Mike’s Meandering Mumbles

Since the big belly problem and the emergency operation in Kuala Lumpur I have not been able to do strenuous exercise, not that I am downhearted about that! But I do struggle to lose the flab and ridiculous amount of excess weight I carry.

Recently Alice and some of her tennis buddies went to lunch at a Noodle House that had Malaysian Lamb Curry on the menu. Having spent so long in Malaysia this was a plus as far as I was concerned. So over my lovely 2 day weekend we did some walking on the Corniche, rather colder at present than might be expected, as one can see.

Alice naturally has no weight problems in view of her tennis and the fact that her buddies have asked for a bit of training in the belly dancing she learnt in Malaysia and Singapore. In fact the “gang” were recently out buying the necessary belts. A few husbands should be getting a surprise shortly. But I struggle and I do not find the exerciser a great deal of fun, even though I have worked out my own personal exercise  routine on it.

But to return to the post walking time, a treat was needed. Usually we go to the posher restaurants, all in hotels, as not only are they a shade more upmarket but they can sell wine. But when one is struggling to lose weight a trip elsewhere is recommended.

And so I agreed to go to have some Malaysian Lamb Curry, which I have to say was delicious. You can clearly see the extended stomach here, which confirms the need for reduction.

But what an unfortunate result, next day I had the trots and a visit to the pharmacy was necessary to get the old respected remedy, imodium, into action. Mind you, the pharmacist was a charmer.

My wife was not wholly satisfied with the first design of the pig farm and has had some remodelling set in place.

We cannot be there all the time but my mother-in-law is a hard taskmaster and capably supervises the workforce, getting them up and working at an early hour.

The workforce are pretty dedicated but the blazing sun does lead to a somewhat unusual lack of personal protective equipment, as safety wear seems to be called here. But no matter, I can stand and provide that necessary musical cheer as they work and wait for the essential delivery of liquid refreshment to enable them to carry on at maximum efficiency.

And they all adore my animals and so are keen to prepare the new, improved home for them all. Which is just as well since I should hate to think that I was employing unionists or others who might decide that the thinking and design work that my charming wife was putting into the project was not sufficiently like manual labour to impress them.

But we all know that in fact she is the one who ensures progress and final perfection.

I am so damn busy that I can’t keep up, so a few moments studying ball movement is a great relief. Clearly I have solved the perpetual motion puzzle.

I really dislike the Working Saturdays that come round so often. From that first unfortunate encounter, during the morning constitutional, onwards one is aware of the horrors of the day to come.

The only way to alleviate the concern and prepare for the rest of the day is to have a spot of Stoli with the breakfast. For the rest of the day one has to get by on the correct supplement to one’s coffee, and this choice seems fairly apposite.

There certainly are no delights at work and I sometimes feel that it would have been better to have made a different choice of career path. But in fact I seemed to have drifted into this one and now have the deserved dudgery arising from it. The circularity of climbing the never ending upwards steps would be soul destroying if it wasn’t for the fear of the pursuer.

But as we all know fear is a good goad although, to be totally honest, if I had the sound advice below earlier things may have been very different in my life.

I understand that UK has finally finished repairs and come out of recession. Good old Gordon can now concentrate on his looming defeat in the coming polls. But I care not, although I do care that tomorrow will see the latest cash injection into my account.

A handful of gold is always a pleasure and, unlike a pirate, I will be spending it rather than burying it. We need some new furniture and a trip to IKEA might be on our minds.

Or perhaps I should consider that a spot of interesting booze is an entitlement after so long adhering to a diet.

Or perhaps a trip to the centre of the universe, or was that the “Big Apple”, might be in order, but after reflection and close inspection of the map provided I realised I would certainly get us both completely lost and that staying in continents that we understood, Asia, Africa and Europe, was probably for the best.

So I feel that spending the odd shekel that I may have is better spent on the farm and my delightful pigs. There is so much pleasure to be derived by seeing them looking over the fence as one comes up to them. And the funny little wrinkle of the nose (snout?) as they recognise me is something to be savoured.

Sometimes I think that, should I have any, my readers cannot know the difficult circumstances under which we strive to record our lives. I accept that we do get the rewards of seeing other parts of the world, without actually having to invade them, which is rather nice. But there are certain drawbacks, naturally.

Toilets can be rather different to western ideals, which may explain my reversion to them in my mumbles on an irregular but not overlong schedule. Mosquitoes can be a pain, but my personal hatred, shared by Winston Smith of course, is rats. So naturally I hate to open the computer casing.

Then there is the problem of work, which can often make one’s brain and eyeballs hurt. And much to my regret I have never been able to get a doctor’s note that has the sublime nature of one brought to me in my early days. I may have been naive back then but it did not convince me that the teaboy was incapacitated by a work injury.

Thinking of teaboys and snacks, we have rather more choice than may be found in the west. Not all of these are exactly to my taste though I have to admit. However as the past mumbles show there are  better meals available if you look around. And so I have just made the booking for the Valentine Dinner that we always enjoy. Whether we are romantic or soppy I am not sure. But we enjoy our life together and with such meals how can we not enjoy.

I was so sad to have the finger pointed at me.

and on my birthday too.

To be honest, I had not realised you have to be cool when you reach 64!

I have many failings, as is well known; some being almost addictions. To my wife mainly, naturally, but that is only to be expected after 19 happily married years.

Then there is my old pal, Jack, and I have to say that I am extremely tempted by body adornment at the moment. I rarely carry my hip flask these days, not least because having bought one’s licensed alcohol the only legal place to drink it is in one’s own home. And of course there is the diet to consider! So to have at least the reminder of the bottle permanently etched might be fun. But it is that word permanently that worries me.

But at least the stuff is sufficiently well known as to appear almost everywhere one goes and often adorning ladies of grace and good taste. Thereby putting themselves amongst those that would not tempt me, except with their bottle that is.

On a less alcoholic front I am, and have been for many years, a lover of sausages. Even the UK ones that had insufficient meat content to satisfy the EU bureaucrats.

I used to go to a micro brewer and restaurant in Singapore that served delightful sausages and, mixed with a few of their brews, this was a great treat. Nothing like that exists here in the Gulf, the bans on alcohol and pork means that it is unlikely to change in the short term, so with luck (or do I mean, without luck?) I will retire prior to any such momentous changes.

But as so many mumbles I wander erratically from subject to subject. This has led many to deride me as a lesser brain and this is starting to hurt me deeply. Major steps may have to be taken.

Caught in a never ending spiral of ongoing concerns that left her compatriots shocked and horrified, she tried to explain that the problems were not of her doing, indeed were not even of her volition. Although sympathetic, they had known her a long time after all, the situation still had her erstwhile friends gasping at the latest revelations.

Could it be true? And if so was she to be ostracised? Society has its standards after all, and surely one has to try and meet them or anarchy and despair will flood the land.

Was it enough to make a plea that may or not be true? Or should she be treated as no better than she should be (a phrase that I have never fully understood)? History (herstory?) will judge.

In my drinks corner, much smaller these days due to the diet, I also have a few snacks; topped by a large salt and vinegar crips (as Alice and I call them, no relation to the bloods or indeed “Tongs, ya bass”, as I recall from Glasgow in my youth . . . but I meander yet again) which in fact contains many small packets of crisps, or chips as I believe the Americans call them.

Which led me to a surprise meal in the north of Saudi when presented with a grilled fish steak and crisps when I had expected a real UK fish and chips plate, and hoped for mushy peas also. And an even greater surprise the next time I was visiting Al Bukariyah as, with the sad exception of the mushy peas, I got what I had hoped for. It depended on which chef (well, the standards meant they were closer to cooks than chefs) was on duty. So, since there was very little else western on the hotel menu, I had a small thrill of expectation each dinner time.

But getting back to the crisps, my type of choice is Lays, mind you the choices here in Qatar are not huge, so that ones preference is limited to just a few types. And I am extremely pleased to see that I am not alone in this choice, as A listers are also attracted to them.

A fairly close relative has recently found it necessary to prove his manhood, and this by the age old method of showing his manly essence. Possibly he has learnt from the fraternity of Mike’s who do seem to demonstrate their implacable opposition to gentlemenly behaviour at the drop of a hat, With the rare excepton of myself, of course. Although I admit that my party or socialising skills are not of the highest, nevertheless this is not my style.

Unfortunately my style does lead more to the likelihood of having a son disparage me with, I feel, good reason.

Still, I have great hopes of a medical man in the family at some time in the future and this will naturally lead to even more discussions on healthy living than I am forced to endure at present.

Conversations run over further matters of course and I am interested in the theory about dogs and wives. Although naturally not asinine enough to try it. Anyway as far as roads are concerned I am far too busy playing with my new roadkill cat to spend time getting unwilling bodies into a car boot, as we call it in UK.

But the fact is that we men are lucky not to be corrected in our actions, or failures to act, by ladies who can always find the best way of retaliation.

One of the nice things about having left UK is the reduced risk of meeting the ladies outing that is, to my mind, less than loveable.

However the charming beer promotion ladies found in the Philippines are a joy to meet as well as providing a reminder of the fine cooling drink, San Miguel, that deserves to be swallowed in rather more than moderation.

Of course where I work things are slightly different, and the eyes have to express all, and are often modestly cast down in the presence of strangers; and it has been said that they don’t come much stranger than me. I am not sure whether to treat that as a compliment or a calumny, so I just live with it.

In a neighbouring country there has apparently been some relaxation at the beach but, to be brutally honest, I do not see what difference this has made in real terms.

It must have been interesting in early days if the Garden of Eden, as has been mooted, was actually in this region. However history has never been my strong point, in spite of apparently having been born in a cave, or so my offspring seem to feel.

But enough of this I must head out into the peace of the desert and get some more air guitar practice under my belt as I have no desire to deafen anyone in the city.

I have to say that I have been much surprised at how ladies these days have such a great desire to expose their underwear.  Although to be brutally honest I feel some would be better keeping it hidden.

Even when one sees a group of ladies looking nice, if one steps back it may come as a surprise to find that they as just as eager to expose their undies as others. I come from a background and era that was not quite so quick to expose oneself to ridicule – although I accept that I now do so often, especially when I try to appear to understand modern trends when talking with the 15 year old son.

Brides, and their maids, are up to the same tricks. I am glad that my wedding was not blessed with any such pictures as I am embarrassed enough by the smug look on my face during the ceremony and subsequent breakfast (why do they call it that? A damn silly name for something eaten in mid-afternoon to my mind).

And when not exposing scanties but slightly larger panties they seem to be advertising, boasting or guaranteeing performance.

I suspect that this arises as they are too shy to issue the order expressed so succintly by this lady. But having been in countries where ladyboys are rife I do suggest the backlight test is applied before one leaps into action with jaw  agape and hope in one’s heart.

I, living in Asia, am spared most of this  as the clothing is too complicated to allow for easy lifting and exposure of that below, and quite honestly I am glad of that.

All this woffle about global warming and here we have icicles by the palms. I tell you winter in the Gulf is much worse than you may think. Or of course you may realise that this is just another jape since it is really of Brighton on the south coast of UK.

I do usually try not to mislead people or to fall into the trap of becoming non-PC, so here is something to demonstrate that.

Although I admit that I do have my moments when it all falls by the wayside and I show my true colours.

I have very little social sense, in fact some would say I have very little sense, and I have been teasing Alice off and on about her being on probation. A foolish jest really since I should be the one on probation if it came to it.  Even more foolish since I have been made aware that ladies are naturally good shots.

And indeed many also have a hefty punch, and with her nickname of Spitfire I should not really take unnecessary risks. But I did and she has taken it as the good sport she is.

So I sneakily managed to buy a Passing Medal, impressive since Alice was with me and towards the end of our dinner I asked the waitress to take a photo as I handed it over, saying even though it was only 19 years of marriage it was quite clear we did not need to wait to the 20th anniversary to say she was out of the probationary period.

And, while I thought is was a fairly minor joke Alice is displaying it in our living room adjacent to one of my favourite pictures of her in a restaurant. A joke on me then, after all!