I stare at the newspaper. It wasn’t me. I gawp at the television. It wasn’t me. I trawl through the internet. It wasn’t me! I listen to the radio, podcasts, and conversations on the bus. It WASN’T me! At least — I hope it wasn’t me? Continue reading ‘Trails of the Unexpected’
Tag Archive for 'China'
It’s a rite of passage that a traveller devour something they couldn’t find in their local café. Your friends expect it. Your family retches at it. People you meet on the road compete against it, and the bottom line is someone’s always gone one better. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Bon Appetit’’
I only ever had one pet. It was a tabby cat. I called it Thomas. My sister called it Fluffy. My dad called it Cat. It would forever be known as Thomas Fluffy Cat. Then TFC ran off, probably to a derelict pig farm at the end of our road that was the headquarters to a gang of ferals. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Ginger Blue’’
It’s no secret that China is building bridges in both the literal and physical senses and it’s a consequential fact that their economy is blowing smoke in the face of their environment, and their population. This weeks Reprint image is a soft example of pre-Olympic Beijing. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘A Finer China?’’
Staring intimidatingly into two fresh black eyes, I barked menacingly, ‘reach for the sky!’. No response. I yelled, ‘this town aint big enough for the two of us’. Zip. ‘It’s not a laser. It’s a little light bulb that blinks’. Nothing. ‘Somebody’s poisoned the waterhole!’. Nada. ‘Who are you calling busted, Buster?’. Zippo. He just slumped aloofly on his backside upon a grassy verge, nonchalantly chomping his way through a mound of bamboo. The lardy giant panda was seemingly uninterested in impressions of my beloved Woody, yet the cowboy in me refused to be repressed. A few days after my showdown with the 50-or-so Chengdu pandas, I was in the one-horse town of Songpan, trotting unstably towards the magically entitled, Ice Mountain. Continue reading ‘To Songpan, and beyond!’
The red-faced King of the South paced nervously around his ageing palace, closely followed by a fidgeting guard. If either dared peer out through the ornate wooden shutters and across the blood-tainted river, they would of been overcome with terror. Advancing towards them at a frightful pace were a pair of canons in search of a mount, two intense looking horsemen, a shuffling pair of holy men and a pentad of pesky pawns. Just visible on the misty horizon, stood the palace of his ageing adversary. Within the stone sanctum paced his royal rival, robed immaculately in hereditary velvets of black. I took a gulp of Tsingtao, ‘your move, loser‘. The ‘Concubine of Chess’ and my current archenemy, ignored my tactical taunts and swiftly took aim with her Chinese Chess piece. She followed with a fearless sequence of freshman moves, intent on seducing my King into an knee-trembling demise. Concubines throughout history would have been outrageously envious of Reb’s panache as a short time later an eerie silence descended, and it was over. I gulped the last of the Tsingtao and shot a blurry gaze towards the two dispirited Kings, stubbornly perched upon my fantasy’s thrones in a now barren, death-swept kingdom. ‘Draw?’, I proposed. We agreed, but next time I won’t let her off so easy. Continue reading ‘Answers on a Postcard’
My mother always said vegetables were good for me, so for 21 years I munched my way through her gloomy carrots, astringent runner beans and even the odd heap of pungent spinach. Then I cut the apron strings, and phoned her weekly, for 4 years, to ask her how to recreate the sloppy, lifeless clumps of sentiment. It was with a combination of this deep-rooted craving and my slow retreat from Chinese flesh-based sustenance that I found myself sitting in a Jinghong vegetarian restaurant, across from Reb, my recurring itch of an accomplice. Along with a feast of imitation crispy duck, sweet and sour meatballs, chinese cabbage and seaweed in flour came a vibrant 33 year old, called Joe the Bridge. Continue reading ‘Bee for ‘Banna’
