6 March 2011

It's only been a few months. What of it? I've been a rather busy bee, that's all... Welcome to the new year, belatedly.

It's funny the kinds of thoughts that spark your desire share a post. For me, this time, it was pickled eggs. I've been thinking about them for a few days. Perhaps I saw some on the tele. They used to be a staple at pubs and now they've practically vanished. I've never had a pickled egg. I have tried a one thousand year old egg at a little place called Leung's Legend in China Town. It's a great restaurant - not because of its decaying eggs - but because they do an obscenely large stuffed crab full of chilli and garlic. They also give you a large cracking device to demolish it with.

I'm going to buy some pickled eggs. Have you tried them?

I've been the most ridiculous tourist since I last blogged. Everywhere I've been, I've taken all the same photos that everyone else has in their albums and bought all the same things that those oversized women on group tours have bought. Take Istanbul for example. I now have a lantern, a set of hand-painted bowls and some multi-coloured woven fabric in traditional designs. Ludicrously unoriginal. The photo above is a case-in-point. I took it on the Bosphorus as we pulled up to Asia in the ferry. I thought it was a good example of the descriptions of dilapidated houses from my Orhan Pamuk readings... until I looked around me and realised that everyone was taking a picture of the same thing...

In Hungary, we sang David Bowie in the Labyrinth...

In New York, I bought myself an "I heart NY" t-shirt...

I think that I had better stay in London for a while. Before I turn into some sort of cardboard cut-out. A lemming. Perhaps without the trademark cliff-diving. Having said that, sitting on the couch on a Sunday, up against the radiator with laptop in hand, isn't particularly original. Mildly warming at least - it's miserably cold outside. In fact, I'm wearing two scarves inside. One of these scarves is possum fur and Penny left it to me after she'd finished with it in New York. She reasoned that she'll never see that kind of cold again and she was concerned that I was warm enough in the London winter. Too thoughtful. She quietly left it in the hotel room, as she took off for the airport, and I happened upon it whilst packing myself up.

Like foxes, one shouldn't feel too sorry for possums, because they're extraordinarily warm.

I've been possum shooting before.

(It's quite odd to write a sentence like that).

I was staying at a friend's farm. I must have been about thirteen. There was a pig that you had to beat back with a stick if you wanted to cross its field. It was eaten that year for Christmas dinner. Not only did they take me on a possum shoot but they also took me on a turkey shoot. Why shoot the turkeys? I couldn't tell you. Perhaps they were rife. Population control. I guess that all experience is good experience. It all sounds more intrepid than my recent travels, doesn't it?

So, you see, you haven't been missing anything. Life is less than wild. Less wild than a lemming's.

I'm afraid that the little guys don't dive off cliffs or rain down from the sky though, in truth.