done without and one situation where I really hope I misheard the Hulk saying "Hulk Schmulk", it was really enjoyable and had an amazing parkour style chase scene through the favelas of Brazil. The acting was good, too, with lots of deep emotional drama that gave Krusty some handy opportunities to squeeze my hand and compare this Hulk to me. Not the green eyed monster me (thankfully I have escaped having that particular foible), but the explode-as-soon-as-my-heart-rate-increases me, instead. Especially when the Hulk gets angrier than average because it's raining. That's just the kind of thing out of my control that gets my blood really boiling...
Edward Norton is amazing in the film (he even co wrote it) (please tell me he wasn't responsible for the schmulk...), and in fact no one else could have balanced Bruce's weedy, nerdy brilliance with the Hulk's radically strong core like Ed did. My 'free ticket', who used to be Christian Bale, had consequently been changed to this genius of a gentleman. Krusty has been warned.
But the best way for me to find out whether I enjoyed the film, despite the fact that I got so engrossed that I hadn't taken the time to destroy the crunchers around me, is that at the end I had one of those Kill Bill/Lord of the Rings moments, where I said, out loud, "OK put the second one on then".
Or is that just further proof of my addictive personality?
It's a good job I have never been infused with Gamma rays, I'm telling you.
Popcorn should be banned. (Along with cockroaches and mosquitoes, of course).
What I don't get is that before the film, there is always some surreal cartoon asking people to turn their phones off, keep quiet and generally not disturb their fellow spectators - but what about rummaging around in a carton box and crunching loudly with your mouth open? Why is there no rule against that?! And surely, if it annoys me to hear someone else crunching, then the crunching noise in their heads must be even louder - can they hear the movie at all?
The other thing I just don't understand about popcorn is why watching a film necessarily equates to stuffing your face. It's true, during an evening screening, I must admit that I am not averse to the odd Malteser left to melt under the tongue, but what's the deal with an XL pack of caramel covered corn at 11am? We have been brainwashed into thinking that a film just can't be any good if our bloodstream isn't packed full of salt and sugar. And I suppose having your brain previously softened by popcorn preconditioning helps swallow the lesser quality flicks that the production companies are churning out...
Then again whenever the sun's out and I get a little hot, I instantly have the taste of Pimms in my mouth, so I guess my brainwashing has just happened slightly differently.
Today's crunching, committed by my neighbours to the left, back and front, almost made me miss the film (Louis Leterrier's The Hulk), which wasn't half bad. It wasn't completely good, but in the same way that Casino Royale was one of my favourite Bonds and Batman Begins was one of my favourite Batmans, this was by far the best Hulk I have seen.
Apart from the odd King Kong/Godzilla moment I could have done without and one situation where I really hope I misheard the Hulk saying "Hulk Schmulk", it was really enjoyable and had an amazing parkour style chase scene through the favelas of Brazil. The acting was good, too, with lots of deep emotional drama that gave Krusty some handy opportunities to squeeze my hand and compare this Hulk to me. Not the green eyed monster me (thankfully I have escaped having that particular foible), but the explode-as-soon-as-my-heart-rate-increases me, instead. Especially when the Hulk gets angrier than average because it's raining. That's just the kind of thing out of my control that gets my blood really boiling...
Edward Norton is amazing in the film (he even co wrote it) (please tell me he wasn't responsible for the schmulk...), and in fact no one else could have balanced Bruce's weedy, nerdy brilliance with the Hulk's radically strong core like Ed did. My 'free ticket', who used to be Christian Bale, had consequently been changed to this genius of a gentleman. Krusty has been warned.
But the best way for me to find out whether I enjoyed the film, despite the fact that I got so engrossed that I hadn't taken the time to destroy the crunchers around me, is that at the end I had one of those Kill Bill/Lord of the Rings moments, where I said, out loud, "OK put the second one on then".
Or is that just further proof of my addictive personality?
It's a good job I have never been infused with Gamma rays, I'm telling you.
20 June 2008
1, 2, 3, 4...
It's 1 am and stomach bug number 3 (in just 6 weeks) has thankfully slowed down from making me run for number 2 once every 4 minutes to just twice every hour. So I can't sleep really, but I can stop camping out in the bathroom.
As if Krusty needed another reason not to come home from the office, I have gone from model housewife with dinner on table and ironed shirts in cupboard, to stressed out editor with moany stories and an eating disorder, and now sick vegetable with greasy hair and conversations ending in 'I must leave you there' every four minutes. Or twice an hour.
But no, being the model Krusty he is, he has proven once again that he is the perfect bf. He even came home from work yesterday to spend his lunch break stroking my feverish forehead while he read me a story from his new favourite 'Hedge Hogging' book about hedge funds (I kind of wish he'd stroked in silence, but hey, at least it put my mind off vomiting). And then he ran down to the shop to buy me the toast I so craved, only to watch me nibble the corner of it, shake my head and, with lower lip appropriately pushed out, moan 'no' like an ungrateful child.
Of course, this means only one thing: I think Krusty is ready to have children! Or is that just the fever making me read subtext into normal situations again?
As if Krusty needed another reason not to come home from the office, I have gone from model housewife with dinner on table and ironed shirts in cupboard, to stressed out editor with moany stories and an eating disorder, and now sick vegetable with greasy hair and conversations ending in 'I must leave you there' every four minutes. Or twice an hour.
But no, being the model Krusty he is, he has proven once again that he is the perfect bf. He even came home from work yesterday to spend his lunch break stroking my feverish forehead while he read me a story from his new favourite 'Hedge Hogging' book about hedge funds (I kind of wish he'd stroked in silence, but hey, at least it put my mind off vomiting). And then he ran down to the shop to buy me the toast I so craved, only to watch me nibble the corner of it, shake my head and, with lower lip appropriately pushed out, moan 'no' like an ungrateful child.
Of course, this means only one thing: I think Krusty is ready to have children! Or is that just the fever making me read subtext into normal situations again?
17 June 2008
Wet Wet Wet
It has rained NON STOP since our Housewarming party, and it's starting to get a little tiring. Not to mention the awful cold it has resulted in for me.
I suppose the good thing is that the cockroaches are being washed out from below, and every day instead of reeling in fear of the creatures (my phobia) because of the heat and humidity, I see them lying dead along the path, like some satisfying realisation of my life long wish to see them exterminated forever. Is that cruel?
I must find out if they have a use in the food chain. As far as I am concerned, if we could get rid of all cockroaches and mosquitoes, I'd be pretty happy...
I suppose the good thing is that the cockroaches are being washed out from below, and every day instead of reeling in fear of the creatures (my phobia) because of the heat and humidity, I see them lying dead along the path, like some satisfying realisation of my life long wish to see them exterminated forever. Is that cruel?
I must find out if they have a use in the food chain. As far as I am concerned, if we could get rid of all cockroaches and mosquitoes, I'd be pretty happy...
15 June 2008
Coin Day
I have just realised that I forgot to tell you about Coin Day. How could I have forgotten?!
One day that I was complaining that we had already started taking our new home city for granted, Krusty came up with a great idea. Or at least I thought it was great. Maybe I was just very bored. No, no, I still can't help but love it.
Anyway, the idea was to become tourists again so that we would have the same wide-eyed outlook on our neighbourhood as when we arrived. To achieve this, his stroke of genius was to suggest that we let the toss of a coin decide what our path for the day would be. This has distinct disadvantages of course, but after a whole day of random wandering, we did get to see things very differently!
We started out at the new flat, and let the coin decide which way we should go. Heads was right, tails were left at each intersection we came to, and we also flipped it at each pedestrian crossing to decide whether we should cross or not. We even started tossing the coin at bus stops to decide whether we should get on, and then again at each stop inside the bus to decide whether we should get off.
So the coin took us right down Des Voeux Road West, then right again at Wilmer Street and soon we were at the crossover and the - very - uninteresting harbour front, where they are currently ripping everything down and there is therefore almost nothing to see. So far, we were not too impressed with the coin.
The coin then took us a little further to the left, and the path started to look interesting until we realised that we were in fact standing in front of the Drainage Services Central Preliminary Treatment Works. Wow. Although one guy had decided that this would be the perfect place for a spot of fishing...
And then, after a few more turns, we arrived...exactly where we had begun. By this time I was thinking of abandoning the whole idea, but Krusty ploughed on, and we ended up back in the more colourful seafood bits, paying much closer attention than usual to the Durian fruit, the dried geckos (yes, geckos) and the surrounding shops and stalls.
On Queen's Road West, the coin spoke again, asking us to go into a games arcade (by which time I suspected that Krusty's whim had a lot to do with the coin's 'voice', but what the...) and we sat down at the racing table for a quick game. The little plastic horses went round, and we started winning - big time. Getting a little excited, I threw my hands up into the air with a large cry of joy, and didn't understand why the only other two people in there were looking at me with such bored disdain, their cigarettes almost falling out of their tired pouts. They must just have been jealous, I thought, and continued to choose my next horse, scientifically explaining my choice to Krusty as if I was some kind of expert.
When the coin suddenly decided it was time to quit while we were ahead and leave, I moved to press the pay out button. And this is when reality came crashing down. It is actually ILLEGAL to gamble in Hong Kong apart from at specific places, on specific days (such as Wednesday nights at the Happy Valley racecourse), so even though my kitty looked huge on screen, it was all actually virtual and I had won absolutely nothing! I felt disappointed, but more than that, I just couldn't understand what these guys were doing here, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, playing a silly game with rubbish plastic horses with no chance of actually winning anything! What a waste of time...
And if you were wondering what a dried gecko (yes, gecko) looks like:
So, we continued up the street, past the goose chop shops and the snake speciality restaurant, asking the coin where we should eat each time. Turns out, the coin wanted us to walk around for two hours and deserve our lunch. At least I think that's what it - or Krusty - was trying to say.
It lead us in the end to the Ramada Hotel (which I didn't even know we lived next to), where we were led into a giant room full of neon lights and Cantonese sounds and smells, and we were sat down for a dim sum lunch, HK style. That includes delicious shrimp dumplings and pork buns, but also "Steamed Cattle's Tripe with Ginger and Spring Onion". Yum! (On another note of warning to those of you who plan to eat with Krusty in the near future, know that he always has to have one revolting thing off the menu in the spirit of trying everything at least once. So far we have had frog's legs, chicken feet and marinated firefly squid. Eating with Krusty is not for the squeamish...)
Quite surprisingly satisfied by our traditional and noisy lunch under the watchful eye of a tank of fish (who were all facing our way, making us think of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life throughout the meal), we continued on until the coin made us take the bus. And didn't make us get off until we were on the other side of the harbour - at Lai Chi Kok. Krusty was loving this adventurous turn, until the coin led us into a building that I recognised from when my friend got married a few years ago. I didn't say anything, but Krusty soon realised what was going on and started to doubt the coin's abilities when he was deep in the bowels of this wedding supermarket, surrounded by bridal gowns, corsages, satin and feathers. He decided to ignore the coin for a bit, just until we had found our way out and were far away from this temple to gaudy meringues... I had a discreet giggle in the process, of course.
Well out of sight of the nightmare, we watched a demonstration by the Falun Gong that was being closely monitored by the police. This giant group is a spiritual kind of sect established in 1992 who likes to sit around meditating a lot (there is always a Falun Gong member silently sitting in protest outside the Chinese embassy in London). They were out protesting the Chinese government while being completely surrounded by them. Brave move. But I suppose it's nice to live where people actually can protest and let their opinions be known...
By this time, we started to realise that we too were under some kind of spell, and that unless we started ignoring the coin, we were about to make it our own spiritual leader, give it all of our worldly possessions and lose all control over our lives. So Krusty put it back in his pocket and we went for a foot massage instead. And that, of course, was the best thing the coin had made us do all day...
13 June 2008
Albert does it again
I have only gone and found a new quote from that clever little Einstein that quite accurately defines Krusty and me:
"There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
I am sure you can guess who's who.
"There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
I am sure you can guess who's who.
12 June 2008
15 days to go...
I’ll definitely miss the daily walk in to work in the morning. Of course the initial hurdle of the aroma is a little tough, but once I get past the smell of shriveled scallop at the bottom of the building, it’s a real delight.
First I skip across the road, avoiding buses and trams and soliciting all sorts of cries of admiration from the local boys delivering the seafood. Then I dip into a side alley, where lots of very tanned men with no shirts on and insane six pack abs and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths scuttle around with trolleys loaded up with boxes, like a colony of frowning ants. In this alley there is only one man who notices me usually, and he always greets me with a bellowing ‘hello’, surprising all of the other workers. He really makes me feel like I belong to this little villagey community.
At the end of the alley, past the tiny park of chirps where the oldies bring their birdies to watch them meditate, I turn into Hollywood Road, past the coffin makers. There are no dull, square angle coffins here, only curvy red wood affairs that look a little like people in the 50s imagined flying cars would look like in the future. Maybe their predictions were wrong, and the Jetsons actually shoot around in flying coffins in those cartoons…
Next up are the paper-offering sellers, but you already know everything about those thanks to Krusty’s pipe burning for gramps. By this time I am drenched, as the whole walk is up a steep hill and the humidity levels in the air are never far below 90%. By now I also start to realize why people take taxis everywhere, even for short distances, but by the next morning I’ll have forgotten again. Right when I get a little too hot and sweaty though, I get to walk past the frozen meat wholesaler, and chill out there for a second as I watch the guys lift the steaks in their heavy coats while the rest of us find a mere t-shirt too cumbersome.
The final leg of the walk is in Cat St, where there are all sorts of antiquey rubbish on sale, from mini Maos to posters of Michael Caine, from tin planes to lucky bracelets and trinkets. Maybe I’ll just have to find a reason to walk here in the morning once I have finished, to make sure that I can still get my daily fix of the Sheung Wan neighbourhood…
First I skip across the road, avoiding buses and trams and soliciting all sorts of cries of admiration from the local boys delivering the seafood. Then I dip into a side alley, where lots of very tanned men with no shirts on and insane six pack abs and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths scuttle around with trolleys loaded up with boxes, like a colony of frowning ants. In this alley there is only one man who notices me usually, and he always greets me with a bellowing ‘hello’, surprising all of the other workers. He really makes me feel like I belong to this little villagey community.
At the end of the alley, past the tiny park of chirps where the oldies bring their birdies to watch them meditate, I turn into Hollywood Road, past the coffin makers. There are no dull, square angle coffins here, only curvy red wood affairs that look a little like people in the 50s imagined flying cars would look like in the future. Maybe their predictions were wrong, and the Jetsons actually shoot around in flying coffins in those cartoons…
Next up are the paper-offering sellers, but you already know everything about those thanks to Krusty’s pipe burning for gramps. By this time I am drenched, as the whole walk is up a steep hill and the humidity levels in the air are never far below 90%. By now I also start to realize why people take taxis everywhere, even for short distances, but by the next morning I’ll have forgotten again. Right when I get a little too hot and sweaty though, I get to walk past the frozen meat wholesaler, and chill out there for a second as I watch the guys lift the steaks in their heavy coats while the rest of us find a mere t-shirt too cumbersome.
The final leg of the walk is in Cat St, where there are all sorts of antiquey rubbish on sale, from mini Maos to posters of Michael Caine, from tin planes to lucky bracelets and trinkets. Maybe I’ll just have to find a reason to walk here in the morning once I have finished, to make sure that I can still get my daily fix of the Sheung Wan neighbourhood…
08 June 2008
The day after
Well, we did it, we were British enough to have a BBQ in the rain, and it was a success! The rain stopped just long enough for people to come over, and we spent the day grilling and chilling instead of watching DVDs under the duvet.
A few too many G&Ts were consumed however, and I would really love it if the church-going Philippinas to whom we have allowed access to the roof for the day would stop doing their 'Jesus I love you long time' dance, as it isn't really very hangover friendly...
A few too many G&Ts were consumed however, and I would really love it if the church-going Philippinas to whom we have allowed access to the roof for the day would stop doing their 'Jesus I love you long time' dance, as it isn't really very hangover friendly...
07 June 2008
Housechilling
At some point in the last three months, we must have done something to really p*** off the weather gods.
The first time we tried to have a Housewarming party, the forecast was for terrible terrible rain so we cancelled it, and then, on the day, the sun came out and it turned out to be a lovely day. We had a fridge full of food and no one to eat it.
So this time, when we saw that it might rain, we decided to stick to our guns and go ahead anyway. This morning though, at 7am, we witnessed the biggest thunderstorm I have ever seen. I don't know whether it is being in an old commercial building by the sea as opposed to a swanky residential tower on a mountain, but I can't remember seeing thunder and lightening THIS bad.
Determined to have a hardcore "we're English, rain doesn't scare us" attitude though, we went down to buy some drinks for the day's festivities. That is, we tried. As we got to the bottom of our staircase, we found out that the entire street was completely flooded and that people were wading knee-deep in water.
Of course Krusty just couldn't resist wading out himself to get a better look, so we got some good evidence of the situation in the street.
It is now 9.30am, I have cancelled Housewarming no2, and the storm has, if anything, got worse.
Looks like this house is very far from ever being warmed...
Then again we shouldn't complain - we live in DRIED seafood street, and the water has risen to shop level. It's really sad watching those guys bailing the water out away from their stocks. In fact, you'd think that if you were going to set up a dried seafood street, the further away from the water, the better. Here we are in some kind of valley with terrible plumbing. I wonder if the guys up on the peak realise what is going on beneath them, or if it's just us, stranded amid the shark's fins?!
The first time we tried to have a Housewarming party, the forecast was for terrible terrible rain so we cancelled it, and then, on the day, the sun came out and it turned out to be a lovely day. We had a fridge full of food and no one to eat it.
So this time, when we saw that it might rain, we decided to stick to our guns and go ahead anyway. This morning though, at 7am, we witnessed the biggest thunderstorm I have ever seen. I don't know whether it is being in an old commercial building by the sea as opposed to a swanky residential tower on a mountain, but I can't remember seeing thunder and lightening THIS bad.
Determined to have a hardcore "we're English, rain doesn't scare us" attitude though, we went down to buy some drinks for the day's festivities. That is, we tried. As we got to the bottom of our staircase, we found out that the entire street was completely flooded and that people were wading knee-deep in water.
Of course Krusty just couldn't resist wading out himself to get a better look, so we got some good evidence of the situation in the street.
It is now 9.30am, I have cancelled Housewarming no2, and the storm has, if anything, got worse.
Looks like this house is very far from ever being warmed...
Then again we shouldn't complain - we live in DRIED seafood street, and the water has risen to shop level. It's really sad watching those guys bailing the water out away from their stocks. In fact, you'd think that if you were going to set up a dried seafood street, the further away from the water, the better. Here we are in some kind of valley with terrible plumbing. I wonder if the guys up on the peak realise what is going on beneath them, or if it's just us, stranded amid the shark's fins?!
04 June 2008
Pilates
Looks like a load of people laying around resting, but it's actually a pretty effective torture mechanism for gym teachers on a power trip.
I am not sure I will actually be able to walk tomorrow. Or sit, or move at all, for that matter...
Pilates people, I am sorry I ever called you lazy.
I am not sure I will actually be able to walk tomorrow. Or sit, or move at all, for that matter...
Pilates people, I am sorry I ever called you lazy.
There's no escape
This week, sick and tired of being surrounded by Chinese stick insects who trough on fried rice but remain rake-thin, reminding me all the while of the devastating effects that joining them in their carb-intensive diet has had on me, I became the reluctant member of a gym.
I am actually quite pleased to have access to the Yoga classes, if only for relaxation purposes (although this is a bit of a factory gym, with relaxation becoming a communal project undertaken by at least 40 people per class...), but I had no idea that this is where all of the models hang out. So while I, scarlet-faced and sweat-drenched, am trying to ignore the pain the last sets of abs caused me, these mostly Eastern European clothes hangers are standing around, posing in their tiny shorts and lifting nothing heavier than their mini Evian bottles. I wouldn't mind if they were actually doing any exercise, but having a bag of bones just standing next to my running machine is far from comforting.
Although instead of the urge to become like them that most other ladies there probably have, it does fill me with so much rage that my rpm increases dramatically. Making my heart beat as fast as possible is the only way I can quieten the urge to scream 'Just Eat Something'!
And there are some other interesting things to look at, like the hilarious body builders kissing their biceps with each weight lifted, the strange older men with their city shoes and out-of-date eyewear and the girls like me, who have just had one too many cocktails...
Oh well, Pilates tonight, let's see how that goes.
I am actually quite pleased to have access to the Yoga classes, if only for relaxation purposes (although this is a bit of a factory gym, with relaxation becoming a communal project undertaken by at least 40 people per class...), but I had no idea that this is where all of the models hang out. So while I, scarlet-faced and sweat-drenched, am trying to ignore the pain the last sets of abs caused me, these mostly Eastern European clothes hangers are standing around, posing in their tiny shorts and lifting nothing heavier than their mini Evian bottles. I wouldn't mind if they were actually doing any exercise, but having a bag of bones just standing next to my running machine is far from comforting.
Although instead of the urge to become like them that most other ladies there probably have, it does fill me with so much rage that my rpm increases dramatically. Making my heart beat as fast as possible is the only way I can quieten the urge to scream 'Just Eat Something'!
And there are some other interesting things to look at, like the hilarious body builders kissing their biceps with each weight lifted, the strange older men with their city shoes and out-of-date eyewear and the girls like me, who have just had one too many cocktails...
Oh well, Pilates tonight, let's see how that goes.
Berry Noire
Krusty worried me last night by calling his Blackberry his "rechargeable wife", but now I am even more worried because I realise he is absolutely right! People walk around attached to these machines that ask for their attention, need stroking occasionally and are helpful almost always, when they are not nagging for a reply at unseemly times like dinner and bedtime... Think about the slang for a wife - ball and chain, trouble and strife... Sounds like a Blackberry to me.
But what worried me WAY more than this is that, now that I have decided to start my own business, I... well... I actually want my own! Although having a "rechargeable husband" will be interesting, especially when Krusty disappears off on one of his business trips again... Shame on me!
But what worried me WAY more than this is that, now that I have decided to start my own business, I... well... I actually want my own! Although having a "rechargeable husband" will be interesting, especially when Krusty disappears off on one of his business trips again... Shame on me!
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