The bugle call

To linger or loiter, dilly-dally, drag, lag, postpone or prolong. Whether it’s waiting for a rainy day, idleness, or indolence. An excuse by any other name would smell as rancid as a lazy, sweaty butt-crack plying its shady trade on the couch as an undercover kartoffel.

Thus, let me embark (once more!) upon the road which I have trodden thus far – with lukewarm results and blisters of note. To blog! Oh, blesseth the soul of Mr Berners-Lee, he who hath brought us such glory and prosperous wealth of mind in an era which, at times, seemed floppy-disk weary and Commodore bleary. Mr Berners-Lee, who has forced the task upon me to continue the journey of star and sickle, alt-key and enter. Let us, in times of grave peril, hearken to the call so as to steady the heart and shake off the yoke of procrastination and further disengage souls from more important matters. Let’s go.

Weekends

Sarah and I are off to Mui Ne tonight for the weekend. My first visit to Mui Ne last year got off to a bit of an inauspicious start, but hopefully things will run a bit more smoothly this year – none of the coconut typhoon attacks or Wrong Turn hikes at 3 am. Perhaps I can locate Nguyen Van Troi, the Fisher King, but we’ll probably just spend the two days lazing on the beach, soaking up the rays and sipping on pina coladas. Press the “Jealous” button now.

Meanwhile, here are some pics of Ricky, a crazed Australian with delusions of rock stardom we saw in front of Go2 Café last weekend. Christoff actually posed with him in the Chin Chin Chin (999) convenience store whilst he exposed himself quite thoroughly (Ricky not Christoff), but I’ll keep that picture safe for now. Talking about getting to hang out with your wang out, chill out with your dill out, rock out with…you get the idea.

It flows...

I guess partly inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s Mandalay poem and partly by the noxious smell exuding from the canal I was driving along, I made up a little poem yesterday. I think I should make writing a Saigon-inspired poem a weekly occurrence.

A Saigon Tragedy

A wizened man once took a lazy nap upon
The oil-slicked banks of the river Saigon
Still within his dreamy cue
There exploded – out of the blue
Of Agents doing, a cloud of Orange hue
Of stink and such thunderous proportions,
It could be heard from Dien Bien Phu
It sent his tum into contortions,
And his lungs a-racking through and through
He stumbled down to wash his face
Alas! He slipped upon an oily place
The old man floundered in the shallow sludge,
Shouted for help but could not budge
A young man heard the desperate woes
Of the wizened crank’s drudgy death throes
Just too late to aid, he muttered “Xin Loi”,
As the ancient head sunk under, gurgled “Troi oi…”