Flights of fancy

Well I must say: thank goodness British Airways didn't go on strike...and I (selfishly) made it back to splendid Singapore. This rant isn't going to be about the politics of strike action (I'll save that for another time), but rather about how impressed I was with BA's service.

I've been living in splendid Singapore for over 6 years now - and by the way I think "splendid Singapore" a much more apt and "out there" epithet that "uniquely Singapore" adopted by the tourism board here - and during this time have been a loyal advocate of Singapore Airlines (or SQ as we affectionately refers to them, using their airline code as shorthand). They are indeed hard to beat; well designed cabins, impeccably trained crew, the slimmest women (and men) you've ever seen in the sky; and a record for efficiency and accuracy that is legendary.

I had some Cathay Pacific OneWorld miles to use up before they expired and managed to secure (with great difficulty) business class flights back home for Christmas with British Airways. It was going to cost me virtually nothing and I thought "why not?!".

The flight to London was a great start with wonderful seats (newly designed) and much more comfortable than the "old" SQ seats and even better laid out than the new SQ "largest seat in business class" mammoth. The cocoon-style pod of BA is a tad hemmed-in to begin with, but once you get over your innate sense of claustrophobic self-preservation, the seat is soft, long and terribly enticing to a good night's sleep. I always feel the SQ wide-berth leather-coated chair-cum-bed with a donkey leg, lie sideways to sleep approach, a bit awkward.

But surely SQ trumped BA on service, I hear you shout...well, actually the service both ways on BA was very very good; welcome drinks were served, food was delivered with precision (mostly) and the crew were polite and engaging. There were glitches, of course there were, but that's a fact of a very complicated service offering with many variables...I was slightly peeved, I must confess, that after telling at least 5 BA staff at different stages of my arrival that I wanted to use the arrivals lounge to shower before my connecting flight to Newcastle and not one of them advised me I could use the departures lounge at Terminal 5, even though I was flying economy, since I'd arrived in business class from HK. So I did waste about 30-40 minutes exiting customs and putting myself through unnecessary security searches to get back through - ah well, customers often know more about the products than the brand ambassadors themselves.

I could have wished for more TV choices (films were OK) not knowing a single comedy option on offer and feeling short-changed on the documentary front, but these are small points in the big scheme of things - and coming back to Singapore, I did watch a fabulous commentary on Beethoven, which imbued me with a serene joy.

So all in all, a delightful experience and one I will most likely repeat - SQ's penny-pinching of late has become a tad annoying and the food quite inedible in all classes - so it's not very often I wave the Union Flag and shout bravo England!, but on this occasion I feel I shall and more importantly, I feel that BA deserves it.

Well done.
And by way, the photo is of Carlisle, Cumbria showing a snowy lane on 22nd December.

Madras or Chennai?

I was recently lucky enough to visit my very good friends Patrick and Beebee in the rather nondescript city of Chennai - formerly Madras.

Is that a contradiction, I hear you cry...yes and no.

As with so many things in life it's an oxymoron of real-life proportions. The city itself was nothing to write home about, but the people....oh the people.

As expected, Patrick showed me the party side of Madras: those guys know how to party, with 80s funk and 90s chic. After surviving the driving to get to a stag night on Saturday evening, the booming didn't stop. We were fortunate to be cocooned at a friend's "studio"-cum-"kitchen" with all the mod cons including sink and conveniently placed bathrooms. The trance music mixed by the groom-to-be was a little jolting, but the conversation was passionate and engaging.

I think a couple of the conservative Channaikers were somewhat taken aback at my openness about being gay; but that will do them good in the long run.

Then we retired to the hen party - a first for me....I've done plenty of hen nights on their own and a couple of stags - including my own - but this was a first combining the two..... and after a bum-feeling contest which I managed to avoid, I thought perhaps it was not a bad idea to combine the two. Mind you, I did miss the actual "feeling" action, but my vodka tonic was refreshing - a man can't have everything, now, can he?!?!

Then, Monday, and some culture....the rocks at Mamallapuram were amazing. Entire temples carved from single pieces of rock; smoothed over centuries of lapping seawater; eventually preserved by constructing a simple barrier sanctioned by the late Indira Ghandi.

So, is it Chennai or Madras? Who the hell cares, it's a city full of life, wonderful creativity and amazing relics.

I personally like the onomatopoeia of Madras but do acknowledge the political obligation of a name-change.



I'll be back.

Thoughts on a Tuesday evening....

Or is it Wednesday morning....?
Suppose it depends where you are, right?

Life throws all kinds of malarkey at you...and it almost never seems fair...but how much of it, is of our own making? This is a question I often I ask myself. What if I did that differently, what if I had done that, what if....oh for goodness' sake; what if?

Someone told me recently it's good to wear ones heart on ones sleeve and I've always done that and this old dog won't change his tricks. And why the hell should we? We are what / who we are and the tricks we've perfected should serve us well. But in defence of the dark art of honesty, I firmly believe when we're truthful, honest, open, admissive, we allow others a view of our soul; we allow others the right to judge; we allow others to be themselves.

Let go; just be...

I am trying that philosophy right now and I think it's a good paradigm to work within.

I'm listening to a CD a good friend recorded and the track by Leona Lewis resonates with: what if it hurts me? what if I break down? ... I wanna hear myself ... don't care about all pain in front of me ... I just wanna be happy.

And that's where we all surely wanna be.

This blog entry is a truly joyous entry; one filled with hope and optimism.

I shall see many many friends over the Festive Season and there will be many more I won't see, but I know there are constants in all this turbulence.

I will probably blog more often (if more succinctly) over the next few weeks...hope you can cope with following it all...and PLEASE DO COMMENT.

Well here endeth the rant...or was it a revelation?!

Decorations - a premature X-jaculation?

Well as I've been told several times this week, we're now a mere SEVEN weeks away from Yuletide. Seven long weeks, 49 days (give or take); this is ages away and yet we're treating it as if it's just around the corner. It's two months away for goodness' sake.

And yet, and yet, the decorations are up, the lights have started to twinkle and the glitter is sparkling in those said twinkling filaments. We will now have to embark on a full 7 weeks of anticipation in a run up to a splendid celebration of a great world religion. It's not the commercialism that concerns me; I'm a committed capitalist. It's more the ruinous aspect of doing things too early and spoiling the end effect. The anti-climax that is now Christmas for many of us starts with a garland being decked far too early.

In Singapore, it's a year-long celebration city, as one festival after the next is honoured and revered in street decorations and in-shop buying opportunities. New Year flows into Chinese New Year which flows into Easter, then Vesak, Ramadan, National Day, Deepavali and ultimately the Haj season. All this before coming full circle to Xmas. The challenge for the local economy is that the Haj season doesn't really see enough people swinging their handbags in the shopping malls - therefore Chirstmas "needs" to start early.

In my opinion, and it may not be so humble on this topic, let's keep the special exactly that: special. Decking the proverbial halls with faux-holly and tacky glitter-spiked baubles so far in advance somewhat deflates the crescendo before it's begun.

My plea to you, therefore, is dust off the decorations, pin up the window dressings, cast the lametta and erect your tree when it's time and not before; let's save December for Christmas, the other months are already cluttered.

And as we all know, coming too soon can only lead to a limp finale...

Why does the 2nd world war still haunt us Europeans? And why do families fight?

It ended over 60 years ago and yet it pervades so much of European consciousness. The Second World War was heinous in extremes; whether thinking about the sheer number of dead on both sides, the genocide that took place (the effects of which we're still feeling in the Middle East today) or the ultimate triumph of freedom over fascism, the war was record-breaking in so many ways.

And yet, we persist to label the Germans, sympathise with the Jews to the neglect of all other concentration camp suffers and pat ourselves on the back as victors who would never have stooped so low. Never, would we have treated our fellow man in such a despicable way; and yet history is littered with examples of men being callous to his neighbour in every part of the world: Indian Partition, Rwanda, Bosnia...

The deaths, the senseless deaths of the holocaust and the others who died alongside the Jews: the Catholics, the political prisoners, the gays, the gypsies, the mixed races; it brings me to choking point, and I wasn't even alive when it all happened. One could be sucked, so easily, into a downward spiral of pessimistic pandering. But the strong amongst us will see the good in people; the beauty that surrounds us; the joy we can give to each other. Without this we're doomed.

Just as those thousands and hundreds of thousands of Jews who dug their own graves were doomed; only to be shot in the head by with a Nazi bullet.

We are better than that; we're stronger than they.

And to make it personal; my own family is rent apart because of a stupid puerile disagreement that could have been so easily averted. We must find it in ourselves to forgive our trespassers, for if we don't we're condemned to a life of hatred and loathing that will consume our very being: look at amazing South Africa and the reconciliation the managed to achieve! We can do it. We can move on.

As the tears stream down my face, I lament a family once in love with each other and now one that is riven apart by misunderstanding, pride and baseless prejudice.

The war of the worlds is often played out in the parlours of families.

Let's hope the butler soon arrives and asks us for our choice of sherry to sweep away the lacrimosa effect of my rantings and we shall, in typical English style, sweep our anxieties under the proverbial carpet and get on with life...!

Funny what T-shirts people wear

Public declarations are interesting things.

Some of us wear a red ribbon, at least on 1st December, to show their solidarity for the thousands already heaven-bound due to AIDS; some of us don Prada and Gucci to show the world we love fashion - and yes, can afford it; some, on the other hand, are perhaps less subtle.

I was leaving the office the other day and entered the lift as I usually do.
There in front of me was a charming looking young lady, with neat hair and a deliciously white smile.

Then I noticed her T-shirt.

It was jet black with white words emblazend on it. It clearly conveyed her whole being and perhaps that of the entire Y-gen at large.

It read: If you don't like my attitude, dial 1-800 EAT SHIT.

Not your usual call centre mnemonic, yet, catchy nevertheless, I'm sure you'd agree.

The Internationale - why the obsession?

Recently, or perhaps not so recently, I have been mildly impressed and indeed intrigued (it makes my hairs on the back of my neck stand on end) by the communist anthem The Internationale.

"Oh!", I hear you yelp; this from Darren the Thatcherite - how can that be?! The tune is blood-curdling and the passion with which it is sung is nonetheless electric. These worker-strugglers stood up for what they believed in and looking back with Cold War distance it is easy to mock - but also less challenging to appreciate it.

A German version is particularly rousing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6aRF4aN5C6U&feature=fvw
Not to mention several Soviet renditions.
The Chinese don't do a bad job of rousing the party-faithful either.
And for those of you who know anything of Japanese nationalists - get the irony?!?! - this is wonderful: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRkRiOYFs4A&feature=related

Mind you listening to an Hewbrew version - that sounds like Milk and Honey from the 1979 Eurovision Song Contest (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhbMuW_RxP4&feature=related) it's perhaps not all doom and gloom or taken too serious either. You can compare and contrast with: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqFOxKPD_Ok&feature=related

On YouTube it's in virtually every imaginable language: Norwegian, French, Greek, Bangladeshi, and it goes on and on.....I even found it Burmese.

Marx was fool, Engel his equally idiotic side-kick, yet the lure of equality appeals even now. And perhaps it's right that it does: capitalism has taken a knock of late, but I still feel it's the most logical of human life-systems - the one that rewards those who deserve to be rewarded and penalises those who perhaps should be disadvantaged.

Yet, the powerful notion that we're all due something in life from government, from our fellow citizens, from God, is compelling and has ramifications for non-communist doctrines like capitalism. My Great-Uncle Jack has been a communist / socialist all of his life and a great life he's had too; I respect the history and origins of such beliefs, of such Weltanschauungen (world philosophies / views) but that framework of a solution is defunct, distressed, deserted.

We cannot and should not ignore our fellow man, we are all responsible for the good of our village, community and ultimately planet. This responsibility transcends left and right and currently the world is failing largely to acknowledge this obligation.

Yet the hypocrisy of communism should not be lost on anyone, especially the Nepalis in the video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAxz0ECZ-Lo&feature=related where an adherent proudly wears an Arsenal football top - overtly displaying a symbol of both the submission of a sport to rampant capitalism and corporate manipulation - O2....?!!?

The world is crazy. But I love it.

How difficult can it be to wash ones hands? Surely easy.

Well that's what I naively thought before I ventured into the downstairs lavs at my work place.

Singapore is a great nation for educating its people and indeed ensuring that public information instructions are regularly delivered on a myriad of topics. A recent campaign in the underground, encourages boarding passengers to let the alighting individuals off first - then barge full steam ahead to get a seat - usually the priority seat also. This latter resting place is intended for the frail, pregnant and old; usually what happens is an able-bodied person of any age and/or sex plonks themselves down, makes themselves comfortable and resolutely refuses to budge even for one-armed, pregnant octogenarians - of which I must admit there are relatively few in sterile baby-poor Singapore.

The offending sitter is equally likely to be male, female, of teenage or middling years - and worse still, they are quite inclined to even pretend to be asleep or be engrossed in their play-station so as not to have yield their perch for a perhaps more deserving lackey.

Anyway, back to my rant.

Oh, before, I forget, talking of letting people out before you march in: I was in the elevator this morning at work and was quite encumbered with my pepper chicken puff, sweet tea (teh c) and numerous baggage items. As we approached the 3rd floor, I readied myself to exit the lift and as the doors parted I was for a split-second glared at by a middle-aged woman, on her mobile who regardless of my intent to exit (this was the top floor and the lift was going down) proceeded to push her way into the lift - as if it would descend any more quickly just because she'd managed to force her way in, even before the doors were actually fully opened...!

In my incredulity, I snipped: "You should let people out first! Then you'll find it easier to get in!" To which she retorted (increasing my pique of disbelief): "You didn't exit quick enough!" Amazing: I couldn't exit because she was right in the middle of the curtaining doors and blocked my way out....I was stunned and could only bring myself to yell back: "You stupid wench!" I'm sure she even understood what a wench is, but I felt sated.

So back to my hand-washing.

I did, in all honesty, think people should (thanks primarily to primary school teachers and perhaps even doting parents) know how to wash their hands. Well apparently not in Singapore and people need reminding. What I didn't know as can be clearly seen in the photo I snapped while in the gents (not a wise thing to do usually, I add) is that astonishingly, there are indeed 8 steps of good hand-washing. Now that's impressive.

Does anyone out there know what they are?

Card fraud - oh my word, I'm liable

Well, I must confess I had heard that in Singapore the cardholder is actually liable for any fraudulent activity relating to ones card - but we're creatures of ostrich propensity and I never really paid much attention to this niggling difference. In the UK, and a vast array of other "developed" nations, the merchant is actually liable for fraudulent transactions and has an obligation, therefore, to check the identity of the cardholder when they make a purchase.

They check your signature and may even ask for photo ID if you're buying something expensive.

Not so in beautiful Singers...here you can (and believe me cos I've done it) sign your name at Batman, Hitler or Mickey Mouse and the merchant won't bat an eyelid [pardon the pun].... why? Because they're not bloody liable, that's why.

It's a sham that's recently been highlighted in the local press and NOW at long last the Monetary Authority of Singapore is calling the banks to task on this -- but how long will it take to action?

The greatest irony of this all is that my credit card from Citibank - oh yes I shall name and shame - actually re-issued my about-to-expire card; the irony? Well, my previous card which expired on 31st August was a photo-card complete with a delightful mugshot of yours truly. The new "enhanced" card came complete without Darren's beaming visog but accessorised (and I use that term purposely) with a PIN chip built-in.

More secure, I hear you yell..!

Well, except that Singapore hasn't instituted a Chip and PIN scheme so the chip is redundant - you can't even eat the damn thing - so what's the point of that....!?

I have intelligence that the culprit is a 30+ male of Indian descent - how ironic...do you suppose he'd have been as successful in separating me from my credit line with my blue-eyed lily white countenance glaring back at the merchant? I doubt it somehow....

Thanks Citibank - from security to stupidity in one fell re-issue.

I love banks....I love them like Kin Jung Il loves democracy - you simply can't bank on them.

Oh and the photo? What's that all about?

Well my dryer wasn't performing, [in fact it was taking over 2 hours to dry 2 towels, 3 shirts and a sock] so I investigated and found a ton of fluff inside the filter -- thank you Miss Landlady for preparing my flat so well and cleaning thoroughly for my move in. Mind you, the fluff does have something in common with the banks in Singapore: they're grey, they're soiled, the lurk in dark corners with little or no transparency and worst of all, they stop the system from working properly...!

Good night.

Harry who?

Just been to see Harry Potter - the Half Blood Prince - and for those that don't know that's a reference to Severus Snape....who managed finally to become the Professor to the Dark Arts - or should that be "against" - ah that's for you to work out. Go see the film - it's awesome.

A great collaboration between good and evil, between light and dark, between boy and girl - I guess only a gay man could have come up with that triptych of a sentence. Ah well, that's what you get for reading my blog. It's incredible how the saga of a boy wizard has captured the imagination of millions - if not billions. I heard the other day that Bollywood has even plagiarised (read copied) the format and released Hari Puttar last year which is an Indian spoof on the fabulously successful format. Are muggles and dalits too close to for comfort?

Anyway, off to my Arabic class tomorrow morning - that has nothing to do with Harry Potter, but it's rather intriguing.

More on that next time........

Peaceful abandon

The fans whir above my head as I sit at a chunky glass topped table in a sumptuous villa in the green lush canopy that is Bali. I have joined my good friend Chris for his birthday celebration and what a wondrous place to celebrate such an anniversary.

All day I have been lazing around doing absolutely nothing - except ruminating of course.
But it has been blissful watching the butterflies flit around and listening to the haunting chants of a nearby Hindu temple, mingled with the cling clang of gamelan.

Being out here, literally in the middle of nowhere, has been splendid for forgetting Singapore - the speedy pace of life there, the cars, the sale mania....as I turn my head to think of the next line I see an azure blue sky getting ready to let the stars come out in preparation for night time and it's full of fluttering kites; eagles, airplanes, butterflies and other winged wonders - soaring, soaring.

Guests will be descending very soon for a delicious dinner (well I hope it will be delicious, the party boy is a chef after all). There will no doubt be lots of martinis, camp chandeliers, purple potato and duck curry - with a sparkling birthday cake to finish it all off.

I can't wait.

"It's not my fault, it's how I'm programmed to function"

Well what a headline.
A great way to admonish oneself of all guilt, responsibility and more.

A line from a Lily Allen song called "Fear". It's what we're all wracked by; all-consuming petrifying paranoia about what may be, what should be and what life may throw at you: forcing you to be.

Gripping life, shaking it scuppering its pre-ordained tapestry of what we're supposed to be.
Where are we going?
I feel a Carrie Bradshaw kind of format coming on here....is that normal? Should I be concerned? Or, should I simply let the creative juices flow: after all plagiarism is the greatest form of flattery, isn't it?

How are we programmed?
More questions than we could possibly answer; why is the human frame so obsessed with interrogations? Punctuating our presence on earth with a myriad of mind-boggling cul-de-sacs of non-consequence.

I give up - it's the hard-wiring.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it...!

Goldfish in my hotel room

During my last trip to Bombay I had to stay an unexpected extra night and found myself checking back into Le Meridien hotel the same evening of the morning I'd check out on.

What was nice, was they actually upgraded me to the club floor and although the room was almost the same, it felt newly refurbished and once the internet connection was sorted I was all comfy and settled.

There was a gentle knock on the door and housekeeping were requesting an entrance. Of course, I obliged and was startled to see the hotel employee tentatively carrying a small bowl filled with water. I didn't realise at first but the bowl, about the size of a large grapefruit, was actually a goldfish bowl, complete with tiny black pebbles and a delicate flamboyant ebony fish.

The fish swam about quite happily and I was content to have a companion.

I have had the privilege to stay in many hotels all over the world, and this was the first time a goldfish was part of the package.

Well done Le Meridien..!

Zipping through Bombay

Having the privilege to travel so much with work and for pleasure, means I have amassed quite a bit of taxi experience - not driving myself you understand, but rather being "chauffeured" around in varying levels o comfort and style.

The video shows my near-death experiences at the hands of a Mumbai-auto-rickshaw driver.




They hug the vehicle in front like a Siamese-twin and nip in and out of gaps in the traffic like woodlice scampering around in search of tasty morsels discarded by some larger being. The driver is invariably bear-footed and often crosses one leg over the other while driving - and I use that term loosely.

It's really quite exciting as they dodge the traffic to the side and indeed sometimes on-coming. The noise assaults your ears and the dust stings your nostrils, but it's great fun. I did survive to reach my destination and hence able to post this blog - it will be nice to get back in the Comfort Taxis of Singapore at the airport at Changi - the luxuries of it all sometimes seem too easy.

Back in India - love it

Landed back in India last night very late and a little jaded; the Singapore airlines flight was a little delayed. This was mitigated by the fact that although I was flying economy class, I was fortunate enough to be on the Boeing 777-ER which has the new seats. They' not bad at all: nice reclining options, great entertainment on a very nice screen and a civilised 3-3-3 configuration to boot.

The first amazing sight at Mumbai airport was a snake of about 50 trolleys winding and slithering their way from one side of the arrivals hall to the other. The people traffic trying to exit the hall came to a complete stand still while this wheeled serpent, pushed by at least 10 men, wound its merry way through the patiently waiting throng. This silent acceptance was in stark contrast to what was waiting for me outside.

No sooner had I found my hotel car pick up man and the honking attacked my eardrums; it's incessant, constant, rude. One honks to say "I'm here"; one honks to say "Get out of my way"; and one honks, it feels to even pass the time while you wait for the traffic to move. But I knew I was back in India for the first time for about 4 years and I was loving it.

The smells confronted my nostrils almost as quickly as the horn-blowing kicked my hearing. Not offensive smells, per se; but certainly not rose perfume either: just a sweaty mix of the Bombay tropics with dust and humanity.

I was in India and glad to be back.

Advertising mis-messaging

As I was sitting waiting for the rather inept customer services representative to confirm some details on upgrading my mobile contract, I was struck by a huge advert at M1 showing a charming chappie atop a government housing complex in Singapore. He was strumming his guitar and dreaming of starting his own band; the bass player would be in Peru, the drummer in Tasmania, the mixing done in some hip European capital and the whole ensemble beamed "live" from a cafe in boondocks of Singapore.

I then glanced to the text on the right of the picture declaring something which made me frown, then widen my eyes in disbelief and finally laugh.

It says, if you can't read it below: "The devices which make all of this possible aren't here yet. But the mobile network already is. The new M1 Network."

Staggered at the creative crassness, I was amazed at a company's core message on one of its supposed key differentiators stating that while the underlying nuts and bolts are in place, you can't actually do any of the things we claim you can...and by the way, that's not our fault, but rather the fault of the "device" people - whoever they may be.

Is this the best they could come up with?
Appalled - absolutely appalled.

If they weren't so cheap I'd switch networks....there you have it: I'm a cheap charlie. On the plus side, if I weren't a customer, then I would probably never have seen this ad and thus have nothing to blog about today.

Every cloud...

---

Why does a cup of tea never last as long as you want it to?

It's true, a good cup of English tea, complete with a good dollop of milk, always seems to run out before the savouring has ended.

The aroma is just pungent enough, the colour a delightful peach shade and the sugar-level perfectly in tune with not-too-sweet a tooth. You work away, you sip, you chat, you sip. Before you know it you're sucked into sheer enjoyment first, then oblivion as the fast dwindling liquid in the mug before you seemingly evaporates.

You reach for another thirst-quenching swig and lo and behold, the cup is empty.

How did that happen?
Where did it all go?
Why is a cup so shallow?
Was, indeed, accelerated evaporation to blame?

So many questions, but one thing doesn't change: my cup remains empty and off to the kitchen I must trek to replenish.

Problem is: the 2nd cup is NEVER as tasty as the first.

Chinese Herbals

Well it started quite innocently enough with a trip to a Chinese diner. Little did I know we'd end up sampling herbal delights and giggling with a hostess with the mostess...

This charming eatery is in Clarke Quay, Singapore just down from a rather though-provoking drinking place called Clinic where the guests are served various toxic concoctions while seated in wheel chairs and hospital beds.

Our jovial hostess, Doris, was a scream from the outset and made us feel at ease and comfortable with the highly complex menu; it did help that one of our party spoke perfect Mandarin and ordered everything for us. She was even astute (for one our group allergic to sea-food) enough to ask the chef to remove the scallops from the yummy egg-white froth with scallops -- mind you, I'm not sure what else was in there apart from egg white...but he seemed to enjoy it.

Our Soon Hock (white fish for the uninitiated) was perfectly cooked, but alas, no-one wanted to brave the cheek and savour the delicate flavours of the most delicate and honoured part of the fish... What an insult to our chef...!

The desert was a mastery of chemistry. We were served small bowls filled to the brim with water and ice cubes; our interest was piqued to say the least. Then came the piping hot taro and yam which was plunged into the iced water creating streams of sugar caramel strewn over the table...the tubers were still hot inside, but the icy coating was particularly crunchy.

Finally - a discussion on penises...yes, you read me correctly - male appendages - of the animal kind I might add.

Deer dicks - to put not to-fine-a-point on it were the then the subject of the hour...how potent they are and indeed how expensive the liquor brewed from these poor animals severed sex organs. Our dear Doris (no pun intended) was obsessed with animal extensions of the male order.

We managed to escape with our lives and hymens (sic) intact to quickly head for our house for a soothing glass of champagne - which as we all know, calms the spirit and relaxes the soul.

What a night.....!

A new start in blogging

Well, after several weeks of trying to kick start my iWeb blogging options, I have given up and yielded to the pressures of wanting to continue my online splurges - while not wanting to fork out more money to Apple on a new version of iWeb.

So here's my new page format at my new URL.

I hope people (if indeed, any were following before) will update their links and continue to read my rants.

Let's see how this new format works - I theoretically can upload photos on the go - although with my hammered Samsung being decidedly temperamental at the moment, I'm not convinced that will work. We'll see.

In anticipation of more rants....