EmmaGoodEgg

MAMIL AT THE CRACK OF DAWN

Cycling has, like in the rest of the world, become big in Brunei these days. You cannot help but notice them on the road; packs of determined looking cyclists (the majority invariably men) eyes covered in fancy shades, ruffled brows riding in mini “pelotons”, recreating a stage of the Tour de France.

There is a name for them – men aged 35 and up, who have discovered the joys of Lycra. This new tribe has been dubbed ‘MAMIL’s’ or Middle Aged Men in Lycra. The ‘middle age’ in the term is rather telling. Instead of buying a flashy car nowadays no mid-life “transition” is complete without wriggling into a pair of spandex shorts and climbing onto a bespoke, upgraded and eye wateringly expensive bicycle.

I speak from experience, I fear that my beloved husband Bobby has signed up - though not for the full Lycra experience - into the sub group who ride mountain bikes on off-road trails. Weekends at the GoodEggs now consist of early Saturday night pasta festivals, and Sunday mornings up at the crack of dawn to apply sunscreen and to click off on cycle shoes for a three hour “kayuh” (“paddle” in Malay).

Although it would seem that the cost of the five carbon and alloy bicycles that now grace our store room would have depleted the children’s education fund, the total cost would appear still to be cheaper than a sports car. Or a mistress.

As I grunt at him not to wake the children, I get, “mun paham bisai dang”. Bobby is not known for his use of the vernacular. I think he may be spending too much time on this Facebook page, “Cycling Buddies Brunei”.

These days, a persons' identity is not just defined in the traditional manner - country, family, occupation, but also by the way that a person spends their leisure time. Social media has given a platform for people to group themselves around their passions and to interact with like-minded folk. There appears to be social media sites for all types. The aforesaid popularity of the Lycra clad road biking gang cannot be missed. There are groups for the rather hairier and generally Lycra-avoiding mountain bikers. For the young and urbane, there are groups who ride “fixies” a stylish subset of cyclists, whose bikes are based on the simple engineering of courier cyclists. Watch the film, “Premium Rush“ for the cultural reference.

All this pedal pushing can't really be a bad thing - it gets people together, out in the fresh air and living healthy lives. Bobby claims never to have seen more of the country and from so many different vantage points and perspectives. According to him anyway, as I have never seen the muddy side of a jungle trail, it has given a greater appreciation of the closeness that we in Brunei have with nature, something to appreciate and to treasure.

Given that it is a popular leisure activity, I wonder if cycling may one day be seen as a viable alternative means of everyday transportation. The heat and humidity may deter me for one, but I don’t see why it should deter many others. In other places, cycling is not just a lifestyle statement but “driven” by real economic factors such as high petrol prices, taxation and cost of parking. One could say that it is one of the best form of mass transportation. It's all about the healthy lifestyle, it's emissions-free and runs on pasta. The obvious challenges for cycling as a form of real transportation here in Brunei would be the lack of school transport as many people shuttle the children to school, shower facilities at work places and the most obvious - the lack of cycle lanes and proper cycling infrastructure. At the moment, perhaps, the message must be to cycle safe and to encourage helmets and lights where appropriate, and importantly, for motorists to accept that there are other, much less shielded road users with whom they should share the roads.

My final point is as it should be, on fashion. Beloved Bobby has recently purchased his first Lycra - a “team” jersey and some bib shorts. For the uninitiated, bib shorts comprise of a one-piece singlet - attached to Lycra shorts with padding on the rear. Unfortunately, on their own they would make even James Bond come off like Borat. I have managed so far to discourage their use, despite their obvious practicality. But of bib shorts, I shall speak no more. On colours, I would say only this - less is more. 

 

@emmagoodegg

Illustrated by Cuboi Art.

For the online version click here.

 

Mimi And Her Mop Of Curls

Dear Mimi,

Mama haven't posted a letter to you in a while. The last time was 6 months ago when I posted a picture of you in an Ultraman mask. Eversince then your Mama has been distracted with rather addictive online pursuits, like Pet Society which I thankfully outgrew and my pet is now languishing in Pet Society World in a 7-bedroomed home, hungry and dirty. Then your T'tan introduced me to hidden objects games, like Mystery Case Files and the like. I think my eyesight has gotten worse due to peering on the screen for 'protractors' or 'screws' or similar inane objects. After that T'tan suggested I try time-management games, which took up all my time building houses, and parks, and making sure I paid the damn taxes on time. And then on my own accord I got re-hooked onto Twitter, following all and sundry. It really is time for a heart-warming letter to your daughter when one begins to mull all day about a @mrskutcher tweet just so I can get Demi Moore to acknowledge my presence online.

So.

In a couple of days you will turn 1 year and 8 months. Here's how you look without the alien mask:

Although having straight-as-a-plank hair means all those curls on your head is alien to your Mama. Every morning you wake up with serious bed-head and I think "GAAAAAH! WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo??". You're not too fond of hair clips and cute hairbands so you often channel Wild Woman Of Borneo. But its okay my darling, cos you're one SMART Wild Woman Of Borneo.

You are a voracious reader, here you are "reading" Eric Carle's 'Slowly slowly slowly said the Sloth':

You can also count one to ten, know some of your ABCs and, Mama is proud to say, tri-lingual. Why just the other day when I asked you to please close the door, you said "Bisa" (that's Indonesian for 'Yes/Can') and promptly did.

Love,

Mama xx

The Wind In The Willow

According to Oprah and her mate Dr Oz, passing gas is good for you and that the average person passes gas 14 times a day.  Dr Oz advises that we are to create a no embarrassment zone on farting because well, its no good keeping it all in.  I, for one, have extremely shy bowels and don't subscribe to the good doctor's new age policy.  Which is why I am a rather repressed cow I suppose.

Bobby on the other hand, often let loose at home.  And then blame it on whoever happens to be near. Sometimes its Mimi, and most times, its Willow the cat.

The other day Mimi let out some wind and I said to her, "Who farted in here??" and she promptly answered, "CAT".  

It looks like I'm losing this battle.

Cartoon snagged from here.

Life Goes On Brah, Lala How The Life Goes On

It was Beloved Husband's birthday recently and I booked our usual band to help celebrate with some tunes from the Beatles.  A few days before the day, my father rings me at an Un-Godly hour of the morning and tells to me that he and his band will be my Fab Four.  "You have a band?!?"  It was all I could muster being that it was early.  Naturally I had my concerns.  We already had a band booked.  How are we going to fit 2 sets of instruments? I meekly said to Dad after calling him back at a reasonable time of day when my brain was fully functioning.  He would not be deterred, texting me a day later to ask whether he and his mates should come in costume.  A whole lot of Beatles songs, costumes and vibe ensued.

A day after our Beatles do, my father text me this:

"Bobby wanted to sing Helter Skelter...band wasn't up to it so they settled for Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da.  It WAS helter skelter!! Nonetheless, I enjoyed the party and sang about 15 Beatles songs! I had to leave cos my friend Hj Z wanted to (we came in 1 car)...it was a bit of a culture shock for him I guess. Kiss Mimi for me."

To my father the aging rockstar: You're a bit of a konon but I'm still Daddy's girl. I'm also Beatle-d out, so here's the uber talented Sungha Jung playing the song when he was only 10 years old for you. xx

Desmond has a barrow in the market place
Molly is the singer in a band
Desmond says to Molly - girl I like your face
And Molly says this as she takes him by the hand.

[ Chorus: ]
Obladi oblada life goes on brah
Lala how the life goes on
Obladi Oblada life goes on brah
Lala how the life goes on.

Desmond takes a trolley to the jewellers store
Buys a twenty carat golden ring
Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door
And as he gives it to her she begins to sing.

[ Chorus ]

In a couple of years they have built
A home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones.

Happy ever after in the market place
Desmond lets the children lend a hand
Molly stays at home and does her pretty face
And in the evening she still
sings in with the band.

[ Chorus ]

In a couple of years they have built
A home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones.

Happy ever after in the market place
Molly lets the children lend a hand
Desmond stays at home and does his pretty face
And in the evening she's a singer with the band.

[ Chorus ]

And if you want some fun - take Obladiblada.

Ps/ I thought Bobby brought the house down with this song.

Reason #247

Because only you would send me a text to be sung in the tune of Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat.

Happy Birthday Bobby.

Call Bomba

Last weekend I found myself in the midst of weary bleary-eyed men and got a lowdown of what happens on a stag weekend in Labuan. Yes, that's right party people, a stag weekend in Labuan.

All ears for a possible fly-on-the-wall post, I tried to pry like a woman and listened to Bobby's tale:

Bobby: So we rented a car to drive around the island and the car rental company handed over the grungiest Proton Wiras they had in their inventory. It was dirty and smelled, and didn’t have a full tank of petrol. Well, for RM70 what did we expect eh?

Me: Right, it smelled of what?

Bobby: It was just dirty and on its last wheels. Anyway, on our last day we were running late and had to be at the ferry by 1.00pm. We were supposed to leave the hotel by 11.30am but we dawdled over breakfast so we left an hour later. We were in a bit of a hurry lah.

Me: So did anybody make it on stage last night?

Bobby, ignoring me and in a ‘griping the wheels of a shaking race car’ pose: I gunned the Wira down the Labuan roads, cranking the engine, with SP and MatBon in the car. Ari and the others were in separate cars a few minutes behind. We had this running joke whenever we saw a cyclist we’d say, “How many points for the cyclist? Heh Heh Heh.”

Me: I cannot believe nobody brought the house down in Labuan.

Bobby, still in his pose, eyes wild: So there we were careening down the road, turning this way and that, around corners, pointing out to cyclists heh heh heh, followed by Is It Your Grandfather's Road? when suddenly Matbon goes, “Dude. The car’s on fire.”

[And SP, who was in the car with Bobby and I when Bobby was telling this story, snickered.]

Me, wide-eyed: What??

Bobby: And we're like oh my God! There was smoke coming out of the air condition vents, and there was this smell of something burning! So we screeched to a halt in front of a bus stop, got out in a hurry and tried to call Ari who was driving the other car but oh no! He's taking the scenic route!! Gaaah!

SP, a man of few words: It’s true.

Me: You got to be fucking kidding me.

Bobby, arms flailing: So we came to a screeching halt in front of this bus stop, got out of the car, threw the boot open and grabbed our bags. There was this young kid hanging about the bus stop idly watching 3 men in the face of a potentially exploding vehicle, so I took out my wallet and said, “Hey kid. Here’s 10 dollars. If this car explodes and burst into flames, call Bomba.”

I had no idea Labuan could be such a happening place.

Ps/ Anyway, the car rental company was kinda expecting it. The boys returned the cars and got on the boat on time.

The boys de-briefing at the Serasa Ferry Terminal.

Flying Penguins

Most evenings Bobby and I sit on our daybed in the orange verandah and tell each other tales we get off the internet. This evening he told me about the flying penguins story he read on the Telegraph Online. "Come see the pictures", he said. So I peered over and saw these plump penguins zooming through the air on the Telegraph site.

"Huh. Flying Penguins. Who would've thought penguins could fly eh."

I thought I'd do a post about penguins taking flight since its been a slow news day. As I was saving the picture for my post, I got to thinking about how terribly cute and sturdily plump penguins were and no, nope, they really don't look like they could fly.

No way.

*PING

April's Fools.

Damn it. Bobby got me and he got me good.

A Soupy Tale

A few nights ago Bobby and I watched this food show on the AFC. I can't remember what it's called but it was one of those shows where you win money for eating something gross on TV. It featured 2 Singaporean women hosted by a J-Pop lookalike guy. The women were asked to drink a bowl of clear soup with some bits of meat in it. After they've sipped the soup and munched the meat, the J-Pop guy then asked them to guess what soup it was. By this time both of them were looking worried and alarmed. Quite rightly so because a few minutes later he told them that they just drank LIZARD soup. Yes, LIZARD SOUP. The meaty bits? Well, those were LIZARD TOO! They were shown a similar dead lizard for extra effect and man do they look pissed. Right about then, I think the producers edited the part where the two women beat up the guy with the J-Pop hair, silly. If it was me, I would've kicked his balls too because I hate lizards.

So sometime that night I was slowly waking up to a squeamish sensation between my toes. I leapt up and yelled to a dying-of-fright Bobby who was rudely awakened by his dramatic wife, "THERE'S SOMETHING UNDER THE SHEEETS!!"

I scrambled out of the way and Bobby, not missing a beat, leapt up and started to flap the duvet over the side and then checked our matrimonial bed of slimy creatures. Thankfully there were none. By now I was feeling rather shameful because it was probably the memory of that big black lizard with the bulgy eyes being EATEN (good Lord) that made me subconsciously feel like there was one wrapping its tail around my toe.

We settled back into bed and mumbled in the dark, me shameful and Bobby whose heart rate has slowed down considerably:

Bobby: I was just dreaming I was downing that lizard soup before you did a kung-fu move in bed.
Me: I knew it was your fault.

But thank you for Phuket sweetheart, this one's for you.

The Kinks In Our Life

I don't usually set the alarm to wake up in the mornings because Bobby does that for the both of us. Every night before bed he dutifully sets his phone alarm and The Kinks is what we wake up to:

It works like a charm for me (a person who is known to LOVE HER SLEEP) because I want to get grumpy at being awakened from a delicious slumber but I don't because my hips automatically swivel, my head bobs to the beat and I suddenly feel like putting on my dancing shoes!

Damn it.

Keep Your Spurs On

Bobby is a Tottenham Hotspurs fan. That's the same football club plodding along the Champions League, Premier League and the FA Cup. But here's one for the underdogs, Tottenham Hotspurs WON the Carling Cup final against Chelsea last Sunday. Bobby was as happy as the Tottenham players. Apparently not quite as ecstatic as the Spur's Captain Ledley King. The same Ledley King who wins the best picture of the week simply because he's so deserving of this headline from the Telegraph Online:

Drunk Ledley King Thrown Out Of Spurs Party.
*Click to view King throttling someone's neck.

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