AND NO SINGING!

The weather was less beastly than it had been earlier. Meaning that it was still quite cold, and I wished I had rubbed myself all over with bear fat, but I wasn't freezing my squidgy bits off. This has NOT been a warm May. More like the winter of my discontent. Which may explain why in the morning I had a fatty snack as a sort of breakfast with my coffee.

An instinctive drang to create insulation.

That's probably also why for late lunch early dinner I had beef and shrimp paste fried rice noodles (牛肉虾酱炒河粉 'ngau yiuk haa jeung chaau ho fan'). With tea, milk tea, sambal, and a good smoke in a comforting old pipe afterwards.


The only thing useful I did today was purchase some more of those delightful thin ciggies with the flavour capsule that I know Miss A.A. likes. Which are only sold to Cantonese speakers. Which is why I only ask for them in Cantonese.

貴煙

While waiting for the bookseller and smoking another bowl more people nodded in friendly fashion than I've experienced before. They've likely seen those ghastly videos of me talking about cigars in Cantonese which have circulated. My barber has seen them, and a customer of his also. So have a few people at my usual food stops. You know I hate my accent, right?
I sound precisely like a horrid stuck up pompous twat whenever I speak Chinese.
I thought I sounded like a Tsimshatsui goomba, like in the movies.
Nope. British colonial dickhead.

It was fairly quiet at the burger joint, but at the karaoke place the dulcet sounds of country western or some such crap were audible all the way down the street. The musical stylings of suburbanites and their menfolk, voices raised in song. Not good song. Song for which life is too short. That kind of song. The word "dulcet" and the phrase "musical stylings" are both used ironically. Also as a courtesy because I don't wish to offend anybody.
By swearing in a horrid pompous twat accent.

We've had a long day and we hate The Eagles.

At what had been the bail-out whenever the karaoke bar is unbearable the door was closed early so we ended up further down in a pleasantly sparsely populated establishment. Beer and a Jameson for the bookseller, two teas for me. In passing we mentioned the Venerable Bede, Sir Gawain And The Green Knight, people dressed like sheep, and one of two parrots that New Zealand is known for (the kea), which is a very smart bird that loves to irritate people but is protected so you cannot do anything back to get even.
And the evil bird knows that.



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