Wednesday, August 02, 2023


Because of various obligations this week the usual perambulation of alleyways in Chinatown late at night with a pipe did not take place. I need to be perky at an early hour, and have all my wits about me. Leastways, not fall asleep in public.

Lady Justitia is a harsh mistress. There are NO comfy mattresses in a courtroom.
When I become president, that will change.
Among many other things.

Besides performing my civic duty, I did accomplish one thing yesterday that totally fills me with pride. I got rid of a potent weapon of mass destruction, one that would have kept the Mongol Hordes from ever invading the Middle Kingdom.

Specifically, I threw out the bunch of Chinese Chives. They weren't bad, had by no means gone all funky, but in their still fresh state (!) they reeked potently like cabbage gasses and armpit sweat whenever one opened the refrigerator. Yesterday evening, from the teevee room, I could smell them when she put the new cartons of milk away.

I mentioned this as the explanation for why I did what I did. Her reply was that she had just assumed that in some way I was physically responsible for the stench, given that as a Dutchman I was damned close to being Irish.

Which just goes to show how forbearing and equitable she is. If I had suspected the same foul odours as coming from her, I would have insisted that she wash forthwith.
Lifebuoy or carbolic soap.

Though actually, I'm quite okay with her ponging a bit if she wishes. There are two bedrooms here, and the person in mine smells plenty clean, albeit subtly perfumed by pipe tobacco.
The person in the other room is a snarky Chinese American woman.
Final pipe of the evening was in the moist air outside, enjoying a briar I've had for several years. It's an Amphora, standard straight bulldog shape, made for Douwe Egberts presumably by Elbert Gubbels & Zonen in Roermond.

The tobacco filling it was mostly American blending Virginias with some nicely aged broken flake and a smidge of firecured; one of my own minor compositions.

The animals in the Beatrix Potter stories as well as Wind In The Willows would have liked it.
A stumblesome grinning tipsy goober outside sheerly loved it.
The snarky Chinese American, not so much.
Delightful in the fog.

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