robinlawrence’s Space

The starter motor has been playing up on our transport tank, the Hyundai Trajet, and so Wednesday was the day for it to be replaced by Sam, our marvellous mechanic of choice.  He collected the car from home while we were all at work, did the job and returned the car, plus bill, later.  Good.

However that one car family day was the catalyst for lots of complex events to occur.  All teaching, learning, lunching and normal daily stuff went well and when the school day was over the work proper began.  Wednesday is Scouts for Rupert so that meant a 9km drive to Rupert and Lexi’s school to collect the great man and take him back to mine for a 3.45pm start.  Nine km is no distance really, but given the vagaries of after school traffic it could have taken a while.  It didn’t, phew, and he and Lexi were in their appointed meeting place at the right time.  All good so far.

We arrived back to my school in plenty of time for Rupert to get to Scouts, he nipped back to Lexi’s car to collect the invitations to his birthday party on Sunday, and after bidding him farewell Lexi and I sneaked off for 30 minutes for a drink: a mango smoothie for Lexi and a root beer float for me, which I enjoyed despite having forgotten that root beer tastes just like germoline smells.

Tribe was finishing her media and film-making CCA (co-curricular activity, aka ‘club’ in old money) at 4.00pm so Lexi and I made sure we were in the right place to meet The Girl Lawrence, conveniently on the Drama floor.  

The next meeting time was 4.30 when Edwin finished his two CCAs, water polo followed by choir. Quite a combination.  So as to prevent too much wasting of time Lexi and Trixie decided to flag down a taxi and go home, which they didn’t need to do as my colleague was driving their way.  They piled in and got out at Lexi’s school to retrieve bicycles, with Trixie being big enough to ride Rupert’s.

Edwin arrived bang on time for him at only, ten minutes after the finishing time, and then we collected Rupert at 5.15pm, to find out that Wednesday had been the day he was invested into Scouts.  Without realising it we had missed the ceremony.  Drat.  Well at least it was now home time for us all.  We walked to Lexi’s car, readying ourselves to drive it home… which would have been much easier had one of us got the keys.  Between Rupert, Lexi, Rupert’s party invitations, a root beer float, a mango smoothie and I we had somehow not got the keys.  A phone call confirmed that Lexi had them.  

Time for a taxi to Desa Park City.  

But there were further problems to sort out  The bicycles.  When Lexi and Trixie had arrived back at her school they discovered that Rupert’s bike lock key was in his bag, which was in her car, the keys to which she had and the car in question was 9km away from them.  Lexi managed to ride her bike home while fortune’s sweet smile meant that one of her colleagues could give Trixie a lift.

We all managed to eat tea together in the same place, home, at the same time.

After dinner, leaving Edwin in charge of Rupert, Rupert in charge of Trixie and Trixie in charge of Edwin, Lexi and I set off back to school in the newly working Trajet to collect Lexi’s car.   All was, once again, well.

Apart from Brownie Camp, that is.

Earlier in the day, in the lift, two smiling characters had beamed toothy grins at me and asked, with no preamble. “Is Trixie going to Brownie Camp this weekend?”  I looked blankly back at them and just about managed an “Err” in response before they followed up with a quick “You are Trixie’s Dad aren’t you?”  I admitted that I was.  And so they asked again about camp to which I had to admit that I knew nothing about it.  Brownie camp?  Trixie had not mentioned anything about it.  There had been no letters, emails, knocks on the door.  The lift arrived on the ground floor and the toothy grins dashed off, still attached to two small girls.

Back in the office I sent an email to the Brownie Leader, who in a typically efficient Brownie manner, announced that there was indeed a camp, the toothy characters had been right, and it was indeed happening on Friday to Sunday.  More frantic email exchanges, transfers of money and she was signed up, apart from the paperwork.  It turns out that the camp should have been in October but was cancelled due to the haze of KL.  Only girls who were nine at the time were invited to camp so that ruled Her Ladyship out.  By February she had gained the necessary years and so could go, but had been missed off the booking due the list of invitees being based on the October cut off attaining the right number of years.

The final piece of the Wednesday’s logistical fun took place this morning as I printed off the official Brownie Camp Permission Form in the office, filled it in, and then gave it to Edwin to give to the Brownie Leader’s daughter to give to her Mum.   Hoping for no weak links in that chain I trusted to good fortune.  Everything was going to work, despite Trixie forgetting her sandwiches today.  She arrived in the Drama office with her chum at lunchtime and failed to look forlorn by marching up to my desk, saluting and saying in a fluent Dick van Dyke voice “Alright Guv’nor!”  While I did not have a Mary Poppins carpet bag or pavement chalks with me I did let her borrow my lunch tag to pay for a spot of grub.  She salute again, about turned and departed with chum in tow to commence their banquet at Daddy’s expense.

But stop press… How was Trixie going to get to the camp pick-up point at another international school on the other side of the city by 4.00pm on Friday and then how was she going to get back ob Sunday afternoon, the time of Rupert’s party?  Thank heavens for another set of working / teaching parents who are in the same boat as us and are happy to share lifts!

It is at times like this that I wished that I was much more practical.  Currently I wish that I had some mechanical knowledge.  I wish that I knew more than just the rudiments of engines.  The Lawrence Mobile won't start.  That level of diagnosis was fairly straightforward.  I put the key in, turned it and the engine started to turn over.  All was well.  The only problem was that the engine would not fire.  That is where my ability at diagnosis ends.  It is not the battery and it is not a flat tyre.  I can spot those and solve them both.  But anything more hi-tech is beyond my abilities.

If it is any help I can spot, immediately, where a GCSE Drama or A Level play isn't working and cure it.  I can come to the aid of a monologue performer whose characterisation is misfiring and I can provide spark to the devised play.  But, currently, I can not start my car.

Thankfully we have a telephone mechanical assistance thing as part of our insurance policy that I am hoping will come to my help but these things always happen at the most inconvenient of times.  Edwin is currently socialising with a friend and has a dance lesson shortly while Lexi, Rupert, Trixie and I are 10km from home.  Lexi and kids have therefore departed in a taxi while I wait.

Which leaves me to ponder gaps in my education and knowledge.  Should I have done a "How Get A Petrol Engine Going" course at school instead of learning all about corrie lakes and Chrystaller's Theory?  Should "Trouble Shooting For Beginners" have been the thing for all first years rather than learning how to draw perfect rectangles and matchboxes with Mr Moore?  And would it have been better if I had learned logical problem solving instead of how to use a set-square?  That answer is in all probability a resounding YES.  But then also how far is my life education something that I have to take responsibility for?  I really don't have the patience for tinkering around with engines, whereas I love tinkering with plays.  I don't want to buy fuse testing kits, I would rather be buying character hats.

So here I am, waiting for some bloke, who knows more useful stuff than I do to come along.  Thank goodness there are people who know about these things.

And now over to Keith for the travel news ...

Yes thanks, Rob.  And what a wise idea it was to book flights for your family trip to Singapore in two weeks time after your nearly ten hour drive back on Saturday.  Let's hope that the airport immigration system works much better for you than the land border crossing.

Wise advice from Keith.

(Update:  A nice man on a moped arrived and he started the engine second time.  Magical fingers?)

There are lots of things that you do really well, not least one of them being the scale of the annual Shakespeare Festival, more of which in a moment.  You do extremely efficient and interconnected public transport which is sensibly priced.  You do, famously,  sensible road behaviour and crossings.  I am really pleased that you do pavements that are smooth and do not have massive trip hazards and holes in, well done.  You do efficient supermarkets that enable busy Drama teachers to get their charges around swiftly when needing to feed a school group in a hurry.  You do clean, centrally located YMCA Hotels, which are not only convenient but fun to stay at too.

Lots of Drama  But it is Drama in the good sense of the word.  Not the kind of thing that lots of parents say at school Parents Evenings “She should be good at it, Mr Lawrence.  We get lots of Drama in our house.”  No.  Good Drama.  

Last week hosted a visit by the correctly titled theatre company Splendid Productions.  They brought wth them their version of The Odyssey an interpretation that looked more at people’s reactions to Odysseus’s travels rather than the man himself.  One of the ways they help make this work was by having Odysseus played by a wooden spoon.  The three actors stayed at Chateau Lawrence for four nights and then went off to various schools to do their thing.  They spent most of Thursday at my school where we also welcomed in students from five other international schools to watch the play with us, followed by a workshop led by the excellent actors.  They were easy house guests, entertaining company, and splendid performers.  

Quickly following on from that was an opportunity to go and watch my favourite play, Hamlet, on what would have been Mr Shakespeare’s 452nd birthday (if we accept that 23rd April was his birthday).  The British Council hired out one cinema screen in a central KL mall for the evening and after speeches showed a filmed version of Hamlet, first performed at the Manchester Exchange Theatre with Maxine Peake playing Hamlet.  I very much liked the play, especially as it was in the round, and thought that having a female Hamlet helped me focus more on the character of Hamlet rather than the celebrity actor who was playing it.  Once again though I was irritated the a character who is meant to be in his early twenties, a student in Wittenberg, was played by a 40+ actor.  While it not quite the crime of Stockard Channing playing a teenaged Betty Rizzo while aged 33 it still does not feel right.  A late 30s / early 40s Hamlet who is denied his kingdom by his uncle can often lead to that Hamlet appearing inadequate an potentially justify the actions of Claudius in seizing the throne.  Whereas a head-strong, no-fear-of-the-world 22 year old student whose Dad had just died and has lost his throne to his uncle?  That sounds a far more appealing and exciting play to watch.  

Trixie has been deep in rehearsals for The Lion King and has been practicing her extensive range of goofy expressions and noises as required in her role as Ed The Hyena.  Never being shy about coming forward she is loving rehearsals.  Rupert meanwhile charmed his way through his year six camps last week, in Langkawi.  Despite there being transport problems right at the beginning in the form of coach with a flat tyre leading the party having to catch a later flight, he had a great time.  He sang at the talent show evening, planted mangroves, swam in interesting places and got involved in painting a nursery.  The hi-light of the week though was, according to him, witnessing one of the teachers getting stuck in some mud.  Teacher misfortunes are always the most memorable.  

Edwin then took part in the first dance competition with his new partner.  They were classes as beginners in the couples cha cha cha and jive, but were clearly much better than beginners, as they stormed to a relatively easy victory in a field of complete beginners.  Lexi and I, plus his partner’s parents are no keen for them both to enter a field where there is some genuine competition.

We have been plagued by much controversy while here in Lombok.  Clearly events in Ambridge haven't helped but the controversy that we have faced on a day to day basis at Jo Je Bungalows, our place of residence, has been to do with toast, specifically: how much toast is extra toast.  Breakfast on the beach was included in the price, something of a requirement these days as I am not a great fan of having to head out to find grub early in the morning followed by hungry children, and we have all enjoyed the experience.  But with growing boys and girls, not to mention parents, the option of buying in extra toast and hence supplementing our rations has been one that we have taken up each day.  Now variety is the spice of life but a bit of consistency is also quite nice too.  Each day the extra toast has arrived in different sized portions ranging from three half slices to five and once including an extra orange juice on one particularly random day.  There have even been variations on the same day between extra toast portion one and two with portion two being greater than portion one.  And that is without us even thinking about the addition or not of jam.  Controversial indeed.

Certainly our time has not been without opportunities to spend our tourist rupiah.  Our combined mental arithmetic has been put to the test when converting to Malaysian Ringgit (3215 Rupiah to the Ringgit) or slightly more simple the conversion of 18600 to the GBP.   Loads of beach traders have been very keen to relieve us of that cash by offering us string bracelets, necklaces, earrings, rings, pearls (all of which apparently have been genuine and of very good quality), t-shirts, wooden carvings, bowls, massages, fruit, and so the list goes on.  Fortunately it has been in a very smiley way and after three to five "No Thank Yous" the traders have left us alone. (While sitting writing this paragraph I have been approach by one bloke selling bananas and rambutans and another guy selling pirated DVDs.  Probably sensing what my mind was composing, we had been earlier helped across the road by a bloke keen to sell us a range of day tours.

Our car hire here was good value and yesterday it helped us complete a mini tour of the area.  After some searching we managed to find the rather nice Pura Lingsar Temple complex.  It was a mix of styles in that there was a large rectangular archway to approach the place through and the complex was a series of squares interconnected.  Naturally there were various people who were offering souvenirs at "very-good-price-only-look-is-ok" which we ignored.  Instead we paid a small donation and gained the necessary entrance ticket to explore the inner, open-air sanctum.  Unexpectedly the ticket was wearable: a bright yellow sash that we were instructed had to be tied around our midriffs.  Fortunately our girths were of a slim enough size to be able to wear the things and so we set off to  stroll around.  Thankfully non of fell foul of the other strict entrance condition in that menstruating women were not permitted entrance.  Why do world religions have so many silly rules?  I had better stop there before a rant develops.

Later we found, a bit by luck, Narmada Park, an even larger complex of squares, paths, places to wear yellow sashes while not menstruating and even a swimming pool and zip wire over a lake which the boys enjoyed very much.  

As with other attractions that we had found we discovered these places by semi accident.  Our map gave us a general idea of where the places were but after that we had to employ a sort of hopeful guesswork in that there were very few roads signs.  One kilometre before our destination of Pura Lingsar we drove into a place signed Puri Lingsar which turned out to be a well hidden hotel and when we first arrived in Narmada we eventually discovered that we had been within yards of the park but thanks to no signs we had had to explore a bit before arriving.  Still the explore was worth it.

Driving on Lombok has been a slightly more good-natured  and not quite so frantic version of the KL motoring experience.  Mopeds abound and travel around at a range of speeds occasionally employing a freestyle approach to the left hand side of the road.  Roads are generally fine for two small ish cars to pass each other although overtaking slow moving mopeds can be a challenge given the twisting nature of the roads. 

Overall the trip has been a good one with the culinary art high points being peanut curries on the beach leaving me with a desire to learn how to make peanut sauces.

The Lawrence Clan arrived in Lombok late on Thursday evening and checked into the very nice JoJe Bungalows, right on the beach in Senggigi ...., but she stabbed him!  Wow.  He tried to get her to kill herself and then she turned the knife on him!  (Sorry, The Archers.). 

Lombok has an irritating way of welcoming people from certain countries by charging them US$35 per person for a visa.  Apparently this privilege is only levied on those arriving at the airport and is not charged in other parts of the country.  How pleasant.  The smiling, uniformed official who was relieving people of their money offered to accept our Malaysian Ringgit, 875 of them in cash he smarmed.  Reluctantly I handed over my credit card and found that the cost became RM760.  Where would the other RM100 have gone?  But where was Henry going when he came down stairs?  And what would Rob have done to Henry if he had have chased him back upstairs?

We have had some great food here so far especially the peanut curries and cucumber, seafood and chilli salads at the excellent Cafe Coco Loco, again right on the beach in Senggigi, but with all the goings on at Bridge Farm who is going to find the time to drill the carrots that Tony said needed doing?  And on food matters did the evil Rob force Henry to throw his Easter egg away in the food waste bin? And how could anyone part a small child with their cuddly rabbit?

We managed to find one of the many waterfalls on Lombok and were given a semi official tour by a self appointed waterfall expert who said that he had done a lot of reconstructive work on the path leading there as well as flattening out the area set aside for cars to park.  The fall itself was around twenty metres high and the plunge pool was a great thing to swim in.  There was one other family there who initially watched on ... but why didn't Kirsty call the police instead of watching on briefly from outside the house?  In fact where was she exactly when the stabbing took place?  But surely she can't be blamed for the any eventual outcome, can she?  She gave Helen as much support as she could and she was genuinely fearful of bloody Rob, who is now quite a lot more and less bloody at the same time.

All around Senggigi there are loads of people keen to sell us bracelets, trinkets, nick-nacks, clothes, pirated DVDs, taxi rides, noisy spinning tops, pearls and flashing LED lights.  Not being someone who requires tonnes of these sort of things I have managed to resist as I have also resisted the offers of massages, sunglasses, beach raps, and the like.  Our clan did enjoy an ok-ish cake or two from a cafe in Senggigi but in a moment of life imitating art all the cakes would have been improved by the addition of custard.  No!  Why couldn't he make his own fizzing custard?  And what has happened to the pie in the oven?  Helen has been arrested and taken away, Henry we presume is being looked after by Pat and Tony and Rob is battling between life and death with the jury being out about whether he should morally live or die.  But what about the pie in the oven?  Will it be the cause of a serious fire?

Lombok is a much bigger island than any of us had given it credit for and the windy twisting roads take time to get around.  To help with this we have hired a car for a few days at the amazingly good value price of US$25 per day.   After an email exchange a wonderfully liberal bloke turned up at our place with two cars to choose from, a four seated  4x4 and a seven seater Toyota.  After a very brief chat he decided that neither were what we needed and so sent for a 2015 six seater daihatsu instead.  He was happy with the vehicle when it arrived and so was I.  I handed over he necessary cash, filled in a form, did not have to show my credit card, passport or even driving licence and we were good to go.  Europcar at Heathrow airport please take note of this kind of customer service.  Lombok Car Hire is currently my hire car company of choice.  And how many vehicles and flashing lights were there at Bridge Farm?  And how did the aged Peggy arrive on the scene so swiftly for a lady of such advanced years?  Does she have superpowers that we are not yet aware of?

Yes we enjoying our time physically in Lombok but we are mentally in Ambridge.

If only it was as simple as that.  In the days of Joyce Grenfell getting Mrs Hingle to come and visit the children must have been a very straightforward process.  I imagine that an invitation was issued and in came Mrs Hinge to watch the entertaining chaos that ensued in the fictitious classroom, including witnessing exactly what that was that George was doing.

This week, among other things, I had to arrange for a visitor to come in to school.  It was not Mrs Hingle, sadly, but instead Miss Belinda.  Who she?  Well it doesn’t really matter who she is, but she was known to the excellent KL Shakespeare Players who came to perform their really good version of The Merchant of Venice at school yesterday.

I have written before about how difficult it is to get permission for a visitor to enter the school grounds, largely because there appears to be at least six different protocols, all used by different people, each of which is particular and peculiar to them and most of them don’t work in a straightforward manner.   In my attempts to be as organized as possible I made sure that the names and car registration numbers of our actors had been pre-registered with the site guards so that they would not have to argue with the guards n their way in.  All was well until the aforementioned Miss Belinda asked if she could come to watch the play too.  Following the “the more the merrier” approach I said yes and collected her name and details accordingly.  Ignoring the official process for getting visitors registered, knowing from previous attempts that it did not work, I instead emailed the guards directly, a method that I knew did work.  I emailed, and all appeared to be working nicely.

Normally I get no response form the guards to my emails so I have to go and check with them that they have received my email, seemingly much to their annoyance, so I was genuinely quite baffled when I started to receive email replies to my message to the guards (security@…..my).  This was most unusual, I thought…. until an art teacher offered to organise a whole staff welcome party for Miss Belinda, a DT teacher sent me a picture of Belinda Carlisle and asked if he could be her guide and various other people offered apparently helpful ways of getting visitors on site.  Somehow or other, fueled by hassles, I had fallen victim to the school’s helpful google-powered email system.  Instead of emailing security@…..my I had emailed secondaryteachers@….my.  I quickly sent out a clarification email to secondaryteachers@….my and also to the guards and hoped for the best.

Then the phone started to ring.  On the other end of the line was a person offering helpful advice. “Now Robin, what you need to do is….”  Yes, thank you, right, ok, you see what I did was….  Then another email came in.  “What you need to do is ….”  The phone rang again.  More advice.  I went off to teach my first lesson, grumbling and mumbling.

In the gap between lessons one and two my colleagues had great joy in passing on the news that another helpful person had phoned to say explain what I needed to do and how she had contacted various other people to assist.  Soon “other people” emailed me to make sure that I would meet and greet Miss Belinda as made up policy said that she could not be allowed to walk to where she was required to go by herself.  All I needed now was for someone to approach me in the corridor and start singing “Ooo, heaven is a place on Earth.”  Gradually the advice died down, the play started and the world continued spinning round.

Miss Belinda, of course, failed to turn up.  

My trip to see the “Short and Sweet” play-writing and performing competition three years ago really scarred my creative glands.  It was genuinely terrible and the visions of boiler suit wearing space-travelers plummeting to earth and grown men talking to a tailor’s dummy have never left my head.  So bad was it that I have been really cautious about watching too much contemporary Malaysian theatre.

Imagine my feelings then when I agreed to book family tickets for a part Chinese part English language play entitled “Lo Mio and Chiew Liet” an all Malaysian version of that classic by any other name.  Billed as a battle of love between members of the warring families of Lo and Chiew I set my expectation level to minimum and, along with all the other members of the Lawrence Clan, joined a surprisingly large queue on Sunday afternoon.  Even if it was rubbish, I thought, it can’t be as bad as that trip to Short and Sweet.

I am still reeling from how good the play was.  

Staged in traverse the play started with the newly returned and Westernised English speaking Chiew family and the culture seeking Lo Mio and eunuch friend, Mandarin speakers, watching two actors playing the parts of terrible actors doing the opening exchanges in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  Arguing between them about what the scene was about and littered with in jokes about what is was to be western or Chinese a fight between the two families soon ensued and the jokes kept coming thick and fast from then onwards.  Lo Mio and the eunuch side-kick arrived at the Chiew family ball (pun intended) dressed as Chinese Opera actors, Lo and Liet fell in love, despite not really being able to understand each other and the nurse, deliberately played in drag and complete with excellent comic timing, passed love letters in Chinese buns between the lovers, much to the amusement of the audience.  Friar Lawrence became Sifu, the wise and highly skilled swordsman, the Benvolio / Mercutio amalgamated eunuch character duly died and then came back proudly proclaiming that in heaven he had learned to speak English and “they” had grown back, and later Lo took his poison but had just enough time to push Juliet across the single bed in which she lay so that there was room for him to take his final rest.  Added to all this was a delightful long-running joke about things needing more salt and we had a thoroughly enjoyable and really funny afternoon at the theatre.  Well done to all who were involved, especially the director who had the courage to take lots of risks and insist on getting every detail right.

The Sunday before Lexi had booked tickets for us to go to see another play, another Shakespeare, but this time it was A Midsummer Nights Dream.  This though was not just any old dream.  It was being toured by Handlebards, a four man bicycle riding quartet of actors who, when in Britain, cycle from venue to venue towing and panniering all their stuff with them.  While they were not cycling in Malaysia they were certainly keeping fit and active with their high speed, high energy version of the play whereby the four played all the characters between them.  Except that is for two fairies.  Just before the show began one bearded actor sidled up to me and began with the greeting offered to stooges in many parts of the world: “Now, Sir, you look like just the person I need to help me….”  Thus at certain appointed times during the play I made my way onto the stage to play the vital role of Mustarded alongside another “volunteer” who was Peaseblossom.  The Lawrence Clan had row B seats and the huge grins on the faces of three small Lawrences certainly gave the highly skilled actors a very clear sense that what they were doing was going down really well.

And there is more Drama still.  Over that past few days Trixie has been hard at work practising her audition lines and songs for the year 4 to 6 play: “The Lion King.”  She hurtled off for an audition on Tuesday lunchtime and then had to dash somewhere else to practice a couple of songs as part of the KS2 choir before joining Edwin in the concert that evening.  She awaits the news of the cast list with eager anticipation.

Today was Trixie’s SLPC.  Her what?  Her Student Led Parent Conference.  Oh, one of those.  It is a new fangled parent-teacher event where instead of the teacher telling the parent what the child is like and how they are doing the child tells the parent what they have been doing in lessons with the teacher watching on providing a helpful prompt when necessary.  Today I learned all about a computer program the Trixie had been using to answer questions about animals, some very confusing maths (where she tried to explain something complicated to me that neither she nor I appeared to get) and them came we came to English and creative matters.  She had been working on facts and opinions plus various features of language.  She had also been encouraged to practice these in the style of a radio programme.  Immediately I saw Trixie Motson / Lyse Du Lawrence in front of me and she was away, in role with the best of them.  I sat back proudly being entertained by the daughter of two Drama teachers.  Splendid.

People who know about these things and have been in this part of the world for, let's say, more than three years know that holiday makers avoid the east coast of Malaysia and Thailand if they want pleasant sun drenched beaches before April / May each year.  So it was with head in hands type resignation that Lawrences arrived at Samila Beach, Songkhla, (East Coast) Thailand to remember the above that we really should have never forgotten, especially after the last time that we went for an east coast holiday in February.  The sea was rough, the weather was very windy, but it was still warm.

Fortunately what the weather has allowed us to do is to enjoy a bit of exploring.  Yesterday we set about finding Songkhla Zoo.  As a rule I am not a great fan of zoos but this place seemed to manage to create the feeling, atmosphere and reality of a large scale safari park and small scale zoo at the same time.  The place encouraged people to drive from area to area and then get out and explore before moving on to the next exhibits.  Yes the animals were still exhibits but they had plenty of space, quite a lot of stimulation and the tropical animals were at least in the right climate.  There was also a small water park there too (the water slides were not working for some reason) and there were plenty of loose planks on board walks so you needed to keep your eyes peeled but overall it was a very positive way to spend most of the day.  It was also good value for money too.  We were not ripped off with the 560 Baht entrance fee and 300 Baht lunch.  Children tackled fried rice with gusto, which was an additional plus point. 

Two other joys from the day were splendid iced coffees from a roadside stall on the way to the zoo and, later a delicious steamed fish / tom yam seafood soup and other associated niceties for dinner.

Today we sought out Hat Yai Municipal Park and its cable car and Buddha combinations.  When the Thais build Buddhas they do it in style.  And that style is usually large.  So perching at the highest point overlooking Hat Yai and Songkhla is a whopping great standing Buddha.  Right hand raised and benign smile beaming over all and so this huge statue is visible from a long way off.  To help the tourist appreciate the sheer scale construction photos in the attached gallery showed the statue's feet section, after having been unloaded from a delivery lorry, towering over a bloke who looked like Thailand's Mr Average.

To get up to this first Buddha we could have walked, driven or taken the shuttle bus.  The shuttle bus was a purpose built, open sided creation about the size of a fire engine with attached music system that rivalled any self-respecting Simon Snorkel's siren.  We paid our money, clambered on, waited the customary ten minutes before anything happened, and then a driver arrived.  Clearly not satisfied with the tunes he changed the music, turned the volume up and off we drove up some very steep hills.  

On arrival we admired the Buddha, took a photo or two and then set about buying cable car tickets to cross to the main attraction, a shrine.  All was going well until we discovered that the price for 'foreigner' (carefully written in English) and the price for Thai nationals (equally carefully written in Thai) were very different.  Feigning enraged tourists and gabbling away in confident sounding Lao (identical to a North Eastern Thaliand dialect) we claimed that we were just the same as others who were not being charged double and that because we spoke the lingo should therefore pay the same.  The special 'foreigner' tickets were hastily put away and Thai tickets sold to us.  We got our way and did it through insistent good humour, knowing that creating a scene is precisely what the ticket sellers did my want and that is what Drama teachers are especially good at doing.  Jokes aside though such policies are simply racist.

Disembarking the cable car we found ourselves in a fug of holy incense and firecracker smoke with added gold painted elephants.  We had clearly arrived on a very holy day, what with it being Chinese New Year and that.  The shrine smelt like a fragrant 40-a-dayer as worshipper after worshipper lit bundle after bundle of incense sticks and placed them round a rather beautiful shrine.  Rupert and Trixie did their bit to add to the smells and smoke as well as admiring the 80 or more gold elephants.  The elephant statues all had messages from their donors painted on them and it became clear that the larger the elephant the more the donor had given to the cause.  Many of the elephant donors were Malaysian businesses including the rather vague sounding Mr Lim and Mrs Liew, akin to Mr Smith and Mrs Jones.  More smoke was created by the letting off of fire crackers.  Generally fire crackers are used at Chinese New Year to ward off evil spirits and, in Malaysia, they are often set off at, appropriately, ungodly hours.  Today though pilgrim after pilgrim arrived at the shrine, handed over a special box to official fire-cracker setter-offers, and away we went.  (It should be noted that the main setter-offer was wearing a protective blue wooly balaclava complete with added bobble on top.). The crackers were hoisted into a specially constructed, three side concrete chimney that sheltered the sparks and flashes while also magnifying the noise.  I really would not have fancied my chances being and evil spirit up there today and would certainly have stayed well away.  

An important thing to note though.  All the fire-crackers appeared to have been made by the same Chinese company in that everyone had identical packaging.  Chinese companies know a good opportunity when they see it.  But, there were often different number identifiers on the boxes.  Hence the 10000 series fire-crackers were bright and loud, the 50000 series were deafening and lasted longer while the 100000 series that we saw being carried by one pilgrim.....  well, we moved on swiftly.

Today saw us load up the car and drive to Songkhla, admittedly one day later than planned all thanks to problems with tax returns and Trixie being tired out.  Thereby hang other tales.  Anyway we have arrived.

However on the way we managed to dodge all the customary Malaysian Motorway Madness, avoiding the middle lane dither arsers, weaving twits and tail-gating hoodlums.  About 80km shy of the border we decided that it was high time that we stopped for drinks and lunch and,people will be pleased to know that my Teh tarik was up to its usual standards.  As I set about tackling the last mouthful a uniformed lady approached, looking a little nervous, along with a female security guard, also looking a little nervous too.  This didn't spark anxiety for any of us as generally speaking most security guards are largely decorative in function and the uniformed officer was in a quasi police outfit, not the real thing.  It transpired that she wished to invite the children to take part in a colouring competition that JPJ, the vehicle licensing, ownership and paperwork department of the Malaysian Government were hosting.   So, with little intention, of taking part, we agreed to go, after finishing our drinks.

A quick loo stop and we were approaching our parked car when the JPJ lady in question saw us, beamed, and welcomed us all as if we were long lost relatives.  Colouring had to happen now.  As well as the JPJ colouring session there were several related stalls, some of which offered free cake and oranges (Chinese New Year) while others put lots of effort into great displays announcing the importance of road safety.   Crowds of JPJ officers and police looked on while various children coloured and alarmingly close by cars drive around looking for parking spaces, carefully ignoring people who were trying to cross the road to either participate or avoid colouring.  Various other JPJ officers commended our lot on their colouring while yet more cars drove past with many vehicles having unsecured children on the back or front seat.  

Moments later, for some reason not immediately apparent a helicopter landed in a service area opposite where we either colouring or being photographed by, by now, almost every JPJ officer in the region.  Drivers on the main carriage ways rushed on pausing only to turn their heads and look at the helicopter mere metres away from the road.  Moments later the helicopter departed, thankfully without causing a pile up, and the noise of its engine was replaced by a far sweeter sound: that of Lexi being interviewed over a public address system by yet another JPJ officer asking for her views on Malaysian food and other matters with no connection to the business of JPJ.

After more photo taking and handshakes all round we departed.  Apparently the children were not permitted to take their artwork with them but were encouraged to keep the colouring pencils.  Probably a fair swap.  At no time did it occur to anyone that there might be more direct action approaches to help improve road safety rather  than having a massively over-staffed colouring stall, but hey, what the heck?

The Thai border was slightly less organised than the colouring stall.  It had clearly undergone a streaming-lining system initiated by The Vogons and so it consequently took an age to get through.  First challenge was filling in the forms and the most tricky part of that process was finding the right forms.  Every non Thai entering or leaving the Kingdom must fill one in however they were nowhere obvious to be found.  Having looked in all the obvious places such as on the desks near to the passport control booths I gave up and went into an office.  It was full of uniformed officials all trying to work as slowly as possible plus one bloke in a casual shirt and leather jacket watching boxing on TV.  For some reason this bloke was also guarding a small stack of the vital forms.  After a bit of coaxing I managed to discover that as well as watching boxing on TV he was also an official and so he was able to hand out forms which, grudgingly, he did.  He also gave us two forms to fill in to allow us to bring the car in with us.  

We joined a queue got to the front and were promptly told that it was the wrong queue, tried to drive the car through anyway but were told that we had to then go back to a different queue instead and then waited 20 minutes in a queue for a surly character to stamp, date and deface our documentation without uttering a word.

Nowhere were there any instructions as to what we had to do.  All of it was a mixture of experience and guess work. I know that I lead off about how slow parts of Malaysian Government is but the Thai border folk made Malaysia look like efficient professionals running a slick operation.