..this is a long one, better get comfy..
Marooned #1
(Saturday)
Well, I’m sat in the FPSO mess room watching Muay-Thai on a giant telly. It’s midday and no sign of a let-up in the wind outside, therefore the swell, therefore I can’t get to work. So I’m wasting a perfectly good weekend, which I’d normally spend doing nothing…. doing nothing. What’s Muay-Thai? Kick boxing. What’s the FPSO? A large tanker moored a mile from Benchamas platform. But stop interrupting, I’d better get on with the tale, the battery on this laptop won’t last long.
From my last blog you’ll be aware that yesterday morning I stayed on the platform and let my chopper fly, without guaranteed accommodation on BLQ. Foolish, as they put me NOT in BLQ where I’d been till then, NOT on Millennium which I know well. No, the only bunk available (or not, as it transpired) was on the “Tan-kuuuur”, as they pronounce it here. This after me pulling all the strings I could to get a comfy cabin on BLQ – an exercise in humility yet again.
Anyway, I knew nothing about the FPSO and nobody seemed inclined to explain, but I managed to ascertain that the last boat over from the platform was at “abow fi-tuuuurteee”. I turned up at the deck on time, only to be told to come back in half an hour. I went back to work, sat down - call over the tannoy for passengers to tan-kuuuur. I went back – pissing down. Crane crew informed me it would be another hour “bee-kos of lain”. I trudged back to work. Straight away, another tannoy. This went on and on until I finally got craned aboard at about 7pm. The trip across was delightful - increasing (and ominous) wind, steady rain and no shelter. On reaching the Tanker I reported to the Cap’n, who detailed one of his minions to show me my cabin. I was in a cupboard-sized room with 5 Thai chaps, and immediately it was obvious something was up – there were items placed on “my” bunk, the locker was taken. A conversation ensued between the minion and the guys, and I was told not to worry. I cleared the stuff off the bunk, had a shower, hung my dirty (and wet) shirt for the morning since I had no clean stuff, and went to bed. Half an hour later, nodding off into my book, a scratch at the bunk’s curtain – “ek-kews mee, yoo in my bed”. Predictable, but annoying. Another conversation between the (now 6) thais and he sloped off, coming back 30 seconds later with the minion. He explained that there had been a mistake, I was in 1B7, not 3B7. I wearily got dressed in my rain-soaked jeans and shirt, collected my sodden bags and trudged down to 1B7. 5 more Thai guys, another cupboard, and this time an empty bunk – result! I noted with a final twinge of despair that the number was missing from the bunk. I caught the eye of one of the guys, pointed at the bunk, and said “Jet?” (means seven). He nodded with not a little pity in his eyes, no doubt at my dejected appearance. I climbed into the bunk, closed the curtains, got out my book for a last hour of reading. Turned on the reading light – nothing. I muttered a bit, I must admit. I resolved to go to sleep since tomorrow was, and still is, another day. I was just nodding off when, uncharacteristically and probably due to stress levels, I noticed a change in the general roar that’s ever-present on ships. (Imagine being on a ferry and multiply my ten). The strange fluting hum from one of the AC fans had two tones, which alternated with a frequency somewhere between 5 and 30 seconds - just long enough to allow near-sleep between changes. Annoying, and Lynny I now understand how stressed you are every time you interrupt a perfectly good TV program with “What’s that noise?”. Anyway I wearily sat up, rummaged in my jeans pocket for that day’s earplugs. Put them in – hey presto, all noise gone EXCEPT the annoying fluting one. Perfect end to a day. I eventually dropped off, only to wake up some time later with earache. I removed the plugs and was immediately assailed with the full 100db. Needless to say, not a great night’s sleep, not helped along by the other guys getting up for work at irregular intervals starting at 4am, so when I turned up for the boat back to BLQ this morning at 5.30 I must have looked fairly ropey. I waited in vain for the boat but none came. So here I am typing to you lot. This battery’s lasting well – I’ll keep going shall I? (Cries of “Stop!”)
It’s not all bad though. The system on BLQ seems to be much more stable since we got our new hotfix from Wonderware. At least it was last night, but I’ve no way of knowing now. Also the extra few days offshore will pass quickly despite the dodgy accommodation, and in less than three weeks I’ll be home in New Mills. As usual I can’t wait. On returning to Thailand a week later I’ll bring Lyn and Suzi with me for a couple of weeks. That’ll be good, I’m a bit tired of rattling round the apartment talking to myself. Mind you, they’ll probably ban me from playing drums, clear up constantly (or worse, expect me to), and commandeer the TV control – nightmare! Cancel the trip! Ah well we have a trip to Ho Chi Min City planned, that’ll break it up.
These Thai boxers are odd. It’s like a rhythmic bobbing dance, with the hands high and swaying hypnotically, and one leg forward and slightly raised. Comical really, but don’t tell them I said that. Then there’s a flurry of blows that would kill me, and they’re back to dancing again. Lots of gambling involved, you can see the bookies going crazy at ringside, and most of the audience seems more interested in the result than the boxing. That’s probably because they have this week’s rent/shopping/bus-fares riding on it. Fights last three rounds only and they nearly never end in a knockout. At the final bell, the ref just raises the hand of whoever he’s been bribed to, and the bookies go even crazier.
There’s no photos this trip I’m afraid. I’d like to send a few views of the FPSO but as explained, my phone’s flat. I will continue asking strangers and passers-by if they have a Nokia charger, despite the confusion it seems to cause. “No lee-sep-shon here mis-tuuur”. Maybe I’ll get lucky before Wednesday, in which case expect a flood of images of yet another rusty pile of pipes.
Oops, battery level dropping. I’d better save this doc and work out how to get it uploaded…be good.
(Saturday)
Well, I’m sat in the FPSO mess room watching Muay-Thai on a giant telly. It’s midday and no sign of a let-up in the wind outside, therefore the swell, therefore I can’t get to work. So I’m wasting a perfectly good weekend, which I’d normally spend doing nothing…. doing nothing. What’s Muay-Thai? Kick boxing. What’s the FPSO? A large tanker moored a mile from Benchamas platform. But stop interrupting, I’d better get on with the tale, the battery on this laptop won’t last long.
From my last blog you’ll be aware that yesterday morning I stayed on the platform and let my chopper fly, without guaranteed accommodation on BLQ. Foolish, as they put me NOT in BLQ where I’d been till then, NOT on Millennium which I know well. No, the only bunk available (or not, as it transpired) was on the “Tan-kuuuur”, as they pronounce it here. This after me pulling all the strings I could to get a comfy cabin on BLQ – an exercise in humility yet again.
Anyway, I knew nothing about the FPSO and nobody seemed inclined to explain, but I managed to ascertain that the last boat over from the platform was at “abow fi-tuuuurteee”. I turned up at the deck on time, only to be told to come back in half an hour. I went back to work, sat down - call over the tannoy for passengers to tan-kuuuur. I went back – pissing down. Crane crew informed me it would be another hour “bee-kos of lain”. I trudged back to work. Straight away, another tannoy. This went on and on until I finally got craned aboard at about 7pm. The trip across was delightful - increasing (and ominous) wind, steady rain and no shelter. On reaching the Tanker I reported to the Cap’n, who detailed one of his minions to show me my cabin. I was in a cupboard-sized room with 5 Thai chaps, and immediately it was obvious something was up – there were items placed on “my” bunk, the locker was taken. A conversation ensued between the minion and the guys, and I was told not to worry. I cleared the stuff off the bunk, had a shower, hung my dirty (and wet) shirt for the morning since I had no clean stuff, and went to bed. Half an hour later, nodding off into my book, a scratch at the bunk’s curtain – “ek-kews mee, yoo in my bed”. Predictable, but annoying. Another conversation between the (now 6) thais and he sloped off, coming back 30 seconds later with the minion. He explained that there had been a mistake, I was in 1B7, not 3B7. I wearily got dressed in my rain-soaked jeans and shirt, collected my sodden bags and trudged down to 1B7. 5 more Thai guys, another cupboard, and this time an empty bunk – result! I noted with a final twinge of despair that the number was missing from the bunk. I caught the eye of one of the guys, pointed at the bunk, and said “Jet?” (means seven). He nodded with not a little pity in his eyes, no doubt at my dejected appearance. I climbed into the bunk, closed the curtains, got out my book for a last hour of reading. Turned on the reading light – nothing. I muttered a bit, I must admit. I resolved to go to sleep since tomorrow was, and still is, another day. I was just nodding off when, uncharacteristically and probably due to stress levels, I noticed a change in the general roar that’s ever-present on ships. (Imagine being on a ferry and multiply my ten). The strange fluting hum from one of the AC fans had two tones, which alternated with a frequency somewhere between 5 and 30 seconds - just long enough to allow near-sleep between changes. Annoying, and Lynny I now understand how stressed you are every time you interrupt a perfectly good TV program with “What’s that noise?”. Anyway I wearily sat up, rummaged in my jeans pocket for that day’s earplugs. Put them in – hey presto, all noise gone EXCEPT the annoying fluting one. Perfect end to a day. I eventually dropped off, only to wake up some time later with earache. I removed the plugs and was immediately assailed with the full 100db. Needless to say, not a great night’s sleep, not helped along by the other guys getting up for work at irregular intervals starting at 4am, so when I turned up for the boat back to BLQ this morning at 5.30 I must have looked fairly ropey. I waited in vain for the boat but none came. So here I am typing to you lot. This battery’s lasting well – I’ll keep going shall I? (Cries of “Stop!”)
It’s not all bad though. The system on BLQ seems to be much more stable since we got our new hotfix from Wonderware. At least it was last night, but I’ve no way of knowing now. Also the extra few days offshore will pass quickly despite the dodgy accommodation, and in less than three weeks I’ll be home in New Mills. As usual I can’t wait. On returning to Thailand a week later I’ll bring Lyn and Suzi with me for a couple of weeks. That’ll be good, I’m a bit tired of rattling round the apartment talking to myself. Mind you, they’ll probably ban me from playing drums, clear up constantly (or worse, expect me to), and commandeer the TV control – nightmare! Cancel the trip! Ah well we have a trip to Ho Chi Min City planned, that’ll break it up.
These Thai boxers are odd. It’s like a rhythmic bobbing dance, with the hands high and swaying hypnotically, and one leg forward and slightly raised. Comical really, but don’t tell them I said that. Then there’s a flurry of blows that would kill me, and they’re back to dancing again. Lots of gambling involved, you can see the bookies going crazy at ringside, and most of the audience seems more interested in the result than the boxing. That’s probably because they have this week’s rent/shopping/bus-fares riding on it. Fights last three rounds only and they nearly never end in a knockout. At the final bell, the ref just raises the hand of whoever he’s been bribed to, and the bookies go even crazier.
There’s no photos this trip I’m afraid. I’d like to send a few views of the FPSO but as explained, my phone’s flat. I will continue asking strangers and passers-by if they have a Nokia charger, despite the confusion it seems to cause. “No lee-sep-shon here mis-tuuur”. Maybe I’ll get lucky before Wednesday, in which case expect a flood of images of yet another rusty pile of pipes.
Oops, battery level dropping. I’d better save this doc and work out how to get it uploaded…be good.
Marooned #2
(Sunday)
Jeez, Lynny I miss you.
Day 2 of my maroonment (new word). Still blowing a gale out there, still loads of diminutive men hanging around waiting for the tannoy to come to life. Today on the giant telly it’s movies all the way - all except this latest one in Thai. I sat through a cringeworthy tale of sex and betrayal starring Ewan McGregor this morning (title unknown), all in Thai of course. Once again I was struck by the overdubbed voices, all in the deepest register they could manage. The guy who was McGregor’s voice sounded like a friendly uncle with laryngitis. Anyway our esteemed Scottish heartthrob bonked about 15 wimmin, one particularly inventive sex scene (and we know I hate those) involving creative use of a paddle (ouch), some salt (ouch) and a bottle of ketchup (uuugh!). He ended up walking off down a quayside with his kitbag, and strangely his dignity, over his shoulder. Roll credits. I hated every moment of the tawdry excuse for a movie, and it would have been no better with dialogue I could understand. But his charms aren’t meant for me. Discuss. Oh, and the Thai censors tend to put blurry spots over two things: bare bums and cigarettes – only when in mouths, though (the cigs, not the bums).
The current movie is one of the fantastic four franchise (see what I did there?) and it’s actually in English, which just means it’s harder to ignore. I tried for a while to read my book, but after 48 hours immersed in incomprehensible Thai conversation it’s hard not to look up when you hear sentences you recognise, even if they are 99% cliché’s. In the end I spotted a UK-style socket and realised I could use my laptop willy nilly without it going flat, so decided typing blogs and listening to music on headphones was preferable to watching drivel. Having said that, I might miss the long-awaited call to the boat. Nah, there’ll be a sudden exodus when it comes and I’ll pack this PC up faster than you can say “Thank fuck for that”. (‘scuse my French Lynny).
I managed five minutes on the phone to wifey yesterday, long enough to ascertain that she’d been out Friday night and drank enough wine to make her ill. That’s probably a couple of glasses I’d guess. Silly woman, stick to the grain I say. Personally I’ve forgotten what wine tastes like. However I shall remedy that soon after arriving home in, er, 19 days and counting.
Still no sign of a phone charger, but I’ll keep trying. There are lots of strangers here to ask (or at least to gesture at). One bloke keeps doing the same magic trick – it’s very impressive and involves (apparently) making coins disappear through a table. I’ve watched him bamboozle at least ten crew members with it, and I still can’t figure out how he does it. If I’m here long enough I’ll either work it out or bribe him to tell me, in which case I’ll attempt to show the trick to all and sundry on my return. The trick, but not the secret.
Ah, the dreadful movie has finished and now we have a documentary about Tokyo, I think. No way of knowing, we’ve reverted to Thai of course.
I searched the ship in vain yesterday for something to do. Actually I was looking for a gym, having got myself back into the swing of things fitness-wise, both in Bangkok and on BLQ. I found nothing except a “Recreation Lounge” which contained some comfy chairs and another big telly. What have we come to, when “recreation” means watching telly? The end of real life and descent into cultural extinction, that’s what. Anyway I took a tour round the deck this morning, and one guy was out on the patio-sized helideck in the sunshine (despite the wind) walking in circles, an expression of bored determination on his face, and nothing but a pair of moth-eaten shorts on his body. Poor guy must be desperate. I felt like joining him.
Dilemma: I will probably make it to the boat before Wednesday when my chopper leaves, and when the wind drops I’ll commute daily. Thing is, how nervous am I going to be, leaving the platform Tuesday night and hoping against hope that the boat turns up to bring me back for the chopper next morning? Hmm, think I really will sleep on the office floor. No wait, there’s a helideck here as I already mentioned, so they can pick me up from here. Ok I’ll stop fretting, secure in the knowledge that I’ll get onshore on Wednesday no matter what. But.. what if it’s so windy the chopper can’t fly? Oh stop it Russell.
The minion who originally showed me to the wrong bunk seems to have adopted me as his token farang, and luckily he works in the control room, so I can regularly get access to emails. However, uploading blogs is not possible since I don’t have any way getting the words off of this here laptop and onto the interweb. So you’ll be reading this days after I wrote it and I’ll have found my way back to BLQ, hurrah.
Blimey, lunchtime already, brb…
Well, that was entertaining. Not the lunch, the strange Thai game show that came on the giant telly. There’s an exercise you can do with a roller that looks like a dumbbell, where you get into a press-up position with your hands on the roller and roll it away from yourself until you’re nearly flat on the ground, then pull yourself up again. Well they had two guys do as many as they could manage (they ensured no cheating by placing a squeaking ball on the ground under their bellies. If no squeak, the “dip” would not count.). As soon as the first guy did his first dip, the show cut away to adverts for online gambling companies. Connection? Absolutely – this is Asia. Personally I could manage five dips I would guess – never been into stomach exercises and I think six-packs look stupid unless they’re on a supermarket shelf. Anyway, the first guy did 64 and the second managed 65. Most impressive, I think they were both Boxers. I think maybe a lot of money changed hands, and so the world goes round.
Staying with telly, the locals are currently roaring with laughter at a typically slapstick comedy show. Being funny in Thailand seems to involve wearing daft clothes or talking in a squeaky voice and doing pratfalls. This always seems to be helped along by canned laughter and helpful “Twannnnng!”, “Boinnng!”, “Squeak” or “Twee-wee-weeeee!” noises, just to let us know when to laugh. I shouldn’t mock, they seem to enjoy it. I’ve discussed this with Bart and we concluded that westerners went through the silly noises phase a few years ago and now find it patronising to the point of annoyance. We know when to laugh dammit, we’re sophisticated intellectuals…
Lunch itself was boring. In situations like this it’s very easy to succumb to comfort-eating. Food is available all day because people are on different shift patterns. We poor souls-in-limbo have to sit here all day and watch it all come and go. Grown men tucking into ice-cream cones has always left me bemused (it’s very cold, very sweet, what’s the attraction?) but here I’ve seen a lot of such behaviour. Ditto cakes, cokes and other confectionery. So far I’ve managed to stick with plain rice, lots of veg, and whatever meat/sauce turns up. Oh alright, I confess I had some apple pie with my coffee yesterday.
Now it’s three hours later and I’ve sat through “Troy” with Brad Pitt as Achilles and Eric Bana as Hector. Don’t know the woman who played Helen, but she was damned pretty – enough to launch a thousand computer-generated ships I’d say. We could have done with more of her and less daft posturing. I can’t take the bird-boned Orlando Bloom seriously as an action hero, but in this he played Hector’s smaller brother Paris, who was slightly cowardly face to face, but dead-eyed enough with his trusty (elven?) bow to nail the big “A” in the heel. Rousing stuff, even in Thai, but somehow I don’t think they stuck to the original storyline. Is nothing sacred in Hollywood? Answer: No, not since they gave us a square-jawed right-wing gun-totin’ “Cold dead hands” Moses, not to mention a Jesus with blue eyes and an Oxford English accent.
While I’ve been typing we’ve moved onto a reasonably funny Jackie Chan movie. Does it matter what it’s called? Oh, I think not.
By the way, fret not you worrying types, I got some laundry done. Which reminds me, while I was on BLQ I put a perfectly decent pair of black socks in the bag, and next day what came back? Well, a pair of grey socks in Thai size, with actual toes in, like gloves for the feet. I struggled into them yesterday, having no choice, and immediately loved them. Photos to follow if.. well, you know.
Better go. More tomorrow if still here…
Stop press – wind speeds are expected to remain high for four more days. How long can I keep typing? Hmm, need some non-TV-based material from somewhere. Where’s that magician guy?…
Marooned #3
(Monday)
They announced a boat at 6 am today. Mass scramble for the crane….. no boat. It’s still very windy so I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere today. Getting worried now – tomorrow will be my last chance to actually do some work and if that doesn’t happen, my extended trip was a complete waste of time and money.
Here’s a thing. There’s tennis on the telly, which I find quite boring. If Wimbledon was happening in my back garden, I’d close the curtains. But that aside (see what I did there?), there’s a matter that needs discussing, and I believe you know what that is don’t you? Yes, it’s the celebratory gesture after a good shot is made to win a rally. I’m talking about the fist-clenched shoving motion that’s been adopted by both men and women. I find it disgusting. Bad enough for the blokes, signalling the ultimate triumph, but for women? What kind of craziness is that? Do they not realise the nature of the gesture? It’s insane I tell you. So for any professional tennis players reading this (eh?), I suggest a new policy in future: When wining a rally, put your hand in the air, palm out, to acknowledge the crowd’s appreciation of your skill, and don’t try to subliminally suggest you just buggered your opponent without his or her consent. Mind you, judging by the looks of some of these lantern-jawed behemoths, balls and a hairy chest wouldn’t be out of place. I wouldn’t mind shoulders like Serena Williams, that’s for sure.
In other news, I spoke to magic man last night after he performed his small but impressive repertoire of tricks to another appreciative audience. He assured me that the trick with the coins requires lots of skill, in fact it took him a year and a half to learn it. I’m fairly sure I know how it’s done and I’ll research it, but family and friends you’ll have to wait a while before I wow you with it.
Think I’ll read a while. Ahh, the life of leisure. Later tater.
Stop press – I have a bed on BLQ! Powerful mates, me. Now I just need to get there. I hear rumours there will be a boat later today when the wind dies. I do hope it’s after the laundry’s done or I’ll be minus one Plexal shirt and sundry undergarments. Speaking of which, I’m sad to report that only one of new newly acquired foot-gloves came back from yesterday’s laundry. Well that was short but sweet. Job for you Lynny – find me some for when I get back. 18 days, tick tock.
..and now here I am on BLQ. The trip across was interesting. A storm came in just as I was craned aboard BLQ, so it was then or never. Phew. It was very exciting being thrown around in mountainous seas in that glorified tug.
(Sunday)
Jeez, Lynny I miss you.
Day 2 of my maroonment (new word). Still blowing a gale out there, still loads of diminutive men hanging around waiting for the tannoy to come to life. Today on the giant telly it’s movies all the way - all except this latest one in Thai. I sat through a cringeworthy tale of sex and betrayal starring Ewan McGregor this morning (title unknown), all in Thai of course. Once again I was struck by the overdubbed voices, all in the deepest register they could manage. The guy who was McGregor’s voice sounded like a friendly uncle with laryngitis. Anyway our esteemed Scottish heartthrob bonked about 15 wimmin, one particularly inventive sex scene (and we know I hate those) involving creative use of a paddle (ouch), some salt (ouch) and a bottle of ketchup (uuugh!). He ended up walking off down a quayside with his kitbag, and strangely his dignity, over his shoulder. Roll credits. I hated every moment of the tawdry excuse for a movie, and it would have been no better with dialogue I could understand. But his charms aren’t meant for me. Discuss. Oh, and the Thai censors tend to put blurry spots over two things: bare bums and cigarettes – only when in mouths, though (the cigs, not the bums).
The current movie is one of the fantastic four franchise (see what I did there?) and it’s actually in English, which just means it’s harder to ignore. I tried for a while to read my book, but after 48 hours immersed in incomprehensible Thai conversation it’s hard not to look up when you hear sentences you recognise, even if they are 99% cliché’s. In the end I spotted a UK-style socket and realised I could use my laptop willy nilly without it going flat, so decided typing blogs and listening to music on headphones was preferable to watching drivel. Having said that, I might miss the long-awaited call to the boat. Nah, there’ll be a sudden exodus when it comes and I’ll pack this PC up faster than you can say “Thank fuck for that”. (‘scuse my French Lynny).
I managed five minutes on the phone to wifey yesterday, long enough to ascertain that she’d been out Friday night and drank enough wine to make her ill. That’s probably a couple of glasses I’d guess. Silly woman, stick to the grain I say. Personally I’ve forgotten what wine tastes like. However I shall remedy that soon after arriving home in, er, 19 days and counting.
Still no sign of a phone charger, but I’ll keep trying. There are lots of strangers here to ask (or at least to gesture at). One bloke keeps doing the same magic trick – it’s very impressive and involves (apparently) making coins disappear through a table. I’ve watched him bamboozle at least ten crew members with it, and I still can’t figure out how he does it. If I’m here long enough I’ll either work it out or bribe him to tell me, in which case I’ll attempt to show the trick to all and sundry on my return. The trick, but not the secret.
Ah, the dreadful movie has finished and now we have a documentary about Tokyo, I think. No way of knowing, we’ve reverted to Thai of course.
I searched the ship in vain yesterday for something to do. Actually I was looking for a gym, having got myself back into the swing of things fitness-wise, both in Bangkok and on BLQ. I found nothing except a “Recreation Lounge” which contained some comfy chairs and another big telly. What have we come to, when “recreation” means watching telly? The end of real life and descent into cultural extinction, that’s what. Anyway I took a tour round the deck this morning, and one guy was out on the patio-sized helideck in the sunshine (despite the wind) walking in circles, an expression of bored determination on his face, and nothing but a pair of moth-eaten shorts on his body. Poor guy must be desperate. I felt like joining him.
Dilemma: I will probably make it to the boat before Wednesday when my chopper leaves, and when the wind drops I’ll commute daily. Thing is, how nervous am I going to be, leaving the platform Tuesday night and hoping against hope that the boat turns up to bring me back for the chopper next morning? Hmm, think I really will sleep on the office floor. No wait, there’s a helideck here as I already mentioned, so they can pick me up from here. Ok I’ll stop fretting, secure in the knowledge that I’ll get onshore on Wednesday no matter what. But.. what if it’s so windy the chopper can’t fly? Oh stop it Russell.
The minion who originally showed me to the wrong bunk seems to have adopted me as his token farang, and luckily he works in the control room, so I can regularly get access to emails. However, uploading blogs is not possible since I don’t have any way getting the words off of this here laptop and onto the interweb. So you’ll be reading this days after I wrote it and I’ll have found my way back to BLQ, hurrah.
Blimey, lunchtime already, brb…
Well, that was entertaining. Not the lunch, the strange Thai game show that came on the giant telly. There’s an exercise you can do with a roller that looks like a dumbbell, where you get into a press-up position with your hands on the roller and roll it away from yourself until you’re nearly flat on the ground, then pull yourself up again. Well they had two guys do as many as they could manage (they ensured no cheating by placing a squeaking ball on the ground under their bellies. If no squeak, the “dip” would not count.). As soon as the first guy did his first dip, the show cut away to adverts for online gambling companies. Connection? Absolutely – this is Asia. Personally I could manage five dips I would guess – never been into stomach exercises and I think six-packs look stupid unless they’re on a supermarket shelf. Anyway, the first guy did 64 and the second managed 65. Most impressive, I think they were both Boxers. I think maybe a lot of money changed hands, and so the world goes round.
Staying with telly, the locals are currently roaring with laughter at a typically slapstick comedy show. Being funny in Thailand seems to involve wearing daft clothes or talking in a squeaky voice and doing pratfalls. This always seems to be helped along by canned laughter and helpful “Twannnnng!”, “Boinnng!”, “Squeak” or “Twee-wee-weeeee!” noises, just to let us know when to laugh. I shouldn’t mock, they seem to enjoy it. I’ve discussed this with Bart and we concluded that westerners went through the silly noises phase a few years ago and now find it patronising to the point of annoyance. We know when to laugh dammit, we’re sophisticated intellectuals…
Lunch itself was boring. In situations like this it’s very easy to succumb to comfort-eating. Food is available all day because people are on different shift patterns. We poor souls-in-limbo have to sit here all day and watch it all come and go. Grown men tucking into ice-cream cones has always left me bemused (it’s very cold, very sweet, what’s the attraction?) but here I’ve seen a lot of such behaviour. Ditto cakes, cokes and other confectionery. So far I’ve managed to stick with plain rice, lots of veg, and whatever meat/sauce turns up. Oh alright, I confess I had some apple pie with my coffee yesterday.
Now it’s three hours later and I’ve sat through “Troy” with Brad Pitt as Achilles and Eric Bana as Hector. Don’t know the woman who played Helen, but she was damned pretty – enough to launch a thousand computer-generated ships I’d say. We could have done with more of her and less daft posturing. I can’t take the bird-boned Orlando Bloom seriously as an action hero, but in this he played Hector’s smaller brother Paris, who was slightly cowardly face to face, but dead-eyed enough with his trusty (elven?) bow to nail the big “A” in the heel. Rousing stuff, even in Thai, but somehow I don’t think they stuck to the original storyline. Is nothing sacred in Hollywood? Answer: No, not since they gave us a square-jawed right-wing gun-totin’ “Cold dead hands” Moses, not to mention a Jesus with blue eyes and an Oxford English accent.
While I’ve been typing we’ve moved onto a reasonably funny Jackie Chan movie. Does it matter what it’s called? Oh, I think not.
By the way, fret not you worrying types, I got some laundry done. Which reminds me, while I was on BLQ I put a perfectly decent pair of black socks in the bag, and next day what came back? Well, a pair of grey socks in Thai size, with actual toes in, like gloves for the feet. I struggled into them yesterday, having no choice, and immediately loved them. Photos to follow if.. well, you know.
Better go. More tomorrow if still here…
Stop press – wind speeds are expected to remain high for four more days. How long can I keep typing? Hmm, need some non-TV-based material from somewhere. Where’s that magician guy?…
Marooned #3
(Monday)
They announced a boat at 6 am today. Mass scramble for the crane….. no boat. It’s still very windy so I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere today. Getting worried now – tomorrow will be my last chance to actually do some work and if that doesn’t happen, my extended trip was a complete waste of time and money.
Here’s a thing. There’s tennis on the telly, which I find quite boring. If Wimbledon was happening in my back garden, I’d close the curtains. But that aside (see what I did there?), there’s a matter that needs discussing, and I believe you know what that is don’t you? Yes, it’s the celebratory gesture after a good shot is made to win a rally. I’m talking about the fist-clenched shoving motion that’s been adopted by both men and women. I find it disgusting. Bad enough for the blokes, signalling the ultimate triumph, but for women? What kind of craziness is that? Do they not realise the nature of the gesture? It’s insane I tell you. So for any professional tennis players reading this (eh?), I suggest a new policy in future: When wining a rally, put your hand in the air, palm out, to acknowledge the crowd’s appreciation of your skill, and don’t try to subliminally suggest you just buggered your opponent without his or her consent. Mind you, judging by the looks of some of these lantern-jawed behemoths, balls and a hairy chest wouldn’t be out of place. I wouldn’t mind shoulders like Serena Williams, that’s for sure.
In other news, I spoke to magic man last night after he performed his small but impressive repertoire of tricks to another appreciative audience. He assured me that the trick with the coins requires lots of skill, in fact it took him a year and a half to learn it. I’m fairly sure I know how it’s done and I’ll research it, but family and friends you’ll have to wait a while before I wow you with it.
Think I’ll read a while. Ahh, the life of leisure. Later tater.
Stop press – I have a bed on BLQ! Powerful mates, me. Now I just need to get there. I hear rumours there will be a boat later today when the wind dies. I do hope it’s after the laundry’s done or I’ll be minus one Plexal shirt and sundry undergarments. Speaking of which, I’m sad to report that only one of new newly acquired foot-gloves came back from yesterday’s laundry. Well that was short but sweet. Job for you Lynny – find me some for when I get back. 18 days, tick tock.
..and now here I am on BLQ. The trip across was interesting. A storm came in just as I was craned aboard BLQ, so it was then or never. Phew. It was very exciting being thrown around in mountainous seas in that glorified tug.
Going to do some work now, be good.
creest!!! you are going to have to publish this blog! glad you're back doing something constructive.
ReplyDeletehope your wind drops soon,
lots of love
xxxx
word verification 'creest' is that an irish or scottish word??? i like it anyway.
Honestly Hun, I dont know how you manage it but its highly entertaining from this end. I really feel for you though ... LOL!!!
ReplyDeleteGlad you are finally back where you should be, have fun and take it easy. I cant figure out whether I want to go for a run or not, the dogs want walking and Tyrone is going back to Limerick so I am grumpy. I like having him around. Anyhoo chat later and good luck getting more of those odd socks ... they sound really interesting.
Hugs
Odette