Just got in from having my evening meal. Went out on my own - as I often do. Sometimes because no-one is playing out, and sometimes because I want to. I imagine I'm sat with a best friend or suchlike from back home. I must look a bit odd, talking to a chair and empty plate (I always put one out). Wasn't there a film about a bloke who went to the cinema and imagined he was with a giant rabbit? Jonnie Darko or something?
Anyway, in anticipation of my meal tonight, a Chinese chum had spent several hours trapped in a taxi with me earlier that day (after 2 drivers refused to take us and another threw us out because he got lost) and told me how to order rice. Seems boiled rice (BORING) is My Fan - or something that sounds like that. Naturally, using a word association and a slight variation (predictable) of the phrase, I tried to remember it.
I ordered my main meal by pointing a the picture. That's an international language - pointing. I'm fairly certain if I pointed at any woman's breasts and mumbled in any strange language, I think she'd understand that I was saying "you have nice tits". Assuming they WERE nice, of course - I may have been trying to say "you have no tits at all".
Anyway, I digress.
After saying "My fanny" a couple of times, the girl seemed to get the message. I hoped she'd got the right one, and her boyfriend cook wasn't about to come out with a huge knife. Anyway, I then tried to tell her I wanted FRIED rice - by making wizzing, wok-like movements with my hands, like Ken Homo or whatever he's called doing a stir-fry.
A nice man tried to help us - and then another - but no-one quite seemed to grasp it. I kept shouting "My fanny" and wizzing, with every other cat & his dog putting their ten-bobs worth in trying to interpret. I suspect one was saying "He's talking about your fanny" and the other "He's asking you to order him a taxi to the airport".
Either way, a few minutes later, my meal arrived. The chicken was nice - much better than the previous day when I accidentally ordered chickens joints (ie knees, knuckles etc - horrid and sickly crunchy) but then the most ENORMOUS bowl of fried rice arrived. I told my imaginary pal - "Get it eaten or we'll look right chumps - forget about your arse!"
Anyway, worse was to come.
On the next few tables, there was a party of people, obviously celebrating. They were very noisy and kept chanting what I recognised as "What do we want? - we want Kwai Chang to make a tit of himself!" - "When do we want it? - we want it NOW!".
And sure enough, the poor bloke stood up and started singing to the girl I assume he was proposing too. It was shite - as most men would be - but after a couple of verses sounding like a typical bloke, he went up a gear, several octaves into falsetto and sounded like a very bad cross between Jimmy Somerville and Julie Andrews. Hell - it was excruciating.
A few weeks ago, I witnessed another shark attack equivalent when a bloke stood on a pool table to propose to a rather ugly woman, after showing a Powerpoint presentation detailing why he loved her. It'd be easier to have said "Because I am desperate, her dad is incredibly wealthy and I'm pissed out of my skull" - at least we'd have respected him for his honesty. He presented her with gifts of a canteen of cutlery, some flowers and a laptop. I think the laptop sealed the deal and she - reluctantly - accepted. Well, I think she did,because everyone cheered. Unless she'd said "I've just heard my dad has died, let me all the dosh so the drinks are on me"
This is a crazy place.
I'm sat here eating grapes (asking for SEEDLESS was another epic of cross-continent communication) and listening to the most magnificent Ben Howard cd (review in this week's Chron). May nip downstairs for some wine, and share it with....er.....
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