robinlawrence’s Space

Lexi and I last visited Lao in 2002 and in that time I had forgotten many bits of the language, the Lao way of doing things and the liking for Karaoke.  Thankfully there is a very loud outdoor Karaoke bar right next to our Vang Vieng Guesthouse that is thundering out Lao favorites, some of which are being murdered by a range of 'singers' who make up for their lack of skill with great portions of gusto.  Lovely.

We travelled to Vang Vieng this morning after spending Christmas Day in Vientiane.  Merry Christmas!  Children almost managed the 0700 present curfew, arriving in Lexi and I's room at 0650, which considering last year's antics was a distinct improvement.  I had thought that we were all set for Santa's arrival the night before until Rupert pointed out that we were lacking in stockings or stocking-substitutes.  Quick as you like he showed ingenuity by offering to go to the hotel reception and ask for three pillow cases.  Luckily his Lao / French was not put to the test as Lexi found some safety pins and offered to turn three t-shirts into impromptu sacks.  This arrangement worked and so, fortunately, did Santa.  Phew.

As 25th was a normal working day in Lao I dodged rush hour traffic on my morning run to and round That Luang.  One of the very obvious differences about Lao of 2013 compared to our last visit in 2002 are the numbers of cars, especially 4WD pick-ups, on the road.  Such vehicles used to be the preserve of the various aid agencies, NGOs and rich Government officials.  Now they are ubiquitous and in certain street it is not uncommon to see them parked two or three deep.  

We had Christmas lunch at a former favourite restaurant, La Terrasse, which as the name suggests specializes in fine French fodder.  The plat du jour was duck and was splendid.  The place had not long opened when we first arrived in 1998 and has clearly gone from strength to strength.  Something that also hasn't changed are the vagaries of Lao bureaucracy.  When I arrived at the airport on Saturday I was greeted with the news that I needed a photo to go with my visa application.  I didn't have one, nor was there a facility for one to be taken there.  The customs official pulled various concerned looking expressions until I explained in Lao that I simply did not have a photo.  That seemed to break his very fragile mask of officialdom and he said "Bo pen nyang, mua nar," or "Never mind, next time."  A rule is a rule and is enforced unless it isn't.

After lunch Lexi had some unplanned beauty treatment down by the Mekong.  While the children played on some handily placed slides Lexi was approached by some zealous Vietnamese ladies armed with tools for beautifying nails and other associated instruments.  Eventually Lexi agreed to being done and two ladies set about scrubbing her feet, lower arms and legs, painting her nails and pummeling her back, which they assured her was all very relaxing.  Others appeared and offered to do the same to me which meant that I beat a hasty retreat.  I really can't think of anything worse.  When they had finished their stuff Lexi had posh looking talons, a slightly lighter wallet and aching shoulders.

Following that we met up with a former VSO colleague and piled into an open house Christmas Day party complete with all the usual treats of the 25th: turkey, beer lao, Christmas cake indoor disco complete with light show, merry conversations with pleasant strangers.  All good.

Well the singers are still doing their stuff so I might have to sneak out to find a beer Lao to try to dull the pain.  I seem to remember that the singing always used to sound better after a beer, so here goes.

Merry Christmas.

Just in case anyone is planning on putting on Bugsy Malone in the round as a school play here are a few essential items for you shopping list.

Silly String: 204 cans.  The marvellous DT department had designed and made 20 pretty fearsome looking MDF guns, made to resemble machine guns, but with the added feature of a silver jubilee clip.  This allowed the swift loading and reloading of silly string cans during the first a second halves of the show.  However great care had to be taken to try to reload in silence, especially because of the rattle thing inside to silly string cans.

Shaving Foam: 34 cans.  Strangely no-one in the local Tescos supermarket batted an eye-lid when I bought the first 10 cans of shaving foam for the pies. I emptied the shelves of their value shaving foam and, having learned that I could make three large or four medium pies from each can, discovered that I needed to buy more.  I cleared the shelves again.  It was on my third mission to Tesco that I found they had, for some reason, run out of the cheap stuff and so I had to splash out an extra RM2 per canister for the better quality stuff.  And what a difference that made!  The foam held its shape better, stayed in more defined peaks on the faces of the victims and, due to its density, made a better sounding thunk as it connected with its intended's face.  (It also tasted better, a vital factor.)  Lesson learned?  Buy the good stuff.  Also note: shaving foam pies don't melt and can be made at least six hours before hand.

Trilby hats: 60.  How did we get through so many?  Well most of the 40-strong cast were playing more than one role and so were required to don a gangster or speakeasy customers' hat at some point.  Then there were the band members who were all immaculately dressed in dark suits or dresses and, of course, trilbies.

Milo: 462* tetra packs of various sizes, plus two large bags of the powdered stuff.  (* = estimate).  The script called for Fat Sam to be the main seller of sasparella, a sort of sickly-sweet fizz.  However this being Malaysia there is not much sasparella drunk so I had to find another comedy beverage.  I asked the cast which was the funnier of two options: 100+ (a sort of after-sport fizzy liquid) or milo.  The results were staggeringly in favour of milo being the funnier of the two drinks and so Fat Sam became an illicit milo dealer.  The cast brought in countless containers of it as did I and all through the show key characters were supping at their illicit chocolatey brew.  It also got a good laugh when Fat Sam approached her bartender colleague during a moment of despair and said "Hey Joe, fix me a milo."  She waited patiently as Joe opened and poured a can lovingly into Fat Sam's favourite glass.  

Cleaners: 2 in the cast and 2 real ones.  Bugsy Malone is a messy show but doing it in the round actually helped to minimize audience mess as all the pies and guns were fired inwards (except during the barber's scene when the audience got a good dousing).  However shaving foam is slippery stuff so I cast two reliable year elevens as cleaners to mop and brush up regularly after the undertakers, cast members not actual ones, had cleared away the stiffs.  Of course though the end of the play is very messy so we made sure that we paid overtime to the school cleaners to help the cast tidy up at the end of each night.

Terrified Looking Target: 1 per show.  Knuckles did her best to make her own version of a splurge gun to try to defeat her boss's enemy, Dandy Dan.  In the scene when she tries out her new invention the play script suggests that Knuckles brings a target on with her.  Much more fun was to drag a target out of the audience, in the form of an Assistant Head or higher.  All three targets looked suitably terrified, one even managed to shake his knees dramatically.  Fortunately for them Knuckles' invention back-fired, quite literally, and left her rooted to the spot while night after night grown men returned to their seats looking grateful for the applause and relieved that they were not going to have to trouble their dry-cleaner.

Old shirt and tie: 1 set.  To be worn by the director on the last night of the show.  This prevents favourite shirts and ties being damaged when the cast decide to use up the remaining shaving foam pies on their director.

Bars of Chocolate: 30.  Used as a small thank you to all the wonderful people who helped out.

Read on.

Before the Mufti Day raffle draw this lunchtime and in front of the whole secondary school a very important competition was judged, adjudicated upon and the winner announced.  The Mufti Day Moustache Competition has become something much greater than simply the sprouting of facial hairs by a few willing and silly male teachers at my school.  Analysis of styles, discussions of tactics and growth rates have been the hot topics for debate between participants over the past month.  Colleagues have stopped colleagues in the corridors and compared efforts and those choosing not to participate have kept themselves as involved as they can via the medium excited questions and encouragement.  

As a first time competitor I decided that the best tactic would be to cultivate the raw material first and then decide what style to wear my moustache in once in full possession of the necessary hair-ware.  In short, I grew a beard.  I have only had two previous attempts at beard growth: once at university when playing the part of a wise and bewhiskered Norwegian expert in the theatre of Henrik Ibsen (by the character name of Sven Erikson) and then secondly on a Summer tour of Norway  when I simply could not be bothered to scrape my face each day.  This beard then was a double first: my first competitive beard and first non Norwegian beard.  And it was a remarkably simple process.  All I had to do was lie in bed for an extra five minutes each day and nature did the rest.

However beard growth is not a matter to taken lightly.  It is fully of potential dangers and pitfalls.  I discovered that in lessons, while listening to and watching my students perform, my left hand was drawn to my face in order to rub and massage my growing hairs.  I quickly discovered that I needed to effect a quizzical expression to accompany the facial rubbing so as to look like I was actually listening to what my charges were contributing instead of simply being thought of as a member of beard fondlers anonymous.  I was afflicted by a similar rubbing urge when driving.  An automatic transmission car partially helped matters but on the long return drive to Singapore I needed my wits about me and cursed my left hand for straying from wheel to face.  A final factor to consider when contemplating facial hair is the reaction of one's partner.  Lexi quickly decided that although my growing beard didn't look too bad she was not that keen on being close to it.  Perhaps in areas of rapid population growth beards could be prescribed by the authorities as a means of natural birth control along with television sets and long working hours.

Decision day and action day was yesterday, at 10.30pm to be precise.  I had considered a shave on Wednesday evening but due to forgetting to buy cans of silly string for Bugsy Malone splurge guns I decided to shop instead of scrape.  Last night with the children in bed following a super long, extra value day that also included teaching three lessons, attending one training meeting, running a rehearsal, sorting out trip bookings, drinking my 9.00am coffee at 12.45pm, taking Trixie to see the boys sing in a choir to the Finnish Ambassador at a hotel in central KL (as you do), getting children to bed at 9.40pm and talking to Lexi as she arrived home from her Christmas show later than me, I decided it was time for a shave.

At midnight I flopped into bed with less facial hair but now sporting a drooping moustache and lamb chop side burns to complement the bags under my eyes.

I walked into my shared tutor group this morning to "whoa"-type noises from my year ten joint charges.  Teachers will understand there are many noises that classes make instead of resorting to the often cumbersome use of words and this "whoa" was a "we are impressed" noise.

And so to the all important judging.  Fifteen teachers and sixth formers were soon whittled down to three finalists by the panel of experts, the panel being led by a two-time winner of the much coveted title.  Those who were asked to leave the stage were tapped on the shoulder by the lead expert and it was with some sympathy and a small lump in my throat that I commiserated with my department colleague as he trudged, slightly dejectedly, from the stage.  His day will come of that I have no doubt.  Other hairy men left moustache by moustache until there were just three: a hairy year thirteen student sporting an upper lip and lower chin combination that was respectable for a lad of his tender years; a particularly hairy colleague who had managed to produce a lush, dark, swarthy number with a mirroring chin covering; and me.  The tension was almost unbearable.  As finalists we quickly agreed that just getting to the last three was a victory in itself.  The chief judge asked one of us to step forward, one to step backward and one to remain in their place.  The moments ticked by.  The audience was on edge.  And then the result was announced...

"And the winner is ... Mr Lawrence!"

Celebratory handshakes all round and high-fives with the kids as I returned to my seat and considered how I could get "2013 Mufti Day Moustache Champion" seamlessly into my CV.

The prize?  Well apart from bragging rights there was none.  And I am really glad that there wasn't a prize.  The best prize for this whole competition thing has been to go round to clumps of kids at breaks and in lessons explaining why exactly I and others have been growing facial hair.  Many have heard of Movember and they had all heard of the school's mufti day.  But not many of them knew what Movember actually did.  They didn't know that we were raising money for research into male cancers in Malaysia.  They were unaware that men could get breast cancer and they all seemed taken aback a bit when I mentioned testicles and cancer in the same sentence.  My school has found a men's health organisation in Malaysia to send money to and I hope that the students and staff who put more then RM 350 into my collection envelope are as pleased with the fundraising result as I am.  Thanks everyone.

It is great to have a bald face again, though.

It is the time of year that I start recruiting for the iGCSE Drama course and it is a time of year that I really enjoy.  It is a tough time for those students who have to make choices about what iGCSE courses to choose, especially the ones who have an agony of riches, the ones who would achieve really good grades in whatever they choose.  

Parents are very involved in their children's choices here in KL but another very important factor in helping to make up a child's mind is ambition.  And boy oh boy there are some children with apparently strange ambitions.  One student told me recently that she would not be allowed to do Drama at iGCSE as it did not match in with her ambition.  That got me thinking.  What did she aspire to do that could not be assisted by studying Drama?  She's quickly enlightened me explaining that she want to be a petro-chemical engineer.  Really? Is that really what 13 year olds dream of becoming?  Luckily standing next to her was another student who swiftly brought the conversation back down to Earth.  "Don't worry, Mr Lawrence," this other student said.  "I don't have any ambitions so I can do what I like and I'd like to do Drama."  Now that is much more like what a 13 year old should be saying and thinking.

In other Drama matters I really enjoyed watching some of our year fives and their play.  They put on a spirited version of Hamlet, complete with musical numbers.  I had never considered the possibility of having a Michael Jackson "Thriller" dance in or even a rendition of "Dem Bones" shortly after the entertaining lad who played Hamlet threw poor Yorick's rubber skull to his mates, but it was all good fun.  My favourite bit had to be when the eponymous hero stabbed Polonius through the hall curtains and announced "Whoops.  Wrong guy."  William S would have loved it and so did I.

I also managed to see "The Dumb Waiter" this week at KLPAC.  I accompanied one of my colleagues and seven iGCSE students and we were all treated to a very good interpretation of the Pinter classic.  The cast and director had set their version in a basement room, which in reality was up three flights of stairs, but the mattresses and strewn litter did help set the scene.  They also sat us audience around the edges of the room so that it was an up close and personal experience.  I really like seeing plays that play with the space and then, in turn, challenge the actors and audience alike.  This may have not been the best acted and directed version but it was so good to see someone taking a few creative risks, so well done to them.

The other Drama matter, apart from Drama reports, is Bugsy Malone.  This year's school show is progressing nicely.  The splurge guns work, the play just about runs smoothly at the moment, still eight days until opening night, and the cast know pretty much all of their lines.  It is just the pies that we have to test out.  On Sunday I was the proud purchaser of eleven cans of shaving foam.  All I need now is someone to volunteer to be experimented upon.

Last night Lexi and I had our first experience of sensory feeding when we went to Dining In The Dark in Kuala Lumpur, as part of a colleague's birthday celebrations.  Dining time was set for 9.00pm, with pre-dining beers arranged for 8.30.  Baby-sitter in place we left home at 7.45pm and got stuck in traffic.  Almost the entire motoring population of KL seemed to be on the road and driving towards the centre.  Made worse by badly timed traffic lights, badly timed and executed lane changes by bad drivers, and road closures we arrived at the restaurant at 9.30, but were not the latest arrivers.

And so it was on to dinner.  Normally eating multi course meals in Malaysian restaurants is a bit of a challenge, the main challenge being predicting which dish will arrive first and whether the dishes that do arrive arrive in the expected order.  Now add complete darkness into that mix and chaos should have occurred.  Surprisingly it did not and although the service was slow the courses did arrive in order and our party of 30 diners all appeared to eat at roughly the same time.  Apparently we were served by blind waiters, but as I couldn't see it could have been warm, soft handed robots for all I knew.  The various courses were good and I didn't spill too much of it down my shirt or trousers.  Lexi, on the other hand, following our leader to our table managed to get dragged along too swiftly and end spilling most of her complimentary cocktail down her front.  

Overall it was a curious experience.

The charity beard continues growing well and enormous thanks have to go the marvellous contributors at school who have, so far, put over RM275 into an envelope that I have waved under their various noses.  The money collected by all the great unshaven will be donated to various cancer research organisations in Malaysia.  

In other school based news I was delighted to learn that one of last year's iGCSE Drama students at my school got the highest overall marks in Drama.  That student worked very hard and thoroughly deserves their accolade.

I have taken the plunge and have decided to stop shaving and attempt to produce facial hair for charity.  It is tricky raising money for Movember charities in Malaysia, especially when my school has just started its annual run up to the mighty Mufti Day fundraising extravaganza.  Last year the students and staff, led by the year eleven prefects, raised over RM 200,000 for a variety of local charities and sick children.  This year will be no different although in the spirit of Movember some of the money raised will go to men's health organizations, recognizing the that certain willing twits are having a few weeks away from the razor blade.

I was very close to getting rid of the facial fuzz late on Sunday and then again early on Monday but pressures of time and the words of David Mitchell stopped me.  On Sunday Lexi had managed to find an episode of Alan Carr's Chattyman on YouTube, with guest David Mitchell.  As well as plugging his latest TV programme he spoke of the joy of beards, claiming that once he had grown his he felt a great sense of achievement.  Naturally I am looking forward to the moment when I no longer itch and share in that sense of hirsute success.  

There has been a change to the security guards at Desa Park City in the past few weeks and that change of company, uniforms and personnel has left me with quite a few questions.  Malaysia appears to have gone security crazy. It is almost unheard of to go to a public space, building, toll plaza, condo, housing estate or car park and not find the place crawling with security guards.  Often these chaps appear to be doing very little apart from checking that machines are doing what they should be.  Uniformed blokes stand next to car park exit barriers watching drivers put their tickets into machines.  Then there is the duplication of duties lads, the guards who stand outside their office and tell the bloke inside the office to press the button to allow barriers to up or down or for a door to open or close.  However the guards who stand at the two main entrances to Desa Park City are troubling me at the moment.   Currently one khaki uniformed, Baden Powell hat wearing guard stands at each of the entry and exits and makes sure that every car that passes receives a crisp salute.... And that is their job.  However it is clearly a job that is not to be taken lightly.  In the week before the new company took over we were treated to the bizarre spectacle of blue uniformed guards training the khaki chaps on how to salute to each passing vehicle.  Questions abound.  How many times per 12 hour shift do the blokes salute?  Do they suffer from repetitive  strain injuries?  Has anyone thought that this is a real waste of human talent?  Nothing will stop the saluting though.  As the children and I drove to school this morning it was pouring with rain so we were treated to the guards, stil. Standing outside their guardhouse, by the exit, we were saluted by a guard, dripping wet, in Wellington boots and full yellow waterproofs.

Luckily we have cultural matters in Chateau lawrence to take our mind off security issues.  Strictly Come Dancing continues to fascinate us all and cause controversy.  Despite being a nice guy Dave really should have been voted out several week ago, although he did give good entertainment to the crowds at home and abroad.  Both Lexi and ok are hoping that Edwin brings just as much entertainment to the dance judges in Singapore this weekend as he and his dance partner compete in the quick step, waltz and their newly learned tango routine.  I have to take on the role of encouraging Dad, taxi driver, outfit arranger and either congratulator or commiserator depending on what the judges decide.

"Mermaids must be very small if they ride on sea horses," observed Trixie on today's visit to Aquaria at KLCC.  

"In fact they must be so small that they are almost invisible to the naked eye," ought to suffice as the parental response.  Aquaria is a pretty impressive fish tank, as fish tanks go, and it certainly got the requisite number of wows and whoas from small Lawrences.  On the conveyor belt thing that took us through, well under, the main tank of sea creatures I enjoyed the "Daddy look at that's" as much as the swimming beast themselves, although I continue to be slightly in awe of the rays.   Thanks to having a Malaysian work permit we also enjoyed discounted admission, which is a bonus too.

In an attempt to try to appear organised I had also packed, thanks to Trixie organising them, the children's swimming stuff and a towel which meant that all three could cool off from the air-conditioned aquarium by having a splash in the play fountains in KLCC, in view of those famous towers.

Having tried three times to go up the Petronus Towers and failed on each occasion I have now officially retired from any further attempt at such tourism.  Part of this is motivated by the sky-high cost of going up said towers.  At RM85 per adult (£17) that is pretty much one ringgit per storey and having made that calculation my thoughts turned to cash strapped UK local authorities.  If people will pay Malaysia's national petrol company top prices to go up in a lift in their office block then could councils such as Wolverhampton do the same?  The Civic Centre is all of four storeys high and so at RM 4 per adult (80p) a lift ride and office tour would be pretty good value as well as generate some income for the City.  Ok it might not have the glamour of KLCC but if people re silly enough to pay £17 quid for a tour of an office surely some would love the chance to take pictures of The Molineux from meeting room three and then pose with the Mayor's official hat on in his/her parlour.  It worth further consideration, methinks.

To get as close an effect to KL, but in Wolverhampton, the City Council would have to employ official whistle blowers.  Not the sort of ones who kiss and tell about what really happens on the dark corners of meeting room two but the ones who stand and blow whistles at tourists.  Right next to the KLCC fountains a spectacularly dressed security officer is employed to stand in the area and blow her whistle with gusto and ferocity at anyone who dares to walk on the path that have "No shoes" signs next to them.  Today's security guard does look quite fearsome and when standing at her full 4'10", blasting on her whistle,  she looks like someone who would relish the chance to lay into an errant shoe wearer.  Tourists and very small mermaids riding seahorses, particularly those wearing horseshoes, be warned.

On the last full day of the Lawrence mini holiday to Penang we have followed our various stomachs to see where they led us.  We had a semi leisurely morning at our sort-of hotel, Century Bay.  It is really just a low rise (15 storey) condo that lets out apartments for short stays.  Fortunately they do not do the Thailand style "short-stays" as the minimum number of nights bookable is four, just right for us.  Our three bedroomed apartment for just under RM250 per night has been very good value really.  We did have to put the helpfulness of the staff to the test this morning as the car would not start as we traveled back yesterday.  The jump leads did their stuff, but the battery was totally dead.  The manager of Century Bay phoned a local mechanic for us and soon after a new battery was fitted.  Marvellous service, although I could have done without the extra car bill.

Hotel breakfast, PE in the gym and then swimming in the pool completed we departed for our tour.  First gastro stop was for a bowl of Penang laksa: noodles, dried fish, onions, chili, pineapple, ginger, lemon and stuff.  At RM4 per bowl it was marvellous.  Next we journeyed north, on the pretty side off the island, and stopped off at Tiyi waterfall, initially for a quick look, nutty at soon turned into the need for a swim.  It was a lovely spot although why do people have to leave their crap behind?  We spotted several piles of food left on the rocks.  However litter lout of the day had to go to one particular Malaysian bloke who was sitting on the rocks looking spaced out after quaffing two cans of Guinness.  Easily done, I suppose. The Guinness in cans here is 6.8%.  However this bloke got to his feet and strolled off leaving his litter behind.  Bizarrely his accompanying mate appeared to be carrying a metal detector with him.  It clearly did not detect the two Guinness cans.  Luckily Lexi and I were there to holler at him and tell him to come back and take his litter with him.  He duly did.

Suitably refreshed we continued northward and stopped at The Nutmeg Farm.  As the name suggests the place grew, processed and sold everything nutmeg.  We sampled nutmeg juice, sniffed and sorted various different nutmegs and even inspected various nutmeg trees, all the time given a guided tour by a lady who knew more than it would seem possible to know about nutmeg.  She even showed us the difference between male and female nutmegs.  Naturally we bought nutmeg souvenirs and will soon eat rice pudding with Penang nutmeg skin, as well as mushroom soup with added essence of Penang.

Spices then led us further on to tropical fruit closely flowed by coffee, well almost.  D'heritage Coffee and Chocolate advertised itself as being the place to go for quality coffee and chocolate so we made sure that we pulled in there.   However to my taste it appeared that it served all things except decent coffee.   The coffee was the ghastly 3in1 variety that mixes coffee, milk powder and sugar.  Nowhere on the menu was fresh brewed coffee with no additives.  Hardly gourmet, says this coffee purist.

Last stop of the day was to meet some colleagues who had just arrived at a hotel in the Batu Ferranghi area.  We spent a pleasant sunset relaxing by their hotel pool and then dining on excellent Indian curry in a restaurant opposite their pad.

The western side of Penang is much less developed than the east and consequently  much more pleasant.  It is also far less packed with tourists with only the determined and those with transport making their way there.  Malaysia though does appear to be a very popular place for Saudi newly weds.  These particular tourists are very easy to identify.  The men usually wear shorts and the women wear all black, 100% black.  Robes, head coverings, veils, the lot.  It really isn't the most practical of outfits for the tropics, let alone the desert.  However it does make checking into a hotel interesting, mainly for the observer.  As we checked in to Century Bay late on Friday a Saudi couple, who were obviously not newly weds as they had their two children and maid with them, were also checking in.  The husband spoke very little English and did not have his passport to hand (why is it necessary for hotel bookings?).  Thankfully his wife, dressed from head to toe in black did have her passport and handed it over for copying.  I sneaked a look at the photo which did have a face on it, unlike the great lady herself.  What actual use was the whole process?  The woman could have been anyone.  Come to think of it was she even the bloke's wife?  Could he be certain that she was who he thought she was?  Curiously the following morning at breakfast there were two ladies in black with the same children and maid, but no husband.  I encourage curious minded readers to ponder on the possibilities.  A second wife?  Husband was one of two "women" and had covered over his beard with a veil?  John Simpson?  Also how did they eat?

Yesterday it was Rhythm Identity Dance School's show, and what a show it was too.    The programme advertised the start time at 1.00pm "prompt" and so promptly at 1.15 the proceeding began.  Hosted by the RI principal, Jaxen, it was a splendid display of zouk, bachata, salsa and latin with added belly dancing too.  Parental bias did dictate that there were two particular hi-lights of the show.  Dancing to "Because of You" The Mighty Kids starred the mighty Trixie, Rupert and Edwin.   There were plenty of cheers from the assembled audience as well proud beams from parents too as our three and three others loved their moment in the limelight. Following on from The Mighty Kids Jaxen announced another act who were "the under ten beginners champions at the Kuala Lumpur Open Dance Competition namely: Koh Zi Tian and Edwin Lawrence."  Another proud moment as this fine pair swept the floor with their quick step.  Marvellous.  Neither Lexi nor I mentioned to anyone that there were only two couples who competed the above category because having champion dancers at whatever class must be a good thing.  Anyway both Zi Tian and Edwin appeared to love every moment and loved the applause too.  Huge thanks go to Sylvia their choreographer and ever patient teacher.

The prize for winning in KL sadly was not £85 million.  That prize has instead gone to the owners of Desa Park City, the part of town that plays host to the current Chateau Lawrence.  Architecturally Malaysia seems to be forever following building advice from, of all people, S Club 7, as developers construct condominiums that reach for the stars.  The latest is about to be started right opposite Chateau Lawrence and promises to be 45 storeys of luxury living "where dreams come true." Having recently dreamt of working in a Kelloggs factory assembling bright pink cereal clusters I have decided not to spend between RM980,000 and RM3,000,000 on one of the 360 apartments in this, as yet, non-existent giant. However nosiness meant that I had to have a look in the sales centre early on Sunday to try to work out why there were crowds of people there.  The development company had laid on food and drinks but the place was packed not with people seeking free grub. No.  They were there to spend big time.  A display showed that around 30% of the units had already been sold and business was brisk.   But as I paced around in my sweaty gym t-shirt and shorts looking every inch the least likely person to buy a condo off plan many others were busy bashing figures into their calculators and talking earnestly with slick sales people.  While this madness carried on I did a few calculations.  360 units at an average price of RM1.2 means total sales of around RM432 or approximately £86 million.  Which in anyone's world is surely ridiculous?  The newly opened Westside condo behind Chateau Lawrence has been almost 100% sold but is currently less than 10% lived in which begs the question why are people buying these places if they are to live in or rent out?  It is also deeply disturbing that there is such an apparent over supply of apartments, but people are still buying?  

Can someone explain?

It seems an awfully long time ago that I woke up in Wolverhampton, had breakfast, travelled to Stourbridge, ate a meat pie, got married, enjoyed a sit down curry with 70 friends and family, danced lots at a barn dance, travelled back to Wolverhampton, caught a flightlink coach to Gatwick, and flew to Samos all in the space of 24 hours.   But then 17 years is a long time and loads has happened since then.  Several jobs, several children, several houses, countries and campervans later  Kuala Lumpur feels a world away from Stourbridge Methodist Church and The Whittington Inn.  

Today's celebrations so far have included getting up at 7.00am, going for a run / stagger, eating breakfast, rehearsing for a y13 play, eating a curry, and returning home.  I am hoping that The Various Lawrences may be able to cap this exciting day off with a meal out.  Ok, it is not quite an amazing party day followed by a week in Greece but it will do for today.

The year thirteen play is coming on well and, as all Drama teachers know it is the last few days that really polish up the rough edges and make the collection of scenes in to a proper play.  

Edwin, Rupert and Trixie are all in the process of rehearsing too, this time for a dance show hosted by their dance school.   Edwin and his partner are doing a quick step and all three Lawrences are doing a group cha-cha-cha too.  The rehearsals have been quite gruel on as they have had to rehearse on two evenings this week as well as for most of the day today.  Is it payback for being a Drama teacher and insisting on lots of rehearsals, I wonder?  Whatever the reason it is show day tomorrow, so we are hoping for the best.

Time has also flown by at my school and it hardly seems a year since it was Sports Day.  Yesterday was the annual big day where hundreds of steaming athletes charged around the University of Malaysia stadium seeking points for their houses as well as glory for themselves.  Following my duties on the high jump last year I was considered to be something of an expert at checking to see if the bar had fallen off or not and so that was exactly what I was assigned to.   Various leapers, straddlers, rollers and floppers threw themselves at differently raised poles with varying degrees of success all the way from the expert, to the novice ("How do I this?" She asked before sailing over 1.25m like she did it everyday.), all the way down to the hopeless and helpless (a category that I would certainly have fitted in to had I ever run out of Athletics Lessons Excuses at school.  

Regular readers will recall last year's star competitor who managed to devise her own unique rectangular and right angular jumping technique that successfully involved running at great speed at the bar and then seemingly stopping dead, jumping up vertically, doing a 90 degree turn in mid-air, shooting forwards and then collapsing in a heap on the crash mat.  When she approached the competition this year I hoped for something similar and wasn't disappointed.  She had clearly been practising.  None of this time-honoured, accepted technique for this athlete.  No.  Fixing on a grimace of determination she charged head on at the bar at alarming speed before hurling herself high into the air arms and legs flailing wildly.  This was only the beginning.  While in mid air she somehow managed to fling her head forwards and the rest of her followed.  Her arms caught up first and her hands landed on the mat and seemed to stop there temporarily while the rest of her caught up.  In catching up her body went into a handstand before momentum took her forward  and into a whirling forward roll. After falling off the mat she got up, turned round to check that the bar was still there, which it was, and with a nod of satisfaction walked away calmly, a job well done, 1.10m successfully jumped.  Ok she messed up her remaining four jumps but with such a flamboyant demonstration of athleticism I am looking forward to being told that I am for the high-jump again next year.