A Weekend of sorts

Comfortable in our baju kelawar batik which clashed shamelessly with the chequered table cloth, we sat buttering our croissants at the breakfast table at lunch time. By the time we each had our third croissant, our conversation had taken us to who’s holidaying with who on the slopes of the Alps, who’s having a rest in Jo’burg away from the hustle bustle of the corporate world and why so and so fell from grace in the unpredictable world of politics. So, this is how the rich and famous live, huh, I thought, stuffing my mouth with more croissants to stop the jaw from clanking to the floor.

I chose to spend the weekend away from the hustle bustle of London, internetless, ymless and indeed blogless. Without much regret, I had packed my weekend bag for a work related trip that was to take me into a world so remote and so different from my own mundane tube to bus to tube routine where a rare treat would be a ride in a black taxi!

Anyway, hubby sent me off at the train station with a hug, a doa and with promises and promises to take the vitamins, the supplements that he religiously packs for me on every trip, I waved him off and immersed myself in the world of Dato Hamid and his delicious Confessions of an Old Boy. Indeed, his world in the prolific hands of Kam Raslan is not unlike that related to me at the breakfast table by my newfound friend.

I ooohed and aaahed as she regaled me with stories of themed parties with VIPs and VVIPs doing the rhumba and the samba, tripping into the pool while doing the hoola-hoola. I tsked-tsked as she intimated about goings on behind the scenes. All these chit chats and Kam Raslan’s book is taking me right back to the seventies and even beyond; Malaysia’s jet setting scene. Now I can’t help thinking that I am taking a fast drive back and back into time with the help of people who were there and had done it.

That was what took me to this remote village last weekend. It was a small quaint village in an idyllic setting, with small winding roads that only allow one vehicle to pass, a local grocery cum post office and a pub, surrounded by low-lying hills that go as far as the eyes could see.
I suppose at a place where time is almost at a standstill, you can afford to look back at leisure.
So, that was what we did the whole weekend. The only trip we made was to the kitchen and back.

We only stopped to switch on the TV to see the Queen’s birthday celebration, and even that took my friend, who had seen the independence of three countries during her lifetime, down memory lane. Watching the smartly dressed soldiers doing the Victory March, she joined in giving the orders. “I led the Victory march in Chittagong, you know,” she said, remembering it as if it was yesterday. And she marvelled at the sight of the Queen, who at 80, a few years younger than her, still looked energetic and strong enough to witness the whole ceremony.

“I was privileged enough to sit with Her Majesty on a settee for two when she visited Malaysia. Her Majesty was amused and highly entertained by the performances of the different ethnic groups in Malaysia the night before – but certainly it seemed to take forever,” she said.

Oh yes, she had been places, she had seen events that we read about in the media. And one weekend is certainly not enough. We talked and talked until she nodded off to sleep and I had to gently wake her up to help her to her room.


She is one of those ex-expat ladies who still remembers Malaya and Malaysia with fondness. Before coming to meet her, I had joined a group of other ex-expat ladies who didn’t want to miss out on celebrating Malaysia’s 50th independence celebration, by reciting pantuns on Malaysia. They had taken the trouble to research on pantuns, brushed up their Malay and went on their own poetic journey to remember Malaysia. I was touched.

On the return journey back I went back to the adventures of Dato Hamid, one I recommend everyone to read. From Swittzerland to Monte Carlo and seedy clubs of London – you will be highly entertained! I promise.

Like I said before, the hayfever and work schedule had meant that I had missed making entries on father’s day, someone’s birthday, the death of someone special and even someone’s wedding. I didn’t realise that when hubby met me at the station that Sunday, it was Father’s Day – but it certainly didn’t matter to him. He kindly took my bag, while I made a quick change into something nice in the ladies’ before I said goodbye to him again.

I was privileged that Sunday to personally wish Selamat Pengantin Baru to someone who had just recently tied the knot. And I can tell you, she is better looking than her pictures in the media! And very nice too!


Aaaaah...welcome back to busy, pollen infested London!