robinlawrence’s Space

There was a sense of injustice felt in Chateau Lawrence last Wednesday as Rupert managed to have a lie in until 6.45am.  Some people might not consider that to be a lie in, but by our standards here (daily alarm at 5.30am) that is positively luxurious.  As previously mentioned it was a Wednesday so that meant that, in the run up to Trixie taking part in the FOBISIA Primary games, she needed to be at school for a 6.15am for a swimming practice and so Edwin tagged along too and took part in an early morning fitness session.  I sat quietly in the Drama office munching cereal and considered how ridiculously early it was to be in school.

After breakfast, reading the paper and then doing loads of emails I taught three lessons, did a bit of marking, helped at a show rehearsal, ran a few kilometres in the gym and then met up with small, tired Lawrences to come home.  Edwin had done a full day while Trixie had done a day a half following her early morning plunge, a day that included loads of classroom stuff along with PE and after school football and gymnastics sessions.

Set against that, Rupert’s lie in until 6.45am, while other toiled and dashed around, seemed wonderful.  Lexi made him toast for breakfast while he dozed on, the two them then drove to school and later to scouts at my school.  A pleasant day indeed.

And things got even better for the lad today as Rupert was summoned to a very agreeable scouting activity this afternoon.  While Trixie dashed around doing more sporty things at the FOBISIA Games Rupert and five other scouts went for a ride in a helicopter.  Yes, that’s right, a helicopter.  Thanks to a very fortunate connection the scouts were offered a 15 minute ride over Kuala Lumpur and its environs and got to see the view of views from the inside of Robinson A66 (I think).  Priced at a mere US$240,000 such a craft is a mere runaround in the world of helicopters, but the leaders and scouts emerged from their flight really chuffed and wowed.

The flight took off from a location just off Jalan Kuantan in Kuala Lumpur.  I had never had the occasion to go there before and so didn’t know what to expect, apart from hoping that we would spy a helicopter and that would give us an idea that we were in the right place.  Duly spotted we parked up and headed towards it.  What we also spotted was a marvellous lake, range of cafes and several hundred bicycles, tandems, bizarre looking Goodies-mobiles and quadracycles.   Storing up an after-helicopter-ride plan Rupert and I splashed out a RM14 for two plated of excellent fried rice plus two drinks, chatted to a bloke at the cafe, and learned that hiring a quadracycle was really cheap.

Soon after Lawrence the Second touched down and soon after many photos taken next to the helicopter we set off to find the perfect pedal-vehicle for us to try out.  Our chosen beast was a two seater quadracycle that he and I soon got to grips with.  All around the lake were well maintained paths and cycle ways that tested out the peddlers knee power as well as their concentration levels, making sure that they did not bump into each other.  We spent a fine Malaysian hour (60 minutes plus 10% service time and 6% GST time) exploring around, waving and grinning at other cyclists.   When we next have a spot of free time I will happily take the entire Lawrence Clan back to Jalan Kuantan and select a five person quadracycle and see if we can generate enough power to dash around the place as a family.

Flattery is an art.  A beautiful art in which the flatteree should be wooed by mellifluous words carefully chosen to put a spring into their step and a smile on their face.  The flatterer has a duty to make the flatteree feel good about themselves and their part in the world full of fluffy lambs and spring flowers.  Occasionally flattery can be a mutually enhancing craft in which the flatteree turns flatterer and receives delightful words in reply to their well-meant and sincere  praising overtones.  

There was a fine outburst of mutually affirmative flattery in Dramaland at the close of play today in which teacher A praised teacher B’s ability in coaching actors.  Teacher B swiftly answered by praising teacher A’s chosen enlightened and imaginative play format.  All of this was witnessed by another teacher, a visitor and contributor to Dramaland’s important work, who sported a curious expression following the exchange, an expression somewhere between “Is this just a Drama thing?” and “Should I start doing this in my department?”

In short flattery, in its purest form, is a fine thing.

Sadly flattery is an art that can be swiftly tainted and used for Machiavellian, tactical intent.  Beautiful flattery can be corrupted into assertive flattery by those in the know.  Those on the receiving end of such monstrous distortion can often find themselves agreeing to take on a course of action that they had, hitherto, never considered doing or, worse still, sits well outside their expertise range.

In schools there are many expert performers of this nefarious version of flattery.  Last year I was dragged through the flattery mill by an expert proponent.  This person used the phrase common to people who celebrate the dark and mysterious sounding title of ‘critical friend.’ The phrase was: ‘You are exactly the right person for this.’  I ended up doing the task that I was apparently exactly the right person for.  I was a victim.

People of the world beware and learn.

I learned a great lesson from a colleague today who had been on the receiving end of a similar experience to me.  Reflecting on this conversation with my wise and scholarly associate I have spotted a chink in the armour of the Assertive Flatterer.  As with all villains AFs love to check that their flattery is having the desired effect, hitting home as it were, and so pause, albeit momentarily, after adding the job title, arduous piece of work or irksome chore that they have done their best to flatter you in to agreeing to undertaking.  That is moment at which the reluctant flatteree must strike.  They have three courses of action.  Firstly to rebuff the assertive flattery by explaining, clearly and confidently, that they do not have the talents that the AF insists they have and that they would most likely create a right pigs ears of the selected task.   This has the downside of making you look like an incompetent, but at least it means you don’t get lumbered with stuff you don’t want to do.  Of course the AF might arrange for training for the victim to become tooled-up, which would be the worst of all outcomes, but usually time and finances are tight so that idea never occurs to them.  

Secondly the flatteree could go to the dark side and explain that while they do not have the necessary attributes for the role they do know exactly the person who has just the skills for the task, i.e. any other poor sod except them.

Then there is the ultimate solution.  A combination of the first and second course of action whereby the receiver of assertive flattery replies along the lines of part one (they don’t have the skills etc) plus part two (they know exactly the right person for the job).   And that person in question?  The Assertive Flatterer themselves, after all everyone likes to be flattered, don’t they?

Thanks to my children I have had my attention drawn to a fine article written by one Avery Gillis, a journalist who has spent a great deal of time investigating one of 2017’s most important world issues: What it takes to become, or become classed as,  a Disney Princess.  Having listened to my children’s interpretation of Ms Gillis’s thoughts I am now much more convinced than I was previously that I am well on the way to becoming a Disney Princess, if I am not one already.

Ok, here goes.

The first qualifying standard is that one has to be human, or if that is not possible, half human.  I am firmly of the belief that I qualify under the former, although my immediate family might think that it is more common for me to be the latter at least, that is, until I have had my first cup of coffee of the day.  Other may disagree with both interpretations but the last time I visited the doctor or applied for a job no-one appeared to raise any concerns abut my homo sapiens or more advanced status.  Ok so far then.

The second qualifier is the need to been the lead character in a Disney movie.  This is clearly only a matter of time and is the reason why I am on the road to becoming a Disney Princess and not a fully fledged one yet.  I am hopeful though and would be grateful for anyone in the film industry who could lend assistance and influence.  Crucially one way of apparently not being classified as a Disney Princess is being the star of a sequel.  I do not know of any films named “Robin Lawrence: The Return,”  “Robin Lawrence 2,” or even “Robin Lawrence: Even Faster and Certainly More Furious,” so I think I am in the clear on that one.

After all this the remaining qualifiers are much more straightforward.  I have to complete one of the following: either be born a royal (I have checked my lineage and don’t think I am related to Queen Elizabeth, The Sultan of Brunei or the Former King Juan Carlos of Spain.  However there is a national day off on Monday for the installation of the new Malaysian Sultan.  While I have not received the call yet I am still hopeful.  Ok so being born a royal is less likely I could cement my credentials about becoming a Disney Princess by marrying into royalty.  I am sure that Lexi would be happy to stick the word Queen in front of her name to help me and, may secretly be related to Charles of Teck or the Windsor Clan.  We receive enough emails from Nigerian and Middle Eastern Princes begging for our help in their quest to move large portions of cash out of their country so maybe I already qualify as Royal.  The final thing that I need to complete in case I do not manage the royalty thing is an act of heroism.  Ok so I have not rescued any kittens stuck up trees recently, but I do regularly stop to assist old ladies across roads.  (The least said about hospitalizing an old lady in a shopping street in Norwich in 1991 the better.)  However my most recent act of heroism, as agreed by Queen Lexi de la Wife, was to drive to her school and collect her, so as to stop her and Rupert getting soaking wet in the rain.

So there we have it.  I am almost a Disney Princess.  All I am waiting for now is for Disney to come knocking at my door or  phoning me up.  Over to you, Disney.

Quite by accident I stumbled across “Escape from Alcatraz” on the TV yesterday and, having never seen it before, watched it and really quite enjoyed it.  I even enjoyed the way that Clint Eastwood et al had seemingly been filmed in purple and yellow, thanks to the still-not-functioning-properly TV.  After the film Lawrences decided that it would be a good idea to watch bit of news while eating our tea. 

Big mistake.

The daft PM that is Theresa May had decided to launch a bid for a snap General Election and had chosen to announce it at tea-time in Kuala Lumpur.  How inconsiderate.  Ok, so it did not put me off my sausages and pasta, but it certainly didn’t improve the experience.  

May’s decision, I believe, is wrong on many accounts.  I am not a Conservative Party supporter or voter and am not a supporter of leaving the EU / Single Market.  I am also not willing to agree to a manufactured consensus that says “well a vote was taken and we should simply accept the result without question and get on with it.”  Especially when enacting the result of that vote is akin to shooting oneself in the foot.  However I am reasonable enough to accept that there are people who strongly believe that the course of action proposed by the UK PM is the right one in terms of leaving the EU.  She has an advisory referendum result to give her a mandate for action and a working majority in Parliament to enact leaving the EU and attempting to go it alone.   If she truly believes that that is the right course of action, despite previously believing that it was in Britain’s best interest to remain the the EU, then she has the wherewithal to do what she believes is right.

However to decide to have a General Election is not the right course of action and smacks of self and party interest rather than doing things for the good of the country.  The Fixed Term Parliament Act was brought in to make sure that Prime Ministers could no longer dictate the dates, and often terms, under which General Elections took place.  The Act removed a significant advantage from the serving Prime Minister (“Now is our best opportunity, folks”) and at the same time took away a significant anxiety for them too (“Is now our best opportunity, folks?) and democracy benefitted as a result.  I am also a firm believer that the first past the post method of electing representatives does not serve democracy well and adds to a very real sense of democratic deficit.

It is very clear that the main opposition party is at its lowest ebb for a long time and that it is in no position to challenge to become the Government at the moment.  It is also clear that the Conservatives are also in with a good chance of winning a bigger majority thanks to Labour being in such a mess and there still being a broken electoral system.  It is also clear that the only political parties and groupings who are Pro-EU are the ones with the least influence and support.  Labour has, at  its best, been ambivalent about Brexit and at its worst pro-Brexit.  The new Theresa May Government has embraced Brexit with great enthusiasm and so why bother voting for a the faux Tories when you vote for the real thing, could well come in to her calculations.  So taken altogether it would appear that the Prime Minister has decided  “Now is our best opportunity, folks,” ignored good legislation and fired the starting pistol on an election race that no-one, except herself and closest chums, wanted.  

May made great play of doing politics properly when she became Prime Minister.  Sadly her decision could well serve to remind UK voters that the worst type of politicians are those who claim to be working in the best interests of the people but their actions appear to show that they are more interested in serving themselves.

A principled stand from the opposition parties could block this proposed General Election.  Many of those who enthusiastically supported the Fixed Term Parliament Act could now, if they had the gumption to, support the Act and decide not to let a wayward Prime Minister get her own way.

Part of me really wishes I had not changed the TV channel.

The reason why all the doors are purple in the Drama department at school are painted the way they are is because I happen to like purple.  A few years ago when it was time for a makeover (of the facilities, not the teachers) I decided that purple would be as good a colour as any so we now have purple doors throughout.  Throughout that is except for the doors that were deemed not to be on full time show and were left as the original red.

Also I have a few purple shirts and ties and quite like the purple colour of certain chocolate wrappers.  Naturally I am at pains to point out to all who might listen that my liking for purple is simply just that, and nothing else and certainly has nothing to do with that hideous political grouping of racists, bigots and clock-turning-backers, UKIP.  It always feels better to write that, because that is precisely what that nasty organisation is.  

Recently the Lawrence Family television has decided to test my patience by choosing to display everything it shows as somewhere on the purple and yellow spectrum, instead of the more conventional multicoloured offering.  This has made watching football more challenging particularly when the team in purple and yellow are playing the team in purple and yellow on a purple pitch, officiated by purple and yellow wearing referees.  All the players and participants in other televisual offerings seem to have entered into the spirit too with many fellow humans choosing to wear yellow lipstick and, in the recent case of watching one of the many Fast and Furious films, driving cars that were either purple, yellow or a mixture of the two.  Rather than read any deep political message into the television colours I reckon it is just on the blink and needs repairing.

However the link chocolate is a useful one in that for the I-don’t-know-how-many-years-in-a-row-now I have gone through a 40 day purge on chocolate for some reason or other.  Working on the premise that it might be good for me as well as it being something that I have done regularly for many years since being inspired by one of my former students I took on the 40 day chocolate fast again this year and have very definitely decided that this year is the last.  Large parts of the whole thing have really annoyed me but most especially my own stubbornness.  The Magnus Magnusson Mastermind idea of having started so needing to finish has spurred me on in this entirely futile 40 days but resulted in extreme irritation.  Saying no to chocolate has been the easy part, occasionally tested though when one colleague discovered a vast bar of dark mint chocolate was not to her taste and asked if could help, as has the shunning of a regular mug of milo.  What has mostly caused me annoyance has been the determination to finish this entirely daft thing that I started.  And now that the time has been completed I am faced with the difficulty of how to break this particularly silly fast.  I have proved to myself that I can do something that I knew I could do anyway as I have done it many times before and now it feels that I should mark the ending of it in some way that celebrates that achievement albeit a pointless one.  In short, what do I do now?

One thing I have certainly decided to do is to give up giving up chocolate.  I am not a massive eater of the stuff, but do like it.  

Something I did take on during the Lent session and chocolate fast was supporting the free press.  If that sounds  a bit of an extreme reaction caused by a chocolate fast then there is only a very tenuous link between the two.  Also as a liberal it is one of my core principles, despite my occasional frustrations with badly informed local journalists when I was a member of the council.   Here in Malaysia the main newspapers are Government controlled and need to have official licences in order to be allowed to publish.  Consequently they suffer from the old “he who plays the piper ….” thing.  Any non approved news media is very hush hush, one in particular being so hush hush that you can only officially access it from outside of Malaysia.  I have always believed that a free press is a vital tool in making sure that politicians and public officials can be scrutinized by those whose money they are stewards of.  Therefore I have started making monthly contribution to https://www.theguardian.com/uk partly as a thank you for letting me access that paper each day for unfiltered online access but also as a small way of showing my belief in the importance of a free press.  I was particularly pleased with their coverage of the on-going IMDB situation in Malaysia the thought-provoking Long Read articles.  

Long may a free press continue to report on and question the decisions and policies of the those in power (both those who have been given power by voters and those who have seized power from voters).  Sadly no journalist has, as yet, decided how I should end my chocolate fast or suggest what to do with a dodgy TV.

It is sort of Easter, officially known as the end of term two holidays,  so sundry Lawrences have headed off on holiday, this time to Taman Negara otherwise known as the national forest of Malaysia.  More of that anon, but because it is the holiday season for my school that means that plenty of teachers are on holiday including Trixie's class teacher, who along with three other colleagues walked past us near to the ferry / river area yesterday.  After exchanging pleasantries with the party, that also included Edwin's physics teacher and his history teacher, we went on our way only for Trixie to shout out at the top of her voice "That was weird."  Her class teacher called her over, much more quietly, and did that quick change of role from tourist to teacher and replied "Too loud, Trixie."  No teacher ever wants their cover blown, least of all by their students.

Today we followed well laid out paths and walkways around the jungle that led us along the river, up hills and up to a canopy walk that was much enjoyed by the kids.  Despite slightly aching knees I agreed to Trixie and Rupert's request to clamber up the canopy walk for a second turn, crossing seven walkways high up in the trees.  The adventurousness of the ten year old girl and eleven year old boy is quite a spur.  Edwin and Lexi led an advanced party on to a riverside restaurant to buy cold drinks.  The mango lassis they tracked down were marvellous.

Taman Negara is a 200km plus drive from KL but it was also a culinary journey as well as a bit of a trek.  A good way into our drive and well off the motorway we drove past a rotisserie chicken seller closely followed by a smoked fish stall.  Soon after that we found a town and bought rice and noodles to go with an excellent lunch.  Trying out my almost non existent Bahasa I confidently ordered two

smoked fish, combining my knowledge of satu, duo, tiga, umpat and lima, and my ability to read a sign.  All of this was watched by Lawrence children who have had countless Bahasa lessons.  Do I sound like an old git if I start gabbling on about "What do they teach them in language lessons?"  Fortunately Trixie's Bahasa teacher was not part of the gang that we passed yesterday.

The jungle area here is battling against the progress of time in the form of oil palm, and thanks to various measures it is succeeding.  A different organisation that is resisting the progress of time are the various exam boards.  Last week in school marked the annual daftest week of the year in that it was the week when my department colleagues and I had to finish and then submit the IGCSE Drama coursework.  We had already completed the marking and moderating of all 20 plus monologues, devised and scripted plays and then had to fill various forms and make a DVD of the students' work.

It was the DVD that caused the most hassle and really didn't need to be that way.  Quite why exam boards insist on schools spending ages making DVDs and then posting them along with paper copies of mark sheets is beyond me.  The exam board that my school uses is regarded as the elite, but I reckon is around 14 years behind the time.  The board have not yet agreed to accept video of students' work on memory sticks (something that would at least cut out one part of the DVD making process).  I first discovered memory sticks in 2003.   Coupled with the still as yet unchallenged way of handwriting for several hours as a form of assessment the DVD is a ball and chain around our collective Drama teaching necks.  Video file sharing is so easy and can be made secure very easily that renders making DVDs obsolete.  When I asked my class of year eleven students about how they would share video material with each other they suggested all the many ways that it could be done easily and helpfully roared with laughter when I told them about making DVDs.   Come on exam boards.  Get with the times.

A few year ago I read Dave Gorman’s “America Unchained” where instead of moaning too much about The Man he instead set about traveling from West to East doing his level best to buy food, fuel and lodging from independent, “Mom & Pop” businesses.  It was a typical Dave Gorman adventure travel log where he was beset by difficulties and problems and ended up coming-out the end having learned a few things and developed a few more tales.

One of the reasons he set out to do this crossing was due to him having stayed in so many soulless, identikit hotel rooms while undertaking the American leg of his latest comedy tour.  That identikit hotel room is alive and well across the world and involves a small entrance corridor off of which is a windowless bathroom with hotel branded soaps, toothbrushes and combs.  After the bathroom there is then the main room proper with a varying number of beds, furniture, a television facing the beds and a window.  Depending on how much one has paid will determine whether there are hot drinks making tools, writing paper, a telephone, blinds, bed decorations and a minibar.

Our hotel in Band Aceh last night followed exactly the pattern as described above and would have irritated Mr Gorman loads.  Now Banda Aceh can be forgiven lots mainly because it was all but wiped out on Boxing Day 2004 thanks to a tsunami where thousands were killed and the town was largely destroyed.  However having just spent three delightful nights on the island of Pulau Weh it is very hard to think too favorably about our Banda Aceh box.  

Freddie’s, our guest house / resort on Pulau Weh was like no other that Lawrences have stayed in.  It is a collection of bungalows built into the low level cliffs on the eastern side of the H shaped island with steps that lead down to a white sand beach and a clear turquoise sea.  There are none of the uniform hotel rooms but the resort, run by the eponymous Freddie, is hot on getting the things right that need getting right.  Firstly getting from Banda Aceh airport to the the ferry and then the ferry to the resort is a well organised and slick procedure thanks to excellent organization from local taxi driver and people mover extraordinaire Mr Irfan.  Freddie then welcomes new comers with a calm assurance and the delightful beach bungalows have exactly what is needed: comfortable beds, plus an extra pull out bed for extra bodies, perfect in our case as we rented two bungalows.  Freddies had done away with plastic water bottles in rooms providing refillable water storage and glasses to go with the kettle and cups.

However it is the food, much of it cooked by Freddie and thanks to his expert tutorage, his well trained staff, that really sells the place, if the location hadn’t already.  The breakfast buffet priced at around 35000 rupiah per person is excellent and then the evening dinner buffet at 65000 is even better.  On night one we tucked into fresh tuna steaks, rice, mango salsa, salads, cheese layered potatoes, fruit and cake after a starter of mushroom soup and calamari rings.  And the next two dinners were equally good too.  We will be returning just for the food!

But back to Banda Aceh and the hotel….  A short walk out of the place and we found a river and next to the river a few roughly built tables.  Using Rupert’s fledgling Bahasa, Edwin’s dramatic tendencies and our combined have a go approach we managed to order plates of noodles, use the loo and wash hands.  The only small snag was that we may have laboured the point a little to much when asking for no chilli in the noodles, to the point whereby the opposite could have been communicated.  The day didn’t end with too many bangs though, just a group photo with the noodle chef, his family and some mad, noodling eating foreigners.

It is really quite some place.  But what is it?  Freddie's place isn't really a resort as that implies swimming pools and massages and wall to wall Bob Marley songs.  No Freddie's is a collection of bamboo based bungalows nestled into a cliff side with a path leading to white sand and a windswept beach.  More about that soon.

It took a sort of long and short time to get here though.  My school was closed on Friday for part of the Chinese New Year holiday, but Lexi's wasn't.  That left me with the main job for that day of packing stuff and buying new school trainers for Trixie.  Her feet, herself, her older hairy brother and I set off to do that and succeeded relatively easily at the second shop.  Our biggest challenge of the outing though was what to do with the posh car-key that we found on the ground outside Mont Kiara Plaza.  We thought for a while and dithered.  There was a police station across the road and so we instantly decided not to hand the key in there.  That very office was one of the places I went to to try to pay a traffic fine and was met with a look of such incredulity and confusion that I left quickly.  No, this was not a matter for the police.  Our dithering continued until one of the parking attendants from 1 Mont Kiara Mall

came over and offered to look after it, as his booth was in a prominent position in front of that mall.  That seemed like the best plan.  Just in case the owner of a missing key is reading this the key clearly belonged to a Kia and had a small torch attached to it.

Packing complete we all set off this morning after an all too brief and slightly fitful sleep.  The alarm had been set for 4.00am.  The fear of oversleeping and missing all the planned connections always results in a bit of sleep anxiety with the end result being that you tend to sleep the best and deepest five minutes before the alarm goes off.

A key part of Lawrence early mornings is listening to the podcast of The Archers and today was no different.  Lexi and I were both delighted that Pat effectively threw Ursula out of the Bridge Farm shop into the wintery weather.  However the big question of where Rob is still remains.

Our booked taxi arrived right on cue and departed with us all in it smack on 5.00am.  We arrived at the always bustling KLIA2 just before 6.00am, did the necessaries, then discovered that we had around an hour and a half to wait for our flight.  It would have been Sod's law that if we had taken a bit longer to get up or slept for longer, to cut out some of the waiting then something would have gone wrong.  So we had some calming down time and coffee time.

The 0755 flight to Banda Aceh all went well, but it did have a terribly rushed feeling as the crew charged around trying to serve pre-booked breakfasts and clear everything away in just 1.5 hours.  My chicken curry breakfast went down well.  It then took ages to get through immigration.  Last year Indonesia removed the US$35 entrance ch.., sorry,  visa on arrival fee, for people from non ASEAN  nations.  That has sped up things a bit, but only marginally.  It still took an age to photograph us all and stamp our passports.  Brsexiteers note: is this one of the things that you yearn to see happening at British borders?

Fortunately I had arranged some transfers with Freddie of Freddie's place and waiting for us at the airport was a lanky, smiling bloke clutching a piece of A4 paper on which was written "Robin."  In a scene reminiscent of all good actions films he greeted us all with "With have very little time, Mr Robin, follow me quickly please."  I accepted this statement at face value and once in his taxi we roared off at a speed that seemed to demonstrate exactly how little time we had.  He would have made a terrible immigration officer roaring through the streets at 120km/p/h apologising for the lack of power in his car.  Credit to the bloke: he did get us to the ferry on time, despite receiving a phone call to say that the ferry wanted to leave early so could we hurry up?  Bless him, he did hurry up.  His mate was at the port and presented us with tickets, which an official then took an age to tear before we boarded and set off.  Are official

Indonesian uniforms infused with slow release sleeping draughts that reduce the wearers speed to glacial?

Nearly an hour later we arrived in Sanung port, on Pulau Weh, where we were collected by another taxi driver who this time drove at a speed that the ticket tearer and customs official would have approved of.  Twenty minutes later we arrived.

Feeling like we had been through the wringer we greeted Freddie, a charming South African host and spent the next hour or so in our bungalows slowing down, or at least trying to reduce our average speed.  

Before sampling lunch of fried noodles or fried rice and juices we had a quick listen to the opening of The Kermode and Mayo Film

Review podcast, another of the essential listens.  For any non Wittertainment listeners this following section will make little sense, but the best thing to do would be to listen to the show from 20th January and 27th January on a the BBC five live website and also swot up on the code of conduct too.  Moving on then Edwin's email to Messers Mayo and Kermode was read out by their bad selves to much amusement from the pair of esteemed doctors.  They particularly liked the picture that the lad painted of consternation on his form tutor's face when Edwin handed him a packet of soft white rolls.  The Good Doctors have advised the Mr Davies of Kuala Lumpur to write to them again to try to clear up the confusion.  Needless to say Edwin was delighted to have had his email read out and chuckled over by a cinema critic and a broadcasting great.

After dining, and still seeking to slow our speed we had a walk and explore around the area before a rest and then dinner.  Freddie had told us that dinner was a buffet arrangement at 7.30pm, so we agreed and smack on 7.30 we arrived in the sea view dining area to be faced with some of the best food I have ever munched through.  Mushroom soup, fresh calamari and with sweet chilli sauce, tuna steaks served with mango salsa, cheesed and garlicky potatoes, rice, salad, tofu bean sprouts and an amazing sauce too.  And followed by chocolate cake.  The tuna had come from a 32kg beast from the local market, which Rupert who is also 32kg, but not a beast, particularly enjoyed. All this grub was a special value price of 65,000 rupiah per head, around £4.50.  We will be having dinner here again.

Following a friend’s recommendation all Lawrences went out exploring yesterday evening, in search of a sunset.  It is rare in Kuala Lumpur for there to be clear, cloudless blue skies and so the past few days have been really rather nice.  One of the best locations to enjoy sunsets we had been recently told was at Ampang Lookout, about 30 km away from our place.

A brief internet search soon showed that the official Ampang Lookout had been closed down more than two years ago for an unspecified reason, and as we drove past the official entrance it was clear that the authorities did not want anyone to enjoy sunset from that particular lookout.  Large rocks had been placed across the former car park and very large metal gates had been erected.  Demonstrating that we had been in Asia for several years now Edwin suggested “Let’s ignore the gates and just go round them anyway, Dad.”  However these were pretty mean looking gates and there was absolutely no-one there breaking the rules as is often the case in many places.

So instead we followed the advice we had been given and drove on, slightly downhill for about another kilometre to find a bend in the road and a super view across the sprawling, high-skylined city that is Kuala Lumpur.  Sunset had not yet started officially but several traders were putting out tables and chairs as well as setting up cooking equipment ready for the early evening, relaxed rush.  We found a parking space easily and as the place slowly filled up with people and their smart-phones and selfie sticks we sipped our drinks and enjoyed being out in the coolish open air and blue skies.  

Yes it was an unofficial lookout but it was a lookout in many other senses of the word.  Because we were on the side of a hill we had to look out and make sure that we did did not trip up on the man made slope flattening and storm drain coverings that were in practical places but offered the opportunity for anyone not looking out to trip over.  We also had to look out as we soon became part of one of the most unsubtle ways in which to photograph oneself and family with the funny looking foreigners.  The children swiftly downed their iced milos and I devoured a really good teh tarik and we became increasingly aware of an Auntie-aged lady pushing a small girl closer and closer to where Trixie and Rupert were seated.  The Auntie began snapping away merrily while trying not to look like she was really taking pictures of  us lot.  She then sought to try to get more of her party in the picture.  I am sure that she would have set up an entire group shot if I had not, politely said, “Thank you, enough.”  There are a lot of non Malaysians working and living in Kuala Lumpur so a non-Malaysian is a common sight.  Hence me wondering why people want to take photos with complete strangers?  The non-Malaysian is a common sight here.  A few years ago we were a major tourist attraction in China as there were five of us in a family but here in Kuala Lumpur it is very rare.   I really don’t get it.

I did have to look out earlier today at school when I found myself going around the primary area of school near break time.  I heard a small squeal and then sensed an enormous cuddle.  Early in the year, when I did a bit of teaching with year twos, I got quite a lot of hugs when I went past that classroom, most probably to make up for the fact that one of the class poo-ed during one Drama lesson.  However this cuddle was a proper one.  I looked down and saw a small grinning Trixie.  Many people ask what it is like having your own kids in the school that I work in.  I spent a year teaching Edwin, taught Rupert for one lesson and have now taught Trixie on several occasions this year and can safely say that having your own kids in school has worked and is still working well for me, especially when cuddles come my way.  

According to a link that I saw on facebook the Buddha once said, in his / her chosen language, "Do not be fooled by outward appearances.  Real beauty comes from within."

I like this sentiment.  What you think and what you do is more important than what you look like and an extension of this is that what you think and what you do will also affect your outer appearance to others, often to its advantage.  All good so far.  

So if El Buddha is to be believed and followed why do we impose seemingly daft rules about certain body parts on certain occasions?

Earlier this week The Lawrence Clan visited The Uluwatu Temple on the far south of the island of Bali.  I am no expert on world religions but it was a nice spot and the views were great too.  There were various ornately carved things and areas and lots of people brandishing selfie sticks.  It was also sunset too.  

Before we could enter the complex all Lawrences had to be inspected however.  The official who inspected us, as is often the case in such places, was some old bloke who looked like he had been chosen for the job due to his advanced years and thus an assumption that these years had brought him wisdom.  He gave the children long, thin rectangular pieces of orange material which they were told to tie round themselves (Edwin being the ever respectful teenager decided to tie it round his head) and purple sarongs to

Lexi and I.  

But what to do with the cloth?  The bloke showed his deep knowledge and gesticulated in a random direction over my shoulder, thus completing the sharing of his cloth based wisdom.  It would appear that tying the thing around my waist to cover my knees was what was required.  With covered knees and a questioning mind I and other Lawrences entered the complex.

And it was ok as a temple complex.  Packed with sarong wearing gentlemen and ladies often accompanied by their non sarong wearing children or teenagers with cloths on heads.  It was clearly the knees that were the main difficulty in the complex.  Uncovered heads, hair, shoulders and toes were all fine but adult knees were not permitted.  Just to add to the sartorial confusion in the place we were not permitted to enter the most sacred of inner temples at all leaving me thinking why the hell did we have to cover our knees in the first place?

It seems that we are in a stage of the human evolution process where we are going through a daft phase about clothing.  While I am not advocating total nudity everywhere in the world I am also not ruling it out completely.  What I am against is the randomness of clothing rules, rules that have no logical reason for existing other than seeming to be used to exert A's will over B or, even worse, as a tool of oppression.

Needless to say I rebelliously tied my sarong so that the breeze blew it away from my knees and secretly applauded the tourist who was not wearing a sarong, freely enjoying the place, proudly, with knees.

Come on humans.