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Thought for Thursday: guilt

Something came up at book club on Tuesday. One of our new members asked if people read more now that they are expats. Answers were split. I don’t read more; I’ve always read obsessively.

Someone asked about guilt. They said: do you feel guilty taking the time to read? Quite a few people did.

I don’t. It’s not like I’d be dusting under the sofa if I weren’t reading, is it?

On being really irritating

I was tucked away working in my office last Saturday. All the rooms in our new apartment are arranged off the central communal space so no one is ever very far away. (This can be a good and a bad thing.) Everyone was home pottering about. I was unaware of them. Later, when I thought back to what had happened, I realized I’d heard this:

Setting: In the distant subconscious of Jenny’s brain.

Husband: *singing* Little boxes on the hillside-

Son: Dad. Shhh: Mum!

Husband: *singing* little boxes made of ticky tacky;

Son: *urgently* DAD! Shhh. Mum’ll start…

Husband: Huh?

Me: *singing* little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same…

Son: *tutting* Oh never mind. It’s too late.

I sang Little Boxes aloud to everyone’s irritation for approximately twenty four hours until after lunch on Sunday, this happened:

Setting: the dining room table. Son is doing homework. Jenny is working. Husband is doing something; it wasn’t the tax returns… though it probably should have been.

Son: *Looking up* How do you spell ukulele?

Me: *bursts into song* ukulele; ukulele, ukulele me!

Husband: *bursts into song in the style of George Formby* I’m leaning on a lamppost at the corner of the street in case a certain little lady comes by… (He actually does the ukulele actions: that must be doing air ukulele?)

Son: Grrrrrr

Me: U-K-E-L-E-L-E (I even spelt it wrong)

It’s now Wednesday and I’m still singing Ukulele; ukulele, ukulele me!

I even irritate myself sometimes but at least I’ve learned to spell ukulele, ukulele, ukulele me! ♫

THEY'RE JUST DOUGHNUTS PEOPLE....

I went over to Siam Paragon again today.

A week since my first blog about it and the Krispy Kreme Doughnut frenzy is ongoing. Look at today's queue! There are rumours that they are being resold in MBK for twice the price.Yesterday there was a sale in school: the doughnuts went to the highest bidders. The last doughnut went for 400 Thai Baht (a bit over £8 or $13.) The only redeeming fact about this is that the money was raised for charity.

(Sorry about the dodgy photoshopping job - I can't get the staff. They must all be queuing for doughnuts.)

For anyone that didn't see in my comments I did find out why there was a queue on the first day. I googled it and found this promise:


- 1st customer gets 1 year supply of a dozen donuts per week
- 2nd customer gets 6 months supply of a dozen donuts per week
- 3rd customer gets 3 months supply of a dozen donuts per week
- 4th-100th customers get 1 month supply of a dozen donuts per week
- 101th-200th customers get 1 dozen free donuts 


There are no more free doughnuts to be had people.

A Bangkok dairy diary

I was never very conscious of dairy in my diet until I came here. I suppose that might have been because I hadn’t given it a second thought. But when you’re served condensed milk with your tea it’s difficult not to fantasize about cow’s milk (skimmed, please) as an essential ingredient in your diet.

The Thai diet doesn’t include dairy products though thankfully - as I can’t imagine tea without milk in it - it’s purchasable in local supermarkets in all its variation: fat, semi and skinny. Condensed milk is popular over here; it lasts forever and nothing is too sweet for a Thai tooth. As time has passed, I’ve become more tolerant and if I’m out and about I’ll shrug and pour a tiny bit of condensed milk into my tea if that's all that's on offer. Still, it’s never going to become a habit, not even to avoid smelling like dairy. (I remember being mortified when I discovered that Thais think white westerners smell of cheese/milk. Actually…I’m still a bit ‘ewugh’ about that.)

Cheese is a staple too – particularly now there’s a vegetarian in the house. It’s so versatile but most of what we bought here was rubbery, bland and expensive. We met a French family when we arrived here. Son was a good friend of their elder boy and one day when I must have been withdrawing from the lack of decent cheese, I asked Son to enquire where they bought their cheese. They’re French, I thought, they’ll know some secret cheese emporium… Son came back with a French shrug… ‘France’ was the answer. They told Son they don’t bother… I still get a yearning now and again but it’s also so fattening unless it’s a corker, I won’t waste the calories.)

I grew up on good strong flavoured varieties like Stilton, Camembert and cheddar that could make your eyes sting. Limburger made an appearance too, mostly for the kudos of being able to get it in your mouth without being utterly repulsed by the smell. Still, I like mine ripe; knocking on the cupboard door if possible. Husband and Daughter are cheese wusses. Although I’ve tried to train Husband in the delights of the stinky foodstuff he still shudders at some of the memories he has of my family’s cheese plate. The anecdotes are unpublishable here.

Son and I were very pleased to discover, two weeks in a row, some particularly tasty Camembert in one of our local supermarkets.

We’ve had a lot of pleasure out of the cheese; a sneaky wedge here, a sandwich there. Even the necessity for me to eat it on rice cracker rather than bread hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm. We’ve also had quite a lot of peripheral enjoyment: watching Daughter’s expression when she opens the fridge because the Camembert shouts out its presence with a particular pungency. We’ve had endless amusement devising ways of getting her to inadvertently smell the cheese. ‘Hey, Daughter,’ we’ve said full of faux enthusiasm, ‘check this out.’ She turns around only for us to shove the tub under her nose: we’re rewarded with that face again. Such fun.

(Random) Friday Photo

Yesterday was a Bad Day.

I toyed with flinging my manuscript out of the window. There was an unusual but welcome wind; from the 21st floor it might have made an interesting piece of performance art.

Instead I took myself off for some chocolate a walk down my new soi. I spotted this random teapot which stood about 75cm tall. I would rather like one for my balcony but maybe not in red.

The teapot cheered me up but not as much as the Dairy Milk Chocolate.