Two Wheels Of Cheese

Old ladies do love a trip into town. Yes they do.

They usually do their hair and run a bit of lippy around their mouth a few times. My Nana used to say that she was putting on her face.

Sometimes a splash of rouge as well. Sometimes lipstick can double up as rouge. But don't do this in a rush: the effect can be clown-like.

Whatever you call it, to some people it's always important to "look good" "in town".

Of course, to certain other people, "looking good" can be an obstacle to "getting there as quickly as possible". My passenger makes this claim and chooses the latter.

She claims that there's never enough time to do both. Rather than look appropriate, she is happy to run the risk that a child will run up and attempt to put a pingpong ball in her mouth.

That said, there is always time to hunt down a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the way out. Go figure.

But one thing is universal: once the fat lady sings, it's over.

I wish people would stop calling me a fat lady.

Boxing Day

We just came back from a couple of days in Ha Long bay.

I couldn't find my camera before we left, so we have no evidence of all the joy and laziness. Our recollections will remain subjective and alterable.

The weather was misty and the scenery was grey. It was quite beautiful so I made one last desperate hunt for the camera: through my bag and my pockets and Cheesel's bag and Cheesel's pockets. Just in case. But nothing.

Thankfully the old girl's memory is quite shot. I didn't tell her we had no camera and she didn't ask about it. So in a few days I will be convincing her that photos from my previous trip are her memories. Snap!

"Remember this? Remember when we sailed past this?"

-- "Oh yeah ... hmm ..."

"This was just magnificent wasn't it?"

-- "Yes ... [long drag of the cigarette] Yes it was. [nodding] Absolutely magnificent."

We got back to Hanoi on Xmas Eve and I had a thorough look through the apartment for the camera. I don't know where it could have gone, but I couldn't find it.

I decided to blame the maid. It's always the butler maid. This assumtpion never turns out to be true, but it wraps things up neatly and is more efficient than scrambling through the sock drawer.

So rather than waste any more elbow grease, I quickly got used to the idea of losing the camera. I didn't like this contraption anyway because it (yes it) takes shithouse photos. I still wanted to capture some Xmas memories but somehow, without the camera it didn't seem worthwhile doing anything interesting. So we ended up having a boring day that didn't miss a camera.

Then this afternoon I saw something so horrific, so disgusting, that I moved mountains (and vases) to capture evidence of it. Ha Long could go without evidence but this could not. The public has a right to know the truth about what's going on here.

So I went on a desperate scramble for the camera. Even at the outset, I knew that I would find it. I had to. There was no longer an option.

"I know I can, I know I can" kept running through my head as my pulse quickened and my fingers were a blur.

And I did. Found it, that is. Under a black folder.

And just in time.

In time to capture this.

Capture this horror:

On the balcony, sucking up the fresh air and the view.

I told her not to wear that hat out in public. I now see some loopholes in my instructions; and regret them.