Keropok on a sofa

2010-02-18T17:25:00.003+08:00

My Beri-beri told me that it was 10 degrees in Delhi but I was already feeling chilly when the Jet Airways' 777 was still on the sweltering Mumbai Airport tarmac.

Maybe it was because it was a Sunday morning flight, which meant getting up at 6am to pack and check out while my colleagues were still snoring their heads off in their plush beds in the Narriman Trident.

But I think it was more the fact that we were still roaming the streets of Mumbai at 3am that night.

The dinner, earlier, at the Iranian briyani place across the road from Leopold's Cafe was pretty good but the place was a bit dingy. A friend said it reminded him of Peshawar, where he flunked his medical studies.

He was relatively fluent in Hindi though, which was a great help in getting around.

Nevertheless our search for raunchy nocturnal activities turned out to be a limp sausage.

Trying his best to remember his past, the best our consultant (15 years as resident of Mumbai) was able to come out with was this dive called Zombie or something.

After a few minutes waiting for him to do his recce, he came back and reported that there was good music and quite a few hot-looking chicks hanging around the bar.

OK - it sounded promising, so all of us trooped into the club.

Music sounded good, probably Indian techno with a good bass beat but damn, the women looked really tall, don't they?

Thinking that they can't all be expat women hanging out there, we scurried to the smoking corner - and the loo area, where the lights were brighter - just to be sure.

Yup - they were shemales.

That blithering idiot couldn't tell a pondan from a pretty lady, could he?

After hanging around the place for a while, I got groped, in a somewhat polite manner, by someone ("she" was cute-looking, to be fair) and we decided to call it a night.

So anyway back to that shiny new Boeing, I was a bit groggy and the looooong queue going through airport security didn't help my mood much. And they confiscated my lighter - lucky for me it was a cheap disposable.

Anyway, the air hostess was nice and pretty but I noticed that she was spending some time being gedik with these two blokes about one seat down across the aisle from me.

They were young good-looking guys carrying out a conversation with a third guy seated in front of me. And two air hostesses were hovering around them at all times.

Well, I didn't pay too much attention to them - I took them to be some rich kids because they kept yammering about how things were in the US - and simply dozed off.

So when we landed and all of us were preparing to exit the plane, I was queued just behind these 3 gentlemen who were joined by these two ladies who were seated on the other aisle.

Then as we went down, I saw this crowd forming at the foot of the stairway. All armed with pen, paper and cameras.

The crowd, mostly ground maintenance crew working at the Delhi airport, swarmed around the two guys asking for autographs and taking pictures.

That's when it dawned on me that these guys must be movie stars.

One young skinny guy, seeing that one hunk was about to pick up his bag after signing a few autographs, just grabbed the guy's hold-all and sprinted to the tarmac bus to deposit it safely there - just so he could get the guy's autograph when he eventually boarded the bus.

Me? I just made my way to the bus, sat there quietly as it filled up and then whispered to a guy holding on to the ceiling straps.

Cipan: "Excuse me, but who are those two guys? Are they famous?"

Excited passenger: "Oh yes - they are Bollywood stars. The big one is John Abraham and the smaller one is Dino Morea. They are famous."

Cipan: "Oh. And what about the ladies? Are they stars too?"

Excited passenger: "Oh no, they are just girlfriends. Nobody famous."

Right.

So that's how I shared a flight with two Bollywood hunks and never even suspected it.

Here's some Dino Morea eye candy ...

The whole thing had me wondering in my hotel bed that night,

"Oh why God, why didn't you make it Katrina Khaif and Aishwarya Rai?"

*sob

An Ode to a Lovely Lady

2010-02-14T00:29:00.006+08:00

My munchkins is a lady fair,
Though she can swear like a dockside navvy,
Never a day would pass by,
But she would run through my thoughts,
Addled though my brains may be.

I wish I could treat her the way she deserves to be,
For she is ever kind and thoughtful
More than she needs to be

Whereas I
am just a fool
I am
just me

So Happy Valentine's Day, my sweet munchkins
How I wish that I could
Deliver these gifts to you

Hugs from within my arms
Kisses from within my heart
And this sweet
painful
yearning

From the raggedy depths
of my soul.

An Old Fogey's Raya

2009-09-27T16:37:00.001+08:00

When I was a kid, I used to wonder what it was that grown-ups spend so much time yakking about during Raya visits.

I mean, once I've downed that F&N oren, polished off all the sweets from the festive kuih raya tray and munched through endless handfuls of peanuts, I was ready to go.

But no, the adults have loads to talk about, says my mum sweetly as she gives me a discreet but really painful pinch on my thigh whenever I forgot myself and pestered her.

Trying to follow the conversations proved futile as there were too many references to past events and people that I knew nothing about.

Thankfully, most households we visited had kids my age, so we would normally leave the adults alone and made friends.

As time goes by, I realise that mostly everyone gets nostalgic over their younger days during this time - and old fogeys are the worst - hence the interminable conversations.

Since the Minx says I'm getting close to being an old fogey now, I think it's about time I imposed some of my Raya memories on you lot.
-----------------------------

The first inkling we would have of Hari Raya drawing close, would be the arrival of the soft drinks at our house.

Always a cheerful event -anything to break the monotony of the seemingly endless days of puasa - the deliveryman would call out in a singsong Chinese accent as soon he pulls up in the front.

"Ayer botol! Ayer botol" (old spelling, meh - in fact, this whole posting should be in sepia tones).

All of us would cluster around excitedly as he lugged the crates from his becha (rickshaw) into our store-room while my mum would supervise and keep us kids out of the way.

In those days soft drinks were only sold in glass bottles - the bottles are returned and your deposit repaid minus breakage, and they are washed and reused at the canning factory.

Historical footnote - A huge F&N factory used to stand beside the Bangsar/Brickfields traffic lights junction - the site is now part of the Sentral complex.

For the Raya celebrations, they are bought by the crate.

The crates were of seasoned wood, the yellow paint faded to a nondescript puke beige on its sides.

They are partitioned into 24 slots where the capped bottles stood soldier-like in three neat rows of eight - the one in the pic is the modern one of 15 per crate

(Pic "borrowed" from sparklette.net)

Each crate will carry bottles of the same flavour, though the sundry shop tauke was more than happy to mix-n-match a crate or two for his regulars.

My Dad would order the same flavours every year - they were usually Fraser & Neaves (F & N).

He'd order the bright Orange Squash, dark and broody Sarsaparilla, sparkling clear Ice Cream Soda and cheery red Cherry which was a pretty new flavour those days.

In those days Coca-Cola and Pepsi were newbies and were considered too pahit (bitter) for our teensy throats.

We (the kids, that is) would actually count out the whole inventory and would always bitch about there being too many Orange Squash bottles compared to the others.

Apparently most adults of that era preferred orange drinks.

The F&N Cherry was highly prized by the girls - *snigger* but I'm not kidding, it's really true - and my eldest sister would abuse her position as an almost-adult by opening up the storeroom and hiding a whole crate of them under some rags and other stuff.

My brother Jap and I, being junior citizens and the most oft-bullied, would sneak in when no one's looking and squirrel away a few bottles of our own.

I was partial to the fresh and tarty (heh!) taste of Ice Cream Soda while Jap was a Sarsaparilla fan.

Funnily enough, we graduated to vodka and Guinness respectively during our hedonistic phase later in life.

On Raya morning, each of us will be given the chance to pick a whole bottle for ourselves and it was supposed to last for the whole day.

As a result all of us became highly proficient at uncapping a bottle with minimum damage to the metal cap - and then re-capping our partially-full "personal" bottles.

When our friends came around, we would jump at the chance of opening up a brand-new bottle of our choice.

We would then sit around munching peanuts and discuss the various merits of soft drinks with an intensity that would have put professional wine-tasters to shame.

Besides the aforementioned brands there was the dark tea-coloured Sinalco - it's actually orangeade but alas is no longer available here though they're still in business in Europe.

Then there was Green Spot which apparently only rich kids would drink because the bottles are so small compared to the others

(psst ... catch that bloke trying to feed the girl his hotdog);

... and of course RC Cola which was the forerunner of Coke and Pepsi later on.

But we were not snobs ... we'd just as intensely discuss the merits of different sirap kordial at the homes of friends who were less well-off.

Anyway that's what we thought meaningful conversations ought to be about.

It doesn't seem to change much as we grew up though - the hottest topics still remain the best places to eat and drink. Funny that.

Anyway Hari Raya would also inevitably remind me of a particular conversation some years back.

Infected by a rare burst of Raya-related nostalgia, I decided to get some fireworks for my kids to light up the night with when we get back to Terengganu.

It wasn't just any fireworks that I wanted.

It was those primitive, red Chinese stuff that look like tiny dynamite sticks all wrapped in waxed paper and a mythical Chinese lady wreathed in clouds on the cover.

Yes, it's the stuff that I used to play with in my childhood.

Somehow I managed to get my hands on some - incredibly enough at the neighbourhood surau during a terawih prayer session.

Mind you there was even a comprehensive order list - I could swear that the only thing missing from it were Stinger missiles.

Anyway in a conversation with an uncle in Ganu some days later, I was crowing somewhat about this minor feat when he leaned forward and said quietly,

Abang Din: "Do you remember a few years back, a story that came out in the papers? On Harian Metro?"

Me : "Um, what story would that be?"

AD : "This was the one about the biggest fireworks seizure in the East Coast ever. By the Ganu police here in KT."

Me : "Oh yeah, I remember now. There was a picture of a warehouse where they found the stuff. Yeah, the whole place was filled with the stuff."

AD : "That's the one. There was a couple of tonnes of the stuff."

Me : "What of it?"

AD : "Do you recall the guy's name who was arrested by the police?"

Me : "Not really, no. Why?"

AD : "Well ... *snicker ..., it was me."

I got an earful from Lady C later on for my ROTFLMAO.

Anyway, SELAMAT HARI RAYA all ... eat well, laugh loud and drive safely.

Oh, I almost forgot our traditional Raya Greeting Card ...

... it's a special one this year ...

...

,,

,

.

SELAMAT HARI RAYA!!!!

dari Pertubuhan Seni Silap Gayung Malaysia

The Hanging Hungs

2009-06-10T16:51:00.007+08:00

Just a quick update in response to Maklongnya Bedah
------------------------------------------------

I've framed and put up the two Hungs on my walls last week.

As I had expected, the frames actually cost more than the paintings *hiks, but the real hassle was in putting them up.

As most people who had bought houses in the last 10 years or so would know, the walls are more sand than cement instead of the other way around.

And these frame paintings do have a considerable weight.

So just knocking in some nails in the wall* won't do - you'll have to measure carefully, drill the holes and then hit wooden wall plugs into each hole to strengthen them.

*An old riddle - what's always better than a nail in the wall?

All of which would take a considerable amount of time and energy.

And some French oaths as well.

But it's always worth the effort.

Especially when you have chosen your display spots well and thus, when you're done, able to sit back and enjoy the paintings in all their glory.

So dear all (and especially Maklongnya Bedah), I'm proud to present to you ... the Hungs at the Cipans'.

A dash of reds and blacks to warm up the dining area.

And some evocative browns to add a thoughtful tone to the living room.

A Man Called Hung

2009-06-02T21:35:00.000+08:00

It was already past nine but the air was fairly sweltering at the night market around Co Ben Thanh in downtown Saigon.

Now known as Ho Chi Minh city, of course.

Ho's City, if you're a Yank ... I guess.

Under my rucksack, my shirt was getting sticky but I was enjoying myself immensely.

It has been a while since I went abroad (Shanghai was the last one, I think), or had a proper holiday actually, and the break couldn't have come at a better time for me.

After a fortnight of crisis calls plus a project that took off unexpectedly like a runaway rocket, I was stressed-out, fagged out and almost brain dead on my feet by the time I boarded the Airbus at half past seven in the morning at the LCCT.

Was that sentence too long? Deal with it - it's a fair reflection of my working life since November.

Anyway, back in Saigon (I still prefer this old name, I grew up with it being on the headlines and on TV almost every day in the late 60s) I was taking in the sights and sounds (and smells) contentedly while cowering behind two female colleagues for protection from the many pretty ladies manning the various stalls.

Protection?

Yes, protection. Seriously.

You see, Vietnamese ladies are mostly pretty, have good skin, look and sound demure but are also very persistent in making their sales pitch.

Very much self-aware of their effects on men visitors, they would think nothing of grabbing you by the arm and crying out,

"A-baaaaang, come and see my things, I give you good price,"

and pretty soon a soft female hand will be stroking your manly chest to add persuasive punctuation to it all, while the sales pitch changes to,

"I like your smile, where you from."

And if you got a pot-belly, the stroking moves south and they'll cackle, "Little Buddha!" delightedly.

The outdoor night market is infinitely more preferable than the daytime version - which is more congested and, since it's indoors, definitely stuffier than muff-diving.

I mean, once I entered I had to go out again after the first five minutes cos I couldn't breathe.

Whereas I can muff-dive longer than that even with one nostril shut.

Anyways after my nipples had gotten overly sensitive with all that stroking, I spotted something on top of my shopping list.

A stall displaying original oil paintings by local artists.

For some time, I've been told that you can get art pieces at bargain prices, especially oil paintings, in Saigon.

Mostly I was told they got good fakes there but I was thinking, if they're so good technically, then the originals should be better buys.

So, having spent a good part of the evening watching over the ladies, and getting molested for my troubles, I got stimulation of the cerebral kind at last.

At first I was struck by the stall-minder's demeanour.

Unlike the typical pasar malam hustling, he had a quiet, pleasant manner.

Such a welcome contrast.

I tested him by leaving after just a minute of browsing but he remained coolly polite and even thanked me for my time.

So after a bit, I came back, sat down on a stool, rolled me a fag and struck up a conversation with the guy.

It turns out that the stall houses the paintings of Hung, my new friend, and three of his friends, and they take turns minding it.

Taking a close look at the wares on display (even an untutored eye like mine could discern the four different styles), I found that I really liked this quietly pleasant chap.

So I was pleased to find out that a series of abstracts that I really liked was Hung's handiwork.

Taking the conversation further I found out he's actually a Hanoi boy - thus the very different personality compared to his neighbours - and that four years of art college in Hanoi was followed by eight years in Saigon peddling his stuff.

The boy got grit.

And he was so humble.

I had decided to buy two of his paintings when I noticed that they didn't have any signature.

"Hey Hung, how come these paintings don't have your signatures?"

"You want me to sign them?" he asked.

"Did you paint these paintings or not? Or are they your friend's paintings?" I asked again, making sure we understood each other.

"Yes, I painted them," he replied.

"Then sign the damn things lah," I said, lapsing into Manglish momentarily.

He wasn't so sure he understood me.

"You really want me to sign them?" the fella went again.

"Of course I want you to, you're the painter, right?"

"Yes, I am,"

"Then you must sign it. Otherwise how would people know you're the painter?" I berleter again.

I swear the man looked stunned.

"Oh, okay. Can you wait for five minutes?" he asked.

"No problem, why?"

"I call my friend to bring a tube for the painting, then I have to get my brush and ink," he said.

When his friend turned out to be a pretty girl, I was kinda worried my nipples might get tweaked again. But she was a decent sort - his girlfriend actually (I asked) - and she came from the same village as Hung.

So sweet.

All in all I spent about two hours there, and they were pleasant hours, I must say.

And I ended up paying just USD90 for two oil paintings that I liked very much.

Originals by a man called Hung.

THE WAKE ....

2009-04-03T02:11:00.008+08:00

A

SIR CIPAN NOUGAT-TENUK PRODUCTION

P R E S E N T S

In association with

The Blogistani Anti-Hanjeng Society

A cultural tribute to Blogistan's Legendary-est Legend

...

..

.

Mamma Piah - AVVANG CIPAN

"She's been cheating on him since we don't know when,

But they can't make up their minds, if they want it to end."

"Look at him now, will he ever learn?

He don't know how but now he's just a cuckold,

She's a player without a soul."

"Well, it's like his nose is pierced with her ring,

Just one bonk and he forgets everything, o-o-o-oh ..."

Chorus:
Mamma Piah,
There you go again,
My my, all the tales you tell us,

Mamma Piah,
Please come back again,
My my, don't you know we've missed you

Yes, we're all chatterboxes,
Posting crap to each other,
My my, do we ever let it go

Mamma Piah, now that you've let us know
My my, we could never let you go ...!!!!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE 2, Act 1

Set rotates and morphs into a comment box ...

feminats :: gigihnya kau piah hapdet pagi buta sabtu. tapi bagus, aku sukak!

apesal kau tak citer pasal boyfie dia yg pak turut tu? yg walau berapa ramai jantan dia ada scandal tapi boyfie tu tetap setia menanti.
aBAIkan :: "seorang eksekutif syarikat minyak antarabangsa yang bawak keter BMW second-hand"??? mcm ciri2 abg ipar aku je tu.. oh tidakkk
akak tetap taste tinggi :
Choiii... tak discerning langsung la si Tattoo Kupu2 Di Tempat Empuk kalau betullah ada apa2 dengan blogger kat Timur Tengah tu.
Muka macam chief clerk JPJ pun dia sapu?: *kembang tekak*

nenen :

Tak ada ler cun sangat pompuan ni,mata pun kero sebelah.Macam dari kampong baru cina jer.

----------------------------

Act 2, Scene 2

Fernando - ABBA
"Fernando"

Do you like my bum, Fernando?

I remember long ago another starry night like this

In the firelight Fernando

You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your "guitar"

I could hear the distant drums

And sounds of bugle calls were coming from afar

Please hold me now Fernando

Every hour every minute seemed to last eternally

I was so afraid Fernando

We were young and full of life and none of us prepared to die

And I'm not ashamed to say

The roar of guns and cannons almost made me cry

There was something in the air that night
Your eyes were bright, Fernando
They were shining there from you to me
For sodomy, Fernando

Though I never thought that we'd get loose
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando

Now we're old and grey Fernando

And since many years I haven't seen a hard-on in your hand

Won't you grab my bum Fernando?

Don't you still recall the fateful night we crossed the final line?

I can see it in your eyes

How proud you were to come out of the closet in the end

There was something in the air that night

Your eyes were bright, Fernando

They were shining in the dark at me

For sodomy, Fernando

Though I never thought that we'd get loose

There's no regret

If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando

---------------------------------------------------------------------
INTERMISSION
-------------------------------------------------------------

NOTICE FROM MANAGEMENT

This musical will resume
as soon as members of the cast
can be persuaded
to return from their watering holes.

THANK YOU ....

---------------------------------------------------------

H A V E Y O U S E E N T H E M ?

The Missing Cast

Yunus Izam a.k.a. The Diva

The Chorus Line (L to R):
Kakikupendek, Tayar Banks, Courteney Cock, Joyah A, Joyah B, Joyah C, Angelina Jolok, Nicole Kick-Meng, Salmah Hayek, Yves St Limah

Thank God I'm A Man

2009-04-01T18:40:00.006+08:00

Click on pics to enlarge

"Let's go for a drink," said the man.

Yep, thank God I'm a man ... :D

A Pressie From Pussie ...

2008-12-01T14:17:00.006+08:00

... that was lovingly crafted by the whole team.

Two goals in three minutes - the first on the right boot from an offside position, the other a spinning left-footer into the left-hand corner - and we flushed The Shite right down the toilet.

We've not been doing well at all this year and Wee Willie talking through his dick made matters worse - or so it seemed.

But one very good thing came out of the whole mess.

Bad boy Cesc "The Fab" Fabregas has taken over The Armband, something most fans believe has been long overdue.

A squeaky 1-0 win over Kiev looked like a small office-party celebration for Cesc's ascension on Wednesday, while last night's win has given Gooners renewed hope that we would rediscover enough self-belief to put together a decent run at last.

We may or may not turn have turned the corner with this but what the heck ...

... it's the best birthday pressie I've got for ages.*

*Apart from meeting The Minx, of course.

:D

Ms Karma and I

2008-11-21T19:40:00.022+08:00

When I first started schooling at the Pasar Road English School (2) (it's somewhere near Pudu - pic "borrowed" from Fusion View), there was a steep slope rising beside the entrance gate that caught my imagination.

In those days Hollywood stars were real men (at least on screen) and would always emerge from spectacular crashes and explosions unscathed - except for a slightly disturbed coiffure.

And that steep slope looked exactly like the one where the hero and villain would tumble down, head over heels, in the climactic fight scene of, oh, practically every action movie that we saw.

And of course, it looked deliciously perfect for a young boy to relive those fight sequences that had pretty much stuck in his head.

Now, our Headmistress then was Miss Cheah, a statuesque Chinese lady in her 40s - you know the type* - a pretty face but with a strict demeanour.

With a modest yet elegantly dressed slim body.

All that she lacked was a scooped neckline, a whip and a pair of high boots for men to throw themselves and grovel at her feet.

Or so I felt at that time.

* A cipanesque detour : I met a lot of these Chinese spinsters in my life, most of them quite pretty which mystified me to no end ... that is until I discovered Lilytheliverbird's answer to the mystery.

The answer? Men are idiots (present company included).

Now Miss Cheah, being someone truly dedicated to her job, truly understood how young boys think. **

** Another detour : It wouldn't really surprise me if an ancient gentleman was to come up and tell me that she moonlighted in a bordello and was very popular with men who required intimate correctional services.

So she would unfailingly station herself at the porch near the slope when we were coming in; during recess when we would be at play; and when we were going home - when we would be at our worst.

So diligent was she in doing this that one day, after a couple of months, a like-minded friend and I couldn't believe our eyes when she wasn't there at the tail-end of recess.

So up we scrambled to perch at the very top and stood there daring the other to make that death-defying tumble down.

You see, it was really bloody steep and to top it off, at the bottom of the slope was a small concrete drain.

In order to not end up splattering your brains all over it, you'd have to retain enough presence of mind in the midst of a dizzying tumble to spring upright at just the right moment.

Spring up too early and you do a face-plant into the tarmac.

A fraction too late and you might just get away with a broken leg.

Being the stupider one (I was in Std 1E while the other fella was in Std 1A), I actually went for it.

And the angels were watching over me - I aced the timing and sprang triumphantly to my feet, incredibly unscathed with merely a slightly disturbed coiffure.

I whirled around in joy - only to see an ashen-faced Miss Cheah standing stock-still under the porch.

She gestured at my friend - who inched his way down ignominously on his arse - and then waited for us with folded arms.

"I don't want to scold you boys. But I don't want you to get hurt either," she said softly.

Aiyoh, die lah - I sure kena wallop by my mum when she hears of this - were the thoughts running through my head.

"So I want you boys to promise me - that you will never do this again," she finished firmly.

Our mumbled replies never sounded convincing, especially to our own ears.

"All right, go back to your classes," she said and we scrambled away.

I was her lapdog from that moment on.

--------------------------------------------------

But then Ms Karma has her ways of making me pay for that act of audacity ...

... in Std 5 ...
I missed a step at the ablution area in a mosque during Friday prayers and bashed my head into a four-pointed tap.

I bled like a stuck pig and was rushed to the hospital - but by the time the doctor saw me, the bleeding had stopped and he had a very hard time locating the tiny wound.

To be on the safe side, he swaddled a huge bandage around my head - the sight of which almost made my mother swoon when I got home.

... in Form One ...
at the Aryan Borstal for Wayward Boys, a stupid athlete friend accidentally stuck his spike shoe onto my bare foot and punctured an artery.

For the second time in my life I bled like a stuck pig, squirting blood everywhere until they got me to the hospital.

I left so many blood spatters that the sick bay's Matron's first words when she got there (well after we left) was, "Who just died here???"

At the District Hospital I consoled myself that there were distinct advantages in dying so young - but when the doctor took off the T-shirt they wrapped around my foot, the doc (again!) had a hard time locating the tiny puncture wound.

This time, since I was living in a dormitory, my mum was spared a second near-swoon, but I had to withstand the incredulous looks from my friends when I came back to the hostel.

After that dramatic (and bloody) scene, I came back with only a tiny band-aid over the now closed puncture.

... in Lower Six ...
at the Borstal still, while we were waiting for our educational fates to be determined by various parties, I broke my right wrist after a so-called friend sent me flying during a football game.

It could have been both collarbone and wrist (I landed on my right shoulder first) but it seemed Ms Karma had grown fond of me after all those years.

There was an eventful bone "realignment" session in the OR where I came out of full sedation to kick and hurl four-letter abuse at the doctor and assistants before passing out again from the pain.

Understandably I have only a hazy recollection of it.

-----------------------------------------------------

That was the last time she got physical with me, but Ms Karma merely became subtler in getting even with me.

From there on, the one thing of mine that she still kept on breaking regularly, was my heart.

------------------------------------

Since I'm leeching search hits off the HOTTEST blog in Blogistan currently, here's the NEW url for those poor souls who've missed the train as it left town ...

http://piahzadoralagi.blogspot.com/

Yeah, yeah .... I'm shameless liddat ... :p

Five Reasons ...

2008-11-11T13:54:00.005+08:00

... why I've not updated.

1. I'm currently domesticated - since we lost our maid.

2. Work

3. My kids sitting for SPM and PMR this year

4. Meroyan over the Gooners blurry form (until last Saturday that is, :D)

and last but not least ...

http://piahzadora.blogspot.com/

... oooohhh, ngeri weh .... *hiks

SALAM PERANTAU 2008

2008-09-25T13:30:00.005+08:00

"Kami, ..."

" ... William Ganas dari Kg Tok Rempit, Asnières-sur-Seine, Perancis ...."

"... Cek Fabregas Hj Soler dari Kg Bintang Terang, Barcelona, Sepanyol ..."

"... Theo bin Walcott dari Kg Compton Jawa dekat London, Ingerland ..."

"... dan Mael Almunia dari Kg Gantung Leman, Pamplona, Sepanyol ingin mengucapkan ..."

"SELAMAT HARI RAYA AIDILFITRI!!!

kepada Wak Cipan Nougat-Tenuk dan semua pembaca-pembacanya ...

MAAF ZAHIR DAN BATINNNnnnnn ...!!!"

Getting on Top of Things ...

2008-09-14T21:58:00.013+08:00

The only difficult thing for me during the fasting month, usually, has been the amount of sleep debt that I would accumulate as a matter of course.

The hectic Ramadhan routine normally sees me making do with a daily average of 4 hours sleep.

The breaking of fast at 7.15pm, Terawih prayers at 8.30pm, moreh at 10pm and a breather (usually rehydration) before bed after midnight is not so bad if it wasn't for the sahur meal at 5.00am.

Once I get up for that one, I'd never the chance to go back to bed.

It'll be washing-up, then subuh prayers, then send the kids to school, then get ready for work.

After work, it's another mad rush to the Ramadhan bazaar of your choice (plenty of them - read Leen's happy review here) to buy food.

Thank God for the weekends, otherwise I'd never survive.

Well, this year it got very much tougher.

This year our maid, despite her frequent promises throughout her seven-year employment, decided to do a runner.

Way back in late August, we let her go back for a ten-day holiday to see to her supposedly sick Mum.

It was the same old story - no calls after a week, then the neighbours' maid came over to pass the message that she's decided not to come back.

It took a while before the whole story came out into the open - she went back not to a sick Mum but to a new husband.

We were a bit puzzled about the subterfuge - after all we had told her we got no problems if she was to marry, just give us a bit of notice - until we were told that the wedding had to be held in a bit of a rush.

Apparently there was a loaf baking in the oven.

Let me state here that it's most definitely not my yeast that's making the bread rise - avang dinch taste, occay?

Needless to say, the domestic front went haywire, what with Ramadhan and all.

It wasn't too hard to rediscover long-lost skills to handle chores that we had delegated all these years - laundry, ironing, cooking, cleaning, dusting, sweeping and the washing-up.

The problem was trying to find the fricking time to do them all.

Which made me wonder how the maid found the time to do the fricking at all, actually.

The hardest part, however, was getting Haikal to adjust.

Poor Haikal had been very much attached to the now-absent maid (ever since birth).

Now he's expected to make do without her and start staying in a nursery for the first time in his life.

All of this at the age of three.

He cried his eyes out in the first 10 days.

So much so that the first thing the nursery bibik taught him was to stuff enough Kleenex in his pockets to last for the day.

We had expected that but it didn't make it any easier.

In addition to this, he fell prey to a few bouts of fever and the occasional nightmare.

What worried me most was his poor appetite. He grew thinner and had to be coaxed to take food.

We also had to constantly reassure him that yes, we will pick him up from the nursery every day - without fail.

While he looked convinced by that, disconcertingly he started following me around the house whenever I'm home - a sure sign of insecurity.

Anyway all of us persevered and eventually he managed to adjust.

He's now rediscovered his appetite and he's filling out nicely again.

He is once more the loud and happy pipsqueak that we all love.

It's been a characteristic of Ramadhan these past few years, to throw up a few lessons on the need for strength of character in facing adversity.

This year, however, those lessons were driven home into us by the fortitude of a three-year old named Haikal.

-------------------------------------------
... and on top of The Table

Bolton B*ggers ... 1
(Davies 14th)

Le Wengerboys ... 3
(Eboue 26th, Bendtner 28th, Denilson 87th)

Another match against a physical side - this time against the notoriously dirty pair of the Two Kevins.

Kevin Nolan has never been more than a bruising battler while Kevin Davies was once touted as being good enough for England by his then manager, Big Sam.

Their goal typified how this partnership works - off a Bolton corner, ball heads for Davies' head, Toure and Davies jump, Nolan holds on to Toure's arm under Davies' body, ball goes in and ref fails to see anything wrong.

Tw*ts.

I was going berserk but the lads kept their cool and patiently work their way through the challenges.

Ade hits the post, then Shittu (crap name innit?) blocks a Bendtner shot from six yards, then Song hits the post.

I was going nuts.

Then we slotted in 2 goals within a minute and I calmed down some.

Then Davies clatters into Clichy and the lad gets sent to hospital.

Tw*t.

Twas edge of the seat stuff till the 87th when Denilson slots home after a surging Theo run.

Game over.

And we go top of the table ... Wheeeeeeeeeee!!! Gayat, weh ...

Arsene Wenger puts in a strict regime for the team to follow this year -

no Teletubbies anymore on mornings of match days.

WHEELS

2008-08-25T20:10:00.020+08:00

I don't come from a well-heeled family - in fact we were firmly rooted within the working-class.

However, despite what seems to be a large financial handicap, we've always managed to have a car in the family.

It all probably started with my grandfather (me Dad's dad).

From a modest beginning as a "bottle washer" in the F&N works in Brickfields, this humble guest worker from Java managed to land what was considered a pretty plum job those days, even among the locals - no work permit required.

He became the driver for the orang putih (white man).

Twas a Morris Minor with those dinky signal lights that pop-up at the side pillars (between the front and rear doors) when you want to make a turn.

His pleasure in performing his duties must have rubbed off on my dad because even as I was born, he was already the proud owner of his own car.

It was a Ford Hillman (so I was told) and I remember vaguely that it was bluish-purple in colour.

Just like in this picture.

What I remember most about that car was that it was a two-door sedan.

My brother and I used to pretend to be asleep when we arrived home after a trip - just so that me Dad would carry us inside instead of undergoing the hassle of pushing forward the front passenger seat and all.

You see, I would always bang my shin, painfully, when getting out.

It didn't quite work out for me most of the time though.

Since I was the elder boy, my parents would shake me awake and make me walk - hobble (painfully) actually - into bed.

Then one fine Sunday, I was browsing through the morning papers (I couldn't read but I could understand the pictures just fine) and my Dad was lounging nearby.

Then I saw an advertisement. I looked at him and piped up bravely (those days one would speak to one's Dad only when spoken to) - "Why don't you buy this car, Pak?"

He slouched over to peer at it and surprised me by asking, "Why do you want this car?"

I simply said - "Because it has four doors."

Did I mention I was a focking genius at five?

Anyway whaddaya know - he actually ended up buying that car.

It was a light-blue Fiat 1100.

There's a lot of memories tied up with that car.

Picnic trips to PD, jaunts to me granny in Kg Batu Belah in Kapar, Kelang - heck, it was this car that carried me into exile at the Aryan Borstal for Wayward Boys.

Believe it or not, that car was still running in 1982 - probably an all-time record for a Fiat sold in Malaysia.

Apparently most Fiats in Malaysia die in infancy.

Thus it was with clear reluctance that my Dad sold off that Fiat.

Incredibly there was an eager buyer, a mad Chinese fella in Pudu who actually begged my Dad to sell it to him.

Right after that my brother-in-law sold my Dad his car.

It was an extremely reliable Opel Kadett

He kept this one running for another 12 years - until the inside door handles came off actually - before finally foisting it off to my eldest brother.

After that he never bothered getting another car for himself but instead drove around my sister's Mazda 323.

It took me a while to figure it out that one.

Then I realised - me Dad was really just a snob for continental cars.

-----------------------------------------------
Blackburn Bast*rds ... 0

Le Wengerboys ... 4
(der Pussie 8th, Ade 45th, 81st (pen), 90th)

The preceding week was all about young Theo's exploits at Zagreb - Croat Killer, Dream Teen and all sorts of monikers were thrown about carelessly by sports commentators who funnily enough were mostly negative for the majority of the game until Wooney scored England's third.

After which the gushing started over how the Three Pussycats have been transformed into rampant lions once more.

Anyway we were expecting another bruising battle at Ewood Park but it turned out Ince's men wanted to play the beautiful game instead.

We were up a goal in eight minutes - former bully-boys standing off as Theo went on a mazy run and teed up der Pussie superbly.

The rest of it was pretty much like a pre-season friendly and Adebayor made some headway to regain the goodwill of Gooners worldwide.

Then the Prof sent in Jack Wilshere - all of 16 years - and teased English fans already near-orgasmic over Theo's capabilities.

'I bring them out slowly, these English players,' smiled Wenger. 'He's another one who will soon play for you.'

As long as he's playing for Arsenal the rest of the time, that'll be fine with us.

Twente Questions, Part 1

2008-08-16T13:50:00.014+08:00

Controversial Captain Gallas celebrates his goal, our first in anger for the new season.

FC Twente ... 0

Le Arse ... 2
Captain Gallas 63rd; Ade "The Raise" Bayor 82nd

A game that Astro failed to show, which in hindsight was probably good judgement except that the screened Standard Liege vs Poo was a scoreless bore.

This game we won ugly ... sorry, that's not quite accurate - we won ATROCIOUSLY.

In fact we won despite FC Twente playing the sort of football normally associated with us in 06/07 sans Henry. Including the not finding the net part.

By most accounts, this game will make the doomsayers happy.

While we weren't sloppy, we were disjointed and struggled to find fluency in the centre of the pitch packed with Twente's five-man midfield.

We should have been two down in the first half but we weren't.

We should have been three down by the 60th minute - but we weren't.

Instead we went one up in the 63rd and then we pegged them back comfortably with a gorgeous second goal in the 84th.

In short we didn't have to play well to beat the Wally with the Brolly.

---------------------------------
Newsflash!!!

Arsene Talks Dirty at Interview

First he used the F-word ...!

... and then he said this ...

"This team gave me fantastic excitement last year and I want to finish the job with them,"

Cor ... that'll wet a few trousers fronts among the Pink Brigade, I bet ... :D

---------------------------------

Gooners, the 2008/9 edition

2008-08-01T12:38:00.011+08:00

Another year and another transfer window filled with Arsene Wenger keeping his cool and counsel amidst much gnashing and tearing of hair amongst the red-and-white faithful.

But there were signs that the Professor aka Godfather Arsene has heard a little bit that he thought he ought to do something about.

Funny enough though, it's the bit about how ugly the senior squad is.

So, ladies and gents ... Voila!

The Pretty Young Goons of 2008

AARON RAMSEY
("Goon ID" ... initials and shirt number ... : AR16)

First, the Welsh kid from Cardiff.

Not much in the face department but more of a Hunkyboy-next-door.

He turns 18 on Dec 26 this year.

SAMIR NASRI
(Goon ID: SN8)

This is the Algerian kid touted as the next Zidane.

The combination of impish cheekiness and dark brooding look reminds me uncannily of Robbie Fowler and Val Kilmer both.

He's 21 - young yet experienced .... probably in more than one area.

CARLOS VELA
(Goon no: CV12)

Boy wonder from Mexico who spent three seasons playing in Spain on loan for Celta Vigo, Salamanca and Osasuna.

Golden Boot winner and champions in FIFA U-17 World Cup in 2005.

Four goals in last four games for Mexico senior squad.

He's 19 this year.

His new hair makes him look a bit like Theo Walcott, innit?

Who's the pretty boy, then?

A Tale of Two Fathers

2008-07-04T19:11:00.011+08:00

A few weeks ago.

Late on a Wednesday evening.

I found myself, still in my office attire, watching over my son in the pre-surgical ward in a hospital in Shah Alam.

It had all started innocuously - I had suspected that the very vocal Mirza (seven) was just trying to skive from school in the morning.

But thankfully there was enough sense in me to take him to the doctor just to be on the safe side.

By the day's end he was being prepped for an appendectomy - and I was fretting on a hard plastic chair beside the bed.

It's always difficult trying to reassure a child when you are obviously a bundle of nerves yourself.

Yeah, yeah - I know an appendectomy is a simple procedure and that since we caught it at an early stage it should be a cinch but that's what fathers do, innit?

Reassuring everyone that everything's going to be all right while dying a slow death inside with worry over your child.

Then again there's that awful image that sticks out in my memory.

- a young grief-stricken lady weeping and moaning softly as she walked in her husband's arms. An attendant beside them slowly wheeling a hospital gurney bearing the lifeless body of their young son.

----------------------
It was also late in the evening fifteen years ago, when that scene played out at the KL Pediatric Hospital.

We were out on a stroll along the hospital corridors when we ran into the bereaved party.

It really hit home on me then, of the possible future that lurked - unseen in the wings.

My first-born asked me why the lady was crying.

He was two years old - then perched on a mobile IV-drip stand that I pushed around on slow walks when we both got restless.

On that mobile stand hung a bag of poison called Cisplatin, from which flowed a steady drip, through a needle that entered into my son's bloodstream.

It was the third of a series of week-long stays in the Pediatric Hospital - we were put up in a ward designated as KK3.

It's also known as the Cancer Ward.

-------------------------------
The nurse bustled along to our bed and told us the surgical team was ready for Mirza.

I stood up, picked up my sleeping child and we proceeded into the Operating Room.

Mirza woke up just as we arrived at the operating table and clutched at me.

"Nak buat apa ni, bah?" he asked, his fright plain for all to see.

I soothed him and the anaesthetist joined in, making a fun game with the mask and together we persuaded him to lie still and put the mask over his face.

Barely a minute later, he was under.

I gave one look back at his sleeping form as I walked out the room.

--------------------------
I was asked to leave the Operating Room as we waited for the anaesthesia to kick in.

The petite female surgeon had told me that the operation would take about 3 hours - they'll have to scrape away, delicately, the tumour that had wrapped itself around a major artery.

There was a large glass panel looking into the OR and they placed him beside it - so he could look out and see me waiting there for him.

I gave him a little wave, barely seeing him through glassy eyes.

Shaking my head slightly, I blinked them clear - and from under the blue surgical cap, his wide trusting eyes pinned my soul with a gaze full of unquestioning belief.

I watched as they slowly closed shut as he went under and then they wheeled him away.

Another waiting father down the corridor nodded his assurance at me - a kindred soul, we were brothers-in-agony.

I gave a sickly smile and turned away, unable to speak.

----------------------------------------
Lady C arrived around 9pm, with the bag of clothes - both mine and Mirza's.

He's still in the OR and we went into the waiting room, the TV screening a football match from the Euro 2008.

I nodded some people who were already in there and settled down on a sofa.

To again wait.

God knows I have enough practice by this time.

-----------------------------------------
"Abah! Sakit ...!" his first words as he came to.

His little hands clutched my shoulders frantically in pain as I turned my head and called the nurse, trying not to dislodge any of the five port-a-caths (IV ports) embedded around his tiny body.

The nurse told me there's no anaesthesia prescribed for post-surgical care.

A short sharp conversation ensued as I politely informed her that the surgeon had personally told me otherwise.

She went off in a huff and returned in a little while to roughly jab a hypodermic into my son.

He collapsed in blissful oblivion.

For five whole seconds, I seriously considered throttling the nurse to death right there beside my son's cot.

The madness passed and I recited a prayer of thanks instead.

Half an hour later she came over with a smile and tried to get back into my good graces.

Divine intervention, I guessed.

-------------------------------------
"Abah, abah!" his little voice jerked me from my slumber.

It was just after dawn - eight hours after the appendectomy after which I had carried him up two floors to our room.

Feelings of dread roiled within me as I sprang to his side to find out what was wrong.

"Mintak remote TV," he beamed innocently.

It was an early but sweet Father's Day gift.

------------------------------------
Dinner at my mum's.

My father in his white Pagoda T-shirt, looking tired but somehow jovial as he showed that his appetite was intact.

He asked about my first-born and we spoke together about the next appointment and how well he was doing.

He had come over regularly to see us during the chemotherapy sessions and to chat.

The doctors had told us it was a total remission - my son will see adulthood, God willing.

My son's hair, felled by the chemotherapy courses, had fully restored over the past year and he had regained his weight.

We had won, despite the odds.

Yet the tinge of sadness refused to move away from the dinner table.

"I've closed all my accounts," he said in that quiet yet jovial manner he had.

I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Everything. I've taken all my money out and given them to your mother," he gave a snort of laughter.

"So now your mother can kick me out if she wants to," he smiled widely at his own joke.

I gave him one of my sickly smiles and kept my eyes on the food.

Six months later I was tossing clumps of earth into his final resting place, silently weeping behind dark glasses.

The doctors had given him two months but the tenacity that was his hallmark (centreback for Selangor, HMS Malaya Cup squad) came to the fore for one last final battle.

But there was no denying that tumour in his brain.

He passed on two weeks after my third son was born - in the third week of June.

A good man. A great father.

God bless you, Pak.

And a Happy Father's Day, too.

------------------------------------

Saving Your Energy

2008-06-05T12:33:00.009+08:00

Twas a dark and stormy night.

In the drenched byways of KL, mamak joints lay deserted -

Floppy roti canai lie cold and neglected in metal basins while day-old dhal curry congealed under the flickering fluorescent lights.

Troubled Indian waiters mill about uneasily in the uncommon quiet, peering around vainly for a glimpse of their regular patrons.

It was too quiet - even for a rainy evening of a working day.

The missing patrons though, were locked in mortal struggle.

Pinned within their metal chariots, crazed corporate warriors were vying with blue-collar studs while grungy pasar malam traders pressed against maniac taxi drivers as they converge and battled on roads as clogged as the DBKL monsoon drains have been all year.

Lips tightly set in cruel grimace, clenched knuckles hidden in shadows, ulcers and migraines throbbing under sweaty brows - all eyes remained locked on their prize.

Which lie glittering under garish bright lights - cool and distant despite being inundated by the frantic swarm.

It was a wild frantic demonstration of mass knee-jerk reaction to the government's announcement.

Petrol up 41%.

Diesel up 63%.

And what looked like the whole driving population of the city took to the pumps last night.

I mean, really ...

... exactly how much can one hope to save with this last-minute madness?

My car was still half-full.

A quick calculation told me exactly how much I would save if I were to join in the unholy scrum.

Yeah, a princely sum of RM16.70

--------------------------------

So instead I had a great time at dinner, talking and bargaining with the lovely Minx over a used handphone.

And that's how instead of saving RM16.70 last night, I stole away with something definitely better.

A barely-used Nokia 6300 that, like its previous owner, is simply gorgeous.

Let the Sunshine In ... the Bag Tag

2008-05-22T19:30:00.004+08:00

Dang ...

Can't you guys let a sleeping cipan lie?

... and me right in the middle of a wet dream ... sheesh!

And Babe, you can put that lastik (slingshot) away ... my teloq (nuts) are well-padded and thanks to your interrupting, still fully charged as yet.

Bummer ...

And wot's this now ...?

Oh ... I'm supposed to tell the whole world what I carry in my wallet ... eh?

Look, Lillums - men carry around just a dinky leather thingy called a wallet.
(Well in them old days they did carry around leather thingies called codpieces but that's another story.)

Which, unlike my teloq, doesn't carry much of a potent load.
(Some of those codpieces were REALLY loaded, though ... )

We use other things to carry our stuff around - like pockets.

Or carry-alls.

Or cars.

But since I already owe you one tag, I guess I ought to oblige this time.

So - in the interests of social studies, here's what an articulate cipan carry around on his person.

Left pants pocket -
a really basic Nokia 2610 handphone
(After losing one and damaging four, I've given up owning the more expensive models. In any case I only need this to call and for text messages.)

Right pants pocket -
a Korean (I think) "Giorgio Ferri" key-wallet
(containing the car remote, the car keys, car pedal lock key, office key, bedroom key - in case Lady C tries to lock me out).

Left pants back pocket -
nothing
(it's always left empty for females to slip their hand in - and I frequently go commando, 'kay?)

Right back pants pocket -
unbranded wallet
(it's a corporate gift with corporate logo - very hardy, made in Finland)

Wallet -
Credit cards - Citibank, CIMB
ATM cards - Maybank, CIMB

Loyalty cards - Bonuslink, Body Shop, Coffee Bean, Tesco (My boys eat so much that I'm almost a shareholder, lol), Domino's Pizza (buy one, get one free card - most frequently abused during fasting month)

Other cards - office panel clinics card, ING medical insurance ID card, AAM member card (just renewed, meh), AAM Breakdown centres phone info card (I have a phobia about breakdowns, having had two unpleasant experiences) and a Bowling membership card (expired ...)

Other debris - driving license (expires July 2008), MyKad, two old 1-ringgit notes, two stray name cards, the spare car key.

-----------------------
Next, my carry-all - a black fake Slazenger satchel ...

... this carries ...

A book (currently Gore Vidal's Hollywood)

2 thumb-drives
1 Nokia hands-free kit

I use this satchel to carry homework, so it's empty most of the time. Heh!

-----------------
Now, my other carry-all (actually my gym bag) is a KL '98 Commonwealth Games commemorative Pro-Specs duffel bag.
Damn - it's 10 years old now and is still in good condition. Hmmm maybe Ebay ... but it's effing ugly ...

... now this contains ...

One pair Kronos futsal boots
A pair of Byford boxers
A pair of dark blue knee-length shorts
One sleeveless John Langford black workout cotton vest
Socks I keep in a spare drawer in my room ...

One Bozaki bag for toiletries containing,
one Dashing underarm deodorant,
two bottles Body Shop patchouli perfume oil,
one tube Hero hair cream,
two toothbrushes,
one Head & Shoulders shampoo,
one Protex shower gel,
two Playsafe,
one Durex,

... and a partridge in a pear tree ...

Now, can I get back to sleep?

I think I still remember where I was before I woke up ...

True Love Means ...

2008-04-11T18:19:00.006+08:00

Salford Scum ... 2 (Cronnie 52nd pen, Hargreaves 72nd)

Gooners ... 1 (Ade 48th Hand of God)

That's the Implosion completed - starting from Eduardo's horrific injury and last minute penalty that seemed to kick off a stream of dubious refereeing decisions that slapped our faces and kept the implosion going until this inevitable end at the home of the auld enemy, Old Trafford.

In a perverse way, I'm rather glad Ade's goal didn't win the match - I'd rather we lose than win a game with a goal like that.

Still, thanks lads - for a roller-coaster of a season and for over-performing even against unreasonable odds.

Twas not to be a trophy-winning season, but it was certainly wank-worthy, innit?

Bless you and here's to next season.

*click the play button to load and listen while you read

Love hurts, love scars,
Love wounds, it marks,
Any heart, not tough,
Or strong, enough
To take a lot of pain,
Take a lot of pain
Love is like a cloud
Holds a lot of rain
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts

I'm young, I know,
But even so
I know a thing, or two
I learned, from you
I really learned a lot,
Really learned a lot
Love is like a flame
It burns you when it's hot
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts

Some fools think of happiness

Blissfulness, togetherness

Some fools fool themselves I guess

They're not fooling me ...

I know it isn't true,
I know it isn't true
Love is just a lie,
Made to make you blue

Love hurts, ooh,ooh love hurts
Ooh,ooh love hurts

----------------------------------

But damn if I don't still love you guys.

Gooners Forever!

One Last Great Charge

2008-04-07T16:29:00.011+08:00

*sigh ... lately I can't help but see this mental picture every time the ref blows the final whistle at the end of an Arsenal game.

Like the proverbial Big Bad Wolf, we'd huff and puff and, blimey if we didn't bring the house down - usually with some nifty and fleet footwork - by sticking it in whenever we could.

But not lately, innit?

And so, while we still have a bit left to try salvage the season, it's a no-brainer that we'd have to choose between the EPL and the CL.

The EPL has just 4 games to go - but we've 6 pts to make up.

The CL has also 4 games to go - but we're in with a decent shout.

So come ON, Gooners! Once more into the, *cough breach!

So let that beast out.

Get stuck into THIS already ...!!!

*this is an old school visualisation technique ... really.

12 Days of Destiny

2008-04-02T13:30:00.010+08:00

------------------------------------------------

"Going into March and April, if you've done well in the season up to then it's the moment of truth. You work the whole year for that. This will be the highest challenge for me in my career. The next 12 days will define our season ..."

-------------------------------------------------

... and here's hoping for a really magical march into May.

Confessions of a straight man

2008-03-31T01:18:00.008+08:00

What is most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine.
Susan Sontag, Against Interpretation, 1966
US author & critic (1933 - 2004)

Knowing that I had graduated from the Aryan Borstal for Brilliantly Wayward Boys, the Minx once threw me a loop.

She asked, "Have you ever had any gay experiences?"

Interesting question.

In my days, it was usual for boys over there to holler and chase a schoolmate in order to gleefully grope a pair of over-sized pectorals.

Or give catcalls and wolf whistles at the jambus* parading below while hanging out at the corridor balconies of the dorms.

*jambu = a young junior boy who happens to be pretty. A jambu ceases being one when he becomes a senior (Fifth Former).

These are pretty much the usual boyish hi-jinks and don't really mean a thing.

But there was something that stood out - it goes like this ...

One day, at the tender age of 16, in the Borstal grounds, I was walking with a friend when a wolf whistle trilled from the balcony above.

I looked up and a geeky senior gave a big smile and said, "Haaaiiii ..." in that typical itch-ified male tone.

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted.

I mean I was an athlete at school. I played rugby and football, got into fights, smoked and generally all-round bad example to young children.

In short, I was the typical Aryan Malay kutu. (*translation - a Malay yob)

And this bookworm geek, with coke-bottle glasses so thick that he could hardly see through them, was saying that he finds me hawt?

I thought it must be some sort of mix-up (he was short-sighted, after all) but no.

By the next week, it was all over the school - Geeky had the hots for me.

That wasn't all - he took to playing sepaktakraw in the courts in front of my dorm every evening.

My mates found out from the seniors that he was trying to attract my attention - that sent them rolling on the dorm floor laughing like the insensitive pigs that they were.

So picture this - there was this geek, togged up with headband and all, looking really gawky while trying to do those heroic takraw acrobatics and everything on the court.

All that - just to impress me.

It was awesome.

Really.

The matter died out soon after, though.

Probably someone who knew me well told him that I'm liable to kick in his nuts if he tried taking it any further.

So I never did find out what it was like to actually have a boyfriend.

So there you have it - I've never had any gay experience.

But I know how it feels like - to be wanted by a man.

Even if he can't really see very well.

An Update

2008-03-26T12:36:00.008+08:00

*Y-A-A-A-A-W-N ...*

Uh ... hullo, peeps.

Nice to be alive again.

Sorry to be away for so long but then it's been a very intense month for me. Right up to the elections.

Then it was catching up with everything that was KIV-ed because of the elections; that took another ten days to clear.

It was so bad that the kids were temporarily adopted by Lady C's sister over the school holidays.

And it was so tiring that the first 48 hours of the four-day weekend I wangled at the end of it was pure flake-out.

But now I'm back and hope to have something wonderfully indecent posted up here soon. :D

In the meantime, here's something I found recently.

An anti-kepam kit ... lol.

2008-03-11T13:17:00.008+08:00

3,064 votes nothing to sneeze at

From the TIMEly correspondent

Kapar : It is not the PWTC, the plush venue where members of the ruling party loll in comfort while viewing election results, but it was no less, er, plush at the HAWT-ktv in the depths of Kapar, Kelang.

This "entertainment" centre, little-known outside a discreet circle of regulars, had for the past fortnight been converted into an elections operations centre - to the immense glee of its employees.

Ms Puta Madre, the expatriate South American manager said, "I've never seen the girls so excited about work before. The Pundak people are pretty much a vibrant bunch."

Asked to elaborate, she coyly replied, "Well, faced with mounting challenges, they never seem to deflate." Obviously meaning every innuendo.

On Saturday night, while the whole nation rocked to the sweeping tide that knocked off stalwarts like Toll-booth Samy, HAWT-ktv partied all night long as local hero YB Wak Cipan racked up the highest number of votes ever in the (short) history of the party.

TIMEly has an exclusive interview:

TIMEly: To what do you attribute this success?

"Oh of course everyone worked hard and I had solid support from my family including my relatives - all 3,063 of them."

TIMEly: That was all family?

"Hey, it's not easy to control your family, innit? Look at the Big Fella - he can control or not his family? I had to use all the perayus at hand.

You know we had to order extra lube - er, I mean lotion! Yes, lotion. And also extra protection."

TIMEly: From the sun?

"Yes, yes - and also the daughters and mothers and aunties, of course. Protection for everyone. Play safe, we always say ... YB Tigershow was very efficient in this aspect (referrring to the Pundak candidate in Bukit Bintang)."

TIMEly: Oh, uh, never mind. What about these rumours about you replacing Pundak president YB Pazuzu?

"No, no, no such thing lah. Why should I? My father, God bless his soul, always told me that the highest position in any structure is the lightning-rod. I don't like kena lightning woh."

TIMEly: Fair enough - we're very much impressed with your performance, elections-wise, how do you do it?

"Oh well, that ah ...? I had this friend who introduced this special coffee, you see ... it's called Kopi Kucing Galak (trans. "Frisky Cat Coffee") ... yeah, all the way from Terengganu - works just like that - oh, you mean the elections ... well, I think the campaign song had a positive impact ..."

TIMEly: Campaign song?

"Yeah ... it's pretty catchy ... Undi Lah Cipan, Undi Lah Cipan ..."

TIMEly: Oh, Bob Marley?

"Yeah, yeah ... Bob Marley is always popular here. In fact I think we'd done better if we had a different campaign song for the whole party - that Kathrika anthem was pretty good but I personally think we would have done better if we had adopted the Menuju Pundak song."

TIMEly: Oh ... how does that go?

"Menuju PUNDAK, Gemilang cahaya
Mengukir cita seindah rasa
Menuju PUNDAK, impian di hati
Bersama janji kawan sejati
Pasti berjaya di Malaysia Fantastik ...o ...yeaaah ...

Thank you, thank you ..."

TIMEly: Oh, that's the AF song ...

"See? Even you would have loved it. But our local anthem did the job for us here - some guys were saying that we would have done better if it wasn't for some dirty tricks from our rivals but I don't -."

TIMEly: Dirty tricks?

"Well, ya lor - nearly at the last minute there was this whispering campaign designed to woo the women voters to the ruling party."

TIMEly: How did that go?

"Barang Naik, Isteri Sayang ... but I'm happy to say it didn't really take off here in Kapar"

TIMEly: How come?

"It just doesn't have the same effect when an elderly woman candidate whispers that in your ear, innit? Even the men will probably pucat (trans. - "blanch") "

TIMEly: What about from the opposition parties?

"Same also, dirty b*ggers. There's the gaji cukup bulan, raya tengok bulan, undi pangkah bulan campaign, that was tougher to counter."

TIMEly: So what did you do?

"We came up with Datang Bulan, Mana Boleh Pangkah - it wasn't the best but it did work."

TIMEly: Thank you, YB for such insights.

"No problem - you want short-time, ah? Mummy Puta ... tiga-minit satu!!!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Kenapa anda patut undi Wak Cipan,

2008-02-29T18:36:00.010+08:00

Jika anda seorang pengundi dikawasan Parlimen P109 Kapar ...

Jika anda masih belum pasti siapa calon yang anda mahu ...

Maka sebelum anda membuat keputusan ....

Anda bacalah pantun empat rangkap ini ...

Perdana Menteri Malaysia memakai songkok ....

Tuan Guru Nik Aziz pula memakai serban,

Wakil terbaik mestilah local boy, iye kok?

Yang pakai blangkon* hanyalah Wak Cipan.

*blangkon = topi Jawa

UNDI LAH WAK CIPAN
Pemangkin Perpaduan Bersama

Iklan ini ditaja oleh Persatuan Perokok Gentel dan Gulong Selangor

Perjuangan Kita Bermula!!!

2008-02-25T15:04:00.012+08:00

(Mengikut irama No Woman, No Cry ciptaan Sdr Bob Marley)

No tempe, he'll cry,
No tempe, she'll cry,
No tempe, they'll cry,
No tempe, we'll cry!!!

Kau perlu tau, janji-janji ku
Pabila Pundak menang nanti
Kara -, kara-oke setiap malam
Di subsidi kerajaan.

Perayu comel, oh perayu kekar
Turut serta
Kita boleh ubah, masa depan kita
Beri kami undi anda ...

Undilah, Cipan
Undilah, Cipan
Undilah, Cipan
Undilah, Cipan

Persatuan Rasta SeMalaysia (PERAS), parti komponen PUNDAK,
mengiringi Wak Cipan (berkot tanpa cermin gelap) pada Hari Penamaan Calon.

Bila menang, kita berpesta!
Bila menang, kita berpesta!
Bila menang, kita berpesta!
Bila menang, kita berpesta!
Bila menang, kita berpesta!
Bila menang, kita berpesta!

Undilah, Cipan
Undilah, Cipan
Undilah, Cipan
Undi Lah Cipan!

A FOCKING BASTARD

2008-02-24T02:48:00.017+08:00

Football has been, and will continue to be, a significant part of my life.

My late dad was the inspiration to all of us in the family.

All of us boys played the game - all at various positions and me at right back (or wing-back, fullback? God knows what they call it nowadays).

But none of us ever reached the heights that our Dad did.

Me Dad played at centreback - and he was good enough to have played for Selangor in the days of the HMS Malaya Cup.

He even got a winners medal and made that position a somewhat hallowed one for us.

It therefore pains me to see someone, especially a so-called professional, who plays in this position commit an act that even Vinnie Jones would have thought twice about.

Especially when such an act, despite the protestations of this player's manager, was aimed at hurting an opponent.

This bastard, whose name I will not let sully this blog of mine, is the Birmingham City centre-back.

And a twat named Steve Bruce says this doesn't even warrant a yellow card.

And last night he made a studs-up challenge on Eduardo da Silva in the 3rd minute of the game.

The challenge trapped Eduardo's shin against the ground and proceeded to snap our Crozillian's tibia and fibula.

In short he broke both the bones in Eduardo's leg.

And pictures showed a bone shard poking through the flesh and stocking of the player.

Cesc Fabregas, who was closest to the scene, was almost moved to tears while other hardened professionals struggled not to vomit at the sight of his twisted limb.

It took more than eight minutes to treat him on the pitch before they moved him to the hospital.

Ambulance men were reportedly ashen-faced after treating him.

And Sky TV refused to show replays of the incident - deeming it too horrific.

Eduardo will not only miss playing for Croatia in the European Championship, but it is also possible that he will never play professionally again.

Here's what the bastard looks like.

Already his manager, Alex MacLeish, is protesting that he's "not kind of person".

But then, that's what some people would always say when someone's unmasked as a serial killer.

I don't want to kill this bastard, or cause him bodily harm.

But just like Arsene, I just don't want to see him on a football pitch again.

Ever.

Focking Bastard.

The Focking Bastard was actually grinning ...

http://youtube.com/watch?v=5bVmG92ykl0

--------------------------------------------------
Update:

Eduardo's wife is quoted as saying that only the fibula (outer bone) was snapped and the tibia is still intact. She also said there were no complications, so I'm hoping that's all true.

The Focking Bastard is still a focking bastard anyhow.
---------------------------------------------------

Angry football fans (especially Gooners) - go and sign this. It'll make you feel better.

The Ban Martin Taylor For Life Petition

Tempe, Tapai and Teh Tarik

2008-02-17T22:18:00.018+08:00

To the tune of Cliff Richard's "Bachelor Boy"

When he was young, his Appa said
Sam, I have something to say

And what Appa told him, he'll never forget
Until his dying day.

Appa said Sam, you go and toll them all,
And make sure Kit Siang also pay.

Sam, you keep tolling them all
Until your dying day

When she was young, her Ayah said,
Pid, I have something to say,

And what Ayah told her, she'll never forget,
Until her dying day.

Ayah said, Pid you give the APs to us all,
And let every one else pay,

Pid, you keep those APs for us all,
Until your dying day.

When I was a boy, my Daddy said,
Cipan, I got something to say,

And what Daddy said, I'll never forget,
Until my dying day.

He said, Cipan you must always stand tall,
And stand you must all the way,

Son, you must keep standing for all,
Whenever they let you play.

Saya sudah membakar semua jambatan saya.

Saya sudah melempar kebawah sarung tangan saya.

So now, I am now going downfield ... turun padang la ...

Tempe, Tapai & Teh Tarik, anyone?

Wak? Orak mampir, wak? Wes mangan kok?

Undilah WAK CIPAN NOUGAT-TENUK (P109 Kapar).
Calun yang memahami anda dari tempe goreng hinggalah ke tapai ubi.

A Sorry Piece of Doggerel

2008-02-15T19:50:00.012+08:00

For my munchkins*, the full poem.

Also for those who want to have a good cry (or who really, really need to throw up), knock yourselves out.

Sanctuary

Would you rather not bask, in warm compassion
Than be consumed by a burning passion?

The deepest scars are by the brightest of flames
Searing the soul, making you never the same.

Where else would it hide, your battered heart
Behind your eyes, with a jealous guard.

Abide with me, here's maybe a sanctuary
Tarry a while, and tell me your story.

If sorry tales are not really your cup of tea
We'll make merry, and banish sorrow in entirety.

Ever, always there will be
Words unsaid
Deeds undone
Or love gone awry

That's just life
As it's always meant to be.

---------------------------------------------
*Okay, in order not to break hearts (and the attendant crockery), here's the full list.

The Munchkins (in alphabetical order):
Gemma
Leen
Lily
Lumri
Manal
Snots
TTG
Waffles
YngLynn

Pugly and Babe are now lambchops.

Why?

That's because they are now other men's poison.
"Kau lah racun, kau lah penawar ... " etc ad nauseaum.
Trans: ("You are the poison, you are the antidote ...")

So since they're currently other men's poison, they're now THIS man's meat ... lol.

An appeal to the senses

2008-02-13T00:31:00.002+08:00

She's a true-blue princess ...

... and you are a genuine knight in, well, fairly shiny armour.

She's trapped in a castle guarded by a fierce dragon (okaaay, it's just her mom but moms are still fire-breathers, innit?).

And in the time-honoured manner, you're just itching to slay the dragon and rescue her.

All this despite your best mates telling you that, hey, Bertha the barmaid is probably just as maidenly as your princess.

After all, one do hear things about those upper-class parties, y'know.

And there's nary a dragon in the landscape where buxom damsels cavort.

But nay, you're going for the pot at the end of the rainbow - after all, if you marry a princess, you'll get to be a king, innit?

Wrong.

You'll be a Queen's consort.

And your career as a knight in, well, fairly shiny armour would be over.

In fact your armour will stay in the box in the storeroom and you'll be in suit and ties.

And your charger put to stud duties.

Instead of swordsmanship, you'd be schooled in the virtues of shampoos, facial scrubs and 24-hour BO protection.

No more gallivanting around the lands, serenading/wooing/rescuing damsels in distress and claiming favours.

Instead you'll be expected to be home for dinner every night.

But hey, it's not too bad living in a castle, innit?

Standing at a high balcony on a high tower and looking over the countryside shining in golden moonlight, champagne in a bucket.

And opera glasses to help to you see just that bit further.

And if you are lucky, maybe you might just spot your best mate with Bertha the barmaid among the haystacks.

-------------------------------------

To my munchkins;

Would you rather not bask, in warm compassion,
Than be consumed by a burning passion?

The deepest scars are by the brightest of flames,
Searing the soul, making you never the same.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

-------------------------------------------------

I have made fellowships -
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

Wilfred Owen, Apologia Pro Poemate Meo

Anthems in the Key of Life 1

2008-02-05T11:49:00.002+08:00

THE PINK ANTHEM

(To the tune of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall")

Pink Ladies:

We don't buy our lubrication,

We don't need no birth control,

No fake orgasm in our bedrooms,

Mister, we don't need your bone.

Hey! Mister! We don't need your bone!

All in all you're just,

Another prick with no balls,

All in all you're just,

Another prick with no balls.

Pink Guys:

We don't have no constipation,

Give and take is our credo,

No hanging panties in our bathrooms,

Missy, leave our buns alone.

Hey! Missy! Leave our buns alone!

All in all you're just,

Another bitch we won't ball.

All in all you're just,

Another bitch we won't ball.

----------------------------------------
Photo credits:
"Pink Ladies" Bob Follett (http://www.apersonalsite.com/index.html) - cool site!
"Pink Guys" AP Photo

A Brief History of an Underground Market

2008-01-28T18:03:00.001+08:00

Updated with a footnote
------------------------------
A long, long time ago ... far, far beneath the general public's notice ...

... in fact it was probably in the dark shadows of a cave cunningly hidden from predators and other nasty things ...

... a revolutionary recreational toy was produced.

Catering to a shadowy, *cough, niche market, it's probably er, fitting, that this very first model was made in Germany.

Made of polished siltstone and measuring 9 inches in length, it was discovered in Hohle Fels last year.

It was clear evidence that the Teutonic tribes are always at the forefront of, er, innovative technology and, *cough, applying it to the masses.

That first German model quietly caught the imagination (and fantasies) of their users.

Soon word, and probably a sample model, made their way eastwards towards the Mediterranean.

The Roman Empire, proud contributors to world civilisation, was always determined to leave their mark in every aspect.

Once it came their way, the Italians, nowadays renowned for their Bugattis, Ferraris and Lamborghinis, didn't want to trail too far behind the Germans.

Not wanting to be caught short, the Italians took the concept and extended it with this robust, er ... 2-seater model.

The Asian, er, entry into the market was belated but landed with a spectacular splash.

This beautiful, and, genuine Ming Dynasty artifact, is highly decorated and can be described as a baroque art object.

Showcasing the refined senses of the Oriental mind, the ornate model with delicate filigreed borders successfully integrated design, functionality with sensuous tactile superiority.

It's actually carved out of a SINGLE piece of jade.

Said to be even stronger than steel, wear and tear was never a problem for this jade beauty ... at least not on the jade side, I mean.

The Hohle siltstone and the Roman rock, er ... wilts in the face of this challenge but these crafty Mings went even further to stamp their superior engineering.

Exhibiting a futuristic vision that is simply breathtaking, they sculpted this beauty out of BLACK jade.

How much more cool can you get, huh?

It's purely speculation but it is entirely possible that the whole "black=stud" thing was already making its rounds those pioneering days.

Then, intent on making their mark in global trends, the Koreans entered the fray with the solid teamwork approach.

Fleshing out their "Unity is strength" philosophy, they produced entire sets instead of individual pieces.

Their products were probably the first ones that, er ... came with a manual.

Following the local competition, the Chinese Dragons consolidated their grip on the high-end market by bringing in exotic artists and even more exotic materials.

This particular model is Japanese-inspired and is made from genuine African ivory.

Finding themselves being edged out of the marketplace by superior Eastern workmanship (and cheaper prices), the West bided their time and kept themselves afloat by er, filling the void that was the accessories market.

Far from being hung up to dry and blessed by overpowering bleating power, their sheep-derived accessories hit the market with bold and exciting designs.

Organic and recyclable (wash, dry and powder after use), this kept the West afloat until they made their comeback in modern times.

The market was disrupted by numerous wars involving large areas of the globe which made supply a big problem.

This went on for so long that by the time things settled down, there were only a very small number of specialised manufacturers catering for very select clients.

Medical practitioners got into the act, with the help of Kelsey Stinner in 1880 who introduced electrical powered models into the market.

In no time at all, the market was, *cough, wide open again.

Though the number of users were increasing, the market remain secretive - so much so that truly innovative products were hawked openly on an unsuspecting national media.

It was a time when naive husbands were frequently puzzled on how their household budgets proved inadequate time upon time, little suspecting the siphoning of funds for underground purchases by their demure spouses.

Of course later, when men were sufficiently enlightened by various underground media, and when the underground media started to ooze upwards into respectability, proper R&D came into the picture.

Women world-wide celebrated the Space Age when hi-tech space research and materials became available.

Models made from exotic metals like titanium for durability and came in exotic designs shaped by the latest medical know-how.

And at the time this is written, the seamless merging of the silicon chip, the pervasive influence of music and the Internet as the marketplace, is exemplified by the following product.

* It goes where no man, or very few at least, have gone before.

* It plays to the tunes that you've stored on your iPod

* It's water-proof!!!

Behold, gentle readers ... the ultimate birthday gift.

The OhMiBod -type G*

*batteries not included

-----------------------------------------------------

Since the looks of the Type G (oHM)iBod has raised concerns among sensitive readers ...

... here's the Type R*.

*strictly Plug-n-Play

Sene, a time-warp and a serene morning

2008-01-25T18:15:00.001+08:00

A winged ant, ensnared in a drop of icy water, struggled to free itself beside the cold enamel sink.

The chilly air gave me a glimpse of its suffering, so I lifted a finger to help.

Gratefully grasping the digit offered, it then hauled itself free.

It took a whole minute to compose itself, and then promptly took off and disappeared out of the window.

Before you start wondering if you've got the right blog, let me tell you that it's fairly easy to slip into a quiet Zen-like contemplation when you're in Cameron Highlands.

Especially when you're up early, as I was on a chilly and drizzly December morning.

The cold seemed to cling to every part of me, the sensation akin to moonwalking through viscous air.

Twas enough to evoke a sense of deja vu, the morning chill reminiscent of my old digs in Islington.

The classic two-bar heater glowing red on the living room carpet, where three junior Cipans tucked tightly under heavy blankets, did little to dispel the strong whiff of my past that swarmed into my head.

So much so that I half-expected the incongruous stink of curry powder as I headed into the dark kitchen.

With housemates like Sene, a 50-year old (then) civil servant from Colombo (and a horde of nut-cases passing themselves off as Malaysian law students at Holborn Law Tutors), curried dinners were simply on the menu EVERY bloody day at 11 Almeida Street.

There was this nice girl whom I invited over once - she mentioned that she'll never forget her truly exotic oriental experience.

I assumed she meant the heavily-spiced ambience and told off Sene and gang about it.

To which Sene promptly retorted that it helps mask the odour of lust that my room exudes every time I had a girl over.

Which were extremely rare occasions, I assure you ... *cough.

But Sene was a good sort, and a lot of fun - especially when you consider that he was born in the late thirties.

He took great pleasure in egging me on during bird-pulling expeditions (we usually crash the HLT student parties - law students = happy mouths, geddit?).

He really enjoyed it when I made a pass at a gorgeous older woman and we were really hitting it off before a frantic (nut-case) housemate pulled me aside and told that she's the vice-principal or something.

I've been wondering if I should have taken up law ever since.

Well, Sene was like a favourite uncle. He'd always remind me to enjoy myself while I was still young; and not to worry when things seemed to go wrong.

I thought about that old man as I brewed my tea and for an instant I wondered whether he was still around.

Then I realised that I didn't really want to find out and would prefer to remember him as he was in those pretty happy days.

Especially when I think about the troubles that his homeland has going through the past decade.

Like all good ghosts of my past, Sene slipped from mind as I moved on to the balcony, sipping hot tea while inspecting the view - still in my sleeping shorts and t-shirt.

But the feeling of being in a time-warp was still present.

That, and the comfort of a mug of hot Cameronian in hand, elevated my senses to an ethereal high.

I didn't really feel the cold.

Heck, I didn't even notice my morning wood.

Apparently a Zen mind-frame does detach one from fleshly realities.

Everyone else was still fast asleep, huddled under the blankets to ward off the unaccustomed cold.

As the sky lit up the far hills, the clock hands crept closer to half-past seven in the morning.

I had some fun watching the Strawberry Park staff scurry from their cars in an anxious hurry to punch their cards.

It was drizzling lightly - the sort that shows up clearly under the lights but so fine that you can hardly feel it, until you run a hand over your face and find it all wet.

Over in the hazy distance, Tanah Rata and Brinchang was slowly waking up.

It was all very serene.

For more than an hour in that dark, wet and chilly dawn, I was truly alone - and in perfect harmony with the universe.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Junior Cipans enjoying a cacti farm in Brinchang.

Wintering in Deepest Ganu

2007-12-06T18:20:00.001+08:00

Cleaned up and then updated for footie
----------------------------------------

This is going to be a long post.

After all, I haven't updated in a long while and it's only fair that I let you know wot I've been up to, innit?

I've been away actually. Work, with a bit of play.

It was a lot of fun but didn't leave me much time for blogging.

The scenery on the way to work was a welcome change though.

You can find paddy fields within 10km of KT town centre - this one is a bit further off, though.

The view from my hotel room wasn't too bad either.

The hotel was built smack in the middle of what used to be a fishing village (bottom of pic) near Ladang .

That's a breakwater being built that you see stretching across the sea - it's designed to protect the river-mouth which was being eroded steadily by the annual monsoon waves.

All part of a plan to encourage yachtsmen and other recreational sailors to make Ganu one of their regular stops.

KT really needs more hotel rooms if they want this to succeed.

The Monsoon Cup coupled with the school holidays played havoc with hotel bookings.

One of my project teams ended up at a homestay inn because the hotel was fully booked.

Fortunately we found them a good one near the beach. There was even a gorgeous local receptionist, lucky bastards.

I didn't spend too much time on the Monsoon Cup - I spent my free time walking the streets for photo ops such as these ...

I used to be an avid 35mm enthusiast but dropped it as a hobby some years back - so having this go with the digital tech made me feel like a boy again.

The pic is of the exterior decor on an old shophouse in Kampong China in KT.

I guess it's a pre-war building and I simply love the attention to detail that the owners gave to the colour work.

It's a bit over the top but somehow it's pleasing to the eye.

The closing of the Monsoon Cup was a grand one, I suppose.

I only saw it from my room window.

At that time I was also having fireworks of some sort at the workplace.

A burst water hose flooded a live control cabinet and had me making a 2.30am drive over 40km of continuous rural roadworks.

Social activities in deepest Ganu can be pretty outlandish.

On the night of Deepavali eve, I watched some of the guys set out their nets - not for fish but trapping migratory birds.

They caught more than a hundred birds and they all ended up in the cooking pot. They offered to bring me some but somehow I wasn't up for it, really.

I mean I eat birds, just not that sort. :P

With the coming of the long-anticipated rains, these activities were understandably curtailed and what's left mainly centred around food - cold weather invariably makes you hungry, innit?

The gastronomic highlight of my stay was not the customary nasi dagang but rather the Restoran Ikan Baung at Kuala Berang.

Here they serve the freshwater baung fish cooked in the old-fashioned pindang style at RM25 per kilo.

It has a distinct and subtle taste - those who thrive on a heavily flavoured or spiced diet would probably find it difficult to appreciate.

But I'm also told of people who are hooked on it taking flights to Ganu just to alleviate the cravings.

Also at the same price is the sebarau fish - simply served fried to preserve the finely textured flesh.

Top of the range would be the kelah. I'm told that the large scales of this fish are not only edible but deliciously crunchy as well.

Priced at RM80 per kg, I've yet the opportunity to try it out as it was unavailable on the occasions that I went there.

The range of ulam there is fairly unique.

The long jagged greens you see on the left is what the locals call gedebe lembu (literally rogue cattle).

It has a fresh clear taste with a pleasant mango-like tinge - very impressive.

The end of this Ganu stint came right after the floods in Pahang and Johor.

I made it out of there a couple of days after the East Coast Highway was reopened.

The rains made the landscape a bit surrealistic - always welcome amidst the tedium of the long drive.

-----------------------------
Click on the pics if size is your thing ... :P

-----------------------------
Record-Keeping here ...

Wengerboys ... 2
(Ade 48th, Bendtner 78th)

Lilywhite Scum ... 1
(Berbatov 66th)

Playing futsal after a 3-month layoff is both an exhilarating and painful exercise.

But it was worth it, even though I had to miss this match. After all, it's only Shebby's Scum, innit?

I got a shocker when son #3 showed an sms from his friend saying we lost 4-3. He got a smack on the head for his trouble (and for choosing the wrong sort of friends) when the truth emerged later.

By all accounts it was a drab first-half and exploded in the second with Ade tucking away a 3-man move that culminated with a cheeky backheel from Cesc that left Missus Robinson well and truly shafted.

Berbatov got their equaliser courtesy of an upward deflection off Toure's boot that flashed past a rooted Almunia's near post.

Then Niklas Bendtner the kekar Dane got on just in time for a Cesc corner. He made a glorious leap and thumped the ball in with his very first touch of the game.

And that was just minutes after Robbie the Ozzie twit saw Almunia do a Lehmann and swat away his penalty attempt.

In the end cream rose to the top as against scum.

-------------------------------
Brawling Cup Qs

Blackballs Bullies ... 2
(Santa Cruz 42nd, 60th)

Wengerboys the Sequel ... 3
(Diaby 6th, Dudu 29th, 104th)

Wenger's second XI played exhibition football for almost 45 minutes in which we scored 2 superb goals before Santa Cruz sneaked in a reply just at halftime.

They got stuck in us in the second half, got their equaliser and got Denilson out for a two-footed lunge.

One man down and then Nacer Barazite got took out in extra time, it looked like we'd miss the chance of making the Carling Cup Brawl an annual event.

Then much-maligned Alex Song, playing to his true potential, sent Dudu through for a glorious finish past Friedel.

And made Hughes cry in his cups.

---------------------------
Wengerboys ... 1
(Gallas 45th)

The Blue Shite ... 0

Forty-four minutes of parking the Blue Shite bus in the middle of the pitch undone by one moment of error.

Petr Cech's misjudgement at the death of the first-half and Gallas' sneaked in to nod a simple winner.

This was after Eboue took out that oaf Terry - before getting himself karma-ed out by Joe Cole in the second half.

Then the Shite threw everything they had at us and we should have tucked in 3 more easily but for little errors and a rusty van Pussie.

Still, it's always satisfying when you win a game where kicking each other was just as important as scoring.

--------------------------

Murder, He Sang

2007-12-04T16:25:00.001+08:00

My siblings and I have always loved to sing.

Even when I was a snot-nosed skinny git (running around the neighbourhood playing doctor on naive kampung girls), there would be some sort of soundtrack running in my head all the time.

A lot of it was in Hindi but there was a fair amount of English songs as well.

I blame the guy who married my eldest sister.

You see, he actually owned a "record-player" - if you don't know what this is, you're too young to be reading this blog.

In an era where TV was black-and-white images flickering on a small bulging screen encased in a huge console made of real wood, owning a record-player was real luxury.

Only rich people had them because the records that you play on them were expensive also.

Anyway, my brother-in-law had a record player - but not many records.

He wasn't so well off although he did work in a bank (the one that was hijacked by the Japanese Red Army back in the 70s - if you don't know this, you're too young to be reading Lily's blog either).

One year he received a bonus and bought a new record-player and graciously parked the old one at our house and donated a few records as well.

Well, a 45rpm EP and a 33rpm LP actually - and if you don't know these ... well, you know the drill ...

The EP (oh, go google it lah ...) had two songs - from the Hindi movie An Evening In Paris.

The LP was ... The Best of Engelbert Humperdinck ... yeah!

In no time at all, we had memorised all the songs and were wailing all day long.

Until my Dad will lose it and tell my Mum to shut us up (he taught us delegation at a very early age).

After some months of Please Release Me (hey, don't sneer - this song kept the Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever from the UK No 1 slot, okay?) and what passed as Hindi resonated daily throughout the house, my eldest brother started earning money and soon introduced us to the Beatles and Tom Jones.

Until my Dad stopped everyone from expanding the record collection so that us kids will be studying instead of wailing with the Beatles.

We kids simply went next door to my auntie's, where my cousins had no such restrictions.

My first public performance was when I was in Std 5, when my class teacher asked both male and female top students to sing a song each to celebrate our good results.

She, being the younger sister of the winner of Bakat TV*, sang My Favourite Things out of the movie The Sound of Music.

*this was waaayyyy before Juara Lagu, okay? Juara Kugiran and Bakat TV were the star search programs by RTM.

Me? Oh, I belted out Tom Jones' Knock Three Times ... *cringe

I still remember some of the lyrics though ...

Hey girl, wotcha doin' down there,
Dancing alone every night while I live right above you,
I can hear your music playing,
And I can see your body swaying,
...

Then I was foisted off to boarding school and somehow, I was shanghaied into the Form One choir.

Yes, I'm there somewhere ...

That was when I found out a few things ...

a. I was, or rather, am a tenor

b. I love miniskirts

c. You can see through a crocheted blouse when the wearer stands close to you while adjusting your bow-tie before the performance ... and yes, sometimes teachers go bra-less.

I still remember we sang two songs - an Italian song (Ma Come Bali Bella Bimba, or something like that) and Gunung Kinabalu.

Memuncak tinggi mencapai awan,
Tegak berdiri gunung Kinabalu ...

which reminds me of Tony Henry's mountainous Croatian anthem.

Anyway after that I found myself performing regularly on stage at the Aryan Borstal.

It was angklung and recorders the next year, then a kompang group, then modern dance before finally graduating with Deep Purple's Sail Away.

I was a sucker for new experiences - platform shoes, bell-bottoms and all.

Oh, and busting your vocal chords trying to emulate Ian Gillan.

The Aryan Borstal soundtrack was predominantly Grand Funk Railroad, Deep Purple, The Who, Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin.

And we simply loved the Doobie Brothers.

The three-storey house at 11 Almeida Street in the borough of Islington probably settled a few inches at its foundations in the two years I spent there.

I never could remember much of what went on there - except that Stoli is the only real vodka in the world.

And that knickers confiscated from young horny females do not exactly smell of roses after 24 hours. Either wash them or throw them away.

It was Arsenal, books, booze and bints. In that order - though I'm not sure why Smoke on the Water keeps jumping up and down my head when I reminisce.

Memories of Almeida carry a soundtrack comprising Queen, Dire Straits, Foreigner, Bill Withers, Spyro Gyra and of course, Pink Floyd.

Naive female Malaysian students used to drop their knickers to the strains of The Police and Lionel Ritchie, if I remember correctly.

Nowadays I content myself with MTV and V (after the kids go to bed).

And the occasional karaoke, but not regularly though.

It's hard to take when someone murders your favourite songs right in your face, innit?

--------------------------------------------

Villains ... 1
(Gardner 14th)

Wengerboys ... 2
(Flam 23rd, Ade 36th)

First - focking ESPN didn't carry this live. It was only on Star sports (Astro 813), and of course I only have ESPN in my room, innit?

Second - I get a phone call just as I was finding out the above at 1am, and it turned out to be an office emergency.

Third - As a result of the second, I had to drive 40km on some dodgy roads through some really, really dark countryside of deepest Ganu at 2.30am.

Fourth - As a result of the third, it was 8am when I got back to the hotel; and the damn housekeeping maid rang up at noon to sweetly inquire if I'm sure I don't want her to make up the room.

I did think about asking her to come into my room anyway but then there were no good places for me to hide the body.

Thank God we won anyway ... :))

... and Martin O'Neill is probably the most gentlemanly EPL manager who knows what he's doing.

One small letter, one BIG cock-up

2007-11-26T20:38:00.001+08:00

It wasn't Steve McClaren's fault at all that night.

Really.

Here's the villain, the man who inspired the Croats to unceremoniously boot England out of Euro 2008 ...

His name is Tony Henry.

He's not Thierry "Who?" Henry but neither is he much of a villain.

He sings for his money - and the other day he sang both the English and Croatian anthems before the game.

Well, he's supposed to sing ... mila kuda si planina at the end of the Croatian anthem.

Which means, "You know my dear, how we love your mountains" ...

*snicker, which is bad enough for someone who sees things as I do ... but THEN ...

He sang ... mila kura si planina instead ...

... one little letter which transforms that line to ...

"My dear, my penis is a mountain" ....

Thus England's chances were well and truly cocked-up as the inspired boys in blue proceeded to show just how much, *cough ... bigger Croatians are ...

And oh, but now the Croatian team are looking for Tony Henry.

They want to adopt him as their mascot.

I'm not kidding ... read it all here.

---------------------------------------------------------

Goonerboys ... 2
(Gallas 82nd, Rosicky 86th)

Wigan ... 0

Ever had one of those bonking sessions when both of you went on and on for hours but neither of you seemed able to come?

And after so much humping and pumping, when that release finally came it was so powerful that it was almost as painful as it was a relief?

Well, this game was like one of those ...

Denilson, Diarra, Eboue and Walcott made a pig's ear out of it while Pollitt the Elderly and the rest of the Wigan bunch made us hump and pump that ball all around the stadium.

And Pollitt was only playing because Chris Kirkland failed a late fitness test due to a viral infection.

He threw up in the dressing room.

A Wigan official, while mentioning the incident to the press, coolly said, "He saw the Arsenal team-list".

Yeah, maybe but we needed 82 minutes and Willy Gallas and Niklas Bendtner to nick the three points.

Then again, Manure made a cow's arse at Bolton, innit? Heh!

Cristy got injured when he did this in the Portugal team shower.
The line that formed immediately behind him broke the previous record previously achieved at the Lisbon Correctional Facility showers in 1998.

Survival is a state of mind

2007-11-22T15:45:00.001+08:00

Your craft is warming up on the launch pad.

You got your shades on, and your eyes dart every which way as you do the final inspection walk around it.

You complete the circuit and nod to yourself, satisfied.

The engines are purring nicely - the maintenance crew was the best you could find in the area.

You're fully loaded and you're ready to rock and roll.

But there's something still missing.

You turn to Junior and bark out your query.

"Mama mana? Takkan tak siap lagi?"

After the inevitable shrug of the shoulder and the resultant smack on the head, Junior races back to check.

Leaving you to ponder on one of the greatest mysteries of life:-

How is it that despite giving a 7-day notice, a 24-hour reminder and a 3-hour headstart you still end up fuming impatiently in the car waiting for the missus to be ready to Balik Kampung?

Just face it. You can't do anything about it - it is a Hukum Alam (Law of Physics).

So just chill - it's the school holidays and to start your Balik Kampung drive with a petty argument with your partner is a sure way of increasing your accident risk.

Whether you're the man or the woman, just don't start it.

Angry drivers drive aggressively - they drive faster and take greater risks.

So your argument might well end up killing everyone two hours later. Think about that.

Rule 1 - Everybody be nice to everybody else at the start of the journey.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So now smiling at everyone, you start rolling the car down the driveway and for junior to lock up the gates when ...

"Alamak! I think the water boiler tak switched off lah!"

So another five minutes in the stationary car waiting for someone to check it out.

Finally it's done and you get going at last.

Five kilometres on and suddenly someone realises that ...

1. The baby formula/Raya cookies/someone's medication is left on the kitchen table, or

2. A piece of luggage/ disposable diapers/ a child is not on board or,

3. The set of house keys that were supposed to be left with the neighbours are still in the car.

Now, nothing frazzles a driver more than having to turn back to the house after getting well under way.

And a frazzled driver is more likely to get angry and, again, therefore more liable to kill everyone.

And he doesn't need an axe to do it.

Rule 2 - Check and make sure you've got everything (and everyone) well before before taking off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, so you did all that nicely and you're humming along the PLUS highway heading for the boondocks when ...

"Abah, this thingamajig is stuck/how do you fold this sunvisor/ can we have Era instead of MinxFM/ have you seen my sunglasses, I swear it was in the glovebox ... "

Before you know it, the car had drifted out of its lane and, if you're just a little bit unlucky, you'll end up sideswiping the adjacent car.

Hopefully you're not on a dual carriageway instead and had drifted directly in front of an oncoming 25-tonne petrol tanker.

Rule 3 - The Driver shall NOT be responsible for anything except the driving.

This means the responsibility for everything else falls on the co-pilot i.e. the non-driving spouse/partner.

This also means nobody even speaks to the Driver, except for the co-pilot.

There was a fairly high-profile MPV crash with multiple fatalities sometime back.

The driver was allegedly distracted by a child dropping something onto the cabin floor. The co-pilot was a bloke sleeping off some beers he had consumed earlier.

The distracted Driver drove the MPV into an oncoming car and killed everyone. Only the Driver survived.

This is serious business, folks.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
OK, let's suppose you get that one right too and so you're cruising peacefully as the road goes on.

And on.

And on.

The problem with peaceful is that it's boring. Like Switzerland.

So before you know it, the cool wind in your hair is making your head grow heavy and your sight go dim.

You smell colitas in the air and start seeing shimmering lights in the distance.

Oik, wake up! - you're falling asleep at the wheel - another leading cause of fatal crashes.

You need some distraction, so you look at your co-pilot for help, only to find her/him sleeping like a baby.

Rule 4 - The person in the front passenger seat must never be asleep.

The greatest danger to a Driver is drowsiness.

This is where the co-pilot is so crucial. He/she is responsible for making sure the Driver is OK at all times.

Just don't let the Driver get drowsy. Ever.

There was this time when I was shuttling between JB and KL every fortnight for 14 months.

What I found out during those tedious drives is that apart from pulling over and sleeping it off, you can only fight off drowsiness effectively by talking or munching continuously.

Apparently the continuous motion of the jaw keeps you awake.

Yakking works best, as it keeps the Pilot's brain active; but if you find yourself alone at the wheel then chewing some gum is the best alternative I know.

So keep that jaw moving.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having said that, the next rule that you should take to heart.

Rule 5 - Know your limits.

Know the limits of your vehicle, the limits of the traffic condition you're in and lastly your own physical limits.

For example, don't be stupid and attempt a long-distance drive while fasting. Break your fast.

Or trying to do so despite just two hours of sleep the previous night. Get enough rest.

And lastly, ...

Rule 6 - Forget the destination, enjoy the journey

The problem with our daily obsession with "keeping our eye on the ball", in "staying focused on our objective" to ensure that we "stay ahead of the competition" is that we forget to enjoy the journey.

Stay loose. Stop at a kampung stall to try a simple bowl of noodles or just to have a cuppa.

The kampung or the hotel can wait - you're on holiday after all.

Teh Tarik Tales

2007-11-14T10:50:00.001+08:00

If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, what about to a woman's heart then?

Assuming that it is her heart you're aiming for, and that she actually has one and not a cash register under that impressive bosom of course ...

... anyway, it is a question that has racked many great men that had brought them down to their ruin.

In contrast, great lovers merely go down to their knees.

Could the great secret be what someone told me a long time ago?

Din is a friend, who confessed to being a bit of a lothario when we first got to know each other.

We used to work the same night shifts and after work we'd swap stories over teh tarik at 3am at one of the many stalls that dot the Bangsar area.

Those days the KL clubs and discos stay open all night long; the KLSE was permanently on steroids and people partied much harder than they worked.

So much so that you could find black-clad party animals at nasi lemak stalls at the crack of dawn on any working day - perched on plastic stools, all bleary-eyed and wondering if they should take MC that day.

The thought that these people stayed up the whole night to spend their money while we were being paid to do the same, used to tickle us somewhat.

One particular night Din leaned over his Nescafe and said to me, You know, women are not so different actually; they only have different plumbing and wiring.

Now if you were to just listen to his stories, it would seem that Din spends an incredible amount of time thinking up plausible stories of him fending off advances from besotted females.

However if you were to watch him, you'd know that the stories are actually true.

Given that he's more pleasant rather than handsome, and hovers at the wrong end of the Cosmic Scale of Kekar-ity, then you'll understand why that whenever he turns to me to say things like that, I listened.

Din went on, Have you noticed just how much women enjoy doing things with their mouths?

Silence ... broken only by the tiny squeak of my jaw dropping in bafflement.

Really?

Seeing my face, he simply tilted his head to one side to indicate a clubbing group a few tables away.

There sat four young women and their male companions having a post-disco supper.

I turned back to Din with raised eyebrows.

He pointed a finger at his right eye, telling me to look again.

I did, and after a while I saw what he meant.

The four girls were happily yakking away while at the same time putting away servings of capati, tosai, tandoori chicken and naan bread.

In contrast, the men were quietly smoking between sips of teh tarik.

Occasionally one of the women will turn to her escort, whisper a few words in his ear and then give him a quick peck on the lips before returning to the verbal fray.

Satisfied that I saw his point, Din leaned over and continued softly.

The path to a woman's heart has a Gatekeeper - that's her mouth.

Kiss it often, feed it, keep it talking - do whatever it takes to make it happy.

Once the Gatekeeper's happy, the heart's there for the taking.

Twenty years on and Din is now on his second wife and still keeps his hand in, so to speak.

In that time I've learned how to kiss properly, how to cook and how to hold a decent conversation.

But damn ... I'm still wondering if what he told me that night is true.

*******************************************************************

One Thousand and One ...

Reading ... 1
(Shorey 87th)

Borstal Boys ... 3
(Flamini 44th, Ade 52nd, Hleb 78th)

Fergie kicked off the EPL Mind Games 2007/8 with his "best squad" comments just ahead of our game in addition to his "we wuz robbed/threatened/unlucky" tirade last week.

In one fell swoop he boosted his players' morale and puts pressure on us to prove him wrong.

I guess the words did prey on the boys' minds when Reading parked the bus and kept us out for a good 43 minutes.

But then the Flam-Man started the move that pried the lock and 3 passes later finished it with a bobble-shot into the top left hand corner.

Reading tried a comeback right from start of the second-half but managed to only give more space for Ade & friends to grab another 3 - the 3rd goal stolen away by the linesman who wrongly flagged offside on Ade.

Ade broke his 8-match duck by finishing a nifty 3-man, 4-pass move for Arsenal's 1,000th EPL goal.

And Hleb took revenge on Gunnarson's irritating and constant fouling by taking on 3 defenders and the keeper for a superb solo goal in the 78th.

The last highlight of the match was Cesc deliberately courting a yellow card by "over-celebrating" Hleb's goal ... and the Godfather trying to keep a straight face when he described it as unfortunate.

You see, it was Cesc's 5th yellow and he misses the next game - against Wigan at home.

Which makes him available again for the match after that - at Stamford Bridge.

Cheeky sod.

Still Standing ... all the way up

2007-11-05T20:41:00.001+08:00

Take one thousand apologies.

Paste on an appropriately apologetic face.

Decorate with hands held up acknowledging guilt.

Maaf zahir batin, yek?

I know I'm guilty of not updating often enough but it's not because I've been busy feeding others with my lemang and lontong.

First off, it's my boss' fault - he's the one who gave me a last-minute outstation assignment right after my Raya break.

Secondly it was my car's fault - it blew a gasket and overheated on a cold, wet dawn 70km from KL.

Third villain of the saga is a stupid stomach bug - which laid me low on the first day of my assignment and a record 18 trips to the crapper in 24 hours.

The fourth fly in this stinky ointment was a parallel project that more or less ran itself, luckily.

While the 5th element was my home streamyx that had Lady C scream blue murder cos she had just signed on an online course.

And I'm still away from home as I write this.

But it's not all bad to be frank.

I get to stay in a nice hotel with a great view of the sea from my room (and that cute receptionist is trying to get on my good side :P).

There's also a nice daily allowance that should make up for that horrendous car repair bill.

And hopefully the assignment would be long enough for that said allowance to make a few more of my creditors happy.

And since the Divine is always fair, things are getting better by the day since I got my superpowers back.

Then two tough tests for my favourite borstal boys - and we're still left standing, still unbeaten.

And to cap it all - still leading the Premiership table.

Rafa's Ponces ... 1
Gerardine 7th

Borstal Boys ... 1
Cesc 80th

Plot Summary: Gerard and Co tried a smash-and-grab on Mullet and the Borstal Boys with a bullet through a wall that Flams sneakily dodged in favour of preserving his family jewels.

Hleb threaded a killer pass and Mullet slipped one past Pepet to silence the terraces.

Oh, we played with Pepet's woodie twice by the way ...

------------------------------------------------------

Borstal Boys ... 2
Cesc 48th, Gallas 92nd

Manure ... 2
Gallas o.g. 45th, Cristy 83rd

I had to change hotels to make sure I'd catch this match on ESPN - the trouble with being on the road is that sometimes hotel managers just don't have a frickin' clue what the guest needs.

It was worth the effort - my admin manager's actually, I just told him what I wanted. Heh!

In case anyone is culinarily interested, I had a quick dinner of sizzling beef and young kailan with only Terry Pratchett for company before rushing back to catch the match - well, the restaurant was barely 5 minutes away anyway.

Unlike the Scousers, the Mancunian Manure didn't fling themselves around like gymnasts at an orgy as soon as the whistle blew.

I'd like to get one thing straight - Old Man Fergie showed that his wines haven't addled his brain cells much and he got his formation right for this game.

Arsene admitted as much in a post-match interview when he pointed out that ours looked a bit dodgy in comparison.

Anyway I think the boys performed better than Fergie's Farts in that despite the limitations of the Godfather's approach, we had more of the ball.

Almunia was a tad too nervous, I think and should have done better with that second goal we conceded.

It was a good draw - in that we fully deserved it and got it in the end.

Fergie's post match whingeing finally moved him to the lead past Arsene with some fantastic claims that ...

.... they were robbed by the ref (actually meaning the ref was actually unbiased) and

... they felt threatened by the crowd (well, some old ladies did wag one-fingered threats at them).

I think they're just pissed cos after all that, they're still looking up our Arse in the table.

-------------------------

Slavia Praha ... 0

Borstal Boys ... 0

... and this makes it three in a row. And with us qualifying while still topping the group.

Dreary game - I think they were more ecstatic over their one point than we were after the Man U game.

Then again, they did defend very well.

--------------------------------

Were You Not Entertained?

2007-10-25T19:17:00.001+08:00

The Borstal Boys ... 7
(Cesc 5th,58th Hrubecek o.g. 24th, Theo 41st, 55th Hleb 52nd Bendtner 89th)

Slavia Praha ... 0

He glides silkily past a pair of unbalanced foes.

Picking the cue from his crafty Belarusian compatriot, he bides his time in unhurried poise.

He fixes his gaze upon his target and with one swift stroke, kills it dead.

The stadia erupted in ecstasy, "Spaniard! Spaniard! Spaniard! Spaniard! Spaniard!"

Five minutes into the contest and the slaughter had only just begun.

For the Godfather's 58th birthday yesterday, Cesc was in charge of the entertainment.

Here he does a not-very-good impersonation of Antonio Banderas.

Well, at least he didn't try a Russell Crowe.

Pat Rice trying to collect his winning bet over the final score.

The Week that was A Dour One

2007-10-03T16:49:00.001+08:00

It has been a dour week.

The way our games went over the weekend was a harbinger of things to come.

By Wednesday I found myself facing my bosses and explaining how, why and what had gone so spectacularly wrong.

It was one of those rare days that I'm thankful that I'm not working for the Mob.

They'd probably feed me to the fishes just on general principles.

Anyway we got stuck in, we ground out our own results and yesterday, we smelled our own victory.

Just like the boys did.

So, just for the record, here's how the games went.

----------------------------------------------------
Blunt Hammers ... 0

The Goonery ... 1
(Der Pussie 13th)

We started bright,
we did things right,
we kept it tight.
One-nil to the Arsenal!

They went for us,
Hammer and Tongs;
and oh, were they were so wrong;
So it was
A kick in the nuts
for The Hammers!

(This is a poor attempt at mimicking JRR Tolkien's war songs in LOTR - Ed Cipan)

It was a bright spectacle in the first half where Hleb made the telling cross which der Pussie buried past Robert Green.

Then Mark Noble did a passable imitation of a rabid zombie as he tried to tenderise Hleb's left leg while it was still attached to its Ukrainian owner.

I was half-expecting the Absolutely Fab Cesc to come flying out, titanium claws fully extended a la Wolverine (I just include this bit for Pugly, so that I can put a pic of Hugh Jackman in.), at Noble as soon as play resumed but surprise, surprise - no flying fur in this game.

It was West Ham after all and I had expected the odd spate of fisticuffs to add to the day's flavour but alas, all was pretty civilised as Da Hammers actually went on to try to win fairly.

When did we all get domesticated - phbbbffftttt ....

Twas NOT a typical London derby but all three points for us by TKO.

****************************************
Steaua Bucharest ... 0

The Goonery ... 1
(der Pussie again, 76th)

Yep - der Pussie scored two goals that won us two games this week.

I'm still pretty much ambivalent about der Pussie. He's fast, he's skilful and he's scored some great goals.

But he can't make play for sh*t.

Then again, it's probably just me. Being skilful in just sticking it in, like the Scouser legend Ian Rush, doesn't really impress me.

What does get to me would be beautiful approach play ...

... the deft one-touch,

... the subtle nudging,

.... the sly reverse angle that never fails to surprise,

Then the instinctive running into nifty positions ...

... and the prising apart of that oh-so-tight defence ...

... then those last few flicks ...

...then slickly stroking it home ...

... slamming it in - emphatically ...

... wanting to fill it all up ...

... till it busts ...

... wide open.

..

.

I think I should have a shower now.

Lambs to the Slaughter - the Celebrations

2007-09-24T09:42:00.001+08:00

*updated section down below*

Apparently there are a few among you who think I'm someone who Malays call buruk lantak i.e. somebody who pigs out.

Well, I want to assure all of you that while I love and appreciate good food, I do have good table manners.

Well, good enough to know that at European-style tables you work through your cutlery from the outside in as the meal progresses.

And I chew my food thoroughly before swallowing.

In fact I have a reputation as a very s-l-o-w-w-w eater ... yes, Hani & Leen ... that way too ... *leers

But still, I do eat a lot.

However because of high metabolism, I can eat and eat and yet the scales will turn only to a modest 70kg for my 6-foot frame.

I also have an ailment - I suffer from a slightly low BP count ... which of course has the doctor telling me to eat more ... :))

Anyway, besides eating I also like to cook - but only when the urge strikes me, though. The thought of having to prepare 3 meals daily doesn't quite appeal to me.

Unless I get paid a lot of money for it, that is.

There are times when the makings of a new dish may just pop into my head while I'm strolling in the supermarket.

When that happens I'll pick out the items I need and head directly to the kitchen when I get home.

Then there are times when things happen that just makes me want to indulge myself with a small celebration.

Just like last weekend.

Last Saturday's culling of the Rams of Derbyshire was a good excuse for feasting and much merriment.

It's especially sweet since in so slaughtering the Rams we've managed to retain the EPL perch for the second week running.

Yup, the one that we blagged from the Scousers the previous week.

So Sunday afternoon saw me pointing Lady C and maid to strictly supporting roles in the nooks of the kitchen.

And to cut this long-winded entry short, we broke our fast with a simple but pretty nifty meal that took just over an hour to get done.

Lord Cipan's Guide to Quick & Dirty-licious Meals
(the next two pictures below are Cipan Originals, occay?)

Mushroom soup with toasted garlic bread (serves 6-8)

2 cans Campbell Mushroom soup
50g grey oyster mushrooms, chopped
100g tomato, chopped & diced
Half bell pepper, chopped & diced
2 loaves (French) long baguette
Garlic spread

1. Pour contents of the 2 cans of soup into the pot.
2. Pour same amount of water (2 cans) into pot. Add a half-can more for luck.
3. Bring to boil. Whip/stir until it becomes smooth.
4. Toss in the mushroom & bell pepper. Stir and simmer.
5. When almost ready toss in the tomato. Stir and let simmer for 2 minutes.
6. Slice baguette to thin strips. Butter slices with garlic spread.
7. Toast buttered slices on dry pan.
8. Serve hot

Roast lamb shoulders with taters and fruit salad

1. Marinate 6-8 lamb shoulders with honey, ground black pepper and Knorr's BBQ sauce for 2 hours.
2. Roast lamb in oven or broil in covered cooker for 15 minutes.
3. Sprinkle one large onion (sliced thinly), two small red onions (sliced), three garlic cloves (finely chopped) over the lamb.
4. Add some Knorr's BBQ Sauce. Cook for another 7 minutes.
5. Dice 4 medium potatoes and boil with salt.
6. Line serving dish with butterhead and romaine leaves. Form a shallow bed at one end
7. Toss small seedless grapes (or champagne grapes) with one tomato (thin slices) and an apple (diced, small pcs) with 1 part mayonnaise, 1 part Thousand Island or sour cream.
8. Place tossed mixture into shallow bed.
9. Arrange roast lamb on serving dish, garnish with some chilli sauce and herbs.
10. Arrange boiled potatoes around roast lamb.
11. Serve hot.

The whole thing takes just a bit over one hour to do. I use shortcuts like the BBQ sauce from Knorr's and Campbell mushroom soup.

Hey, even my mum uses them. They're just as good as home-made ones.

And oh, ... same with the dessert. :))

Puteri Mandi
... great dessert, beautiful name

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CARLING CUP 3rd Round

The Goonery's Small Fry ... 2
(Bendtner 83rd header, Denilson 89th Fab-shot)

Big Sam's Senior Toons ... 0

Arsene Wenger has probably established a new annual rite to English football.

There is an expectant air at the Emirates last night, especially among the seasoned hacks standing vigil in the Press Box, for the unveiling of this year's edition of Arsene's Young Guns.

The opposition were no Premiership debutants but a Newcastle side imbued with a new belief with Big Sam's arrival at Toonside.

But despite their fresh triumph over Curb's impressive Hammers last Sunday, by the end of the game Big Sam was already moaning about his team's tired legs.

The Toons held us at bay for more than 80 minutes before Bendtner crashed in an Armand Traore cross in the 83rd.

After Obafemi Martins focked up an open goal at the other end, Denilson showed how much he is The Absolutely Fab Cesc's twin by unleashing a shot into a top corner in perfect imitation of Cesc's six goals.

As with successful theatrical opening nights, the media hacks are waxing lyrical this morning.

My favourite quote ...

Rob Smyth, The Guardian

"There are a new set of bullies in English football's playground. They are significantly younger than the victims, they deal in alternative, subtler methods, and they are devastatingly good at inflicting physical and psychological damage."

The Cast of "Small Fry":
Lukasz Fabianski, Emmanuel Eboue (Vassiriki Abou Diaby), Justin Hoyte, Philippe Senderos, Armand Traore, Pereira Neves Denilson, Lassana Diarra, Alexandre Song Bilong, Nicklas Bendtner, Eduardo Da Silva (Fran Merida Perez), Theo Walcott

Lambs to the slaughter

2007-09-23T02:09:00.002+08:00

The London Goonery ... 5
(Ade 25th, 49th pen, 80th; Diaby 9th, Fab Cesc 70th)

A Flock of Sheep ... 0

-------------------------------
There's more than two weeks to go till Id and a couple of months before the Great Sacrifice of Bairam (Id ul-Adha) that traditionally marks the culmination of the annual Haj in Mecca.

But it looks like Bairam has come early in the UK, courtesy of the flock of sheep from Derbyshire that is currently making its round of the EPL venues.

The Spuds culled four while greedy Scousers pounced on a half-dozen in previous weeks before our beloved borstal boys nonchalantly feasted on five out of what looked like fattened stock.

It's a bit painful to see because the Rams have a proud history - they were champions twice in 1971-72 and 1974-75 and had a good number of notable players.

Roy McFarland (27 caps) was a midfield mainstay of the England squad filled with the likes of Gordon Banks, Bobby Charlton, Alan Ball and Emlyn Hughes together with team-mates Colin Todd (27) and David Nish (5).

Others include Peter Shilton, Charlie George, Archie Gemmill, Leighton James and many more.

Heck, they even have a hooligan firm, called the Derby Lunatic Fringe.

But they were never in the game last night; we were obviously playing at a controlled half-pace yet managed to score five - giving the impression of vicious predators circling and picking off a bleating pack.

Diaby scored a top-corner gem and the Absolutely Fab Cesc ran riot in the midfield like a priapic in a harem.

It looked like overkill at first glance.

But it's obvious that the Godfather has been listening to Macca on Football Focus.

So it will always be making safe the three points first before tinkering with the team.

And me praying hard that we'd be feasting on lamb chops all the way till May next year.

Creamed Spuds and Teh Tarik

2007-09-20T09:08:00.001+08:00

English Premier League

Trotters & Spuds ... 1
(Bale 15th)

Sekolah Henry G00nery, London ... 3
(Ade 65th, Cesc 80th, Ade 94th)

--------------------------------------------
Actually I missed this game because I thought it starts at 11pm.

Therefore I happily went gallivanting to the neighbourhood surau for, *cough, terawih prayers and to catch up with the gang.

We're not particularly pious - I think we do just enough to be a good example to our kids and also to their friends.

And of course our tai-tais are never fooled ... *cough

But we, the local Male Society that is, do enjoy each other's company and it has become an annual tradition to meet up and lepak at the surau in the fasting month.

There's usually meehoon goreng (fried vermicelli) or maybe roti canai (flat dough pancakes) plus some kuih served for the after-prayer moreh (snack).

And, more importantly, teh tarik on tap.

So it makes more sense for us to hang out at the surau rather than the nearest mamak outlet. Especially when it enhances our domestic image somewhat.

I suspect that our forefathers were more or less the same.

So by the time I got home it was only to catch the last bit of the second half.

Thankfully there was still enough in the game to enjoy as the Absolutely Fab Cesc drilled a 35-yarder past Mrs Robinson the England keeper in the 80th and when Ade spun and buried the third in the 94th.

There wasn't much piety around the telly that night but I'm chuffed to report that no French was spoken at all.

I've noticed that this year we're less flashy in our passes but there was a more gritty approach from everyone. One can almost smell the industrial reek in our tackles and running.

It was great - the last time we beat Spurs at White Hart Lane was Nov 13, 2004. And it was by the unbelievable score of 5-4.

After that it was all draws and we've only beaten them in our home games.

Scene to remember - the Godfather and der Pussie grinning crazily at each other as they high-fived after the final goal.

Such a touching Family scene.

So that's how Sekolah Henry Goonery topped the English Premier League this week.

--------------------------------------------
European Champions League

Sevilla ... 0

Sekolah Henry Goonery ... 3
(Cesc 27th, Pussie 59th, Dudu 92nd)

--------------------------------------------------------------
I first planned to watch this game at a mamak early this morning - there's one outlet just a minute away from my house and two other outlets just a 3-minute drive away.

Somehow the idea of scarfing down some sahur nosh outdoors with CL action on a giant screen at 3am seemed very attractive.

Perhaps it's the casual outdoor dining ensemble of faded sarong and ratty Pagoda-T that appeals to my inner slob. Not to mention visions of zesty early morning breeze wafting up the sarong for that cold-cockle effect.

Then I found out that it would be a delayed telecast instead.

Duhhhh - bodoh cam nak mampuh ESPNstar - picking a dull ManUre-Lisbon fixture instead. Real farmers' fare.

Okies - so it was sahur at 5am with the (delayed!) match on the telly and of course my eldest just had to tell me we already won.

Being a model father meant biting my tongue and shoving food down my throat instead.

Incidentally, sahur was instant roti paratha with beef curry plus some sambal sotong ...

... and dhal stew for gravy.

The maid also fried some chicken in a cornflour-and
-chilli-paste batter mix.

Which were all good - as was the fare on the Emirates' immaculate pitch.

Sevilla was stonking hot the first 15 mins or so - Diego Capel bothering Sagna on the right and Daniel Alves taking on Clichy on our left.

Surprised by their pace, both Clichy and Sagna took the first few minutes to get to grips with both the fast flankers. Clichy had to contend with (Jesus) Navas as well but this young Frenchie is not easily fazed.

By the 27th minute Flamini had the midfield like he chokes the chicken, Adey was all over Escude and The Absolutely Fab Cesc sneaked in a Lampard-style goal - aye, it was a fortuitous deflection, off Escude past his keeper.

Throughout the rest of the game, Sevilla was gamely trying but were easily kept in check. Our second goal was from a set-piece (free-kick) and the third was a well-worked gem between Hleb, Cesc and Eduardo in practically the last minute of the game.

The final scoreline flatters us a bit as Sevilla was a classy bunch with good linking and runs but they tended to flag at the point of penetration, *cough.

Last words: Both the food and the footie were exceptionally good.

But really, really last words: ... Bye, Jose. It's been a lot of fun.

Left: Moana giving Roman a last hard pump.

Numbers that Count

2007-09-04T21:34:00.001+08:00

0 ... in the beginning was the Void, and the void was empty.

Symbolising the womb, from which the others come into being.

And the Void was lonely.

1 ... then came Man, heeding the call from the Void.

Symbolising the state Man aspires to achieve - permanently erect, eternally plugging.

A number revered by purveyors of ginseng, Tongkat Ali and various ubat kuat throughout the ages.

2 ... following Man comes his impedimenta, the Subordinates (dependants) imbued with Submission and Obedience.

The shape represents a kneeling person with the head down, listening.

It denotes students and apprentices but in modern times most Men's ideal No. 2 is a docile wife.

3 ... the impedimenta were also the ones who Nurture.

They are the ones who built up the communities and enabled them to grow.

The shape denotes the warm, pillowy breasts that suckled us when we were but babes in arms.

Men who look for No 3 are usually looking to be mothered.

4 ... The number signifies Authority and Death: they are inseparable. Only Authority has the power of life and death over its citizens.

The symbol is that of a chair or a throne. In the old days, rulers sat in chairs while the slaves kneel and the pricks stand.

Men who find number four normally die standing.

5 ... Number five signifies a Journey or Flight.

The symbol is that of a runner, usually fleeing a place or a situation.

A lot of runners are Men fleeing from their four previous errors.

6 ... Number six symbolises a new Beginning.
The shape suggests a baby in the womb.

In a lot of cases, this was what made the Men run.

7 ... Seven represents Planting, the act of sowing the seeds of the future.
The shape is that of a hoe (cangkul la, not a prostitute).

It denotes mystery, knowledge, superstition as well as the mystical arts.

A lot of monasteries and madrasahs (where the running Men eventually come to seek refuge) use sickles and cangkuls to teach them the right Path (to clean living).

8 ... Number eight is Wealth, or resources or potential.

The shape is that of two stacked coins representing material riches; or a snake eating its own tail, the symbol of Enlightenment.

It represents the divide between the material and spiritual worlds.

It is often rumoured, maliciously of course, that unenlightened mutual snake eating takes place in the all-male institutions previously mentioned.

9 ... is simply the End of the Journey.

The symbol is the universal headgear of the Pious Pilgrim, the calm seeker.

If you think it's just the upside-down person in a 69, then you're definitely not one of the Enlightened.

--------------------------------------------------
Other numbers of note;

10 A marriage between equals. One, er, fulfilling the other digitally with lots of bytes.

11 A confrontation, two men stabbing each other in the back (lawan pedang)

12 A marriage between unequals, bondage, a BJ.

13 An unlucky number - a grown man still at his mother's teats, a "Russian" job

18 A rich man (note that the pairing 08 is unstable and is soon parted. The zero disappears and leaves the 8 behind - denotes shopping ... lots of shopping)

22 Comfort - women only,

36 Motherhood, home

25 Woman who won't stay (at home?)

52 Chases women

69 Er ...

369 MILFs

169, 619, 691 Men's idea of Heaven

... oh, well. Wot's your number again?

The Merdeka Week Review

2007-09-03T13:57:00.001+08:00

Arsenal 3
(Ade 7th pen, Cesc 35th, Rosicky 58th)

Pompey 1
(Kanu 59th)

Bad Day at the Office
Philip Senderos

46th min ... Great chance, header saved
48th min ... Red card

Had Great Time
Cesc Fabregas

"When he was a young boy he scored goals and that's a nice disease to have."
Prof Wenger

Other League news ...

What the current League leaders did over the weekend ...

Poor Derby ... Torres and Alonso did it twice each, Carra and Stevie G stayed well away.

:P

From little acorns to mighty oaks

2007-08-27T14:09:00.001+08:00

Update: Champions League Qualifying, 2nd Leg

Arsenal 3
(Rosicky 7th, Fabregas 87th, Eduardo 89th)

Sparta Prague 0

Aggregate score: Arsenal 5-0
-------------------------------------------------
The 3rd Week ... but only the second review

One 1,000-km round-trip, two weddings and two bouts of insomnia in ten days.

Add three whacks on the shins (and a tiny cut over the left eye) from 3 hours of futsal, and you've got a pretty good idea of the shape I'm in today.

But hey, I'm smiling.

We were lucky we didn't lose at Ewood Park and actually won despite not playing well against Citeh.

We (may be said to) play sexy football but on Saturday we were about as sexy as Smeg-Gol's pic on Lily's blog (click here to lose your lunch).

At last, we won a match we barely deserved - Sven's men, while really pleasing to the eye, were at the same time tenacious, physical and real ball-busters.

Just like his women.

Kasper Schmeichel was nowhere the intimidating presence that his Dad was. In fact with his blonde locks and rosy cheeks he looked so much like a little rich waif with security firm Dunne & Richards in close bodily attendance.

Yet this slip of a boy kept a clean sheet for more than 200 minutes of EPL football.

Not content with saving Pussie's penalty, he even went up for a Citeh corner in the last minute and actually forced Almunia into a save with a solid header.

All to no avail though.

Local thug Cesc The Pizzaman had already goon-ed them down - with a cracker in the 80th minute.

The formerly Mulleted One carries an old head on his 20-year old shoulders and this year has added venom to his already impressive range.

He clattered Repka to the sidelines at Sparta after Repka had promised mayhem in midfield.

In Ewood Park last week, Morten Gamst Pedersen crunched his studs on Cesc's head while he was down after a foul. Minutes later the Spaniard crunched Pedersen's ankle in response.

Weep, you Liverbirds ... the Fight Club has moved to London.

------------------------------

Aren't I a really schweeeet guy?

Am a slut

2007-08-23T22:45:00.001+08:00

No, that's not me ... I look way better in just a towel :P

But yes, it's my score. I AM that slutty - how about you?

Take the test, click here.

... and here's some of the sluttiest things committed by others who took the test -

One thing though I still don't understand how come my score's higher than that guy who cheated on his girlfriend by sleeping with her mum???

"I've gone to a brothel in juarez and had sex with 2 girls for real cheap...."
ds 84% Slutty, el paso, texas

"Had sex in the park in broad daylight..."
ss 42% Slutty, nyc

"I had sex on the top of a cruise ship..."
php 68% Slutty, Japan

"I went partying with my friend jason and ended up having sex with him 3 other guy friends of his the same night at the same and with him and the guys together"
DAB 60% Slutty, Loyalhanna Pennsylvania, USA

"Three way, two girls, ok, but an ego boost"
djh 63% Slutty, chicago,il

"had sex with 2 people in one night.Stripped at a couple partys.fooled around with 2 guys at once.Left a date at a party to have sex with an ex and an uprhoar became of it."
1277 55% Slutty, Port jervis ny

"had sex in Walt Disney World Bathroom "
DE 94% Slutty, Bridgetown Barbados

"sleeping with my best friends boyfriends roommate while she was in the room"
36% Slutty, Pennsylvania USA

"Took my girlfriend and her best friend to a strip club. They got totaly wasted, convinvinced one of the dancers to come home with us, and when they passed out, the stripper and I went at it all night!"
JST 77% Slutty, Cleve, Ohio

"cheated on my girlfriend, and started sleeping with her mum."
GTR 46% Slutty, London

"given a blow job to a long time friend who i've had on and off relations with for years in a school classroom on the last day of high school, when he has a girlfriend who hates me, but gave me a cupcake a few minutes after it happened."
36% Slutty, USA

"Made out and gotten fingered by three different guys in one day."
SDP 53% Slutty, Jacksonville, FL

"had sex with a complete stranger without ever talking.."
AJS 74% Slutty, USA

"cam sex"
bj 60% Slutty, uk

"Had raunchy, loud and INCREDIBLE sex outside on someone else's front porch. On the upside, it WAS dark"
SAH 53% Slutty, New York, NY, USA

"Fisted my girlfriend in a hotel"
CWC 37% Slutty, Toronto, Canada

"had sex in the day in front of all my mates without them even knowing"
saf 59% Slutty, birmingham.......uk

"Had my arse fingered"
DVB 63% Slutty, UK

"suck off someone in a park "
DJB 64% Slutty, England

"pleasured my boyfriend in the back of a movie theater while a children's movie was showing"
44% Slutty,

"fucked my boss at work"
rgm 74% Slutty, usa

The First Week ... The First Review

2007-08-14T10:22:00.001+08:00

Where do you reckon would your most embarrassing moment (MEM) of your life rank in the global scale of such events?

There was one described in this letter in FHM magazine I read once.

This bloke, after a hot curry dinner the previous night, woke up early the next morning and decided on a bit of nookie with his squeeze.

Right in mid-bonk, the gates to his personal underworld clanged open.

Let's just say that the intimate boudoir was instantly transformed into a really cosy jamban kampung (outhouse).

The letter didn't say if the relationship survived this tragic moment of the First Fart, but the mattress itself certainly didn't.

Now, Jens Lehmann's MEM in our first game stank equally but in a different way.

Imagine, after months of training and pre-season workouts, you screw up your very first decision of the season in the very first minute of the game.

And then hearing 80,000 spectators gleefully letting you know what they think about it.

Still ... lucky we won.

We created good chances but didn't get our dicks wet until Toure made a kamikaze run and let himself get splattered in the box.

Pussie almost screwed up the pen but it glanced in under the bar and I collapsed in a heap of relief.

Earlier I got Lady C yammering about wot a fine example I was setting for the children by opining loudly about the ref - in French.

Then, right at the death, Fabs chipped a beauty to Hleb and the Belarussian acted as selfishly as he had promised.

With both Bendtner and Pussie screaming for the ball on either side, he chose to slam it in instead.

I think Mad Jens almost peed in his pants with relief.

------------------------------------------------------------

Four a.m. on Wednesday morning and I sprang up like a teenager's erection - wired almost to cardiac arrest with two pre-bedtime mugs of Ipoh White.

Got the TV on and there we were - grappling gloriously with the Spartans; minus the capes and sexy swimwear that we all saw in The 300.

Hardman Tomas Repka promised a crunching game, and I guess they used the movie DVD to pump up their team because they came out looking to inflict mayhem.

A few crunches later and Hleb squared up to Repka for the ref to break up the forehead-to-forehead dialogue.

But the Spartan captain was no Leonidas and forgot about Arsene's attack poodle.

Cesc "The Pizzaman" Fabregas took him out in a clinical hit that earned the Spaniard the yellow medal.

Pic: Cesc, caught on camera during his very first pizza hit during his apprenticeship in Barca.

Clichy was superb, especially when he made the interception, shimmied past another defender, then faked out the last man before squaring the ball beautifully to Fab for the first goal.

Gutsy Man of the Match goes to La Sagna, who although playing right-back received the ball from Lehmann's throw during a Sparta corner, then ran the length of the pitch before his killer pass for Hleb to screw the ball in.

Poor bloke was winded after that run but you know what? Those blonde locks are starting to look good on him. :D

Like Macca said, with hair like that, he should be a very good player.

And you're right, Macca.

Surprise of the Season so far: Alexandr Hleb - 2 goals in 2 games, both in the 90th minute.

Last season? He scored a grand total of three.

Bring it On ... the 2007/08 Season

2007-08-12T00:07:00.001+08:00

This is my first footie posting for the 07/08 season.

The Saturday matches have just been completed with the late Villa-Poo dogfight just coming on.

And it's been a heady start so far.

Spurs, parading 40m pounds sterling worth of new talent which includes a strike force that's the Premiership equivalent of the US Navy's 7th Fleet, got mugged by Keano's Black Kats at the Stadium of Light.

Sven the Serial Bonker meanwhile guided his Thai-propelled charges to a 2-0 victory despite a practically non-existent pre-season programme.

Should the Hammer's home results continue in this vein, Curbs would be well-advised to bring in a bomoh to make a sweep of the ground.

I'm pretty sure they would turn up a few hundred buried voodoo dolls, all signed spitefully by the Blades witching department.

All this would be in retaliation for Egghead's dabbling with black-arts practitioner Kia Joorabchian last year - with a moniker like that, you can bet there's some fey bloodlines in the family, probably Korean in origin.

Sam would be the one responsible for the Toon being painted red tonight as he led a black-and-white charge sweeping through his former happy hunting ground at the Reebok.

And later tonight we'll find out if Rafa's goatee is here to stay or be uprooted in first-match frustration.

All these exciting drama is just making me sick with the jitters.

While I understand and have faith in the Godfather, it's always unnerving when you finally put the bun in the oven, so to speak.

We play at 7.30pm on Sunday and like most Gooners, we're already salivating for days at the thought of all that sexy football we've been promised.

We'll probably play the following line-up ...

Leman

La Sagna Le Toure Che Gallas Clichy

Eboue Cesc Diaby Eduardo

Der Pussie Hleb

The cognoscenti say the Godfather's Grand Experiment this year is fairly simple - we will have 3-4 fast flankers overlapping each other in both attack and defence.

Sagna/Hoyte and Clichy/Traore will link up with Eboue/Rosicky and Eduardo/Denilson.

Add Der Pussie and Hleb interchanging with these flankers, we should either see Monsieur Wenger's version of total footie ...

... or a very French muddle.

Only the Divine Knows.

A Cipanese World

2007-08-02T16:48:00.001+08:00

Apparently some readers are confused about whether a cipan is a tenuk or a tapir ... or vice-versa ... hmm, better make that "or vice-versa-verso".

A rose by any other name smells just as sweet - but of course, not a cipan ... you think.

A tapir is wot the English call a cipan, or a tenuk.

I think it happened this way ...

Paul Bettany (Dr Stephen Maturin), having bid fare-thee-wells to his friend Russell Crowe (Captain Jack Aubrey) at the port of Penang two weeks ago, was trekking somewhere in the jungles of deepest Perak.

Suddenly his old Orang Asli guide signalled frantically for everyone to stop and shut their gobs up.

"Wot's he found, Hans?" he asked his Eurasian assistant and interpreter (Hans Isaac).

Hans went ahead and after a whispered conversation with the heavily mustachioed guide (A. Galak) came back.

"It's an animal you've not seen yet, Doctor. Come on!" he urged Bettany onwards.

Creeping up to the guide, they peered through the foliage.

"Oh my God, he's lovely! Wot is it?" the good doctor exclaimed.

"Syema, itu binatang apa?" inquired Hans.

"Oh, itu anak cipan, Tuan!" the guide replied, fighting the urge to stand at attention and saluting.

"It's called a cipan, Doc,"

"Wot? A cheap pun, eh? Hehehe ... " his giggles died away at the blank looks he saw.

"No, no, what I mean is we can't use names that Englishmen will make fun of back in Blighty, can we?" he explained.

Hans turned back to the guide.

"Ada nama lain tak untuk haiwan tu, Syema?"

"Di Pahang orang sana panggil tenuk, Tuan!"

"Ishh ... tenuk? Teruknya, tak glamer langsung."

"Orang Pahang memang tak glamer, Tuan!" the state-conscious guide replied.

Hans turned back to Paul.

"The other name is even worse, Doc" he informed. "But I've got an idea."

"Really? What is it?"

"Why not call it Erra?" Hans replied, not quite looking at Paul. Paul looked doubtful in return.

Hans turned to the guide.

"Apa kata kalau kita panggil dia Erra?"

"Tak per, Tuan. Bahasa dia kan?"

"Syema agrees, Doc" Hans informed.

"No, no. It's too pretty a name," he peered suspiciously at his assistant." Wot about that other name?"

"What other name?"

"Wot he said just now - tuck purr or something?"

"Oh, that means it's all right, Doc"

"Jolly good! We'll use that - it'll be my private joke. Let's see ... how do you spell that?"

"T-A-K space P-E-R, Doc"

"Tak per, takper, takeper, tar purr, tar pair, tapir! Tapir sounds right. All right then, we're done here."

And the whole party moved onwards to their destinies.

And that's how we missed out on a really glamorous name - what a relief.

After all, we are already illustrious in our own way - just see below ...

We featured in a seriously arty movie ...

... but we don't turn down spaghetti Westerns ...

... on TV, right back when it was still in black-and-white ...

... Cousin Sid the Sloth in The Ice Age.

Hey, we even have a stuffed-animal range!

... in addition to our very own road-sign. See here.

And the ladies just love to mother us ...

... among other, er, favours ...

... and you wonder why?

------------------------------------------------------------
Pics googled and credits included where possible.

TELENOVELA fans may want to take notice - Part 4 of A Winter's Tale has now been posted at my Manor. Enjoy ... :D

Too Sexy for your List?

2007-07-25T14:37:00.001+08:00

Lily the Liverbird made a pertinent point the other day - which made me realise that I had been remiss in catering to my readers.

You see, she had put up a list of the 10 Hottest Malaysian Males (see here).

Of course there was an immediate clamour about her dodgy tastes and what-not.

Well, I for one would never question another's taste - it's personal, innit?

Anyway she DID mention that the so-called (dia orang kata) Leman Lenggok she included as No. 10 was the only one she knows who put up his own pictures in his blog.

Oh.

Yeah, that I'm guilty of also, Milady.

And I'm putting it right, right now ...

So here it is - a quick look at how a Nougat-Tenuk looked like as he made his way in this world.

Me as a wee bairn toddling around in stripey jammies ...

Me Mum always says I got such a schweeet smile ... :D

Go on! I'm used to you ladies checking out my butt.

Dats not me but our own "Ron Jeremy" starring on a Net movie
... see why we call "it" the fifth leg?

Me? Like I always said, I prefer speaking in tongues ... :P

So whaddaya think, ladies? Good enough for a Top 50 Hottest Malaysian Males?

Va-va-voom goes phut-phut-psssssh ...

2007-07-17T09:20:00.002+08:00

"Hmmm, will she keep that shirt on if I leave Arsenal?"

It seems that TH14 has burned more bridges than we had initially thought.

Henry, whose lightning feet shot him to fame as the Gunners' all-time leading goal- scorer, told friends 'I didn't really want to leave Arsenal - they're my favourite club and I loved playing for them. But lots of things have changed recently and I had to get away from everything English, including my wife unfortunately. It's a very sad time for all of us, but you've got to know when to move on.'

Or was it he got his fingers burnt as someone had mentioned - a rumour that Nicole found a dodgy SMS on his mobile phone?

On Sunday, Henry, 29, confirmed that his four-year marriage to English model Claire - mum to his two-year-old daughter Tia - was over.

The statement added that the star's move to Barcelona was 'entirely for footballing reasons'.

According to sources, the last straw between the pair is said to have been secret texts and pictures found by Claire on the footballer's mobile phone. The striker's gallic temperament is also believed to have triggered the split.

If true, then the parallels are uncanny - the circumstances (a recent transfer from a premier English club to a top La Liga side, the family that prefers the previous location) eerily similiar with Wendy Weckham's.

Will now a name surface to infamy like Rebecca Loos' did?

Does this mean that TH14 has now launched a drive to go up against the incumbent - Bwand Weckham?

Whatever the reasons, it's apparent that the split is real and that the Va-Va-Voom has definitely gone kaput-phut-phut.

Sadly TH14, so stellar in his Arsenal days, seems to have joined the ranks of Arsenal old boys for whom things went pear-shaped in their ever afters.

Hope he does better (for a bit longer at least) on the pitch (except when playing against us, of course).

Then again, all the fuss is a bit unnecessary, I think.

Even if he had kantol-ed, he could have just offered one of these reasons.

After all, one excuse is just as good as the other.

-----------------------------------
Pic googled, table filched from the Daily Mail.

The Quality of Mercy ...

2007-07-12T09:13:00.001+08:00

I'm one of those recently branded a "Jantan Sundalese".

For those who are puzzling over the term, bear with me and all will be revealed.

Er, figuratively that is.

I'm not going to do a Ljungberg and flash my boxers on this blog.

At least not yet anyway.

For years I have been an honorary member of a discreet international fraternity that dispenses comfort (lovingly wrapped in packets of varying sizes) to countless needy people worldwide.

Various wrapping materials for members

We serve all, and in most cases, we serve them more than once.

We may not (all) be big, but we are certainly big-hearted.

We may not be perfect, but we do try harder.

We are the Bastion for the bashed-up-heart,
the Refuge for the raped-out-soul,
the Tart-Hugger for the no-one-wants-me-anymore-still-singles,
the loyal Dog for the tong-sampah-in-skirts.

We are, er, ... members of the Ancient Order of the Mercy Shag.

aka Bonkers without Borders,

aka Shaggers sans Frontieres.

Pic : The preserved sceptre of our Beloved Founder, Gregori Yefemovich Rasputin of Russia. Now you know why Tsaritsa Alexandra and other Russian court ladies loved him so much. (Click on caption to find out more about him)

For years we have operated within the dark shadows (pubs, clubs and various vehicles) with nary a whisper - saving souls by the sweat of our brows and the pride of our prows;

but this morning we have been found out, rumbled. Out-ed.

By who else but that Intrepid Blog-Goddess of the Blogosphere ... aka Lily the Poo. And you can read it here.

Pic: Bitch-Goddess Lily the Poo with one of her kekarman in attendance.

It's not being out-ed that is distressing actually.

After all, er, members of the Order have been er, exposed or rather caught with their pants down in the past.

Literally.

Like Hugh - frotted to a halt at Sunset Boulevard by Divine;

like George kena kencing while er, hanging around a Beverly Hills public toilet;

and like Boris - swept to notoriety while attending to a needy London waitress in a restaurant's broom closet.

No, no - it's not the out-ing that gets our boxers in a twist.

It's actually the Jantan Sundalese label.

It sounds so Indon pecah rumah.

No, no, we're way classier than that.

And more importantly, we deserve better if only through the sincerity of our continuous efforts throughout the ages.

So dear, dearest Lily of the Poo Bitch-Pitch ... could you then, in future, kindly refer to us as Comfort Men instead?

That's a luv.

Yours truly,

Sir Cipan Nougat-Tenuk, Chevalier
Keeper of Records,
Shaggers sans Frontieres

---------------------------------------------------------------
Item of interest - Pic 1: Reusable condoms being hung to dry. These are usually customised for fit and extra features. I had thought the art (craft?) had died out ever since condoms are mass-produced.

Wagging the Dogs

2007-07-10T16:00:00.001+08:00

Somewhere in Europe ...

"Gut evening, Class!"

"Gut evening, Herr Professor!"

"OK, ok ... vat shall ve discuss tonight? Any suggestions? Yes, Alex?"

"Er, vot is dis WAG I alvays see in der Englischer zeitung ever oder day?"

"Nicht Englischer zeitung, Alex - it is "English newspaper", okay? Sehr gut ... everyvun, open up your dictionaries and look up der vord "wag". Brunhilde, read der first part loudly."

wag [wag] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation verb, wagged, wag·ging, noun –verb (used with object)

1.	to move from side to side, forward and backward, or up and down, esp. rapidly and repeatedly: a dog wagging its tail.

2.	to move (the tongue), as in idle or indiscreet chatter.

3.	to shake (a finger) at someone, as in reproach.

4.	to move or nod (the head).

" Okay class - from dat ve can understand a few things about a WAG. Helmut, tell us vun think from dat!"

" Ja, OK ... er, ah, a WAG is alvays a dog."

"Hmm ... not alvays but close enuff. Next ... Bruno?"

"Sir, vhen "used with object" ... der WAG, they move their tongues."

"Gut - Celine?"

"Er, they use one single finger as signal vhen they are angry?"

"Wunderbar! Gut meaning of "reproach"! Alex, you now ..."

"Meister, vhen "used with object", like Bruno say ... der head is moved in a nodding fashion."

"Und nodding is ... ?"

"Moving der head up und down, Herr Professor!"

"Correct! Now ve move on to der second part. Martha ... read it!"

–verb (used without object)

5.	to be moved from side to side or one way and the other, esp. rapidly and repeatedly, as the head or the tail.

6.	to move constantly, esp. in idle or indiscreet chatter: Her behavior caused local tongues to wag.

7.	to get along; travel; proceed: Let the world wag how it will.

8.	to totter or sway.

9.	British Slang. to play truant; play hooky.

"Gut! Michelle ... ?"

"Professor, it means ven ve take avay der object, der WAG, her head is moved from side to side?"

"Ja, ja ... but moved how? It's dere ..."

"Oh ja, der head - she moves rapidly und repeatedly ... er, schnell, ja? - und der same vith its tail also."

"Professor! Einen moment, bitte!"

"Sprechen English, dummkopf! Yes, vat is it, Bruno?"

"I cannot unnerstand vat Michelle is saying. Can she show vot she means?"

"Michelle? Ve haf Bruno playing der idiot. Do you mind showing vot you mean? Moving your head und tail at der same time? "

"Nein, Professor. No problem."

Pindrop silence among the men as Michelle worked her demo. Brunhilda and Martha giggles.

The Professor closes his gaping mouth.

"Ach, ja ... danke schon. Dat is enuff ... ah -"

The clock chimed the hour.

"Ah, ve haf finished. Ve vill continue dis. Thank you, class. See you tomorrow evening."

"Thank you, Professor"

"Ah, Michelle ... may I walk you to the hauptbahnhof?"

The Eduardo FAQ-er

2007-07-03T15:56:00.001+08:00

Arsenal Sign Croatian Record-Breaker Eduardo

Eduardo who ... !!!???
... da Silva.

It's Eduardo Alves da Silva, yer ignorant Goon.

OK - who's he then?
Well, he's the Godfather's latest signing, innit?

How do we know it's for real?
Arsenal.com reported it, so it is confirmed and completed - it's not like some Scouser deal that plays out like a Latin soap opera.

Who's he's been playing for?
Dinamo Zagreb - that's in Croatia, mind.

Ooooh, like that git Suker then?
Well yeah, except that he wasn't born a Croatian - he's a Brazilian.

Er ... how's that again?
He was born in Bango, Brazil. He came over when he was 15. But he only became Croatian in 2003.

How come that happened?
That's cos they wanted him in their U-21 squad, innit. He's an idol in Croatia, not that it means much but apparently he's much better than Malouda on the left side.

How good is he, we don't want another Shite-tista?
Well, he scored against us when we thwacked them 5-1 at the Emirates in the CL. And he was Croatian Player of the Year in 2003 and again in 2006.

He was in the Croatian U-21 and now he's a full international.

Does he score goals then?
Well he was on loan to a 2nd division club, scored 10 in 15 games. Then his first season with Dinamo's first team he scored 9 in 24 games.

Last season he scored 34 in 32 games, breaking the 13-year old goalscoring record in the league. He topped that with a hattrick in the final match of the season, a local derby against Hajduk Split.

That brings his total to 73 goals in 104 games for Dinamo Zagreb. Not bad at all.

But the Croatian's League probably shite anyways ...?
He should be very good - in internationals, he's got 8 in 12 games for the U-21 and for the Croatian first eleven, he's got 7 goals in 12 games.

His first international competitive goal was against England in the 2006 Euro qualifiers.

At least he knows how to hit the target - and we need someone like that.

Here's his 88th winner against Estonia ...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYFfiveIGpk

and here's something someone's compiled. Maybe Arsene watched this one.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=nREh1bD0HsY&NR=1

Hmmm ... looks good ... what do his friends call him?
They call him Dudu ... and he wants it on his jersey - he doesn't like "da Silva" because it's his mum's maiden name, not his.

Cor ... so wot does he look like then?
Look for yourself (below, centre).

What do you think of him?
Well, he's done well in Croatia - and done well consistently.

He's fast, has a great first touch, good dribbling skills and can jump and head too.

And more importantly, he's not really good-looking, if you know what I mean.

So he's not likely to be a show-pony like that little Pink Devil.

And anyone who's as good-looking as Martin Keown has gotta be really good.

Anyway - Arsene knows.

Warts and all ...

2007-06-27T11:27:00.001+08:00

Love is a many-splendoured thing; true love a Holy Grail for many.

We grew up hearing the stories of those who allegedly gave their lives for it.

We learned how the love was at times unrequited and almost all were unconsummated (they didn't get to do the jiggy-jiggy), and certainly none resulted in a baby (or two. Or three. Or more).

So logically, the dying-for-love genes has probably died out from the human gene pool by this time - which lends some credence to the global notion that romance is dead.

:Is it true love? Or just infatuation? saith the teenage niece throbbing with repressed desires brought about by a reading diet of Black Lace books.

+ Is this my true love? My Grand Passion? Or is it just LUST? asked the engineering manager over his Carlsberg, anxiously smoothing back his thinning sweaty hair.

So what would be THE defining moment in a romance?

The one that tells you if that passing fancy is really your soul-mate in disguise;

if that sexy kekar plumber will most definitely cherish your waterworks to death (and would never even look at another T-joint ever);

if that office cleaning illegal immigrant will religiously keep your woodwork shiny and new through regular and rigorous polishing;

That bit of wisdom accumulated over the years tells me something about the defining moment of a relationship ...

... the one that moves the two of you beyond the residual awkwardness and into the joys of ultimate intimacy.

The REAL defining moment of any serious relationship is your encounter with the First Fart.

Now I'm not talking about those sneaky silent ones discharged under the lacy tablecloth in the swanky Brasserie on Valentine's Day dinner.

Nor the ones released, with great cunning, in public - and in the hope that prevailing winds will sweep the evidence away.

Unfortunately for Bush, his farts are just as dense as he is.

No, no - I'm talking about that big and really LOUD one that takes both of you by surprise by its sheer violence.
I'm talking about the type that would make a veteran ping-pong ball shooter of a Patpong tiger-show contact you for training.

And Heaven help you if it also turns out to be a ripe one - the sort that the US went to war in Iraq to look for and could power a whole generation of hybrid cars.

The First Fart changes whole perceptions, shifts cherished paradigms and detonates a whole slew of rose-tinted illusions.

The First Fart is the ultimate reality.

The good thing about the First Fart is that it will definitely move the relationship to the next level, for better or for worse.

It's THAT defining.

But what the hell - what's the worst thing that could happen?

Well, the relationship could go south, of course.

But then would you really want to share your life with someone so delusional as to believe that farts don't exist?

Or so pretentious as to pretend that decent people don't fart aloud.

And on the other hand, the best thing that could happen is that your intended-beloved will just curl up and start to ROTFL.

When that happens you can sit back and relax.

Then you'll know that on domestic weekends, the morning calm of your bedroom may well resound to what sounds very much like a pod of whales blowing kisses at each other.

There she blows ... there, no ... there! ... ooo, dats everywhere!

But then, you'd be cool ... you're blissed out on the Holy Grail.

To paraphrase what Oliver Cromwell (left) said so long ago:

"Love me, you sweet munchkins ... pimples, warts, farts and all ..."

Now that's true love.