Edinburgh: Day III

Woke up. Again. What a drab.

Checked out and threw my luggage into the bus hold - into the other bus, not the same one I travelled on, to Edinburgh, for no apparent reason.

Then, Anna (hottie) and Sara asked whether I'd like to join them for breakfast, which I did, inviting the rest of my roomies. Anna and Sara met some friends and went to sit with them, while me and my roomies sat nearby, though Anna then came to say to me that there was a seat left at their table, which I'd stupidly replied "We've got enough seats here"; sat down and started mentally bashing myself. What a fuckwit.

Waited a good 25 minutes for my 'Grand Breakfast', 7 quid, which was anything but grand (in quality and proportion). I could have made a better breakfast, trial chef at St. David's and all.

Nothing much happened after that, till we left for Cardiff. Then all sorts of shit happened. The other bus (the same one I was on coming from Cardiff) started pissing it self. I joke you not. Somehow the bus had overheated really badly and was steaming and leaking from behind. Kinda like a multi-ton baby. Strange that I chose the good bus out of the blue. Oh well.

Much more shit happened after that, which I find to tiresome to repeat, but the following highlights should suffice:
i) I sat next to a girl who had a vendetta against Tomatoes and bird-paranoia, archnemesis numero uno being shitting pigeons;
ii) We watched Shrek, on a telly that showed mainly snow and static;
iii) I felt bad for a toilet cleaner who got cussed at for no apparent reason by a pissing tosser;
iv) Two girls were trying to kill time by killing each other - seriously. It was quite pleasurable to see them birds hurting each other, for the sake of passing time and mutually painful entertainment;
v) I read. I slept. I ate. I drank. I smoked. Then I read. Slept. Ate. And smoked somemore.

11 hours later we were finally back. Hoo-fucking-ray. Then, the shortest courtship in history happened.

Edinburgh: Day II

Woke up in the morning and bashed my head on the bed - it was a bunk bed. I'd forgotten.

Showered, and left to the City Centre again, walking past a bakery that made me stop and do a double take. Crept in to buy a delicious Spinash and Mozarella Puff and a Pain au Chocolat, as well as a double shot Cappucino. The pastries were brilliant, but coffee was beyond shit.

Had a very nice walk all the way up to the Castle grounds, but then realised that I really couldn't be arsed to spend 9 quid to look at a fucking rock construction, mighty and majestic as it may be. The castle novelty wears off quite quickly when you're fucking surrounded by 'em all the time.

So I went into a Tartan Mill exhibit instead. Which was quite nice but also rather tiresome.

5 minutes later, I'd found Cafe Hub, which Hans recommended - lovely building (an ex-church, surely). I ordered Pork Medallions with Celeriac Mash (that's Mash with Celery for the uninitiated) and Cranberry chutney, as well as an Dried Apricot Bread & Butter Pudding. The food wasn't bad, but not all that great for 9 squids. Still, I found it more valuable than a castle visit.

Made my way slowly towards the Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, about 20 minutes walk away and stopped for a Busking Piper for a good ten minutes. Ah, the good old pipe tunes - Scotland the Brave, Highland Cathedral etc... I think I do really miss the band. Bought a crap Practice chanter a while later.

The production I watched was Cirque Eloize's Rain. It was abso-fucking-lutely fantasmic. So good I actually ventured to speak to the touring director to tour Asia - something which I hope will come in handy for VTC. I cannot begin to describe how excited I am at the prospect that they could be coming down to KL, especially if its produced by VTC (and associates).

Fast forward to quarter to eight and I'm standing outside The Stand, a comedy club which had Will Smith headlining for the night. I know what you're thinking... WILL SMITH? No, its not the Fresh Prince, but a British White comedian who's reputedly very good... Problem was that tickets were sold out, but if I waited I may be able to get standby or uncollected ones. So I wait. And wait. And wait...

Finally, the usher came out and hollered "12 tickets left!" And whaddaya know... I'm lucky number 15. Fuck that.

Shoved myself into a cab and flew to UGC to watch movies again. Alone. Sad fucking Sod. But it was kinda good - watched Finding Neverland which was excellent, and I Heart Huckabees which was good but somehow failed to get onto my good graces. I think I was too tired to fully appreciate the understated existentialism that was presented in the comedy. Or maybe I'm just not smart enough.

Much later, back in the Hostel, I performed a cappella the evergreen hit Stand By Me with my kinda quirky roomies Owen and Rhys (love that name, for some weird reason), as the self-elected bassist, which was well received (by ourselves) and prompted an encore of Build Me Up Buttercup.

And the crowning event of the day was Nicholas, the other roommate, who came into the room abruptly with a carton of Cronenbourg and quipped "I've got to go Come." Lovely overshare. He also contributed this memorable quote:

"Hey guys... How was your Gay?"

Ahh... the strange events that took place at Bruntsfield Youth Hostel, Bruntsfield Crescent, Edinburgh, United Kingdom.

The Shortest Courtship In History. Or So I Think.

Hey Anna,

It was really nice to meet you. I meant to ask you this earlier actually, but somehow the cold must have froze my brain and made me stupid. Either that or your smile. Other than the BBQ*, would you like to go for a meal of movie sometime? Either way I look forward to seeing you around.

Lee.

* I'd invited her for a house BBQ sometime soon.

Hey, thank you Lee, but Im afraid iv got a boyfriend and i don't think he'd be too happy about that! def let us know about the Bbq though! it was nice meetin u. A

Nope, he'd be quite understandably upset, I'm sure... :)

I thought as much actually... but figured I should ask anyway.

Thanks anyway, You're real sweet.

Will let you and Sara know about the Barb soon... Hope you and Sara got home fine.

Good night and take care,
Lee.

Thank you. Hope you got back ok. Good nit!

Least I tried. Rather uncharacteristically, at that.

P.S. Lovely invention that - SMS.

Thought Abcess

a square writing about one who's dear:

the mirthful confusion
that besieges me
leaves much to be desired,
both ways.

Edinburgh: Day I

It's been a LONG day. I left Cardiff by coach 23 hours ago. One long journey, 2 short breaks later - a cigarette and cappucino each - I finally arrived at Edinburgh. And boy, it is pretty.

Point of information: Of the 70+ people on the trip, I know a grandtotal of 0.

Met some new friends though... There's Cathryn (hottie), Sara, Holly, Anna (hottie), Nicki and one Kate Hudson lookalike, I kid you now - don't know her name though.

Am bunking with three other dudes, whom I have to say, are a little odd - but who cares, I've got the largest bunk. Whatever, you know.

Took a quick shower then popped straight down to the town for Guiness and Steak Pie and a pint of the same, on the new part of the city. Edinburgh is built really uniquely, having an old historical (and frankly spectacular) portion and a modern, metropolistic section opposite each other, separated by a street. The scenery and sights are fucking amazing.

What a tourist! *Gag*

Anyhoo... Took a tour thing called the Real Mary King's Close. You see, the old part of Edinburgh used to be built in a series of Closes (alleyways), which were later built over. Yes, you read that right. Over. So the tour brings you to explore the old Closes, which are now 'underground', of course. It was quite nice, interesting and all, but after 45 minutes, the musty air started to do my head in. The cigarette sure came in handy when I got back out to civilization.

Another point of information:
Scotland uses the Pound also, but the notes are different from the English (and Welsh) ones. I think the Scottish notes are prettier...

Back to the story. I left my newly befriended pals (who preferred to go shopping), and roamed around a bit on my own, taking in the sights and sounds and trying to make sense of where I was. Finally, I decided to head towards UGC cinemas Edinburgh to chill out and relax - free mar, with my Unlimited card.

A phone call and few enquiries later, I was told that it was a mere 10 minute walk away. It took me 45 minutes, 3 misdirections and lots of direly needed preserved energy to get there.

But it was worth it.

Watched two movies tonight (decided it to be best, rather than hitting the pubs with the rest of the people, save a little money) - the first being After Sunset, a new Brosnan movie, with an idiotic script, not too impressive acting, but the best glimpses of Salma Hayek's lovely puppies since Frida; and The Incredibles which is a movie I would pay for again and again just to laugh and marvel at the brilliant plot and animation.

I know what you're thinking. What the fuck is this stupid chink watching movies in a cultural treasure trove like Edinburgh. Answer: I don't know. I was really tired and bummed out, so movies are good way to pass time. Much more will be done tomorrow, for sure.

Came out of UGC round 11pm and thought that I'd find out where the posse is and maybe join them... Why not, ey? The night is young etc, bla bla bla. Called Cathryn and tried very hard to extract sensible information from her - definitely smashed - but to no avail.

I donhav other preople's ring ring, so I walking back to hostel lor.

Am very tired now. Night.

On Noisy Sex

Most guys wouldn't complain about noisy sex. It's rather the opposite. Mostly.

But for fuck sake, my housemate in the next room - yes, the Chinese girl (who's definitely dumped her boyfriend and shacked up with this new Chinese dude) - makes soooooo much noise, every night (and some mornings too).

Now mind you. It's so loud that even with my door closed and iTunes playing at full volume, I can still hear it... (No, I am NOT a perv).

I feel so depraved. Involuntarily so.

a shot in the dark

a shot in the dark;
the wild dogs barked.
the man had found his mark
in the middle of the park.

swift and silently he tread
towards the woman in red,
her eyes glazing over as she bled,
hapless and soon dead.

for an instance eyes connect;
two souls once united perfect,
now torn, scarred and wrecked,
malice and regret intermixing unchecked.

a shot in the dark;
the wild dogs barked.
the man joined his mark,
now dead in the middle of the park.

Combat Workshop

Did something different today - went for a Malaysian buffet lunch (11am - 2pm) at a restaurant named Bali. But true to Malaysian form, we (me and Hans) arrived around 12 thinking that by then, the rush for food would be over etc. Hah. Joke was on us. Food got delayed and the line didn't start till 1pm.

Anyhow, fast forward 3 hours and I'm at a Stage Combat Workshop, organised by the Cardiff Uni Drama Society - Act One - with which I did The Crucible last year.

Man. It was fun.

The instructor's name was Kevin, tall built black guy who obviously has Martial Arts background and is a talented performer. He's a fight choreographer for some BBC stuff and teaches stage combat professionally.

So we begin. I'm sparring with this First Year Brit called Tom who's taller, wider and bigger than I am. No, more like muchtaller, wider and bigger than I am. I wish I could illustrate the entire fight choreography that Kevin taught us in the 1.5 hours of the workshop... I'll try with words:

A does a Right Cross then a Left Cross followed by a Stomach Punch. B Falls. A lifts B by Collarbone, all the way up. B holds A's face with palm, A throws it away and follows with a Stomach Punch and a Headlock. B breaks Headlock and delivers 3 Stomach Punches to A and steps back twisting A's hand into a Hammerhold (I think that's what he called it...) A then Elbows B in the chest and turns around delivering a right punch (B blocks), left punch (B blocks), another right punch (B ducks) and another left punch (B sidesteps and delivers kick into A's abdomen). B then follows immediately with a Right Cross, A ducks and locks with Elbow, then jabs B's ribs and a knee into B's chest, followed by a throwdown. Once B is down, A lifts foot to slam into his face/chest, but B rolls over and kicks A's thighs or back, propelling him forward. A then turns around and spears B in the abs. B then knees A again in the stomach and slams his back. A falls and tries to get up, but B kicks him over and finally stomps on his chest in victory.

Ah. There. Anyway, here are the important things I learnt today:
i) Stage Combat is fun as hell and looks fucking impressive with practice and expertise;
ii) It's not that difficult;
iii) It's real fake - sound effects are made by cupping your palm and hitting your own or partner's chest or body. The movement takes attention away from the hand making the sound.
iv) Eye contact is key, not just to make it convincing, but also as a signal between you and your partner for timing, movement etc;
v) It's all about actions and reactions - the believability of it has to be 'sold' to the audience, by way of facial expression, body movements etc. Logic plays a great part, or having real experience of being punched, whacked, kneed, slammed, thrown etc.
vi) Speed is not important, it comes with practice. Precision and practice are the important things.

Man. It was fun. Kinda cool too because there's was this barely buffed Chinese boy (ahem... me...) who was actually lifting a tall and big white boy by the collarbone... Haha!

It's Fucking Freezing!

Reality check - it's the 21st of November. So why the fuck is it so cold in this god-forsaken country?! Let's just say that I had two T-shirts on, a Fleece pullover and a leather jacket and I was still shivering - and that's with the extra pounds I've put on, blubber and all! This is going to be a cold winter alright. It didn't get this cold till end-January last winter. Mental. It's already snowing in parts of UK...

Never mind. Quick recap of highpoints of today. I slept. And then I cooked. Then I slept again. And cooked. Haha. See a pattern?

I did go watch Taxi with Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah in the evening though (that's when I froze while walking, rain and all). It was really funny - not the best movie of all time or anything, but it had some excellent car scenes (sigh... miss driving like that in KL...) and the girls (can you say Gisele groping another fit bird?) were HOT! Come to think of it, I don't think you'll see it in GSC or TGV unless you're customing the friendly neighbourhood porn peddler...

I think I'm running a temperature now... After four days of Paracetamol and natural immune system... Sigh. The care-taker (not in the morbid sense) now needs taking care of. Irony.

Finally, let me just say that the current book I am reading - Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything - is formally ruined. Bad enough I split coffee on it a few days ago, it dropped into a bucket of water today. It's cursed. Wonder if I can get it returned... Customer Service Policies and all... Ah, finally, something that's of use in the West. Haha.

One more thing, Mr. Exec. Chef still hasn't returned my call about my appointment as a chef in his kitchen. It's starting to get irritating.

(Private) Jokes Of The Day - It's Okay If You Don't Get It. You're Daft. Can't Blame You For That. Bless.

Here's one.

why_square: i've been told that i'm funny.
why_square: not in a humourous way unfortunately.

Here's another one:

c_cjc: why do arty farty types think they have to constantly maintain a barrage of what they consider "Witty and Interesting" conversation
c_cjc: errr...yeah
c_cjc: i mean there is such depth in yoda
c_cjc: and the eewoks
c_cjc: and i can go on and on about wile E coyote
c_cjc: and calvin and hobbes
c_cjc: and broomhelda
c_cjc: not to mention the thundercats
c_cjc: tho thats before your time i am guessing
why_square: ey
why_square: i love thunderats.
why_square: haha
why_square: thunderats!
why_square: mumbra.
why_square: he-man as well then? skeletor?
why_square: he the man!
c_cjc: ooo skeletor was the greatest
c_cjc: and shera had an amazing pair of...
c_cjc: well yaknow
why_square: yah lovely eyes.
c_cjc: lol
c_cjc: that too
c_cjc: do u remember the smurfs?
why_square: yes.
why_square: i'm telling you. she was the village bicycle.
c_cjc: hahaha she was

Don't think too hard. If you didn't get it first time round, you won't. Don't be too hard on yourself.

Vile Scathings

I'm in the finest of vile moods.

Quick recap of the day after my wonderfully idjut-ic morning. The tutorial went alright. Went stright to Lidl after that to pickup groceries for the week.

Oh. * TIMEOUT * There's a girl called Tessa in my class who's got the sexiest and huskiest voice I've heard in a long while, and a smile that certainly ups the earlier one that mesmerised me... This one's sort of embarrassed yet sweet. She's tall, slim, nicely bodied, with dark blond hair and has nice eyes too. A bit out of my league, I think.

Anyway, back to the scathing.

Came home with the ambitious thought of having salmon and scrambled eggs with mixed baby leaf salad dressed in extra virgin olive oil and balsamic dressing, with brine shrimp and caviar to top, which I did. Made fried rice for Erica. So, she eats like a couple of spoons and runs to the loo. Stupid me forgot that fever and flu don't go well with fried foods. Made her toast instead, with bit of butter. Then persuaded her to see the doctor in the evening, got an appointment and booked a cab.

Around 3.50pm, I decided to not wake her up for class, and since I had to do laundry anyway, took it onto myself to shove hers in as well (yes, Celine, I know what you're thinking). Then I went to a lecture and fought valiantly for 50 minutes to stay awake. There's just something about a warm room and a rambling lecturer that makes sleep ever so enticing. Lecture over, I ran back to the laundrette to put the clothes into the drier. All was well. Then things started to be shit.

FYI, its been raining the ENTIRE FUCKING DAY. Fucking miserable and gloomy - affected me mood obviously, as we shall see shortly. Ran home, woke her up, then called the cab company to check on the cab (5.15pm now). The stupid lady on the other end apologised and said she'll send a cab in 20 minutes, to which I replied with just a tad of irritation: "20 minutes? The appointment's in 15. Fuck. Never mind. Cancel the damn cab."

So into the rain and onto the road we went, for a 20 minute walk to the surgery. Got there just after half five, soaking wet, and waited for a little while. Erica was in the doctor's room for less than 3 minutes before coming out to announce that the good doctor said nothing was wrong and that she should keep going on Paracetamol.

What the FUCK is the fascination with British doctors and fucking panadols? Between me and Erica, we've been to the surgery perhaps 6 times in a year and a half, yah, and every single fucking time, its: "Have lots of Fluids. Rest. Take some paracetamols (We'll sell you them here, but you're better off buying them from the Pharmacy down the street - cheaper." Fuck that! I could prescribe myself too! Never heard of fucking antibiotics?!

So yah. Feeling real daft now, we walk back, and I am already very tired, cold, hungry and sleepy, not to mention eternally annoyed at the standard response British doctors so brilliantly give. In other words, I was one grumpy fuckhole.

Oh, missed something - a minute after we left the home towards the surgery, Erica in her typically idjut-ic way mumbled: "You don't have to come, you know." To which I just said something to the effect of: "Shut up and walk." On the way back, I told her I'd put her laundry to wash and dry, to which she said (no prizes for guessing what): "Why did you do that? I could have done it myself. You didn't even tell me..." (Or something like that). Now, the grumpy fuckhole that I was just glared and said inelegantly: "Not again. Thank you would be nice."

Yes, Celine. I know. I just did. I don't think about stuff like this you see. I just do. Because I can and it usually doesn't cost me anything - except for having to put up with stupid nagging comments by her Majesty.

I would love to tell you that that was it. But it's not. There's a little more shit to expunge. So we went straight to the laundrette to check on the clothes. They weren't very dry but I was running short on change. So, brilliant old me decided to chuck ALL the clothes from the TWO driers into one so that I could put money into it and get it done and over with. Now, I don't know about you, but a sane and normal person would have realised at first sight that that would not work - too much clothes. Doh. So, whilst I'm taking out a small portion of clothes from the stuffed up drier, I start popping the remainder of my change into the 2nd drier again, with the 1st drier on 40 minutes.

10 pence. 20 pence.
30 pence. 40 pence.
No more change in my pants.

And the fucking drier won't run without 50 pence in it.

Cursed Be Mine Memory

I stayed up till 4 this morning preparing for my 10 o'clock EC Law tutorial. Very rare that is, mind you. Preparing properly for tutes. But it was all good.

Except for the fact that I'd completely forgotten about a 9 o'clock jurisprudence lecture. Fuck.

I think my subconscious was trying to say something when I put my alarms at 8.30am. But anyhow, I awoke at 5 to 9, but thought that I'd sleep for an extra half hour, just to make sure I was fully rested. Then ten minutes later, Erica comes in and asks: "Don't you have a 9 o'clock Jurisprudence lecture?"

You know how in the old Looney Tunes cartoons where that Coyote, in his pursuits of that bird freak, gets hit by a falling anvil from incredibly preposterous heights? That's how I felt. Like an idiot, or as Celine puts it, an idjut.

Anyway, by the time I'd brushed my teeth and stuff, it was already 15 past nine, and the earliest I would get to the lecture was between 20 past and 25 past. Which is already about half the lecture. What a shit way to start what should have been a great morning, tutorial preparations and all. Double Fuck.

So, yah, I decided to sit my ass down on my laptop and sulk. I will make sure I go to the library and make this up with reading though, or so my guilty mind is trying to make me.

I hate my memory. I keep forgetting things that are important, and remembering things that aren't. Heck, most times, I don't remember any thing at all.

I love Wikipedia

Hehe. Something uncanny just happened.

I'd just come home from watching Ladies in Lavender, which had brilliant music performed by Joshua Bell and superb acting by Dame Judi Dench and Maggie Smith. Logged on to Wikipedia and clicked on random page - just for the heck of it (as most people do, surely) - and out comes this page, titled 'Square (geometry)'.

What are the odds, ey?

I'll tell ya - 1056519:1. That's how many pages there are on Wikipedia currently.

Man. Something like that's got to make your day. Or maybe I'm just kinda weird.

Ostracise, Arsenic, Democracy, Positivism

Learnt some interesting things in Jurisprudence today.

1. The etymological root for the word 'Ostracise' is from ancient Greece, where citizens could report annoying persons to the city scribe, who would inscribe the reported person's name onto clay tablets called 'ostracas'. No proof of annoyance required. After a certain amount of ostracas, the reported person would be put on trial.

2. Such was what befell Socrates (who's scribe was Sophocles). If anything, the trial and ostracism suffered by Socrates tells us that he (and so could we too) was victim to direct democracy.

If everybody thinks you're bad, then so you are.

3. Socrates was not executed. He took arsenic. There goes another great mind.

4. Hart is the most interesting legal jurist to me thus far, a realist and a positivist, though at best, mildly contradictory with himself.

Force of Habit or Rule?

You are driving in a desert. Suddenly, you come across a red light.

Do you stop?

Being Breakfast Chef

As of today, I am still uncertain as to whether I'm being hired to be breakfast chef at the hotel... The executive chef is waiting for the sous chef, i.e. his no. 2, to get in from leave before he will make a decision. Ah... the horrors of hanging by a thread.

Anyway, I went in on Saturday, Sunday and Monday, the shifts begin 6.00am till about 3.00pm, mental hours, but quite interesting experiences. As expected, my first day in a proper kitchen was quite fumbly - the worst was letting an egg benedict slip while plating it. But I learnt quite a bit of stuff - how to make good hollandaise sauce, how to fix an egg benedict, how to slice salmon, how to poach eggs properly etc. It was fun, the chef on duty was also called Lee, Welsh chap with a strange sense of humour, but generally nice to be around and very patient in teaching me stuff. After breakfast was over, I then did prep work, washing a crateful of spinach, peeling a box full of asparagus, that sort of stuff. Observation of the day was that chefs don't really take breaks, not the least for meals. They eat whatever they want, whenever they want, while they cook - rather nice actually. Nine full hours on my feet totally killed me though, being so out of touch with standing long hours (since leaving school). So yah, all was well... Got home and crashed like hell.

Sunday morning at the hotel is supposedly the busiest in the week - and it is evidently so. We (me and Lee) must have served at least 250 customers that morning. I was assigned to handle all the room service orders as well as help out when I can the main breakfast buffet. With just two chefs on duty, things got real crazy around 10.00am. Observation for the day was that knifes are sharp and hurt when it pierces human skin, and that grills are very hot, especially if you whack your hand on the cast-iron parts of it. The nine hours didn't feel all that long though, strangely enough - rushed by quite quickly as I peeled a box of potatoes (about 20+), boiled and mashed them, washed Romain lettuce - a crate full, no less, leaf by leaf and some other prep work.

Monday morning then came and bloody hell, it was a far cry from Sunday - we served about 12 customers, that's it. Luca was on duty instead of Lee and assigned me to do some other prep work asides veges, including making filo rings for garnish. Then around half 11, the executive chef, Chef Stephen Carter, called me up and asked me how I found the work so far, also questioning why I came in on Sunday and Monday, when he asked me only to come Saturday (Sous Chef Paul told me to, I answered). He then said that he'd call.

I'm still waiting for his call.

p.s. I love being called Chef. It's real swish.

Malibu Banana Fritters

Okay... Had a real bad craving for banana fritters about half hour ago... So, I made up this recipe impromptu. The result? Man. You'd wish you were here if you could see and smell them...

Serves 3-4
Preparation Time: 5 minutes
Cooking Time: 15 minutes

Ingredients:

4 bananas, sliced
1 1/4 cup of all-purpose flour
3 tbs granulated sugar
1 pinch of nutmeg powder
1 pinch of cinnamon powder
1/2 pinch of ginger powder
1/2 pinch of salt
1 tbs vanilla powder or vanilla essence
1/2 cup milk
5 tbs of Malibu
2 eggs
2 cups of canola or frying oil
Dusting sugar
More Malibu (to flambe before serving)

Preparation:

1. In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, salt and vanilla powder (if used instead of essence).
2. Make a well in the middle of the bowl, add eggs, milk, malibu and vanilla essence (if used instead of powder).
3. Combine well until smooth, add milk if too thick, or flour if too diluted. At the right consistency, the batter should drip from your whisk for about 5 seconds when it is lifted up.
4. Add bananas to batter, covering and coating it fully.
5. Heat oil till approximately 190 degrees. Place battered bananas into hot oil using a spoon. Fry till golden brown and remove from oil onto paper towels to drain excess oil.
6. Pour Malibu onto a frying pan over medium heat; light and pour avec la flamme onto banana fritters. Serve while hot.

Notes:

It's really quite nice... The batter is light yet flavourful, and does not overshadow the natural sweetness of the banana. Malibu gives the fritters an excellent whiff. Excess batter can be sealed and kept in the fridge up to 3 days, or in the freezer up to ten days. Serve with quality vanilla ice cream or honey on the side for an extra slice of heaven.

Enjoy!

Mortality

It is a bleak and cruel day when a child discovers his or her own mortality. When the child realises that the Human body was created to rot, that it has an uncertain expiration; to understand that one day, after a lifetime of toil and strife, all that would remain is his or her own remains. That is if he or she is blessed enough to have experienced an entire lifetime.

I've always been afriad of death. I think it's because my simple mind cannot comprehend the concept of death - its the sheer nothingness after one's death (or so I envision, or rather cannot envision) that boggles me so. To not feel, see, smell, touch nor taste. To be numb even to the very sensation of numbness.

But the irony of it is my fear of death does not seem to have any effect on my valuation of Life. Too often do I take life and all that it offers, all that it gives, all that it brings, for granted. Too commonly do I not treasure what pleasures Life bares. Must I, as I seem to in most things, learn its preciousness through its loss? Can I?

Rethinking it, I think it would be a bleaker and even more cruel day when one discovers his or her own mortality and that he or she has taken Life in vain, belittled it, left it unappreciated and undervalued. Problem is that he or she is no longer a child, but a man or woman.

Square's Simple Spaghetti Sauce

Serves 3-4.

Ingredients:

6 Large Tomatoes, Chopped
2 Cloves Garlic, Chopped
1 Large Red Onion, Chopped
2 Large Carrots, Chopped
600g Beef Mince
3 Tbs Olive Oil
4 Tbs Extra Virgin Olive Oil
4 Tbs Balsamic Vinegar
2 Tbs Tomato Puree
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Basil, Fresh (Chopped) or Dried, to taste
1/4 pint of Water or Stock (Vegetable or Beef)

Preparation:

1. In a bowl, lightly mix the tomatoes, extra virgin olive oil, basil and 2 tbs of Balsamic Vinegar. Add two generous pinches of salt and pepper each. Cover and set aside to marinade for at least 5-10 minutes.

2. Heat olive oil in a saucepan till hot. Add garlic and onions, with a pinch of salt. Fry lightly till slightly brown, then reduce heat and cover to 'sweat' for 3 minutes.

3. Increase heat to high. Add beef mince and carrots and the other 2 tbs of balsamic vinegar. Fry till meat is brown, approx. 2-3 minutes.

4. Remove mince mixture from heat and drain excess water and oil.

5. Return mince mixture to medium heat and add tomato mixture. Dillute tomato puree in the water/stock and add to mince and tomato mixture. Let it simmer, stiring occasionally, for 8-12 minutes or until water is reduced.

Notes:

Use Salt, Pepper, Basil and Balsamic Vinegar to taste. Olives (black and/or green) make a great variation to the recipe. The sauce should taste simple, fresh and naturally sweet, if fresh ingredients are used. Serve with freshly boiled spaghetti, al dente. Toss spaghetti in parsley, freshly chopped or dried for better results. Top with milled black pepper, shaved parmesan and a dose of extra virgin olive oil.

p.s. Yes, I did create that recipe myself - its not from some recipe book somewhere, its from my square brain; and even if it is replicated in some dumb recipe book somewhere, its mere coincidence... :)

Livin Da Vida Loca

Dressed in a nice dark pair of Levi's, with comfortable Calvin Klein's underneath, topped with a fitting grey vest and a crisp white shirt, I slipped my new Ravels on as quickly as I could, already late. Stepping out of my house and onto the street, I felt invigorated and ready for a chilled night out. The wind was bitter, but I'd just come out of a hot shower, so it felt really refreshing.

Fast forward half an hour, we're all seated comfortably in Las Iguanas, having Margaritas, Caipiranhas and Mojitos, whilst the girls sipped Raspberry Daiquiris. It was the start of a really nice night out - pleasant, good, clean fun with just enough alcohol to get everyone's spirits up and going. The company was good, conversation decent, food not too shabby either. Inspired by an episode of Queer Eye, I'd decided to put on the charm, or more rather, see whether I had any of it.

The target? Kiaran, a French and Linguistic student, pretty, very friendly, highly approachable. Spent the night largely talking to her, generally chatting, though not exactly chatting her up, as I'd realised slowly that she was probably going out with another guy in our crowd... Or at least, they may be. Hans had the same general vibe...

The result? Lord knows. She was interesting, but I think that we'd not very much in common. Still, no harm done, it was friendly conversation. Hans did pass a comment that I handled conversations with girls well...

Queer Eye.

Drank well and long, but stayed and am now still very very sober. Smoked some ciggies too, felt good. For dinner, I had Fajitas Bife, which was unexpectedly decent - not exactly Chilli's, but not bad...

A magarita, caipiranha, mojito, an espresso, 2 cigarettes later, we chugged off to Moloko's next door for the rest of the evening. The rest of the evening was quite humdrum, but not in a bad way... A double malibu and a flamed absinthe and another 2 cigarettes later, it was time to call the night. And it was only midnight.

Anyway, I think I'm starting to be a little happier than I was before - as evidenced in the rapid declining of quality in writing and evident lack of creative energy. Such a dichotomy; being happy makes me write crap, writing well means I feel like crap.

Sigh...

Just looked at myself in the mirror and I've definitely grown a little bigger. Yay. I kinda look like this now:

No more scrawny little Square. Maybe I could become a slightly buffed up Square. Hmm.

By the by, stupid me forgot to take a picture of the Semi-Freddo, but here's one from the recipe book. Mine looked almost like it. Really!

Got to get back to work now... Must start searching for that creative energy again - this is such a crap blog.

I'm Going To Be A Chef!

I went to the St. David's Hotel & Spa at the Cardiff Bay today to apply for a Chef's position!

Its just too good to be true. The timetabling, workload is rather perfect, pay's quite good, its a 5* hotel and I get free training... Plus, they don't really mind that I don't have any relevant experience at all!

I think the position that I may get, provided I survive my trial on Saturday (6am - 3pm), would be the Breakfast Chef position - preparing Breakfast for all the patrons and hotel guests!

The working hours are odd, 6am - 3pm but at least its doing something I love - cooking. And I reckon that I'd learn a lot from the experience. One more step towards opening my own restaurant!

I'm horribly excited about this. In fact, so excited that I finally made the Strawberry Semi-Freddo tonight. It looks and tastes HEAVENLY. I kid you not. A picture will follow shortly...

Okay. That's the upside of today, the downside is that we didn't get through the moot, though we were supposedly so impressive that we may be put in as the lucky loser or something like that.

I don't know... Either way, its quite cool. But I think I really proved to myself this past 30 hours that I am really good at doing what I do, provided I have the right frame of mind, and also provided that there is such an urgency that its do or die. Long live the spirit of Last Minute Work.

Fuck. I can't believe that I may soon be a Chef in a 5* Hotel!!

Very Short Post. So Little Time... So Many Cases To Read!

Firstly, check this website out: Sorry Everybody. Its real funny actually.

Secondly, I am working like a Mad Man on my moot, ETA <16 hours. Things are shaping up decently, though my ground of appeal is unbelivably radical. But no fear. My new funky hair stylin (funky as in linkin park ought to take me in as the 2nd Asian member) and smart casual shoes (from Ravel... My new favourite shoe brand... Because I can't afford Prada or Gucci) are sure to drive me to be as radical as I can possibly be. Erica on the other hand was quite dead from work and generally grumpy. She decided to sleep and work her ground of appeal in the morning. What a team we are.

Third and finally for tonight, or morning rather, I just got news of a possible job vacancy as a chef in a 5 star hotel in Cardiff, the breakfast shift. And plausibly a service chef not just a crummy below the deck type prepatory chef. With training from the Executive Chef! It's around 13K a year, Pounds, about 40 hours a week. I'm going to meet the relevant people tomorrow... This is really brilliant!

Got to get back to reading my cases now... Been slacking in my postings lately... Not happy with it. Will make amends soon... Promise.

Is Kissing Like Riding A Bicycle?

You know how people say that once you learn how to ride a bicycle, or swim, you never forget? My question is whether kissing is like that too.

I kissed her today. Properly. Well, sort of. It was quite strange. After sharing my life with her for almost two years, one would think that I would remember how to kiss her like I always have. But I didn't. I had to kiss her a good few times before I sort of got back into it. I guess it's to do with muscle memory. The kisses were very, very different.

We're sort of ambivalent still. Or at least, I am. I think I understand the why's and how that caused the end of our relationship now. It's always been clear to me I think, just that I didn't want to accept it. Circumstantial, Relational and Situational problems all contributed to the demise of whatever we had.

Simply speaking, we got into things too fast, too soon. And although we're both still young, I'm not really so. But she is. And the young needs space to develop, I think, or something like that lah. Its quite clear in my head now, in a jumbled up sort of way. I can't really do justice to all the factors that are resounding in my head. Although I'm really keen on transferring all my thoughts on this and many other aspects of my Life onto paper, I have no idea where to start.

Obviously, this blog is rather humdrum. That's because I'm being rather humdrum. D-oh. But I'm feeling calm.

I Lost My Head Tonight.

I lost my head tonight. As I type this now, I am quite drunk, though not completely. My spelling and language is testament to that. My hands are bleeding now. My knuckles that is. Long story. No. Actually. Short story that.

The night, or rather evening started quite humdrum. I decided to go into town to get some stuff - folders, toiletries, you know, that sort of stuff. Then I went to UGC cinema's bar at level 4 to have my dinner and a drink.

All was fine until she turned up. With her 'date'. Well, I don't know what the deal is with them. But one thing was clear - he didn't know that i was the infamous ex, even though we were all seated on the same table, across each other.

That was messed up, ey. I tell you. It's no fun to be seated on the same table with your ex who's kinda on a date. Fuck. It's no fun at all. I tried my best to be civil and would like to pride myself as being successful. The nerve. She actually asked me whether I was alright, cause I looked a bit uncomfortable.

Fuck that.

Anyway, so yah. I then went to watch Bad Santa which was kinda nice, while she went for a movie with the dude (whom I don't think much of, by the way, but that's just me). Later, we watched a movie together - Bridget Jones' Diary: The Edge of Reason.

But it was after the movie that all Hell started. We went to this dumb club called Bounce which played amongst other shit songs, Backstreet Boys. What the fuck man. We then split to Creation to meet Rohan (another dude from Bangalore, who has a slight thing for her, for sure, though he fervently denies it).

A long story short, I had a lot to drink tonight - 8 Malibus. 1 Vodka Lime. 1 Budweiser. 1 large glass of Rose. 2 Sambuca shots. In fact, I had 3 cigarettes too.

Haha.

I really lost it tonight.

The bleeding knuckles? Knuckle claps on the road en route back home. That's how.

I know I will wake up hating myself for this. But for now, I feel no better nor worse.

I hate myself. Truly. For being so weak. Here's hoping I wake up feeling that I too could be like Mark Darcy.

My House.

I live in a house. My house is big. I don't own my house. I have never met my Landlord. There are nine rooms in my house, three floors, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a den and a yard. There are 15-20 people living in my house. I don't understand why.

My room is on the top floor. I live across my ex-girlfriend and next to a Chinese girl who plays really bad music most of the time (although sometimes, she does have a nice tune going). There are at least two boys who stay over sometimes next door, though I don't think they do so together. I wouldn't really know.

I love cooking. But I don't like cooking in my house. The kitchen is so filthy I think the rats and roaches moved up the street. It's dirty because three-fourth of the people in the house do not understand basic concepts of hygiene. I don't blame them. They must have no frame of reference.

I use the toilet that has a bathtub. I've never taken a bath in it because I'm scared that germs will colonise me. Actually, no, I am not using the toilet in the toilet that has a bathtub right now. It's full of pulp and flushing doesn't help.

I made a sign for the toilet today. It's to teach the people in the house how to use it. They don't have a frame of reference, you see. This is the sign I made:

HOW TO USE THIS TOILET

1. IF YOU ARE FEMALE, SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.

2. IF YOU HAVE BALLS, LIFT THE SEAT UP THEN GET READY, AIM AND FIRE, OR SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.

3. YOU PISS. OR SHIT. OR BOTH.

4. CLEAN UP. OR NOT. WHICHEVER. YOU, THAT IS.

5. FLUSH. PROPERLY. IT’S NOT NICE TO SEE CRAP (HAHA!) IN THE BOWL.

6. NOW HERE’S THE TRICKY PART: GUYS, WIPE THE SEAT (AND WHATEVER ELSE) IF YOU MESSED IT UP. GIRLS TOO. AND NO, “I HAD 18 PINTS…” WILL NOT CUT IT.

I like my sign. I like my room. I don't quite like my house.

Four More Years of Terror... I mean, Counter-Terrorism

Here's the obligatory blog post about the U.S. Presidential Elections.

Bush won. Kerry Lost. Yay for the Republicans, Woe for the rest of the world. Good try, Kerr. (I don't actually know whether him winning would be that good a thing as well, as much as I don't agree with Bush's level of Intelligence.)

The lesser of two evils, I suppose. Either way, we all lose.

Congrats Bush. Now you've got another four years to prep for the Lead in another Moore film. You were dashingly Idiotic in the last. Oh what's that? That was deliberate? Oh, we all know that Bushieboy. Deliberately in (natural) character. Method Acting, ey?

All hail "I-have-one-Idiotic-looking-facial-expression-only-but-still-am-Janus-like" Bush. May he hail too on us all.

Is Good Cooking Actually Sexy?

Watched a DVDrip of a Jamie Oliver special, Christmas in New York. He's got real nice style. Very rushed, very decisive, yet subtle and careful all at one time. I notice that most of his recipes, on film or on print, are really simple, but chockfull of culinary artistry and taste. Ingredients used are easy to come by, but even if they aren't available, substitution is no problem, due to the sheer simplicity of his recipes.

Now, here's the question. Well, more of a statement really. By the by, the following is probably going to sound wrong and weird, so if you don't want to start thinking of me as a complete weirdo (that's if you don't already), STOP reading NOW!

At the end of the DVDrip, he makes this superb but (once again) simple dessert, basically chocolate sponge, with a filling made of ricotta, butter, crushed flake almonds, bashed-up cooking chocolate, glaced fruits and tinned cherries, all laced with some Grand Marnier for good measure. Best part is that it would take less than 20 minutes to prepare (plus 5 hours to chill.)

Well, anyway, right before he serves this beautiful looking dessert, yah, he puts some more liquor on the stove in a pan and flambes it with such ease and grace its bloody poetic! The liquor is poured avec la flame onto the dessert and voila! Ready to serve!

Now, here's the real weird part. I got some sort of a shiver up my spine watching that. Not watching him do that, but watching that. It was electric. Tingly.

I hope someday I will get to go to cooking school. I truly enjoy cooking. Just tonight I made a fabulous triple decker (Kingsmill Wholemeal and White Bread, butter, with a layer of roast turkey slice with cranberry sauce to taste, and a top layer of roast chicken and pastrami with extra olive-oil mayonnaise to taste - grilled), served with homemade chips, fried to a tee in oil laced with a tinge of chilli powder and salt, and some leftover vegetarian bolognaise (fresh chopped tomatoes, quartered white button mushrooms, chopped red onions, crushed garlic, dried oregano and basil) fusilli on the side.

I've finally got all the ingredients to make my Strawberry Semi-Freddo, and will do so either later tonight or tomorrow.

Here's a lame one-liner, courtesy of me:

"Food is the Music of Love."

Can Kind Gestures Go Fuc... I Mean, Wrong?

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who really really wanted to watch a particular musical. Lately, she had been generally very fraught with unhappiness due to many problems, familial, social, economic and career-wise. She was very stressed and on the whole, depressive.

She lived next to a boy whom till recent times, had been her lover; now they are mere acquaintances. The boy was well aware of the girl's sorrows, but had little power to do anything about it. In fact, he hadn't any locus to do anything at all.

When the particular musical came to the town she lived in, she decided to let it pass her by owing to limited funds; as Life generally forces one to do when faced with a situation as such.

One day, the boy came up with the brilliant idea of gifting her a ticket to that particular musical, so as to cheer her up a little, locus or not. It was a sincere gesture of the heart. No repayment nor recompense was expected or required. Well, perhaps just a smile.

And so the boy valiantly acquired the ticket and walked home feeling on top of the world, highly satisfied with himself for coming up with such a brilliant but simple idea to help cheer her up. Back at home, the boy presented his simple gift to the girl, and that's when this tale goes to the dogs...

The girl completely flipped and got upset, for it probably seemed to her that this was charity, a pittance, or worse, a feeble attempt by the boy to win her heart back. She didn't like taking or receiving things from the boy, or anyone else for that matter, she said, looking far more upset than she normally was already.

And so, the boy and the girl spent the rest of the evening highly upset, because of a kind gesture that was supposed to at best illicit a smile.

So, yes. Kind Gestures can indeed go Fuck.

Like A Lamb. Walking Into The Lion's Den.

Highpoint of today - Hearing her say:

"I miss you... Selectively."

What she meant was that there were some things that we'd shared that she misses, like meals together, watching Naruto etc. What a phrase, though I'd have to admit that I hadn't expected that to come from her, both the former or the latter part of the phrase. No. Not at all. I'd also admit that I liked hearing it - except of course the 'selectively' part.

Lowpoint of today - my Trusts tutorial.

I hadn't managed to read the Westdeutsche case and felt like a lost fool in the tute. Very depressing. Got real upset over it, lasted a couple of hours. Made mental notes to put extra efforts into academic work. Time management being the key.

Oh. Bought my ticket to Edinburgh with the Law Society. 85 quid. Hope its good.

I'm feeling tired.

Jurisprudence - Legal Fluff

I've always preferred American academics to British academics, especially in terms of literature, the former being audience orientated while the latter being generally self-indulgent. One favours the dissemination of information accessibly, while the other prefers to enlighten by confusion.

That's confusion, not confucian.

The Aussies on the other hand I don't generally have thoughts on or about, apart from Kangaroo BBQ-ing and Summery Christmases. But who would have guessed that a combination of Aussie and good ol' Brit academic backgrounds would result in this:

Chapter 1: Asking the Law Question (What is it?)
by Margaret Davies, B.A., LL.B. (Adelaide), M.A. D. Phil. (Sussex)

... (T)his chapter aims (quite modestly) to demonstrate three philosophical theses:
(1) Jurisprudence Is Boring;
(2) The Earth Is (Also) Flat; and
(3) We Are Not Cabbages.

How random is that?! It is an interesting article though - obtuse yet strangely tittilating. It also had quotations from other resources, such as this one by Soren Kierkegaard:

"Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder then, that the world goes backwards, that evil spreads. This can be traced back to the very beginning of the world. The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings. Adam was bored because he was alone; therefore Eve was created. Since that moment, boredom entered the world and grew in quantity in exact proportion to the growth of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam and Eve were bored togeter; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille. After that, the population of the world increased and the nations were bored en masse. To amuse themselves, they hit upon the notion of building a tower so high and is a terrible demonstration of how boredom had gained the upper hand. Then they were dispersed abroad, just as people now travel abroad, but they continued to be bored.

Here's another gem from an off-beat seminar paper by Charles Yablon:

The papers that have preceded me have all been extremely original and interesting.

I must provide the missing Derridean supplement. I must be boring.

This is not difficult for me. I am a lawyer.

I know many boring things.

Many very, very boring things.

I must be boring. I must bore. But in another sense, to bore is to dig, to prove under the surface, to uncover that which has been hidden, to view that which has not previously been seen.

In that sense, the papers that have preceded me have been very boring indeed, and I may truthfully say that I hope I may be only half as boring as those who have preceded me.

Like I said, obtuse but tittilating article. I'm still trying to make sense of it.

Finally. A Break.

Finally decided not to punk out of taking a god damned break. It was brilliant. Well, not the best, but relaxing, in a humdrum, boring, square-ish sort of way.

Collected my Nokia 3650 from Carphone Warehouse - waited half an hour for the counter girl (who had this horrid habit of texting with a pen) to find out from the insurance people how much I had to pay to collect the freaking phone - but ended up having to pay nothing at all as the insurance people weren't helpful and the girl was getting well cheesed off. Hehe. My profit.

Oh, and I bought tickets for Chicago (touring troupe) for coming Monday! But I did fuck up something rather silly - when faced with the choice of Circle or Stall seats with a three quid differential, I chose... stall! I am officially embarrassed to be a theatre company proprietor.

What a dumb ass!

As you can probably tell, I'm in better spirits this evening. The beer and half bottle of German white (which had a curiously sweet apple and honey finish) probably had a hand in it.

Better spirits... Haha! Get it?

I also watched Little Black Book which, while not having anything to really shout about (the guy was kinda nice looking though, and Holly Hunter and Julianne Nicholson were looking real fit!), was not half as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, it was rather poignant.

Let me explain. I find myself having a particular weakness for invasiveness. And I could completely relate to the hows, whys and what repercussions that the condemned art of priying brings. In some strange way, that is perhaps my one true form of addictive vice.

Anyhow, I need to get back to work, and will end this blog with an embarrassing self-portrait (or so I think).

And that's before alcohol. Haha!