Whither Goest E@L? To Hell In A Handbasket?

Several weeks of holidays due, no idea where to go and absolutely nothing to do at work - sitting in the office, dreaming out the window as the maritime movements swirl in slow motion. Ships seem to move in the time of another, more sedate, era.

Who shall have the fishy
On their little dishy
Who shall have the fishy
When the boat comes in.

OK, OK, ship.

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Ah, the options for the SEA expat. An embarrassment of embarrassing circumstances in the offing should one ever be caught in a police raid.

Mmm. Ships coming in. Cruise? Why the hell not?

Taking it easy in my fish-odoured cabin (and not from the ocean), maybe do some writing (and not this bloggorhea), some reading (only four lifetimes of books to go to complete E@L's reading list), some low shagging on the high seas. Why not join the septuagenarian and octogenarians (who are as close to my age as many of my current Singapore friends) to talk about retirement plans, the benefits of Reservatol over mitochondrial drugs, hip replacements and wills? Hop on the large floating casinos cum brothels (no pun intended) that dock out my window, join the rolling-suitcased throng of said septuas, octos, with a Philippines village of croupiers and game-for-anything hookers (and after-hour croupiers) and take a slow cruise to Vietnam.

Lazy times on deck, blankets over my legs on the deck-chair as sprightly maidens and dashing young men play that quoits game? (Or they're fucking on the bulwarks at midnight, knowing that their hearts will go on, at least until they disembark.) Meeting the love of my life, promising to catch up for a skinny latte on top of the Empire State building... if I can extend my business trip to RSNA Chicago? (Never been to New York - too freaking far away.)

Jump ship at Da Nang and lie on the beach? Then what? Have a series of rub and tugs in the local "saunas" or grab a "rental" for the week, then eat spring rolls till I throw up at the sight of rice paper? Maybe hit the hill-tribes for some touro-porn (rich people taking photos of poor people)? Maybe buy one of the young village virgins from mum and dad for some sex-tourism or just bring the "rental" along, ditto?

And I could negotiate for some of those "gold" leaf lacquered plates which cost $300 each in Takashimaya here in Singapore but are $2.50 for a set of six in the village markets. Not that I like those plates, or have anywhere to put them, but some things one just has to do.

It's the expat burden.

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OK, talked myself out of that potential disaster!

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Or I could get married and have sex with the same person (that I love) forever... or like the people in the flat above me, at 10am every Sunday morning.

Or not. As you guessed, another disaster averted.

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Or I could sit in the office playing Sudoku on my new iTouch (a.k.a. my old iPhone) and wait for that improved energy and vitality from my CPAP to kick in... ZZZzzzzzz...

Then again (and I do mean again) I could head to Kata Beach in Phuket now that it is safe to go back to Thailand for some action-adventures, maybe do some golfing stuff in the day and in the evening/early-hours catch up with Plan A (and that thing she does with her teeth... wincing just thinking about it...) Or grab a cute caddy's number and...

Ah, yes, expat life in the South Seas. It's a non-stop end-of-season sport-team trip. It's a buck night that never ends.

E@L

(In case you're wondering about all the semi-joking sex references in this post, yes, the drugs [Lamotrigine and Lyrica] I am taking for my "idiopathic peripheral neuropathy" [painful feet] no longer suppress my libido!)