DOCTOR WHO?

The speaker at the burger joint was too loud. Bad Daddy rap is not improved by volume. Someone should tell them that. But they'll have to shout. Afterwards we took one look at the crowd at a place where often we go for beer and Earl Grey, and gave it a miss.
It was jampacked with Europeans and serious people.

The karaoke place had two lovely songs in Mandarin followed by Lady Gaga and something forgetable. Accompanied by a gentleman snoring at the bar. Afterwich we went up the street to another place. Where there were neither Europeans nor songbirds.

Shirtsleeve weather, even long after sundown. And I've recovered from the shots last week, so I could truly appreciate the sweltering heat during the day. Isn't it lovely? Gosh we've been looking forward to sunny weather oh my. It's liberating. I shan't make any snide comments about unseemingly clothing on people with or without the bodies for that, because I'm a diplomatic sort without an evil bone in my body.
And, truly, I believe in being nice.


Life is so much better when you regard everyone with kindness.
Despite all their obvious flaws.

Which are much more evident in hot weather.

It's time for yearly physicals. Which we talked about. What do they call that procedure where they send a snake up your rear to check for Jimma Hoffa and growths? My friend is almighty chuffed that no Mars probe is needed. I, on the other hand, was chuffed because of a briar pipe I re-finished, which I did not mention. When he started talking about enemas all I could think of is a possible scene in a Bollywood movie with hundreds of singing and dancing people dressed in lab coats and scrubs, a nice cheerful tune that would last ten or twenty minutes. As they do. On the roof top. In the rain. Where our heroine's thin nurse's sari is plastered to her body. I need to clarify that during our weekly pub crawl I drink tea, and consequently was zipped to the gills on overmuch caffeine, and a recent smoke.
Whereas he had Jameson's in his system and had just finished a cigar.


The town is filled with Germans and French. Allmost makes me wish I spoke better German, so that I could find out what they think of a place with none of Karl May's picturesque Indians.
We have no noble savages here. Lots of ignoble civilizados, however.
We are two hours away from any indigeneous casino.
It's a spiritual failing.


By the way: I am not fond of Lady Gaga.
Maybe there's something wrong with me.



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