While driving home on Ratchaphruek
I lost control of my big truck.
So, Darling, won’t be home tonight
I hope that you will be alright

a short poem from a fellow traveller today… it was written all over his face

A new bird announced itself this morning – Shwee shoo, sheewit sheewit sheewit, while I stayed silent.

Life is a process of continual change – we are not the same person from moment to moment. Parallel paths of change are virtually impossible. We can either try and hang on to moments, days, or years, and resist the change, dragging behind us a happiness that was, and only grows heavier; or we can accept the change and the new happiness with lightness in our heart.
Look for your new happiness.

time before the storm

The Khong Guan Digestive

Notwithstanding the obvious intellectual property issues, this biscuit has many things to be said for it.
It scores highly on appearance. As you can see, the debossing and piercing are second to none and would pass any detailed inspection. Not having my micrometer handy, I would estimate the thickness to be slightly less than the McVitie original (I would say within 5 microns) although this is not a defect in my opinion as it does allow for one extra biscuit in the pack. This could make all the difference should friends drop in.
Where the Khong Guan digestive comes into its own though is on texture. Any self respecting biscuit manufacturer would do well to learn from Khong Guan – the light, delicate crumble breaks like a wave in the mouth sending a spray of finely textured granules onto the tongue, reminiscent of fine tropical sand being washed onto a dusky shore, there to melt away, softly fade, (but not forget) what thou amongst the own- brands has never known. Oh , the joy of it!
Ahem!
Although I am loath to make criticism of such a paragon of biscuitry, I am duty bound to point out one defect here which is evident in the photograph. I have to confess that on opening the pack, and despite a triple wrapping of box, foil and injection moulded tray, that every biscuit down to the last was broken. I do hesitate here, as this might not be down to a design defect, as it could equally be attributed to brusque handling by the supermarket staff. Further study is required here.
Despite this sour note, when it comes to taste, the Khong Guan truly excels. It has the hallmarks of its predecessor. On wheat content it cannot be faulted and it displays no unpleasant greasy after effects. What really elevates this king of biscuits head and shoulders above the proletariat, is the unexpected flash of genius by the Khong Guan team of adding a subtle base note of vanilla that lasts well until the biscuit has long gone.
A true landmark of digestives and surely set to become a biscuit design icon.

Muesli Slush – new age detective

It was a sticky Bangkok morning, the soya milk slowly curdling to tofu… one of those mornings when the blue haze of frying pork hung in the Soi like last week’s washing. Muesli Slush peeled a mango and gazed into the valley of skyscrapers.
To look at him you would think he was just an ordinary, everyday, middle-aged, balding child of the sixties – and in actual fact, that is exactly what he was – nothing more nothing less.
The orange light on the boiler winked on, off, on, off, indicating the water inside was at it’s maximum – tantalisingly close to boiling point, but just not quite there. Having read ‘Zen and the art of the Tea Ceremony’ many years previously, Muesli had developed the patience and dedication required, under all circumstances, to obtain the perfect cup of tea. He swung into action – dribbling a little into each cup and swilling round to mitigate the cooling effect of the ceramic. When operating within these close margins every precious degree and every second counted – he had to move fast. Beads of sweat rolled down his ample forehead marginally hotter than the infusion, but sadly of no use, having too high a saline content. With a paper tab between each index finger and thumb, he worked his arms like slow motion steam hammers – lifting each bag alternately clear of the water to optimize filtration – poetry in motion.
Schubert’s’ Trout Quintet for Washing Machine’ broke through the steady drone of the air-con, as program J came to its inevitable conclusion. Muesli grasped the seams of his drooping fisherman’s pants at knee level and went into his regular dance of joy, hopping nimbly from one foot to the other. He didn’t know where this ritual had come from, he just knew he had to do it – ‘and why not?’, he said as he caught himself in the mirror, ‘no-one is looking’ – he laughed in the face of obsessive compulsive disorder.

A Rhetorical Answer

There is a terminal illness in our family – that is a fact we have to come to terms with. In the bewilderment of this, anger was expressed and the rhetorical question was posed “where is God in all this?”
Here is my answer which is directed at myself…

I’ve been puzzling over this for a long time and have had to try and find my own answer. At the age of 51 – I’m trying to make my best attempt. I do not like to use the word god, but I will try in order to try and pin down a few thoughts that have kept me awake from the early hours this morning.

To my mind God is powerless – as much and no more than you and me.
God is not a benign magician- if you think it is – then you will suffer terrible disappointments and you will get angry, so to me this concept holds neither answers, nor solace.

I think I find my answer in the acceptance of ‘it is what it is’, things are what they are and maybe that is God.

Nothing is outside the picture – growth and decay, health and illness, loss and gain, positive and negative… Maybe that’s starting to sound like yin and yang – and maybe it is, I’m not sure, but I suppose I find that in that concept I find very little, if nothing, to disagree with.
It is in a new snowdrop and a falling leaf. In a blinding sunrise and a falling tower block. It is to be found in a blade of grass pushing up through the tarmac as much as it is to be found in the multiplication and division of cells. In the thrill of an accelerating sports car and in thundering drums. A continuum of positives and negatives.

It’s a scary thought, that life is that brutal, but accepting that all these things exist and are what they are, is a way I have found to be at peace.

Given the fact that in our capacity to act , being alive, we have a choice – we only have to decide which team to bat for. It’s a no-brainer – Be positive, march forward, carrying the flag.

In Living is a chance to see and experience and affect the picture, in Dying is the experience of becoming the picture. Somewhere among the laws of thermodynamics is the idea that energy cannot be destroyed – it can only be transformed from one form to another. That is one of the best religious ideas I have come across.

So the way to God is behind the wheel of a Jaguar as much as it is in a pair of sandals.
From one point of reference my relative is in a period of accelerated change – from another he is moving no faster than any of us and another he is coming to a standstill…. Just as from one point of view if he was speeding along the motorway you could say he was moving much faster than I was climbing a hill; but from another I would be moving much faster, but in a vertical direction. There are an infinite number of directions.

We are all spinning around the sun at exactly the same rate. Going nowhere and going everywhere.

If that sounds like an ‘anything goes’ kind of philosophy, well it is, it’s exactly that.

Our family’s world will not be the same without him, but the Universe will be no different.

Pushing up the daisies

My dad is pushing up the daisies

in a corner of some native field

an honorable occupation

for one who all his life 
had time for all the little details



I wonder if I would be as considerate

or just let them struggle?

A Letter to Myself…

I found this among my papers… a letter written to myself sometime in 2010 as part of a workshop exercise….

Richard
I am so glad you took your chances when they came… even when the choices were difficult, you had the courage to follow your heart. Nothing is easy that is worthwhile. Life has to be joyful – full of new experiences, for it is the only one you have. You have done your best not to hurt and sometimes you have failed. Nobody is perfect.
Carry on with love and joy in your heart and leave the sorrow behind.

and never forget… ‘nothing is out of place’

Giratoire

Follow the Rue Droite up from the Palais des Archeveques to Place Bistan. Take the right fork, weave your way through the Rue de l’Ancienne Porte de Beziers and you will find yourself at a small public garden ringed with iron railings. It is on no particular outstanding beauty. On the south side, there are two small children’s play areas flung out against the outer railings. The children whirl and glide and bounce, laughing and screaming with delight, or occasionally pain. The northern side is more reserved – two or three park benches for the elderly, the lonely or the lovers, set among the trees. At the centre is a small common meeting point – a small ornamental bridge that spans a small ornamental lake. There the old and young alike pause to watch the fish beneath them, the pair of swans, the ducks and the smaller, quicker birds weaving in and out robbing the others of crumbs. Unfortunately the pond is fenced off to protect either the birds or the people – I’m not sure which, as are the childrens play areas. Perhaps the elderly, the lonely and the lovers are considered to be harmless. There are, of course, exceptions to all three territorial arrangements, but in general, I’m sure that you’ll find them very much where they should be. I’m also sure that if you observe, and you wouldn’t have to wait long, you would see that everyone; the old, the young, the lovers, the lonely, the old tramp, the mothers and, of course, eventually you, yourself, will cross the bridge, stand stare and wonder. What must it be like to have a neck that long? What must it be like to live under water? What must it be like to fly?

Narbonne circa 1990