Skinny Bitch

This is the perfect excuse for a diet.

Le Pain in the ...

Turns out nature does have some redeeming features.

Finally ... Leaving ... Britney ... Alone ...

Where are they now?

Umm ... right here.

Ain't closure grand?

It's great having Chris Crocker CC back? Although it kinda makes me miss Anna Nicole ...

Daft Proposals

I had a client meeting this morning. It was to walk through a draft proposal.

The proposal itself is boring. It's offering something very important to the client. I think it's very good. I also know it is very boring.

Many consultants leave their first meeting with a new client and announce "Oh this client doesn't have a clue about anything". I'm not one of those people. I can't stand it when people do it. This client, however, is truly stupid. Fact.

For a lot of reasons too dull to go into, the proposal needed to be clearly marked as a draft. I did this by slapping a large watermark with the word DRAFT on every page.

Then Word decided to have a tantrum and the little fucker wouldn't stop crashing. After a protracted wrestling match I eventually put Word into a headlock and printed the copies out.

Seems the printer was in on it. This was what came out.

I figured that I would be the only one to notice - certainly the only one to care - and besides I had run out of time. So I took 4 copies of my Daft Proposal to the meeting.

As we were walking through the proposal, and the client started asking a series of typically stupid questions, I disobediently said to myself "Daft, daft, daft" and smirked.

Diversity Need Not Be A Barrier ...

Like many US multinationals, we have a strong focus on workplace diversity. We even have a Global Diversity Council with some awards and shit.

Our latest initiatives have been branded "Diversity 3.0". [Fuck you, iSnack]

The whole concept of diversity started with women's equality... important issues like equal pay, maternity leave and sexual harrassment. Diversity now covers other issues like race, religion, sexuality, disability etc.

In Vietnam we have a Diversity Leader and she's been busy putting her own stamp on things. This is her modus operandi:

1. Set up special email groups for women and men. Call it "Ladies" and "Gentlemen" to remind us of former times.

[The Good Ole Days.]

2. Make sure you Cc: the Gentlemen on your email. They have a right to know what the women in the office are up to.

[No good, of course.]

3. Make the subject of the email enticing. Yet ambiguous. Refer to a "brand" like it's a good thing. "Brand" has such a wonderful ring to it ... your image as perceived by the outside world ... the core values of your product ... the position you hold in the market ... or in this case it's a permanent mark seared onto your arse with a hot poker.

[That dark, black mark of womanhood.]

4. Take a swipe at men. All men. Because they deserve it. Keeps them in their place.

[Motivates the men to do the same to women.]

5. Get all the Ladies into the one room to focus on issues which are important to women. In some countries it is maternity issues. In others it's managing stereotypes. Some even still focus on sexual harrassment. For the Vietnamese Lady, it's:

a) Time management. Women are clearly terrible time managers, what with the babies and the boobies. All that time putting on make-up. And they get emotional too, right, which makes them so easily flustered when deadlines are looming.

b) Cooking. Teach the bitch to cook a fucking pizza. Nuff said.

[Can't cook a pizza, your husband will start to wander to other ladies' ovens.]

6. Invite your male colleagues into the room to judge your new cooking skills.

[Actually I'm starting to feel a bit woozy as I right this ... I can't quite believe it myself.]

7. Tell a little joke about having anti-nausea medication ("Berberin") on hand in case the silly bitches can't even manage their time well enough to cook a fucking pizza properly. This also balances the anti-male joke at the beginning of the email; turning on women. All women. Because they deserve it. Keeps them in their place.

[Motivates Women to do the same to men.]

To: Ladies

Cc: Gentlemen

Subject: Diversity to Making a better BRAND YOU!

Ladies,

There is a wise saying from a lady (men can't say such wise thing):

"We are CEOs of our own companies: ME Inc. To be happy in life and successful in career, our critical job is to be chief marketing officer for the brand called YOU".

So let's make an investment in the most important person to you: Yourself. Make your brand special, shining, and desirable. Let's impress the surroundings!

Our Vietnam Diversity Group will be organizing a number of activities to help you be a better you, to help you brand yourself as a truly unique company successful and happy woman. However you must play a big part in it. The first activity starts this Friday, 6 Nov from 4:00 to 7:30 at Hanoi Room with:

1. How to effectively manage our time: Roundtable (Facilitated by Ms. Quyen Tran Thi)

2. How to make Italian pizza (instructed by Sua Tham Chef)

Gentlemen: You are invited to taste our office-home-made authentic, delicious, fresh hot pizzas at Hanoi room at about 6:30PM.

Berberin is available at first aid box.

Warm regards,

Nguyen Trang Mai

Diversity Lead

I'm living in a 1950's tv commercial, aren't I?

A trustworthy man in a flannel grey suit is about to walk in ... any moment now ... to highlight the scientifically proven benefits of smoking.

Ding Dong

The Evil Milkmaid appears to have resigned.

Something "went down" last week. Last night I heard that she's gone and she ain't comin' back.

That's how things are done here. One day people just no longer exist. Then the other people act confused about why you are asking where they went or if they are coming back.

I wish I could take some credit for this DE*, but I suspect that it was VM**.

* Dairy Expurgation

** Vintage Milkmaid

This Just In

I received the following email this morning.

Good day, Anthony,

This is regarding the pending nomination for Nguyen Thi Xuan. Per Aug 2009 HRIW data from HR BIS, Nguyen's PRG code appears to be non-eligible for SEA (1TS8 with title Sr Technical Services Mgr).

May we confirm with you the updated PRG code and PRG title? We need this information in order to process.

Looking forward to your response. Thank you.

Kat

Fucked if I know.

Relatively speaking, my answer was simple:

Kat

I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.

Cheers

Anthony

Moment No 1

Lemongrass Restaurant, 4 Nguyen Thiep, HCMC

12:35pm

"What you want drink?"

-- "A lemon juice please. No sugar."

"You want dessert?"

- No. No thank you.

"Think yes. You should."

- "No really, no dessert. Thank you."

"Same price. Fixed lunch menu."

- "I know but that's OK. I don't need dessert."

"I think Grilled Banana Cake."

- "Umm. OK. Grilled Banana Cake."

Postscript: the lemon juice was packed with sugar.

T-Dogg's In Da House

I was referred to as "Talent" yesterday.

We were in a meeting discussing some problems with the ASEAN region and how difficult it is for me to get help from the locals.

Then we talked about some inter-office problems in Hanoi, including the Evil Milkmaid.

My boss leaned over to one of the other execs in the room and said "That's the trouble. They spot some talent in this area and they fucking fuck it royally."

So I'm Talent. Talent that's getting fucking fucked royally, mind, but Talent.

Now let's get one thing clear - my only "talent" is pretending to be humble. So that's what I did.

As he spoke I sat still. I played the role of distracted maiden perfectly ... eyes downcast while she's waiting for her hanky to be picked up. I was humble, yet distracted, yet optimistic, yet calm, yet confident, yet humble.

It took a lot of fucking concentration, I tell you. Humble sucks.

I don't care though. Because I'm Talent. With a capital T.

It's got a nice ring to it. Even when it is getting fucking fucked royally.

Now let's get another thing clear: I get a hell of a lot more criticism in this job than I get praise. I try not to take the former too much to heart ... so really I treat the latter with a similar degree of suspicion.

See? Humble. I've got it down to a tee.

Proof That My Blog Is Not Working

Because this doesn't happen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzgEi_u9-88

Why doesn't this happen to me? With me? At me?

I mean ... I use swear words. I have been lighting enough fires.

Why why why?

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate

I’m sitting in a 3-day training course in Kuala Lumpur. It's being held in a conference room at the Renaissance Hotel, so named because ... yes ... yes ... I know ... we've been there before. I've been there before. I've been here before.

My boss, who is running this course, laughed as he boasted during his introduction on Day 1:

"I saw how the other business units got funding approval so just copied what they did, swapped out the business unit name and submitted it!" That's why his the boss. It's so Kafkaesque.

Like the previous course, this one includes a PowerPoint presentation delivered by Peggy. Her topic is project management so I assume it will be exactly the same PowerPoint presentation ... slide by slide. She even started her presentation with a quiz and by giving out little prizes she bought in Duty Free.

As I was walking back into the room after a break, Wendy (who is coordinating this training course) grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to one side. She looked friendly but earnest. Alert but not alarmed. Maybe a little alarmed.

W: "I've seen Peggy's slides. I've seen them. They're exactly the same! She even starts with a quiz! You don't need to go. Skip out while you have the chance!"). I felt like I was James Bond, being briefed at the 11th hour by Moneypenny.

But Wendy was too late. I had already suggested this to my boss; that I had seen Peggy's presentation recently; that I didn't need to sit through it again. Unfortunately he had other thoughts. Wanted me there in case Peggy wanted to know something about Vietnam or Indonesia.

So here I am now. I'm sitting through the same Peggy material and listening to the same opening quiz. It's my GroundPeg Day.

P: "Great answer Karina. And as your special prize I have a wonderful keychain, all the way from Hong Kong ..."

In August, her keyring prizes were from Melbourne Airport so she's clearly made some script adjustments this time. I have that to thank her for.

The funny thing about this quiz is that I still don't know any of the answers. Didn't listen last time; didn't listen this time.

Maybe that's why I'm still here. Maybe I've been banished to a circle called Peggyhell, trapped until I finally listen and learn and move on. Maybe if I don't learn from her - or until I do - I need to keep jumping over barrels and climbing up ladders. Maybe I will be forever doomed to this presentation. If I had known this from the beginning I would have paid attention in the first place.

I think this is probably the proof I've been waiting for. That God exists. And I ain't talkin bout no nice God, neither. God must be behind all this. And what a vengeful God he has turned out to be. Just as I suspected he would be: the Sky Bully.

'Fuck God', I tell myself, 'he's not the boss of me'.

So here I sit, perpetuating my same routine of typing, nodding, typing, looking up and smiling at Peggy as with more nodding. Still using fall pretences to win Peggy's favour. Actually, given the precedent I set last time I think I have to. She expects it of me.

In the interest of diversity, this time I've added a supplement to my vigorous nodding. I'm interrupting Peggy with Dorothy Dixers. She's loving me. I should hate myself. But I don't. I lap it up like a hungry kitten. A cute little hungry kitten. With little white bits on his cute little paws. I am Sox.

These are small mercies though. If I think about all this long enough, this little learning loop I'm trapped in, I feel doomed. I am Dante, trapped in another circle. Of course I am no ordinary Dante. I am a bespectacled Dante. With greasy hair and narrow slumping shoulders.

I realise that I have no control of my fate. My head is swimming. Nothing is changing. I contribute heartily to the break out sessions but my heart isn't in it. What am I doing?

She asks a question to the group. My hand shoots up as I bite hard into this apple. I throw a fake smile and a nod and I answer Peggy's question. I don't know the answer but I guess it correctly. She's digging into the bag. Another keyring. I am now the proud owner of an ugly keyring from some souvenir store at Hong Kong Airport. For the first time today, my smile back to Peggy is genuine.

Hanoi Airport - More fun

I was walking through the bag xray today and as I walked through that door frame it went off. So I just turned straight around, walked out (beep) and back through (beep).

The guy either hadn't noticed or didn't care. He was 2 busy chatting to the chick behind the monitors, whose job it was to check the contents of the bags. However, she was too busy talking back to him so she wasn't look down at her screen at all.

It stood there stunned for a while. Should I have another go at at?

Not me. My bag was out by then so I just walked over, grabbed it and left.

Reminded me of the time a couple of months ago when I was able to talk them out of confiscating things - a large shaving can and a bottle of water. Just by saying I didn't have time to buy more.

If there's any tersts out there I've got a tip - Hanoi. Kill them all.

Stay Gold, Ponyboy

I am travelling to KL today.

Last night there was an "incident" at Fusion, R's local bar. There had been a fight a-brewin' between a couple of Vietnamese men.

Some guy had spoken to some chick poorly. She then dobbed to some other guy who in turn got involved to pretect her honour or his face or some stupid thing.

Threats were made because each of them went off to collect their weapons and posses before reconvening. R knows one of the guys quite well and was been invited to attend in the role of back-up. This invitation was extended to me I I was dead keen.

Unfortunately I was at the doctor's getting my antibiotics (Stilnox chaser of course) when the rumble went down. God mustn't want me rumbling. Can't imagine why. I would have jumped at the chance to stand in Hai Anh's gang. I could be standing, therer look at another gang. One of his goons would look at me "What the fuck are you looking at potato?" and I would look back gormlessly while showtunes played in my head. Maybe even the theme tune from Oz. Either way I'd be calm, possibly a little bored.

On my way to the airport I called R to see how his night had panned out.

Apparently there were adult themes, harsh language, and an extendable rod weapon which has a name I can't remember. And a punch to the face. Silly high school stuff really. There was a weapon though. A punch was thrown, a potato chick (one of our posse) jumped in to break up the fracas and they all skulked away to cook up grand plans. This whole country is in Year 10.

Then Hai Anh dedided he'd lost face so punched a hole in some plastic chairs, causing his hands to bleed. Maybe Year 9.

Back to the taxi.

After this incident R had gone to another skanky bar, then another and by about 1am he had met and picked up a drunk Australian girl who took him back to her hotel room. They woke up at 10.30 to the tune of her saying "Fuck! Oh Fuck! I've got a flight at 1.30!".

Me: She had plenty of time.

R: No. She had shit everywhere. It was going to take her ages to pack.

Me: Did you help her?

R: Nup. Just got dressed and left. I'm missing a sock now.

Me: OK now I think you're officially a slut, R.

R: No! Not at all! ... hmm ... well maybe just a bit. Mot chut. [Little bit.]

I arrived at the airport and while checking in I had another thought. I called R back.

Me: If she's getting the 1.30 then she's going to Singapore. That leaves 40 min before my flight so she's probably here at the airport. Do you want me to find her?

R: I really couldn't give a fuck. I'm sure neither could she.

Me: But wouldn't it be funny if I just walked up to her out of the blue and said hello X? By the way what's her name?

R: No idea. I don't remember getting it. I doubt she would know mine, either. But yes it would be funny.

Me: If I get through Customs in time I'll call you back and ask what she looks like.

I checked in relatively quickly and went to the Sky Cafe for a lemon smoothie. I called R back.

Me: "So tell me what this girl looks like.

R: "I don't really remember. She's tall though. About 5 foot 10. Blonde. Quite buxom.

Me: "Does she wear a silver necklace with a large heart on it?

R: "Yes! Fuck! Yes! How did you fucking find her!!! That's amazing. What will I say? I know - I told her if we fucked then I'd be her Facebook friend."

[I decided to drop that one.]

Me: "Yeah, or just ask her for her email address or something.

So I walked over to this girl, handed her my phone and said "I think this call is for you ..."

Checking the Children

I like to drop the C bomb quite early. So does R. It's our way of thinning out the herd in new social situations.

If someone can't use cunt with pride -- or at least a degree of skill -- they're on probation. Not that I'm exactly judge and jury in these sitautions, or even Judge Judy, but I got me standards.

I first met Cuntastic a couple of months ago. It was actually a couple of hours before I threw R's helmet off the bridge in a fit of Valium-fuelled pique. I'm not sure which was the bigger highlight.

R had tested the C bomb on her within minutes of meeting and she laughed - cackled, even - as she repeated back what he said with glee. Turns out she's quite cunt friendly so we christened her Cuntastic and have used it ever since. She thinks it's a great name. So do we. So childish.

The next time I ran into C she got my name wrong and introduced me to one of her friends as Jonathan. Years of alcohol abuse may have eroded the efficacy of C's memory, but that's probably not it. Give most people a couple of weeks and they forget not only my name, but having ever met me.

It's a themes. I don't know what it is. Could be the face. Maybe the personality. (Please, not the shoes, anything but the shoes!) Needless to say I took on Jonathan quite readily. It's better than nothing.

Whether I'm happy or not is irrelevant. She happily answers to Cuntastic so one could hardly object. I even think I look even like a Jonathan. I'm trying to comb my hair like a Jonathan.

Cuntastic lives around the corner from me and I catch up with her from time to time. It always involves alcohol and she's sometimes sporting a pet. Her last pet was a teacher from her school who we christened"JBF" after she came back from a trip to the bathroom with her hair tousled and teased. It was messy. Really messy. So I explained that her name would henceforth be based on her current messy hair - ie that she looked like she'd Just Been Fucked.

The other day R was going through his phone and said to me "JBF? Who is JBF? Do you know a JBF?" before I reminded him. But JBF it is ... kt's too late to revert because we've forgotten her real name. Could be Michelle.

Cuntastic works as an English teacher in a new, sham school which feigns world-class accreditations in order to con rich Vietnamese parents out of their dough. Her students are fat Vietnamese children (a sign of wealth) whose parents have declined the nutrition route, instead feeding them a "best of the west" diet. Red Bull is served in the canteen.

I called Cuntastic last Friday night:

C: "Hello?"

A: "Hi Cuntastic - how's your week been?"

C: "It's been fucked, Jonathan. I've been coughing like a cunt. I need some alcohol to kill it once and for all. See you in 20."

My kinda girl.

So we met up with R for a few drinks, which turned into a few more and a few more still. Finally we all decided to get some more wine and hang out on my balcony so that Cuntastic and R could roll some joints.

Yes. That's right. Joints. So now I'm harbouring drug users. This means that I probably won't be sent to gaol but I could always visit. In fact I've already picked out what I'll be bringing them: Tally Ho papers for Cuntastic and a jar of Vaseline for R.

As they were puffing and boozing away I went in side and fell asleep on the couch. Classy host that I am. I woke up at about 2am and everyone was gone.

The next morning I got up at about 8am. I was a bit dusty but by about 8.30 I had motivated myself out to go out and grab breakfast. The occasion demanded air conditioning and wifi.

At about 9.30am I sent Cuntastic a brief sms which said "Thanks for not stealing anything while I was asleep. I know how tempting it must be for drug addicts like you and R."

15 minutes later I got a response "The only thing I stole is your spare room. I'm still trying to peel my head off the pillow."

She was in my apartment. She was still in my apartment! The call was coming from inside the house! Clearly I had locked her inside, and left.

Later I pieced together what had happened. When I threw out an old milk carton (never opened) into the bin it started spurting out milk. This was because it landed on a broken wine glass stem, sitting upright in the bin. The broken stem from where?. I looked out on the balcony and there were still pieces of glass everywhere. This could only mean 2 things:

1. A wine glass had been broken

2. It was R who had dunnit. (No one else could have cleaned it up so badly.)

Turns out that during this time, C was having a "moment" in the bathroom where it all got to much. Toxic shock, as it were. She started to have a lie down on the tiles for a nap and thought better of it.

After a solid 15 seconds cleaning effort, R had moved onto C. He turfed her into my spare room, went down the stairs, jumped onto his bike (pissed and stoned) and rode home.

Bad R.

Bad everyone.

Aerobics, Oz Style

I've been watching Oz for a few weeks now and I'm up to season 3.

It's set in the Oswald State Penitentiary and it's a lovely show.

Firstly, there is an Aryan group, They hate dark skin. And Jews. And they hate dark-skinned Jews the most. (I mean ... who doesn't?)

The other whiteys still constantly use the word Nigger. As for the Niggers ... well ... they hate the Micks. The Micks hate the Spics. The Spics hate the Fags. The Fags hate the Muslims (and vice versa). The Muslims hate the Garlic Munchers and also the Aryans but seem surprisingly OK with the Jews. Except for the one they tortured for laughs.

There's a Hispanic—sorry, an Hispanic—sorry, a Spic—who poked out someone's eyes with a knife. Trannies sew pretty dresses in between poisoning people for money. Those with swastikas tattooed on their biceps typically require their bitches to get one tattooed (lovingly, if somewhat forcefully) onto an arse cheek.

In the gym, the occasional barbells winds up crushing someone's face. Or leg. The avuncular long-termer knows how to hit a neck artery with a screwdriver on his first attempt. Some people pour acid in other people's faces. ("Didn't your mother ever tell you not to—oh never mind.")

Sometimes they push each other down the stairs. Or hold a victim down while others defacate on his face. There is often a knife in the kidney in the lunch room. I'm not talking about dividing up a steak and kidney pie. Although you do hear them say "you cut, I'll pick".

Oral rape victims seek revenge by biting off the end of the perpetrator's penis. One guy was fed crushed glass in his meals until his digestive tract bled him to death. One guy was cruxified by being nailed to the wooden basketball court floor. One time they killed a Russian and carved J E W into his stomach before stringing him up from a hook in the ceiling.

I've decided to look beyond all this. Because these prisoners are in very, very good nick.

There was a stabbing in the kitchen?I was too busy scanning the background scenes for diet tips and examples of portion control. (That can't be mashed potato.)

A skull being smashed open by the end of a barbell in the gym? I'm scanning the periphery for examples of effective exercise routines. (It's chin-ups.)

A prolonged riot in the library ? I'm wondering how many calories that would burn. (More than a treadmill.)

Oz is my new motivation to eat well and exercise. These unrepentant impenitent pond scumbags are my new role models.

I figure if a prisoner on death row can look so good, then why can't I?

The prisoners of Oz are going to make me a better person.

Hopefully not out of leftovers.

Foreber Lubbing you

This is my new favourite song.

As far as boybands go, it's missing nothing. My bets are that the mandatory 'mo will either be P.O or AJ. Money's on P.O.

Koreans rock. I'm so lucky blessed to have 9 different Korean music channels to choose from.

About Responsiveness

This just in.

Subject: About Responsiveness

Dear TEAM,

The reason to have mobile phone is to be responsive and reachable when you move from places to places. You are expected to respond when you are called. For missed called or due to any reason that you are unable to pick up your mobile phone, please notify the caller and advise that you will respond in a appropriate time which should not be longer than 1 business hour. All People Managers are expected to answer their mobile phones 7 days, plus any staff whom believe that you are leading an important task for OUR COMPANY.

Best regards,

Xuan To Long

Human Resources Manager

Long is the most unresponsive person in history. Including God. Including Karen Ann Quinlan. He rarely answers his phone and once took a month to get me the most basic of paperwork signed for my visa. He is often absent from the office and everyone thinks he's knocking off Dinh, from Marketing, at lunch time.

Long must have eaten a bad prawn today because his previous email to the entire company was far more jolly. Equally inappropriate - for other reasons - but jolly:

Team,

I am happy to introduce to you our new leaders of Club Hanoi.

Mr. Vuong Quynh Vu will be crowned as the President. Two beautiful ladies, Ms. Nguyen Thu Phuong Nung and Ms. Bui Mai Anh will be supporting Vu in the role of Vice Presidents.

Vu is an energetic young guy who is very keen on social activities. Outside his working time as a System Service Representative, Vu's favorite pasttimes are sports, yoga and martial arts. He's a great animal lover who likes to eat vegetarian food. (But don't worry, our coming parties will still have meat).

Nhung is an excellent communicator (as a matter of course, since she is our Brand System Lead and Communications Advisor) and a very sweet person who possesses all the skills and knowledge to take care of from very old to very young people, physicaly and mentally.

With more than one year's experience as an Sales Specialist and the team's "eat and play" budget keeper, Anh is a talented organiser who will surely devote her tremendous initiatives and travelling-oriented mind to the club's activities.

I found this information incredibly comforting. It's good we have pretty ladies running the shop. The ugly chicks eventually end up ruining everything. Fact.

Good Help Me

Hao is my cleaner.

I poached her from the Lakeside Apartments, my previous landlord.

Although “Poached” is probably the wrong word because eggs are supposed to be fresh when you poach them. And this egg had gone off long before I decided to cook with it.

So let’s start again.

I reheated Hao from the Lakeside Apartments. She had been fired a few weeks before I left. I knew this because she left me a lovely note (on company letterhead) informing me that she is not allowed to work here after Monday and do I know any foreigners who need a cleaner? Her style was not bitter. Just factual. Narrative.

I don’t know why she was fired. Maybe they found out she was accepting bribes. From me.

Although “bribing” is probably the wrong word when is is the result of extortion.

Nevertheless, it was more likely Hao's laziness what done her in. She didn’t have much to do in my apartment, but still forgot certain things, especially where the dishwasher was concerned (not on, on, not packed, not unpacked and the like). A couple of times she forgot to turn up.

Vietnam is a hard working country. So Vietnam Lazy is not really very lazy at all. If you compare it with Malaysia ("truly lazier”) ... it's like comparing valium with heroin.

But Hao does not live in M'lazier. Here in Hanoi she is considered a wee bit lazy. Sometimes I refer to her as "a no good lazy Hao" by mumbling under my breath like a coward.

When I left the apartment everyone knew. There are no secrets in Vietnam and news travels fast. Even as I returned back from dropping off my written notice to the landlord, a security guard walked up and handed me a torn, dirty piece of paper with “Rental Apartment Villa Foreigners Call Me.” and a phone number.

Even Hao, on forced sabbatical, got wind of my impending move within hours and offered herself to me via an sms. "Just like a Hao", I mumbled as I read it.

I'm a good catch and Hao knew it. I am not messy. Things are mostly put away. There are no kids. Rarely visitors. I eat out a lot. The dishwasher is packed. I travel frequently. I put my rubbish in the bin. When I vomit in the toilet I clean it thoroughly. I am a cleaner's damp cloth dream.

When I cut the deal with Hoa I offered her $80/month for cleaning, or $100 if she did other things like errands and shopping. She took the extra money but as it turned out, not the extra tasks.

Hao “technically” comes 3 times/week for 3 hours. She arrives to a tidy apartment and leaves to a tidy apartment and when I ask her to buy things for me she adds a little premium on top for her efforts.

Not all cleaners are so lucky. R's cleaner is a child labourer and paid $50/month. She comes thrice a week and works twice as hard as Hao. Sometimes she washes the pink shoelaces on his try-hard sneakers.

R’s cleaner is about 12 years old and has to contend with all manner of filth and misadventure … pizza boxes, caked on food, abandoned cereal bowls, whiskers in the basin, shirts and socks and undies strewn throughout the apartment from whence they were removed, skid marks (on undies and/or porcelain), abandoned consumables, rotting where they were partially consumed.

R can create a shanty town just by putting his laptop bag down next to the coffee table. It's quite incredible. (David Blaine incredible.)

I arrived home on Monday evening from Bangkok after about 10 days. This was a very, very cushy gig for Hoa.

On Monday morning I sent Hao an sms note advising that my return was imminent and to buy fruit and flowers that day.

Flowers are very cheap in Vietnam and I ask Hao to get them quite regularly. Her taste is baffling. Following several disastrous flower choices on Hao's part, she is now under strict instructions to stick to lilies.

There are no secrets in Vietnam so she had gotten wind that it was my birthday. This had come via the previous receptionist at Lakeside, Hang Nga. Hang Nga was sacked even before Hao. She was the original mastermind behind the extortion ring and the two had obviously kept in touch. She must have also kept a copy of my passport or something to have remembered the day. She's probably travelling under my name: yet another fancypants in my own image.

I received a gushing Happy Birthday sms from Hang Nga, followed by a gushing sms from Hao alongside a promise to fill the apartment with flowers and fruit.

I arrived home late that evening to find this.

There was a birthday card perched on top and a receipt (for the flower expenses).

My flower bill was higher than usual and the card was empty.

But this was still sweet. Ugly but sweet. Kinda reminded me of Mother Teresa.

By Tuesday evening I couldn't stand looking at that fucking awful crepe frou-frou any more. So I decided to strip Mother Teresa back to basics. I figured I'd start slow. I averted my eyes as I removed her outer robes. Each layer was individually tied on so it took some time. As we got to the undergarments she was practically tossing them onto the ground herself. "Fucking slutty Albanians", I thought to myself.

When I got it all off it was still tightly held together with this padded spongey thing. I wanted the flowers to fill the vase, not huddling together like frightened models on an early morning photo shoot. So I freed them from the sponge. That's when I realised that the sponge was the water thing and the sticks underneath were not connected to the stalks on top. There were little test tube things filled with water, ensuring the flowers stayed nourished.

The minute the sponge came off, the whole fucking thing fell apart.

I went into shock. My heart started racing. Hao was coming tomorrow! What do I do? What would she think? what kind of horrible ungrateful potato would -- I couldn't even think about it! I tried to rearrange the flowers back in the vase as best I could. I was panicking.

I started rushing and scrambling. Back and forth. From the bin to the vase. Sometimes into the bathroom (disoriented in shock) and then back to the vase and the bin. I was the dog whose owner has pretended to throw the ball while secretly hiding it behind his back.

I ran back to the bin to survey the remains of Mother Teresa's robes but the slut must have been in such a hurry that she had torn them off. I finally just left the flowers in their best possible state and slept on it.

That night I had a nightmare about the vase, and Hao's disappointment at what she arrived back to. How to reconcile the excitement she felt at the special surprise, against her next arrival at the apartment.

The next morning I did my best to ressurect and only created more problem. As my departure time neared, there was more panic and dashing and darting. I was Lucy, trying to fix everything before Ricky arrived home and hearing the key in the door.

In the end I shoved the remaining flowers and leaves back into the vase and went to work.

I had to leave for work and had run out of options. Even after I had swept up most of the mess and detritus this is what was left behind.

This was my best effort. I kid you not.

I future I need to assess - up front - whether my mission is rescue or recovery. I chose unwisely, to my great shame.

What will Hao say? How will she react? How can I possibly explain this?

Lost and Found

This just in.

Subject: Lost Nokia Phone

Dear all,

Dieu Minh found a Nokia phone next to her last week, at Dinh Tuyet Hanh's workstation. She though it was Mai's and asked me to return to Quynh the next day as Mai was on leave but Quynh would see her on the weekend. However, I was on sick leave and only return to office yesterday. I did check with Quynh and she asked Mai but was not her.

Who has lost this phone, pls contact me to get it back.

Thanks & best regards,

Xuan

My theory? There was never a phone. Just a whole bunch of meaningless busy work, interspersed with illness.

Night Five in Bangkok

... and I ate at a restaurant called Cabbages and Condoms. The latter were served in lieu of After Dinner Mints.

An aspirational digestif to say the least.