this was yesterday

since our christmas tree was set up, I've been scouring the shops with the aid of telepathy for Christmas trimmings. since telepathy is science fiction, the tree remains lifeless (can't push prams) turn the lights on however and it's magic.

with typhoons, shootings, even fires afflicting a contained populace, Christmas should be in our hearts (love Jose Mari Chan!). look unto ourselves how to be like Mother Theresa even though we're not Catholic (tall order). the presents with their nicely tied ribbons are lovely. but action speaks louder than any inanimate objects in a sparkling wrapper.

noche buena

celebrated noche buena for the first time in a decade just by myself. did a bit of cooking or the hubby did more but it certainly was a team effort. i cleaned the fish anyway for the escabeche.

i have no romantic notion about Christmas. being Scrooge doesn't hurt despite the literary masterpiece of Dickens. those who toil on Christmas Day every year are to be commended including some close friends, doing night shifts, working on the day itself. dinner parties are the last things on their minds or feeling forlorn, having to deal with the battles of life.

hidden in the cold

the number of my blog posts are way down this year. baby girl is one Huge reason - her screams are breaking decibel levels.

her mummy has never been exactly a straight forward foetal carrier (as history may tell you), too high a blood pressure. hence the silence during the nine months. but we're both thriving in the new environment. sort of (never end a sentence with a preposition). we both like the new space. she can't exactly talk yet but i'm assuming she does like the new digs. why not, it's way quieter, no loud music until 4am.

few precious minutes

alone for a while. baby girl is a joy. when she's not around, she's in the mind. during the lull (from the nitty- gritty) in the past months, i've been into domesticity which occupy the basal ganglia which should leave my pre-frontal cortex free to think and solve problems (hurray for the writers of the Big Bang Theory). i'm more philosophical now. i blog far less because the baby cries but i could dig more in-depth into the subconscious.

it's hard not to form into words the hidden ideas when it's feeding time or to dwell on chitchat in whatever time. the flesh is ever so weak when it's close to midnight or sunrise. we haven't finished tidying up after the move. i'm exhausted.

hard on the back, the mind

buying a property and moving digs are both incredibly hellish experiences. if only, there's a short cut to skip the soul-breaking process. if only we have the money, not needing a mortgage. if only, down payments are acquired with flick of a wand or a click of the fingers, just by magic or fairy dusts. if only, comfort is just there. but there have been morsels of wisdom i've acquired through the ordeal. first, fiscal prudence -- buying only essentials, attenuating whimsy, no more books (in fairness, the sweet one hard-bounds take up more space than my paperbacks), no more magazines ( i will throw away loads in the next few days), no more shopping for clothes that serve no purpose (not really, but give up the old, tattered ones). second, invest in a proper shredder (some archaic receipts encroach on the living area). third, at least minimise the procrastination -- there are tons of chores to do, the clock ticks, the baby wails. fourth, invest in good and proper friendships (they may help out, if not to move, assemble the flat packs? too much? give advice? emotional support?). fifth, still percolating.
tick, tock.

that's the way

it's annoying to wallow, to procrastinate. i could blame baby girl. but it's all me. i'm the one that's slow and all too sublunary.

it was illuminating to catch up with joy during her stopover at Heathrow, on a break from her Singapore-Baltimore flight at the beginning of the month. the last time i saw her was nine years ago. nothing's changed basically, we can still talk. i got lost in between terminals and with so little time. i should have read the fine print of her itinerary. the wi-fi sucks a bit but twitter works. hurray to twitter! probably if i cajoled her to write and write, she would resurrect her blog, she's such a good writer, she should be heard.

was able to organise a get-together with the high school friends last week. it was only for the very few, the very minimum. i've learned a lot about the deeper tenets of investments, knowing about holiday resorts in what was a hidden enclave of the home province. the only downside was that Westfield was closed for an hour to give way to the Kardashians. honestly. the old lady we asked, said Kim Basinger was coming. then an hour later we saw the posters of the sisters promoting their new line of clothes for Dorothy Perkins. the highest gravitas are given to lifestyle reality people. yes.

across an ocean, still in love?

the acting is superb, relying only on improvisation, with no working screenplay, as i've read. the sundance accolades are well-deserved. this film makes one use of the subliminal consciousness. love is already difficult without being apart. bureaucracy makes living, existing and loving even harder. the gist is that due to visa violations, the English girl (felicity jones) is banned on US soil. but the American dude (anton yeltchin) can work and play in the UK, only he doesn't feel at home, his furniture design business is in Santa Monica. they met while they were students in LA.

the story spans years and from the outset the girl is more invested in the relationship; leaving notes, creating scrapbooks, overstaying her student visa for a summer of passion, texting from across the pond, suggesting marriage. they get hitched in Camden. they have relationships with other people. they thrive in their professions. it's a complicated dynamics. after several years her ban is lifted and she abandons her life in London to be with him, only we don't know if they will end up together, not the typical celluloid offering.

shot on a shoestring budget, there are very few dialogues, it's mostly close -ups of emotions, or a cut on the girl's heel in one montage. but it makes one think. yes, long-distance sweet nothings are not new but whether bureaucratic rules are there or not, if it's meant to be, it's meant to be.

set in snow

Felicity Jones, the incandescent actress from Cemetery Junction, has the title role in Chalet Girl, one of those confections, where the ending is all-apparent when the film is only in its planning stages and the script is not yet written. I only checked this frothy meringue because Like Crazy, a love story with tears and emotions, feted in Sundance, was showing on Sky last week and a quick review of Miss Jones filmography revealed that Chalet Girl, whose preview trailer I encountered while I sat in a darkened cinema in Marble Arch, also stars the Oxbridge lass. Even if it was already shown on digital telly over and over, I simply didn't recognise it was the same leading lady as in Luise Miller, the play staged in Donmar Warehouse summer of '11. I tried but couldn't acquire tickets for that performance. Donmar, yeah right, with its capacity for ten people. Still wondering how I landed tickets for Life is a Dream.

Chalet Girl also stars Ed Westwick. I haven't seen a single episode of Gossip Girl (I'm not the target demographic) so I have to compare his English accent with his Chuck Bass drawl on you tube, concluding of not spotting a tint of difference. Or I'm just too daft to detect a variety in phonetics. I'm impressed with Jones' snowboarding skills. Despite not being the female Shaun White off cam, with a few lessons, she could certainly pull off competent snowboarder on screen. The views of Austrian snow is breathtaking and I've decided for this winter and the next, I need more colorful willy hats.

thanks, murks

My second grade classmate (with gaps in between, until high school), Murky, sent me a package of various items a week ago, just a pair of slippers (above), a pair of trainers, a Ralph Lauren sleep suit, all for baby girl. And a top for me. Realising that we haven't seen each other since secondary school graduation (more than 21 years ago), all I can mutter is "she's really sweet." A few BFF's couldn't even return my text or text me without prodding or email me back for formality's sake or take time to surprise me with a few words. While Murks answers mails in a jiffy. And based from her timeline, she spoils her Facebook throng with updates. Three active children with energy-deflating school runs and activities, living in Maryland, thousands of miles away from her family do not wither her spirits.

Some people couldn't help but be good natured. Murks was not only a preeminent soprano in our award-winning elementary school choir (not to mention her church choir) but she's a grizzled arts and crafts practitioner. The trinket she sent me during my last birthday was very thoughtful. So, in earnest I've been fortunate to have met Murks when were eight. I wish her all the Hallmark moments in life. She deserves her beautiful family.

Of course there are others who are quick on their touch screens to perk me up from the mundane -- Honey, Zany, and Ryan. Let's add Julie as well.

it's about words with food

Or food with words. As the case may be, it's all about expressing ourselves in writing and sharing it with the world. Twitter is uplifting but I seem to be shortchanged by the 140-character limit. It's fast food reading. It shouldn't be the absolute truth and should provide a room for debate(s). Or arguments. Constructive arguments.

As with movie and television reviews or any other critiques for music, videos, musicals, gaming (the whole of pop culture, the entire universe), we could craft a thousand-word glowing comments or use the platform for criticisms. We're all qualified to opine.

But with great power comes great responsibility. Hey there, Spider-Man.

Memoirist is a good noun, too. I prefer diarist. Shoes, woes.

run, run, run

as i was walking to the shops and buy some drinks this afternoon, a scary mature guy broke away from a group of young men standing at the end of our access road, darted his sights and walked straight towards me, ready to attack or grab or whatever. i was so scared, i had to turn back and run for dear life. i heard him shout in a language i didn't understand. did he run after me? no idea. i didn't turn my head even once.

i guess it's just our area, they were standing near the local. but it's very petrifying and after almost seven years, concerning.

how horrible?

I really enjoyed my early evening viewing of Horrible Bosses. I couldn't envision a better, more erudite word. But it's funny.
The plot, the writing, the comedic timing of the cast is fantastic (Jennifer Aniston is no Rachel here). It could be crude, homophobic or racist. The kind that people with limited view of the world would frown upon and place it in a box of politically correct quips. But all the elements work and complement each other.

It's hard times (all my life, is hard fiscally) these days. So difficult that our degree of tolerance of whatever state of horrible is breaking richter scale records. However, we should persevere and divert our attention like catching this gem in a digital video disc, movie channels or web portals.

3 months

baby girl celebrated a milestone last week, three months and such, the time she can finally utilise her tita jan's baby shower gifts (pictured). her smiles are now more infectious than ever. she still cries just before and after midnight, mummy's trying to cope, gathering strength.

the lulls and the likes

if only chores don't exist. i should be efficient but not so much. what gives? it's mostly lurking for good reads, not necessarily gossips. not being able to blog, that hurts.

 i hope to keep the promise of being organised, of not procrastinating, of writing.

that means less Come Dine with Me reruns and more documentaries, or just tidying up for the zen-like moments. i've learned a lot about cultural nuances just these past few months. how the west perceives the east, how imperialism crumbles, it's not new thoughts but teach us more about humility in a myriad of ways.

badge

my back aches right now. it's not something chronic, only a one-off, just this moment. i love to sleep and staying awake for feedings is a challenge. there are sacrifices we need to do for wishes to be granted. i'm so slow in exploring a few areas for improvement in my routines (like penning this blog) while a bit better in some others (pacifying baby screams).



with a portion of clothing covered in barf, i look almost as dishevelled as SJP in I Don't Know How She Does It. if only i could have an enormous an abode as kate reddy's in that movie. my family of three is in the process of moving house and its mechanism is a mind-bending undertaking. there are tons of issues to consider, which means dipping into a non-existent pile of coins under the bed.

 hope we can still eat.

cuddles

the baby girl has rattled the calendar. it's not her routines per se that drain energy. it's the interruptions. the screaming, wailing delays meals, reading, housework. but since she's this adorable tyke ( photographs don't do her justice, speaking like a mother), she's all worth the agonising efforts. she also has a mother who thinks pushing prams is overrated. i can't wait before she can walk. the buggy just takes too much space in public places and jousting for these spaces is an olympic sport in itself. mothers are like vultures. i breed, now go away?

it's an advantage that baby girl is still small enough for the baby carrier ( like the bouncer, truly a life saving device). it was a huge challenge bringing her to the Olympic park during the last event of the Paralympics, hottest day of the year, not so prudent to have less than eight week old infant in tow, we were offered front seats though (proving that the volunteers were saints). now, at 11 weeks, in the early days of autumn, she's a gem.

dolorous

if i have the time i'll try to go through anne hathaway's film catalogue, including the princess diaries. although i'm still on the periphery for brokeback mountain, rachel getting married and get smart ( or the likes). there was a redeeming feature to bride wars, the elegant gowns for instance. i haven't seen les mis at the west end, i wonder how her fantine will fare in the celluloid version amongst cinema goers when it opens later in the year. from what i've seen on you tube, her rendition of i dreamed a dream could be enhanced (or i'm just tone deaf). since i prefer television as a medium these days, i gave the dark knight rises a miss until its digital premiere ( if there ever such a thing).

i haven't read the novel, One Day. but the movie version is quite poignant and sad. it's like another Love Story (1970), only spanning more than twenty years. when it comes to this genre, it's either formulaic or unconventional.  One Day is more creative but far removed from feel-good. if it helps, the leads are both good looking. emma (hathaway) is very hollywood, despite the British setting, her accent is a bit confusing (she still sounds like anne hathaway). whilst jim sturgess' dexter is not too hollow. there's a bit of depth in the screenplay but where's my happy ending? or i'm the one that's hollow?

fair shake

there are a few layers to The Help. there's the aspect of race and equality. there's the essence and psychology of domestic servitude and the relationship with the community. there's the simmering stereotype of roles in Hollywood. we can all leave that behind right now (really heavy stuff) and discuss in brief the movie's discernability .

it may appear it's based on real life's experience but the story is fiction from a novel of the same title. the film is all about the elegant acting of its wonderful cast. viola davis is mesmerising in the title role. you can feel her pain and suffering. we all know from the clips and trailers that octavia spencer provides most of the funny bits and yeah they're maybe hilarious in some levels. with different characterisation and hair colour, i can tell jessica chastain and bryce dallas howard apart. while emma stone, from Superbad to Zombieland to Spiderman is simply prolific. her skeeter may not have the required teardrop moments but she's in the lead.

reprieve

is it a sunny morning? perhaps i'll find out later. i'm maybe devoid of energy. but there's no chance to chill, with chores in between feeding sessions. there are always interruptions while ironing a pile or merely reading a news article, even during mealtimes. but this is only now, time flies as quickly as possible. was it only yesterday i was constantly pricking my fingers and playing Adele's music in a Steve Job's device?

while i'm still playing Adele's songs (my playlist needs updating), i'm no longer pricking my fingers (gtt's normal). but BP is still high, which annoys tremendously. i'm struggling with the balanced diet and exercise (nothing's new). but i'm optimistic, got to be positive. or i would forever be pudgy.

keep 'em coming

there has been a gap in the month's posts. hectic, hectic, hectic has been the overwhelming theme. my organisational skills are non-existent during these sleepless nights.

but i'll figure out the mystifying conundrum. i could do with the writing.

tarry

wasn't able to be more organised than what i would have preferred during the past week or for most of the year. there was this article on procrastination i have been pondering upon for days.
 procrastination and its pernicious compromise on success creates a dent on the self-esteem. i try my very best not to dawdle but it's still a long, arduous struggle.

luster

in my very limited view, i can only assume,( there are tons of versions penned by various columnists and writers), that there are two kinds of people in this world -- those who like to party and those who retreat into their shells and would rather read a book.  there's no prize for guessing my preferred category.  the third in line to the british throne is clearly in the other one -- playing strip billiards with strangers? i'm too useless with a pool stick to even attempt playing a normal game.  yeah, i'm such a sad case.
 this piece doesn't tell us anything we don't already know but why was the 400 IM Olympic champion mentioned as the party companion? the swimmer was with his own wingmen and guests celebrating his 28th birthday.  while as documented, the prince was hanged around with his public school chums.  they have the money and the cache to party in vegas, so let them party in vegas. they don't have to worry about where to get their next meal.
all the stories on neil armstrong is of course, heartwarming.  here was a person who achieved so much yet remained private.  in today's world of reality television, the first man on the moon is the epitome of human accomplishments.  his passing only reminds us of  those fantastic achievements.  discovering new frontiers, doing good, imparting knowledge, amongst other pragmatic endeavours should be the foundation of human existence.
meanwhile in the universe of biblical idioms, i shouldn't be reading too much between the lines.  but certain familiarity breeds contempt.

express rain

it should be raining today. i'm totally tired of the sun and acutely aware that my attitude was all about summer this, summer that, hate the cold, blah, blah, blah. but i got to inhale the season's air, observed my surroundings more profoundly and realised the crap about cultural nuances, fashion, the jockeying for position in public transport.

add to that the state of the world's economy, the eurozone crisis, the implosion of kindness and good manners, is it wild out there?

missed? (at the Olympic park 2)

there were 24 beeb channels during the Olympic fortnight and mostly accessible venues for the live events. it seemed each sport had a corresponding television coverage for every participating nation or the likes ( i mean, yeah, weightlifting). the ticketing process meanwhile, was complicated. if you get tickets, you get tickets, if not, witness the marathon, triathlon, the two-wheel time trial and the road race along the alleyways of London's picturesque locations, if you can manage to wake up earlier than the Olympians.





we didn't even have to watch the men's handball preliminary competition between Iceland and France. all i ever wanted was to get inside the Olympic park and marvel at the contour of the aquatic center. we were there during its busiest weekend hence not finding a bench for chow. i could capture the spirit of the games within the confines of the park. we skipped the second match between Hungary and Spain, it was late and i missed our tiny tot.

bench kindly enlightened me that it took her three months post childbirth before going out on a date with her hubby. it took me only less than three weeks to leave baby girl for a few hours with grandma. it's the Olympics and i was definitely aware of the significance. now i'm with her almost every minute of the hour. still trying to write and understand more than ever the spirit of patriotism and jingoism and with a confounding query, are gold medals worth more than silver and bronze combined?

the flying time

baby girl is now a month and two days old. i sorted out her ever shrinking clothes last night. she's growing and in a few days, we have to get rid of those pretty pink dresses. i like baby pink for baby girls. we're only babies for a few months, i say, enjoy the pink madness sweet daughter.

after 17 days

there are only a few highlights in our lifetime, London 2012 is one of them for me. the chance to be able to go to the games brings forth a unique sense of euphoria. i kept pinching myself, if all these were real. yes, the venues were merely a tube ride away. the television and interactive coverage were beyond expectations.
a few athletes provided moments of inspiration; this page recognizes david rudisha, the brownlee brothers, mo farrah (the one exceptional gooner), michael phelps, tom daley.
RP didn't medal, again. but mark anthony barriga has real talent. he lost by a point in his second match. maybe in Rio, when the officials would get their act together, the home country would be in the medals table. sports is about funding. money rules, specially in the Olympics.

let's go to the gymnastics, one of the blue ribbon events, particularly men's individual all-around. yes, there goes the exhausting adage, we were there, as we tell our future grandchildren, to bear witness to the brilliance of kohei uchimura right before our eyes (one of the greatest gymnast ever, how cool is that?) at the O2 Centre. the three-time world champion maintained his composure and captured the Olympic gold medal that eluded him in Beijing. the action was unfolding live, our attention was divided with two to three gymnasts performing at the same time. we were enlightened. so this is how gymnastics tournaments work? we were doing maths through the giant scoreboard.

the volunteers were all too helpful and nice, almost saint-like. the spectator was catered and served. the home crowd were maybe too eager and patriotic (hey, which country doesn't want to conquer the world?). but it's their Olympics, their taxes, the repercussions are for the greater good.
it's not over yet, there is still the Paralympics. the time to re-visit the Olympic Village (i'll talk about handball in between screams and wails).

all the cards

 it has been a great welcome for the baby girl, who's now four weeks old. we got cards from people i haven't even met. most of the cards really are from the hubby's side. i got three from my closest relations, loads of presents from my brother and my friend honey. i also truly cherish the hospital visits from colleagues, glens bringing me grapes and stuff. there were also a few Facebook greetings, not a lot but at least they took the time, through their typewriter keys and touch screens. all in all, thanks.

view from the setee

writing about sports has not only helped me out financially in the years gone by but it has also given me such tremendous joy since my childhood.  i could never be an athlete in terms of physique, drive or talent. nonetheless, i simply enjoy watching sports, live from the venues or merely on television, even on delayed telecast.

living in the city where the Olympics is currently held is great, the atmosphere is intoxicating, in addition to being able to relate with the nuances of the opening ceremonies. it was a mishmash of everything British. a few portions could have been deleted, to fast forward to the parade of participating countries and athletes which took forever. it will be all over by week's end but it has been a fabulous fortnight.

for 10+ months

my husband wanted to purchase an official Olympic stuffed toy for our baby girl, personally, the sweetest baby ever. i'm tired from the round the clock feeding sessions. but she's our baby girl, who stops crying by the time she hears mummy sing. and how i wish i can even carry a tune.

at the Olympic park 1

been having olympic fever since '84, i was 10. now 28 years later, i'm blogging at the Olympic Park in east London. a week and three days ago, i was able to catch the Torch relay at Wembley (pictured). it was a hot day, school's out, i had to fight my way around a hundred children in order to get a view.

the Torch guy was obscured but i got a tiny glimpse, the camera just didn't catch it.

do BFFs exist?

i view bridesmaids more as a drama than a comedy. i don't particularly find it funny. hitting rock bottom isn't funny. being usurped by somebody younger, richer, prettier as a best friend to one's BFF isn't particularly hilarious. it mirrors life in a lot of ways. we're deemed losers if we don't achieve a certain milestone at a certain age. but Annie (Kirsten Wiig) is not looking at the right angle. she may lose her so-called best friend but she still has her baking talents. she has that chris o'dowd character ( yes, the guy from The IT crowd is going places) hovering for a little bit of attention. her mother seems to have a top notch personality and a cozy abode when one is  in need of shelter.

i know a wedding shower present of blast from the past memorabilia cannot compete with a free trip to Paris. it's a shallow world out there, and tricky. our best friends sometimes get deluded with free, expensive stuff while we're struggling in emotionally and financially.

but all the loose ends (this, being a movie) get tied up in the end. although the wedding ceremony appears tacky. too much confection isn't altogether picturesque.

tiny shoes

i'm in pain and exhausted.

there are stuff we share and there are a few delicate matters we only tell the most important of people.

there was this comment on Facebook, "now, you're one of us." i know nems ( the mother of three who wrote the comment) well, although i haven't seen her since '95. those were pretty blunt words. motherhood is like cult in my age group. the mothers seem to have an air of superiority. there's struggle in child care but who cares, they're mothers. i spawn therefore, i am. childlessness = spinsterhood.

but for me, the coolest ones are my single friends. they have more free time. they have a lot less drama in their day to day. they're more loaded. they can travel.

relax, relax, relax

was hospitalised for two days and discharged on saturday. one of those scary jolts when my BP was too high in the day unit that i have to stay over for monitoring and perhaps early induction. i arrived at clinic in the afternoon and was handed over from one staff to the other that not a single soul informed the hubby and me the plans overnight. the safer route was admission (i presumed) then go from there.

i never liked being confined in hospital, i tend to compare staff behaviour and do the call bell audits in my head. it's like being in prison. nobody visits, the husband couldn't wait to go to work during the day. the ward has a different system and wants you to queue to avail of meals, if you're connected to the ctg monitor, you'll likely miss it.

at least ning was there with her no-fuss, newborn princess. the patients in my bay were deep into drama. being held and observed is kind of dramatic, the science of infection, the hindrance of increased circulating blood volume, the musicality of a baby's wail were brought to my forefront. the staff succumbed to a myriad of queries, bombarded with admissions at the last minute. some have manners. a few are very good. as for me, i read to chill and play the waiting game.

not just food

it's not a poor man's paella. i don't even like paella. i'd rather have valenciana (pictured). it's my crisp apple streudel. we have strong flavours in the orient. while here in the west, they serve merely sandwiches during get-togethers ( or only crisps). it's probably too bare and simple for our palate. food divides cultures. mashed potato in one corner, rice on the other end. at nando's, it's either mashed, rice or bread with the chicken. it's whatever one's fancy. just never expect people to be the same.

to counter

 this article got me digging further into the gray matter. reading it carefully, the title is just a mask for the main purpose of the texts. women don't earn that much in sports because it's mostly men who follow and in my universe spent their hard-earned cash in dragging their butts to the ends of the earth just to watch grown men kick a football and the camaraderie derived hobnobbing with other enthusiasts.

but to go back to the write-up, just because the athletes the writer mostly write about are not in the top ten earners doesn't mean that those who made it to the list are not noteworthy. mayweather is maybe in jail but he promotes his own fights and fans pay extra on top of the cable tv bills to watch him pounce a winnable opponent. pacquiao was once dirt poor, i don't think there's something sinful with him helping his less fortunate constituents. tiger woods may not be luke donald but he is still the biggest name in golf. basketball as a sport may be called handball in England and their practitioners are referred to as freaks of nature but lebron james is a beautiful athlete to watch but then i spent my youth scrutinising the science of the dribble and the slam dunk. i've never have been ( and never will be) a federer fan, but tennis is one of those sports considerably covered by the wire services and the Swiss is popular worldwide.

corporate America pay good money to hire these athletes to endorse their brand. football or soccer, cricket, rugby et al do not have huge american audiences. Olympic sports such as swimming and track and field are only on the radar every four years hence usain bolt's low ranking. who cares about the colour of a person's skin or his nationality? why is that a big deal?

an athlete cannot be on top forever as well, gymnast shawn johnson is now retired at 20, after one Olympic games and a win in dancing with the stars. with the money, after every associate ( agents, PR guy, stylist, posse) gets their cut, the athlete is only left with an allowance ( but it's still bigger than most mortals). we've read and heard a lot of cautionary tales. hopefully manny pacquiao would do well after his stint on pay-per-view tv. i wonder if the likes of bing and others would still befriend him after he hang his gloves for good.

rain, shine, overcast

it has been mostly a rainy June. the summer solstice has come and gone. it has been ideal weather for a lot of people the past few days. i still couldn't function. i'm sleepy and tired most of the time. i sleep through the heat and reruns of frasier and everybody loves raymond. and i can only read and over think so much daily news, a few blogs, a few columns.

on the wifely duties, i need to iron the sweet hubby's uniforms and PJ Harvey isn't too bad at this point.

eddshrinker cup 3

24th June 2012
Paddington Recreation Ground

team Dicko -- 9
scorers :
jed -- 1
trev -- 1
chris -- 2
dicko -- 2
dan -- 2
jamie -- 1


team Dazza -- 5
jim --1
dazza -- 1 (penalty)
wayne -- 1
stubbsy -- 1
ben -- 1

eddshrinker cup 2 - penalty shoot out
eddshrinker cup 2
eddshrinker cup 1

cakes

from wonderful pattiserie (black forest)

ube cake baked by pie
shower cake

turning 38 was a charm.  got two cakes and presents.

cabin fever 2

i tire very easily these days. trustingly, i wouldn't be exhausted tomorrow, turning 38 and such. on the downside, i have to write the minutes of a meeting which occurred a hundred years ago. pushing pens is extra work for manual labourers like me. it'll be something to do during the weekend.

i know it's lesser stressors than usual. but i find it more useful to dress up and go somewhere. but the past week has been more about waiting for post deliveries. the souvenirs are still in the depot. i ordered them on time of course. stuff just get messy. but no sweat, have to focus on the days ahead. no more cabin fever. i could only read so much about the eurozone, syria or political upheavals everywhere.

cabin fever

we need conversations in our lives. not just any other run of the mill conversations but there's always the insatiable pursuit of profundity. i know i have highly-talented friends. they could conjure the best meals and pastries ever while i don't have the patience for cooking lessons. they're also shoulders to lean on when their schedules permits. although i wait forever for texts replies.

there shouldn't be comparisons amongst friends, colleagues, neighbours or you'll never be happy. some are richer, replete with all the bling-bling. others are more successful in business and career. most are more fertile. we need empathy in our lives. by now, i know which one tends to compete. i just simmer or i scream really loud.

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not including today, i had an early morning snooze the past two days. it has become even more challenging to get out of bed, to stand up from a chair or even to take a 100 meters walk. the sun is shining at this juncture, maybe until the afternoon or whenever, not really that concerned. the stump of tiny feet from upstairs, is gone for a month to chill with the folks in good old former iron curtain or so i heard. it's quieter during the day. but they have friends move in temporarily, who also love to display their washing in public. as the hours are not exactly inundated with drizzles, let us see.

i want to do some heavy cleaning but it's next to impossible. i'll be trying out some recipes later. my birthday snack menu is still in the process of reckoning. some of my invitations are still with me, maybe by tomorrow i could distribute to the remaining invitees.

the summer solstice is already next week. the days would become shorter, the status quo of longer nights would fall back into place. our area is still on hosepipe ban. i'm hoping for abundance of rain during winter, to fill the water reservoir, stop the water companies from moaning too much. it's gloomy during winter but i'm hoping this year, the array of clothes would be sensational and lift up the spirits. from here until august though, in the topic of fashion, i guess Kate Moss is right (about summer-wear, not wife-wear).

now, let's check the BP and savour my newly- arrived Olympic tickets and travel cards.

on the 10th

so manny pacquiao lost in a split decision, his first defeat in seven years. since it was shown (or streamed) in such ungodly hour, UK time, it was a relief  i was asleep. i wonder if Bing was there in the ring (rhymes) during the introductions. enough of politicians and some Filipino slebs out there in Vegas, all smiles for the cameras at the after party, ready to display their clout, the i've been to Vegas i must be rich and important brigade ( i should really stop glancing at the society pages).

being a boxer is of course only one of pacman's many roles. he's a tv star and he serves his people as a congressman of saranggani. undertakings which are by-products of his being a boxer. he's got an entourage. i always wonder about men and their entourage or boys and their barkadas. as if their lives would be incomplete without their alalays. manny's rep is probably still intact, i saw some unofficial media score cards where he was ahead in almost all 12 rounds. there could be a rematch or he could just retire and conduct his daily prayer meetings in earnest.

 one-on-one sports (including chess and darts) are 50-50 propositions. an upset is part of the grand plan. but the pacquiao saga is also part of twitter race relations. i read (was it in March or April?) from Tyrone's (a mayweather fan) tweet that pacman has no defense and he's a so-so boxer. i don't want to bring stereotypes or how fast a person walks into the argument. but it's obviously there and we compete through our flags, national anthems, continents and shapes of our eyes.

laze

just reading and planning next to nothing kills the mood certainly in this rainy month of june, though i should avoid salty snacks (pictured). for the first time in a lifetime, i don't mind the downpour. the jubilee celebrations are almost over, the sight of camilla waving to the crowd at Buckingham Palace has never been a hallmark moment, even during the wedding of 28th April '11. anyway, stayed away from all the hoopla at the Thames or the television coverage. spent most of my time sleeping as i do every single day, channelling a lot of karl pilkington of the ricky gervais show, taking a breather from stressors. promised myself to find a project minus the huffing and puffing, that means no heavy lifting or hoovering.

i was glued to the BBC news channel for the eurozone updates. i could see how Spain succumbed to bad loans, we had an ultra-cozy train ride from Seville to Madrid in 2011 -- nice stations, excellent transport links, why not for the fourth largest economy in Europe. while in Greece, all the bars provide a little bit extra; cushy sofas, complimentary tasteful nibbles; cheaper public transport than most European countries.

there's also the sensitive issue of Syria. kofi annan's speech at the UN this afternoon contributed greatly to my snoozing. that was mainly because of tiredness, nothing to do with mr. annan's soft voice as he was uttering his speech.

hop, skip, hop

dropped by Westfield in Stratford for the cute guy's birthday. i like malls and shopping centres, as long as they're not crowded or deluged with strolling teens. the branch in Shepherd Bush is actually bigger and gives way to breathing. although, if we didn't go to Stratford, we wouldn't be able to peek at the Olympic Stadium and the Athletes Village. there would be loads of people during the Olympics. the tubes would be rammed, as in more jam-packed than during the rush hours or usual weekends.

 i'm just moaning because i don't live any closer to the Olympic grounds.

as if

it's such a shame that her detractors are signing for petition for her not to be considered as judge in the international court of justice. the term Brenda is back again. this usually happens when she doesn't go with the flow, when she chooses the unconventional route, when she's too eloquent, too knowledgeable. but at least, she's never been boring, not even during her stint in the commission of immigration. to answer joy's query in those heydays of whether to open the envelope in late 2000, are you still in awe? not really, but after a bevy of presidential campaigns in the 90's and winning and losing senate seats, and pissing off the quiet, non-cerebral throng, it has been a good career.

this is a refreshing take on the lady in this article.
what's your beauty regimen? "you gotta be kidding (laughs)?"
what is your preference when it comes to fashion? "i don't spend any time thinking about fashion."

this blog is also very positive.