From the far

So its been a while since my last post.  I have no excuse but pure laziness.  Bali seems to bring

This is how lazy I have been

this laziness out of me.  The simplest task suddenly takes on a different dimension of difficulty and I end up paralysed into just doing nothing.  I have of course managed to continue to feed myself, order cocktails and a few other life sustaining activities.

In many ways a lot seems to have happened since my last post: involved in earthquake, trekked up active volcano and seen lovely flowing lava, camped in force 10 gale with no roof on tent, involved in boat based hit and run and subsequent pursuit by local mafia, been worryingly close to Komodo dragons and scariest of all I have survived the possible meltdown of my wife through the transition from 29 to 30.

I am happy to report that contradictory to expectations Jo achieved this transition with far greater ease than I achieved it and she was a joy to be around.  To ensure this happened I had to bring out the big guns and basically throw some money at retaining her sanity.  Regular massages throughout the day, lots of presents of clothes and jewellery and a flash hotel seemed to do the trick.  Although perhaps an expensive day I would say a worthwhile investment in retaining my wife’s sanity during this difficult transitional phase.

Now she is 30 she has already changed a great deal.  I am trying to convince her that twin set and pearls aren’t  needed all the time and it may be better to wear a bikini on the beach.  I have also tried to convince her that we can stay out past 9 o’clock and we don’t always need the cup of cocoa before bed.  We are soon heading to Cambodia to adopt a small child as she is also insisting that we should be parents by now and we can catch up by adopting a 3 year old and they are more fun at that age anyway.

Other than this I have had some personal tragedy that many of you will be saddened to hear about.  So soon after the sadness of my flip-flop loss just a few months ago I now have to tell you of the loss of a favourite t-shirt.  Its all just getting too much really.

I have had a lovely beige merino t-shirt for some time that was just starting to hit the really comfortable stage where it is no longer new but not worn out either.  I entrusted this t-shirt to the local laundry lady in Ubud to wash along with a few other items.  I briefed her in detail on the need to look after this t-shirt and that it was wool and delicate and must be handwashed and cared for with extra special attention.  She smiled and told me not to worry and that she would look after my old friend (well,  she smiled at least).  When I returned to collect my washing all looked well and the beautifully folded and clean smelling clothes were a joy to see.  Then it all went very very wrong.  As I held my old favourite up I saw the horror.  It was covered in a hideous mottled purple stain.  This purple stain strangely matched the purple of Jo’s cheap Indian trousers and I realised all my requests for delicate care and attention for my old friend had been callously ignored.  Having fought back the tears and just managing to hold it together I firstly blamed Jo for buying ridiculous cheap Indian clown trousers that had damaged my old friend and then gaining composure it was time to visit the laundry of destruction.  At this point I would like to claim temporary insanity caused by grief for the wanton harm and destruction inflicted on my old friend.

On returning to the laundry I requested that my old t-shirt friend was cleaned again by them and the stains must be removed.  I know, what was I thinking of, how could I place him back in their care again after they had demonstrated such cruelty already…but I did.  I can only blame myself.

They asked for 24 hours to put right their wrongs and told me not to worry and that my old friend would soon be back to his beige best.  How wrong they were.  Upon my return to collect him I knew all was not well.  They hung their heads in shame as they approached me.  Their apologies started and the tears started to well in all of our eyes as they took me to the battered and bruised body of my old friend.  They appear to have used a cleaning technique based on gathering a pack of rabid dogs, covering the item requiring cleaning in some sort of rabid dog pheromone, and then throwing the t-shirt into the middle of the pack.

Needless to say my old friend was barely recognisable and after they had finished treating him with harsh stain removing chemicals he was tattered and torn and threadbare and beyond repair or recovery.  Lost for words and with the tears welling up I grabbed the earthly shell of my t-shirt and took him home.  I haven’t managed to let go of the past yet and bury him and I think I will take him back to NZ to the Icebreaker factory from where he started and leave him there.

A sad day.