There I was, innocently shopping in MBK, when I chanced upon this:
Showing posts with label MBK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MBK. Show all posts
Friday, March 12, 2010
Friday Photo
No, don't ask me what's going on - I only live here.
There I was, innocently shopping in MBK, when I chanced upon this:
There I was, innocently shopping in MBK, when I chanced upon this:
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday word count
How I’ve got any words written this week is a minor bloomin’ miracle. First there was the expedition of getting Son ready for the expedition; then Sampeng Lane in Chinatown (which I will post about tomorrow) and finally the purchasing of a dress for Daughter for a ‘do’ on Friday.
I told Daughter I would come to the shopping centre on condition that I would write while she shopped … Starbucks would do its magic, turning me into a writing dervish while she shopped and her feet got worn out and then I would approve the dress and pay.
We went to MBK: I settled myself at Starbucks.
After about thirty minutes she returned because the zip on her shorts was stuck (won’t go up; won’t go down.) She went off to find something cheap to buy to change into; she came because she’d found some shorts and needed the money, and then she returned with the change, she returned again to show me what the shorts look like on. Then she went off shopping again. Fifteen minutes later, she came back because she was hungry so we went off for lunch. And finally, after lunch she disappeared shopping again; fifteen minutes later she came back to say ‘MBK hasn’t got anything.’
So we went to another mall and I settled myself down at the second choice of Starbucks because my normal one was full. She found a frock but I wondered if the whole thing had been a tactic as I was a bit unsure about the dress’ suitability but I was so ground down I couldn’t argue.
I’d written 93 words in four hours.
So Sheepish, I won’t have beaten you this Sunday unless you’ve also been madly busy. It’s a bit pitiful but I have managed my minimum (500 words five times a week.) This week my word count is 2642.
I told Daughter I would come to the shopping centre on condition that I would write while she shopped … Starbucks would do its magic, turning me into a writing dervish while she shopped and her feet got worn out and then I would approve the dress and pay.
We went to MBK: I settled myself at Starbucks.
After about thirty minutes she returned because the zip on her shorts was stuck (won’t go up; won’t go down.) She went off to find something cheap to buy to change into; she came because she’d found some shorts and needed the money, and then she returned with the change, she returned again to show me what the shorts look like on. Then she went off shopping again. Fifteen minutes later, she came back because she was hungry so we went off for lunch. And finally, after lunch she disappeared shopping again; fifteen minutes later she came back to say ‘MBK hasn’t got anything.’
So we went to another mall and I settled myself down at the second choice of Starbucks because my normal one was full. She found a frock but I wondered if the whole thing had been a tactic as I was a bit unsure about the dress’ suitability but I was so ground down I couldn’t argue.
I’d written 93 words in four hours.
So Sheepish, I won’t have beaten you this Sunday unless you’ve also been madly busy. It’s a bit pitiful but I have managed my minimum (500 words five times a week.) This week my word count is 2642.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Pinch and a punch...
After about four weeks of not writing my novel – you can find out why here and here - it’s time to get back to it. I know I’m ready to start writing again because I’ve been really bad tempered! (I think I owe it to my family to get back on it.)
On Friday I talked to someone about my book and got excited again and on my way home I talked to two friends in the taxi about moving forward. I heard myself diagnosing the solution at the same moment as I told them about the problem: it’s time to engage brain and stop relying (so much) on my subconscious and instinct. So far, I’ve been making it up as I go along and now that it’s got complicated, it’s time to plan…
Yesterday it was just Son and I for Sunday lunch at the pub. Afterwards we decided to go off to MBK where I would write or plan (in Starbucks) and he would go and look for the DVD of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas for me and then potter around doing his own thing (Guitar Hero in the arcade!)
Result: I wrote, scribbled and planned.
On our way home we popped into Villa for some shopping, where we spotted packets of rarely seen in Thailand, Walkers Salt and Vinegar crisps. Even as I write, I am salivating.
They should have been on yesterday's list of things I love!
On Friday I talked to someone about my book and got excited again and on my way home I talked to two friends in the taxi about moving forward. I heard myself diagnosing the solution at the same moment as I told them about the problem: it’s time to engage brain and stop relying (so much) on my subconscious and instinct. So far, I’ve been making it up as I go along and now that it’s got complicated, it’s time to plan…
Yesterday it was just Son and I for Sunday lunch at the pub. Afterwards we decided to go off to MBK where I would write or plan (in Starbucks) and he would go and look for the DVD of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas for me and then potter around doing his own thing (Guitar Hero in the arcade!)
Result: I wrote, scribbled and planned.
On our way home we popped into Villa for some shopping, where we spotted packets of rarely seen in Thailand, Walkers Salt and Vinegar crisps. Even as I write, I am salivating.
They should have been on yesterday's list of things I love!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Twit
Oh good grief. In pursuit of the ‘essential items’ as dictated by school, Daughter and I went to MBK this afternoon.
MBK is one of the malls I will miss desperately when we eventually go home. It’s rather like a market in a mall – the shops are mostly small units, rentable individually or in multiples to make a big, ‘proper’ shop.
We were downstairs where the units are mostly individually let. We were tired; only one item remained on our list. Daughter was inside the tiny, cramped shop examining the thing we wanted. I stood outside, where more goods spilled out. In front of me there was a suitcase for sale and I rested my bag there while I opened it up to check out the spondulics situation.
“Oh,” I said to Daughter, “I don’t have enough money. I need to go to the cash point.” I went off in search of a money machine, found one and then made my way back to the unit. I was gone around five minutes. There, sitting on the top of the suitcase outside the shop, was my handbag, open, proudly displaying a camera, a Blackberry and all manner of detritus we women carry around with us.
I am still flushing hot and cold at my stupidity (and good luck.)
MBK is one of the malls I will miss desperately when we eventually go home. It’s rather like a market in a mall – the shops are mostly small units, rentable individually or in multiples to make a big, ‘proper’ shop.
We were downstairs where the units are mostly individually let. We were tired; only one item remained on our list. Daughter was inside the tiny, cramped shop examining the thing we wanted. I stood outside, where more goods spilled out. In front of me there was a suitcase for sale and I rested my bag there while I opened it up to check out the spondulics situation.
“Oh,” I said to Daughter, “I don’t have enough money. I need to go to the cash point.” I went off in search of a money machine, found one and then made my way back to the unit. I was gone around five minutes. There, sitting on the top of the suitcase outside the shop, was my handbag, open, proudly displaying a camera, a Blackberry and all manner of detritus we women carry around with us.
I am still flushing hot and cold at my stupidity (and good luck.)
Friday, September 05, 2008
My new mantra
The last week – ten days has been a disaster writing wise. No time to do anything. Today I’ve got to take the artwork for the banners to MBK where they will … do something with their software to make them into banners and print them for us. Then I’ve got other errands to run. Tomorrow the children need picking up and dropping off and totally different time of day in different parts of Bangkok. I want to go to the Thaicraft fair in the middle of the day; Husband and Daughter have piano lessons in the afternoon and then on Sunday Husband’s off to India. It’s so busy.
I’ve really got out of the habit of 100 words a day, and need a big boot shoving up my backside. The part that I’m working on has turned into a ‘I simply can’t work this out’ kind of project so rather than open it, harrumph, close it again I have to take it a sentence at a time. I can do that: one sentence at a time.
I have earmarked next week to write (apart from Thursday). I have two weeks before my writing course on Koh Chang and I’m feeling an amateur, fraudulent and devoid of imagination; but also quite a bit excited.
One sentence at a time is my new mantra…
I’ve really got out of the habit of 100 words a day, and need a big boot shoving up my backside. The part that I’m working on has turned into a ‘I simply can’t work this out’ kind of project so rather than open it, harrumph, close it again I have to take it a sentence at a time. I can do that: one sentence at a time.
I have earmarked next week to write (apart from Thursday). I have two weeks before my writing course on Koh Chang and I’m feeling an amateur, fraudulent and devoid of imagination; but also quite a bit excited.
One sentence at a time is my new mantra…
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Summer's over
I guess you’ve all got a couple of weeks to go – at least – before your children are buying pencil cases, pens and sharpeners and heading back to school. Mine go back tomorrow. (We broke up at the end of June.)
Son had done the great disservice of growing upwards and outwards several inches and his last term trousers look ludicrous so yesterday I made the long trek out to school to buy new uniform which is only sold at school and not in town anywhere. I still have the sewing in nametags to do tonight!
Today’s shopping was fun stuff first at MBK (Mah Boon Krong) followed by the most serious issue of school shoe shopping. We were off to Emporium, where the men’s shoe department has a section of one wall in the whole floor devoted to shoes. Just as it should be, the women’s shoe department is a WHOLE FLOOR in the basement. We decided to start at the bottom of the department store (with women’s shoes) and but when we saw it, I envisaged having to peruse every single table of shoes (there were hundreds of pairs and while this is fine when it’s for myself, at the end of a full day’s shopping I was beginning to droop.) I told Daughter to look round, find the right shoes and wait for us to return from buying Son’s. I guess that was my first mistake.
Son’s shoes were chosen in 3.62 seconds; finding the right size (45!!!! good grief) and paying took a bit longer. When we got to the basement again, I plopped Son on a sofa with our bags and went looking for Daughter. She was trying on a most unsuitable pair of shoes with a heel of about 5cm (she’s 12). When did I turn into this horrible fun spoiling mother? OH NO, I’ve always been like this. Lots of reasonable natured negotiating started in which she assured me everyone had shoes just like these… I told her I thought they were unsuitable, but if the school rules allowed a heel of this height (knowing perfectly well they wouldn’t) I would buy them. I rang Husband to get on the school website, couldn’t remember my password so had to ring school.
“They must be black all over, and must have a reasonable heel.” Miss Prim told me. “Do you have a number, a figure … a cm height,” I asked “that is considered ‘reasonable’ only Daughter and I seem to have a difference of opinion about what is considered ‘reasonable’?”
Of course the shoes were a no go – thank god - or I would’ve been in big trouble. Then we had to scour the whole of the basement floor again for a new pair that weren’t ‘eeeuuur, revolting, Mum.’
But, you know what? I’ve forgiven her because in the drawer I found some ‘iron on’ name tags, and she begged me to let her iron them all on the clothes!
Son had done the great disservice of growing upwards and outwards several inches and his last term trousers look ludicrous so yesterday I made the long trek out to school to buy new uniform which is only sold at school and not in town anywhere. I still have the sewing in nametags to do tonight!
Today’s shopping was fun stuff first at MBK (Mah Boon Krong) followed by the most serious issue of school shoe shopping. We were off to Emporium, where the men’s shoe department has a section of one wall in the whole floor devoted to shoes. Just as it should be, the women’s shoe department is a WHOLE FLOOR in the basement. We decided to start at the bottom of the department store (with women’s shoes) and but when we saw it, I envisaged having to peruse every single table of shoes (there were hundreds of pairs and while this is fine when it’s for myself, at the end of a full day’s shopping I was beginning to droop.) I told Daughter to look round, find the right shoes and wait for us to return from buying Son’s. I guess that was my first mistake.
Son’s shoes were chosen in 3.62 seconds; finding the right size (45!!!! good grief) and paying took a bit longer. When we got to the basement again, I plopped Son on a sofa with our bags and went looking for Daughter. She was trying on a most unsuitable pair of shoes with a heel of about 5cm (she’s 12). When did I turn into this horrible fun spoiling mother? OH NO, I’ve always been like this. Lots of reasonable natured negotiating started in which she assured me everyone had shoes just like these… I told her I thought they were unsuitable, but if the school rules allowed a heel of this height (knowing perfectly well they wouldn’t) I would buy them. I rang Husband to get on the school website, couldn’t remember my password so had to ring school.
“They must be black all over, and must have a reasonable heel.” Miss Prim told me. “Do you have a number, a figure … a cm height,” I asked “that is considered ‘reasonable’ only Daughter and I seem to have a difference of opinion about what is considered ‘reasonable’?”
Of course the shoes were a no go – thank god - or I would’ve been in big trouble. Then we had to scour the whole of the basement floor again for a new pair that weren’t ‘eeeuuur, revolting, Mum.’
But, you know what? I’ve forgiven her because in the drawer I found some ‘iron on’ name tags, and she begged me to let her iron them all on the clothes!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Where do babies come from?
Lucy Diamond made me laugh last week with a story of her daughter’s bedtime delaying tactics. You know this question is coming; it’s inevitable but you’re not quite sure when or how it’s going to come and so you’re never quite prepared when it does.
I thought it was rather clever to ask this at bedtime because being responsible Mummies, we do want to get the answer correct. And Mummy (if she’s anything like me) is weak at bedtime and longing for wine. So Lucy fudged it.
This reminded me of my own spectacular fudging of the issue while dealing with the same situation when Son was three (he was somewhat precocious). Son’s question related to 101 Dalmations’ Pongo and Perdita.
Son: Where did Perdita’s puppies come from?
Me: From her tummy.
Son: How did they get there?
Me: Pongo put them there.
Son: *Confused* How?
Well, anyway, she says, fudging the issue again, I’m too embarrassed to continue with that story, because apparently you shouldn’t mention willies for some years yet, but no-one had told me that. Flash forward ten years to last Saturday when I took son shopping, and we were approached by this group of lovely Thais just outside MBK shopping mall:
If you filled out a piece of paper saying what you thought of sex education, they gave you a free gift. This is a good thing, I thought, Son is nearly fourteen, here’s a good introduction to talking about IT. I filled out a little heart shaped piece of paper and received my gift: hmmm, lots of stickers saying things about safe sex etc. This is a good thing, I reminded myself. Oooh, look in the gift bag, a heart shaped jelly sweet, and what’s that? Oh, a lolly pop and what’s … oh … that? Oh. It’s … a condom. Oh. This. Is. A. Good. Thing. We have to have these conversations.
And so what followed was a conversation in which Son told me stuff about ‘kids at school’ and asked questions and stuff, and really I found it’s much easier at this age. A bit more grown up and honest, and not a real cock up (sorry) if I mention willies.
I thought it was rather clever to ask this at bedtime because being responsible Mummies, we do want to get the answer correct. And Mummy (if she’s anything like me) is weak at bedtime and longing for wine. So Lucy fudged it.
This reminded me of my own spectacular fudging of the issue while dealing with the same situation when Son was three (he was somewhat precocious). Son’s question related to 101 Dalmations’ Pongo and Perdita.
Son: Where did Perdita’s puppies come from?
Me: From her tummy.
Son: How did they get there?
Me: Pongo put them there.
Son: *Confused* How?
Well, anyway, she says, fudging the issue again, I’m too embarrassed to continue with that story, because apparently you shouldn’t mention willies for some years yet, but no-one had told me that. Flash forward ten years to last Saturday when I took son shopping, and we were approached by this group of lovely Thais just outside MBK shopping mall:
If you filled out a piece of paper saying what you thought of sex education, they gave you a free gift. This is a good thing, I thought, Son is nearly fourteen, here’s a good introduction to talking about IT. I filled out a little heart shaped piece of paper and received my gift: hmmm, lots of stickers saying things about safe sex etc. This is a good thing, I reminded myself. Oooh, look in the gift bag, a heart shaped jelly sweet, and what’s that? Oh, a lolly pop and what’s … oh … that? Oh. It’s … a condom. Oh. This. Is. A. Good. Thing. We have to have these conversations.And so what followed was a conversation in which Son told me stuff about ‘kids at school’ and asked questions and stuff, and really I found it’s much easier at this age. A bit more grown up and honest, and not a real cock up (sorry) if I mention willies.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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