EmmaGoodEgg

Don't Let The Cat Out Of The Bag

Don't worry I won't. Because the cat LIKES being in the bag.

Bobby Doth Love The Cat Muchly

Bobby: You know whenever I say ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff to Willow, she writhes about all manja (affectionate)?

Emma: Get outta here.

Bobby: No really! It's because whenever I give a rub behind her ears or feed her, I say ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff. It's behavioural conditioning. Willow is Pavlov's Cat!!

Emma: Good grief.

Cartoon snagged from here.

Kebawah Duli Yang Maha Mulia Paduka Seri Baginda Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Al-Mu'izzaddin Waddaulah ibni Almarhum Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Sa'adul Khairi Waddien

Rice Water + Soya Bean = A Lily White Miracle (Yeah Right)

Dear Mimi,

Being a pregnant old bird this time around is not as easy as being pregnant at 22. There are many physical discomforts Mama is experiencing with you that Mama did not go through with your Abang. Like feeling the weight of the belly, especially when getting in and out of bed like a beached whale. Or the nausea. Or the headaches. Or the anxiety/paranoia.

There are 2 things that seem to be constant though. One is the urge to pee every few minutes at night. And the other are the old-wives' tales a pregnant mother gets from well-meaning folks.

Well, sometimes its well-meaning with a bit of barb snucked in for good measure. Mama received one a few days ago and it went something like this:

Well Meaning Woman (WMW): Let me give you some advice.

Mama: Right on.

WMW: You should be drinking a lot of rice water and also soya bean.

Mama: Really?? Why?

WMW: So that the Bun will be fair-skinned. You know, because you and Bobby are not the fairest ones around.

Mama: Ouch.

I don't think it matters if Mama guzzles gallons of rice water and soya bean because there is a high probability that you will be a brown little girl. Whilst we apologise for your genetic composition, that really is good enough for your Papa and me.

Love, Mama xx

Everyday People Cartoon by the uber talented Cathy Thorne snagged from here.

High Falutin' Willow

Feeding Willow is a bit of an occasion at my home. After meals Beloved Husband Bob will feed the cat tit-bits from our dinner with the bones picked out. Then lovingly placed on a paper napkin. Willow sometimes gets the doggy bags from restaurants too. I sneak Willow food sometimes in hope that she will love me the most. Azim feeds Willow just to add drama to our lives.

When it comes to her regular cat meals, we buy her Whiskas. Bobby is always on the lookout for the premium cat meals that SupaSave stocks. The Waitrose ones in chic tins with rounded edges and with the fancy ingredients like turkey and veal. I reckon it’s a popular brand because they fly off the supermarket shelves. Last Sunday we were grocery shopping at SupaSave Gadong and found a new brand called Waitrose ‘Indulgent Recipe’ for spoilt cats on the shelves. Bobby was sure Willow will love him more if he fed her the Cutlets Of Sardine & Mackerel With Clams In Jelly.

Bought extra tins in case it ran out.

That evening after dinner, Bobby opened a tin of Indulgent Meal, and plopped it in Willow’s bowl. Willow took one sniff at the clam and fish mixed in jelly and padded away. She didn't touch the stuff. Willows' a real bitch when she feels like it.

So we thought Willow was high falutin’ but you can take the cat out of the kampung, but you can’t take the kampung out of the cat.

Unrelated and not a picture of Willow, but from left, Enola Gay and Bagheera, the Diva's feline darlings for the cat effect.

An Ode To Leonard

I have a favourite Cohen story:

At 35, Leonard Cohen was a highly unlikely debut pop star. His obsession for women was now getting regularly reciprocated. He lived up to his image as the eccentric romantic. At a party once, he approached a beautiful woman, took a strand of her long hair, dipped it into his wine glass, slowly sucked it dry, let it fall and walked away without saying a word.

From 7 Notes & The Muse.

K.D. Lang (not a boy but not quite a girl) sings a swell rendition of Leonard Cohen's Bird On A Wire. My other favourite Cohen story is that we sang a reggae version of the song once. Everyone thought we were quite strange.

Why I Want To Watch F1 Again

I used to watch F1 during the days Schumacher sparred with Hill, on and off the tracks. I lost what interest I had when the sport turned predictable when the two-dimensional Michael Schumacher reigned supreme. And I was a Schumi fan. Jensen Buttons, the Great British White Hope who hanged around with models on yachts but won nothing really, did little to whet my appetite to watch the sport. Well okay, he won once in Hungary in 2006 after 113 races and 7 years into the sport. Sporting males like Jens simply irritate me.

And then I hear of Lewis Hamilton, the 22 year-old half-black half-white British F1 driver for McLaren. He started go-karting at the age of 9. At age 13 he piqued the interest of McLaren boss who then signed him to the McLaren Driver Development Support Programme. He debuted this year at the Australian Grand Prix and had a 3rd place podium finish. He has raced 8 times and everytime finishes podium. Since then he's WON the Canadian and the US Grand Prixes. All in his inaugral season.

Last night he stole the pole position at the final lap during the qualifying round for the British Grand Prix. So guess who's watching the race tonight?

Like A Duck Out Of Water

During the last Royal Wedding I was fortunate to attend my first ‘Berjaga-Jaga Ceremony’. The Berjaga-Jaga is a nightly vigil held at Istana Nurul Iman to enliven the wedding proceedings. I reckon the tradition started in the old days when people had an important function, family and friends rallied around and hung out at the house just in case your rivals decide to cause trouble.

After the Royal Wedding Dinner on Monday evening, Babu and Pater suggested to Bobby and I that we go to the ‘Berjaga’.

Having dinner with the masses.

The invitation to a nightly vigil.

The ceremony is held in a large room at the Palace. The men have their room and the women have theirs. The dress code is traditional white costume with a ‘kapit’ (which is a Jong Sarat, a cloth hand-woven with gold thread, you wrap in a particular way around your torso). I have not mastered the act of wrapping the ‘kapit’ and therefore invariably look like I am wearing an OTT bath towel. To be fair to me, it is trickier than it looks.

The Berjaga-Jaga Ceremony.

The ladies all troop into their room and find their place in the grand scheme of things. As I have not been before, Babu introduces me to the lady that DOES know where everyone’s place is. So the kind lady shows me (she even has a notebook!) where I can sit, which incidentally is somewhere in Siberia.

I watched the proceedings that evening from my corner of the room with some trepidation and, if truth be known, amusement. There are rules to be followed, and one can easily commit a faux pax, like drinking the tea from the ceremonial teapot that are served by the ladies on duty. An elderly lady who looked like she knew the ins and outs sat next to me and I made small talk. So she told me about the long white candles placed in front of the middle row ladies, how to make sure you get your box of goodies and candle at the end of the evening, and when I said, “you cannot drink the tea”, she was suitably impressed. I was not a complete duck out of water. Thankfully Bobby had whispered to me before we parted ways, “Don't drink the tea!”

The tea in the ceremonial teapots is a no-no!

Ladies on duty bearing trays with tea you CAN drink and boxes of goodies to bring home.

We had some tea and then head home.

There was one other occasion when I was like a duck out of water. It was the time Babs and I went to Jing Chew to score us some hot buns. I have been living in this country my whole life and I have only just found out that at certain times of the day people line up to buy delicious hot buns fresh out of the oven (or eat them at the premises) at a Chinese shop in Gadong called Jing Chew. Sure I have heard, and even had some, of Jing Chew’s famous heavenly “Roti Kuning”. Roti Kuning is a kind of yellow bread with seriously thick slabs of butter and coconut jam in its middle, which is then toasted. Jing Chew is a real institution. It is favoured by civil servants who patrons the place to have their tea breaks in the mornings and afternoons. I should say 'used to' patron the place for the Government have cracked down on errant civil servants who spend way too much time out of the office hanging out in Jing Chew.

Anyway, Babs heard about the fresh hot buns at teatime so we made a date to go one afternoon. When we walked into the place it was full of people, young and old, all kinds of colour and creed, happily munching buns. We found a seat and beckoned the Indian waiter over to take our orders. We asked for a menu, you know, to find out what kind of buns were available for consumption, and the waiter looked at us like we both had antennas growing out of our heads, and simply walked away. Apparently, one doesn’t need a menu. You just raise your hand and say “Buns” and the good waiter will bring you a plate of buns: black bean paste, nut paste and butter milk paste. Right on.

As we waited for our plate of hot buns the place was clearing out fast. A waiter finally brought around a plate of buns and we discovered that it was the last plate of buns and was already cold because it was from the 4.30pm oven. Being hot bun virgins, we did not get the memo about coming to Jing Chew ON TIME in order to get the buns straight out of the oven. So we ordered the Roti Kuning instead. We cajoled the by now exasperated waiter to spill the beans about the mechanics of Jing Chew’s hot buns at teatime. The good man told us the approximate times buns came out of the oven and even gave us a card with a number so we can call ahead.

We also scored a Jing Chew card.

And now, I am sorted like Bob.

An Eggy Return Of The Fifth Estate

Dear Mimi,

Its been ages I know, but Mama’s been quite the busy, and sometimes unwell, pregnant GoodEgg. Your Papa has been nagging me about posting but pheeEeew, when one is growing a human being in one’s womb, one can be excused. Surely.

Well, I feel like posting today. Especially since your Auntie DeeT sent a text suggesting that I rename the blog to EmmaBoringDisappearedEgg. Which has a ring to it, but perhaps not quite.

Anyway, since I last updated, there are many things to tell the world about and if Mama can be arsed to put thoughts on Microsoft Word, the list of possible posts goes as thus:

1. Jing Chew's Hot Buns At Tea Time: Getting With The Programme
2. Our First Foray Into The Inner Workings Of “Malam BerJaga Jaga”
3. The Quest For A Stroller: The Bugaboo, The Quinny Buzz or The Stokke Xplory
4. Aoki – A Modern Day Samurai
5. Bed Resting Do’s & Don’ts

I will try. And if I can't, I'll dig deep for a celeb-bashing post.

Love, Your Mama xx

ps/ Incidentally, you are doing very well in there, my darling girl. And considering the amount of kicks you inflict, I think you might have a career as a football star.

pps/ Mama of course pretty much looks like Mama SWALLOWED the football.