THE RENEWAL

With slight regret I realize that I am risking excommunication. I've mixed up some tobacco that includes approximately twenty five to thirty percent Firedance Flake from Samuel Gawith. Which is topped with some kind of berry liqueur and, allegedly, vanilla. It is, though the flavourings are mild at that percentage, degenerate enough to cast me into outer darkness, and possibly ghost whichever pipe I smoke for at least the next bowl.
Curtis at the Oxxy would throw my ass out.

I would, likewise.

Heathen!


The washington Bakery and Restaurant, where I had a late lunch, has changed. It shows evidence of the younger generation exerting its influence, and while I love the new decor, I lament the reduction in the menu. My all-time favourite -- baked Portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan') -- is no longer offered there. It's a classic chachanteng dish!
What I had was curry porkchop and rice.
It was excellent.

Anna and Ah Ping are still there, the Hong Kong Milk Tea (港式奶茶 'gong sik naai cha') is still served. So I am not upset.
Merely slightly peevish.


Old farts like myself don't like change. It highlights how disposable we have become.


Again, those porkchops were delicious!


Yummy!




Despite our disapproval of the newfangled modern era, we also like children.
Possibly because they are easily impressed by our antiquity, maybe because they contrast so nicely with our wrinkles.
It needs to be said.


Here's a child. And here's a dessicated old fart.
One looks good.



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