Something about the guy

Well, its tagging time again. And all around blogosphere, mak cik bloggers are revealing a little something about their unsuspecting Pak Ciks. I have been tagged by Wanshana and so, here goes:



1) He’s sitting in front of the TV, what is on the screen?

He hardly sits in front of the TV unless there's a very good documentary on. But more often than not, during the MasterChef season, he'd keep me company to watch the antics of the two presenters, John Torode and Gregg Wallace, only to imitate them when I produce something outrageous from the kitchen: "Hmmm, the flavour bursts in the mouth and swirls around teasing the taste buds...." says he about my bland nasi goreng.


2) You’re out to eat; what kind of dressing does he get on his salad?

I think he likes balsamic vinegar - is that a dressing?


3) What’s one food he doesn’t like?

Everything that I like such as scrumptious albeit greasy fried chicken wings from Chicken Cottage, very sweet condensed milk with a dash of coffee, cheese, lots of creamy cheese.


4) You go out to eat and have a drink. What does he order?

Teh O kurang manis. Anything organic and anything bran.
Oh, if it is Indian - it is prawn briyani.


5) Where did he go to high school?

Victoria Institute laaaa.


6) What size shoes does he wear?

This is a guess - 8.


7) If he was to collect anything, what would it be?

Newspapers, magazines. Phone cards. Anything that is being threatened by extinction. First day covers, books and more books.


8) What is his favorite type of sandwich?

Tuna or prawn mayo on wholemeal brown bread.


9) What would this person eat every day if he could?

He is a non fussy eater - I could be cooking nasi goreng everyday and he wouldnt mind. But of late he has expressed for lesser gorenged food. If and when he is in the kitchen, it'd be grilled chicken and potatoes.


10) What is his favorite cereal?

hmmmm, never seen him with cereals.


11) What would he never wear?

Anything with alphabets that boast of brandnames. He has been known to patiently unpick the stitches and labels.


12) What is his favorite sports team?

Just to be able to have a father to sons talk, he has read up about Arsenal and Barcelona. So, really, they are not his favourites. But he can impress them with terms like corner kicks and penalty kicks and rattle off names of footballers like he knows them personally.


13) Who did he vote for?

Oooooooo.....


14) Who is his best friend?

Apart from the guy in Brazil, there's his surau mate - Haji Amin and then of course, me laah! Who else would he turn to to tell his repeated jokes?


15. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn’t do?

Do you have until tomorrow to read? Here goes: Eat too much sugar, sigh, use the laptop on the lap (then why call laptop?) , spend too much time on mobile phone which he thinks fry the brain, disturb his cats sleeping, forgetting to take my supplements, etc, etc...


16. What is his heritage?

I think from across the Thai border. Will have to look at the family tree again.


17. What is his favourite colour?

Anything not glaring.

18. What is his habit?

Pulling off the duvet to wake me up for subuh.


19. What is he proud of?

His father .


20. Lastly, do you think he will read this?

A test would be to have severeal spelling misteaks and grandma eerors!

Tempe tantrums

The birth of this new blog brought to mind something that has been fermenting in my archives for some time now. Tempe. I am not a big fan of tempe, which to some extent goes to explain the sad state of my complexion. In fact the first time I found some mouldy pieces in the fridge, I threw them away thinking that they had gone bad. But being newly-wed and all that I was forgiven by my husband who is really fanatical, if there is ever a word, about tempe. He loves them so much that he made it into a business!

Like everything else that he did, for example bread, croissant and chicken kiev, a lot of research went into it. Once when I was craving for keropok, he rolled up his sleeves and attacked the mackerels and other ingredients to make the keropok, only for it to turn out as keropok lekor. He had better success with tempe.

He got himself a how to do tempe book and ordered the yeast from somewhere. From then on, we invested in stainless steel pots and ladels, plastic bags and of course bags and bags of soya bean. The recipe in one hand, he stayed up all night to boil the soya beans and dry them the next morning. This is certainly a summer time job. Without the sun, it’d be impossible. He even used the hair dryer.

I didn’t have a hand in the tempe making at all as he was quite meticulous and strict about all sorts of things.

Anyway, once the yeast was mixed with the beans, he’d fill them up in small plastic bags and I was assigned the role of making small holes in the plastic bags.

Then, we’d leave them overnight in the boiler room. It was quite fascinating watching them turn into tempe. We’d check the soya bean in the plastic bags at intervals . White cotton like thingy would appear covering the beans and later when fully ripe, they would have some black patches around it. And they’d feel quite warm to the touch.

I never knew what to do with it. My husband would just cut them in small pieces, marinade them with salt and tumeric and then fry them and had them as snacks, munching in front of the tv. Later, I learnt that fried tempe tastes quite good in sambal tumis.

We then had the problem of having too much tempe in a household of only
one tempe lover. So we gave them to friends. The word spread around that there’s an awang from Terengganu making tempe in a corner of London. So we began receiving orders from the Malay and Indonesian community. Some orders came from the embassies! It was growing into quite a roaring business with the tempe fermenting quietly in our small boiler room until I had to go into hospital to deliver my second child.

Orders were coming in faster then he could deliver so, I had to cut short my hospital stay and help with HIS delivery. We had friends delivering the orders to houses and offices. We had BMW’s parked way down the street as people came to take the orders, and one quietly whispered in my ears, “ Please don’t write in the newspaper that a diplomat’s wife is distributing tempe!” Er, whaaaaat?????

“Shock, horror, drama!! Diplomats wife in sleazy tempe trade!!! “ Screamed the headlines that came to mind.

Anyway, the so called diplomat’s wife need not worry, our success also spelt our downfall. We couldn’t cope and we closed shop! But I’ll never forget those tempe making days in our small living room in a corner of London!

Do you know that today is 07-07-07?

“Do you know,” said a voice from behind her, “that today is 7-7-77?”

“Oh, really?” replied the young lass as she looked up from her old trusty typewriter, the intro in mid sentence, her heart missing a beat and looked appreciatively as if that piece of information was the most important announcement since man landed on the moon.

It was the beginning of what was to be a series of Do you know….? For not long after that , before she knew it, the lass found herself swept off her feet to a foreign land that was to be their home for the next thirty years and more.

“Do you know,” said the familiar voice again, “that today is the shortest day of the year?” It was 21st December 1979 and what must have been the coldest day ever for the young bride who had just landed in London, eyes swollen after a marathon weep all the way from Changi Airport to Heathrow, after leaving behind her beloved mother and siblings for this new life in a foreign land.

“After today, the day will get longer by two minutes everyday,” he offered helpfully as her eyes began to well up again. She wanted so much to believe him that the days will get longer and brighter, that there will be leaves on the awkward branches of trees which looked so menacing in the dark. And that there will be flowers blooming in the garden. No, no one had prepared her for the bleak winter and the short gloomy days and most of all no one warned her that the toilet seat can be the coldest place in the whole flat. She could have done with one of those “Do you know…that the toilet seat is very cold in the mornings?” or for that matter at any time of the day during winter!

And sure enough, the days got longer by two minutes each day, the flowers bloomed and the young bride who later got used to cold toilet seats, no longer cried as easily, except if you count the time when she first heard Sharifah Aini’s song being played at the Bunga Raya restaurant in Westbourne Grove. She choked back on her crab sambal and yearned for home.

“Do you know,” he said, looking up at the magnificient designs on the ceiling of the Harrods food department, “that most people come here to look at the ceiling?” That, she agreed immediately as not many people, herself included, could afford the astronomical prices Mr Al Fayed was charging for his mackerel. She only went there looking for lemongrass and found some powdered stuff which cost as much as three meals complete with deserts at her favourite mamak stall in Bunga Tanjung.

The young lass was very much on the learning curve, exploring the new world that had presented itself when she said yes. Did she know how to cut chicken properly or measure the water for the rice? No. Did she know that she was not to wash keropok before frying or not to boil the dried beehoon in hot boiling water till they became too soggy to make fried beehoon goreng? No. So, these were other areas of “Do you knows…” which were more practical that she obediently noted.

She soon put away the menu from Khan’s restaurant that she used for emergency take-aways when there were visitors. She began to have more confidence in her culinary skills, encouraged by her husband who never failed to wipe clean his plate of rice even though the consistency of the curry was never quite right or the sambal was too salty. But she was learning.

“Do you know, that is just a story?” he said annoyingly as she wept uncontrollably watching Little House on The Prairies and repeats of The Sound of Music.

Even as they drove along the countryside as she experienced her first summer and the first whiff of fresh air, the familiar question was asked many times. ”Do you know,” he asked pointing to the green fields, “Do you know that when the cows are sitting down, it will soon rain?”

And when the children came they too were not spared these trivia which kept them very much amused during car rides and train journeys. Silently she smiled, listening to the Do you knows....?

And today, on 07-07-07, thirty years later, she reflected back to that moment in the busy newspaper office when someone said to her; “Do you know.........?”

The summer that was

Mr Haidari would have been appalled, to say the least, at what they are doing to his country. He’d roll his eyes heavenwards, raise his hands in despair and return to his frugal meal of tuna sandwich and tea, resigned to the fact that peace is forever denied in his country that is Lebanon. He’d be sad and heartbroken that his country is now in ruins and his countrymen are fleeing for safety, dodging the relentless barrage of bombs and mortar attacks. Like Mr Haidari, some of his countrymen are fleeing in search of a safe haven.

But bombs and mortars and killings are nothing new to Mr Haidari. He left some years ago when the killing got to his doorsteps.

He had just given his salam in the mosque after zuhur prayers when he was summoned home and what he saw was to haunt him to his grave. Brutally mutilated bodies of his loved ones were everywhere in his front garden. He couldn’t tell which limbs belonged to which child and in his haste, only had time to bury his wife’s decapitated head, grab a few things and left.

These gruesome events were mercilessly replayed in his mind, day and night, night and day, haunting his very soul. These gruesome events he narrated to us in a voice, perhaps already devoid of emotions. It was the Druze, he said, who wiped out his entire family. He made his way to London and felt almost at home in the area around Bayswater and Edgeware Road where Lebanese restaurants fill the air with Lebanese music and Lebanese people spill on to the streets as night falls.

We met Mr Haidari one summer afternoon in our favourite Ice cream bar in Whiteleys. We had never seen him before this, but after several ice creams, my husband decided to befriend the old gentleman sitting quietly contemplating his tea, at the table that was to be his for several months if not years after that. His robes had seen better days and he was in need of a shave but his manners were impeccable, betraying his upbringing and his background. He’d rise to his feet as I approached his table and kiss my hand in the manner of a perfect gentleman. And he’d stand up again when we left. Several meetings with Mr Haidari at the Ice Cream parlour made him comfortable enough for him to tell us what had happened and what brought him here.

He had a successful business, he said, one that took him to South east Asia. He was rich, he travelled the world. But the incident that afternoon in his front garden sealed his fate and changed his life forever. It was correct to say he was just a shadow of his old self. You could tell he was used to expensive suits but he said nothing of the one he got from Oxfam. One that he wore throughout summer and also throughout winter. One that badly needed a wash.

Anyway, we got to know Mr Haidari well enough to bring him home for weekends.

For most of the time, he’d stay in the spare room praying. He didn’t mind if we had to go out during the day but during the night, he’d be standing by the window, waiting for us to come home. One night he told us why.

He said he was scared that we might not return. That we’d suffer the same fate his family suffered. We were the only family he had.

His visits became less frequent. We couldn’t persuade him to wash or change. His mind began to wander but my husband still visited him in his small room, where he said he heard voices of people coming to get him. We also introduced him to another friend who gave him a permanent table at their restaurant, with free meals in rerturn for lessons in Arabic. That seemed acceptable to him - for a while - until he disappeared again. The last time I saw him was one cold day in winter, standing by the bus stop in Westbourne Grove.

I went back to Malaysia the following summer, the summer that was as hot as this. And I received a distraught call from my husband. There was a knock on the door, he said. It was the police. Mr Haidari was found slumped in his room and had been gone for perhaps a week. Among his few possessions on the table was just a letter naming my husband as his next of kin.

He was to identify what was left of Mr Haidari. But he didnt ‘cos he couldn’t. Mr Haidari had been dead for a week during one of the hottest summers we had ever known. It was a very sad man who rode in the police van with the black bag containing what was once Mr Haidari . But he gave him a proper burial.

This hot summer, the thundering bomb shells raining on Lebanon just reminded me of Mr Haidari. Al Fatehah to Mr Haidari and innocent victims of the bombings.

Syaer Untuk Sang Suami

Dengarlah semua Kak Teh bermadah,
di hari yang mulia, mengarang sudah,
usia suami setahun lagi bertambah,
namun si dia sikitpun tak gelabah.

Berhari-hari gundah gulana,
hadiah tak beli nak buat guana
nak belanja makan, entah kat mana,
India, Arab, Melayu atau Cina?

Teringat sewaktu berjumpa dulu,
tampan dan segak tersenyum selalu,
lucu dan lawak tetapi pemalu,
bila bertemu lidah pun kelu.

Kak Teh terpikat pandang pertama,
duduk berdepan, kerja bersama,
diajak keluar tak berapa lama,
berdentum dentam jantung berirama!

Selang bulan tahun berganti,
kasih mula berputik di hati,
namun tugas memisahkan kami
setahun lamanya menggigit jari!

Aduhai kasih, aduhai sayang,
siang malam terbayang-bayang,
tidur tak nyenyak makan tak kenyang,
teringatkan kekasih yang belum pulang.

Kepulangan membawa ke jinjang pelamin,
Syukur kepada Allah Rabbul ‘alamin,
Dibawa terus ke negara atas angin,
memulakan hidup di negara dingin.

Dialah suami, dialah kawan,
teman bercerita, hati nan rawan,
lucu berjenaka yang itu tak tahan,
lawak yang lama jadi ulang-ulangan.

Dipendekkan cerita di pagi hari,
Sukanya hati tiada terperi,
Anak empat sudah diberi,
Lengkaplah keluarga lagi berseri.


Ku ucapkan selamat suami tersayang,
bacalah syair yang baru dikarang,
sebagai hadiah yang bukan sebarang,
tapi ikhlas dari hati ku, sayang.

Pillow talk and (im)possible dreams in a house divided

“Ya, it would be good for T to play for a team in Malaysia,” I announced, as if to myself. It was nearly 12 midnight. My pillowmate, quite accustomed to my out of topic and out of context ramblings, especially at this time of the night, just managed a ‘huh’without even looking up from his book.

“Ya, it’d be really good to be able to fix him up with some team – a kind of Malaysia – home and abroad thing,”

“Hmm”, another flick of a page and still no register of interest.

“He should play for Kedah, they’ve got a good....,”

“What? No, he should play for Terengganu! They are better”.

“Better? What if he doesn’t understand them? What would he make of, “Ha, mung pah pah bola tu molek-molek!”?

That made him sit up. When he put the book down, I knew he was ready for this interstate war of the Wans.

“And what made you think he can understand Kedahspeak – “Hang main baik baik, jangan lok lak, jangan dok tertomoih!”

And it went on and on and on....all because T came back with another trophy from the three aside tournament recently. He scored most of the goals and was quite proud of it too. Recently he played with a team of Malaysians in Regents Park and the captain of the other team had already spoken to me about the possibility of T joining him. Aaaah, I can now retire while my T shoots in the goals and rakes in the money! Sven, or is it Scolari, we are waiting for you!

The atmostphere in the Wan household in this part of west London has lately been one that is tense and full of suspense. At this moment, it is not only a house divided -Kedah vs Terengganu- but also Arsenal vs Barcelona. We are heading for a big bloody bust up when these two teams play in Paris on May 17 in the Champions League. We will be ready with mop and bucket, plaster and bandage as T and his older brother H fight it out in our front room.

When Barcelona won recently, confirming their place with Arsenal, H was already gleefully wringing his hands and salivating at the thoughts of the Gunners making a meal out of Barcelona.

T, a Barcelona fan has been quietly dreading this moment. He watched Arsenal sail through to the finals and is now preparing for the worse.

“But they scored rubbish goals, Mama,” he said to me when his brother wasn’t around. I suspect, he said this to reinforce his confidence in the team he has been supporting since he turned his back on Arsenal at the tender age of seven.

H, on the other hand has been a die hard Arsenal fan since he was five. As parents who know nought about football, we learn to cope with the stress, joy and tears everytime Arsenal wins or loses. We sigh with relief when Arsenal wins cos it means H bounding in through the front door and leaping with joy. But, you wouldn’t want to know when Arsenal loses. It is not a pretty sight when a grown-up man cries.

But what do we as parents do? Parents who know nought about football? My husband once tried to console his eldest when Arsenal lost by asking him to change his team. “Daddy, I’ve been supporting Arsenal since I was five!” he said, the hurt obvious in his voice, the pain so plain on his face at the very thought of shifting loyalty. He has every Arsenal jersey that comes on the market and that must have cost us a fortune. He has even queued up in the rain to meet Ian Wright. He was even featured in the sports page of The Independant when Arsenal hailed Arsene Wenger as their manager, and Daddy wants him to change teams????

Personally, I dread the seventeenth of May. Somehow it has a familiar ring to thirteenth of May. Bloodshed no matter what happens. I worry not just for the two brothers on opposite sides but also for us non-football fans parents caught right in the middle.

In the meantime, I am making my move, navigating my way to achieve my goal in the Kedah vs Terengganu game.....

(In the meantime too, we are not sharing pillows!)

Obsessions...

He came into the kitchen ever so quietly that he startled me as I stood poised, ladle in hand, dueting with David, or was it Loga, while we were well into the second CD. He had that look in his eyes, making me terribly conscious of my uncombed mess, the faded baju kelawar and the smell of lamb curry clinging on to my body. Also, I was very conscious of the fact that the children were still at home. So, ladle in hand, I was ready to fight him off. Instead, in a very quiet and calm voice he said, “Look into my eyes,” and like a fool, and already mesmerised, I did.

“Look into my eyes,” he repeated. Its been quite a while and I was getting quite uneasy and a tad suspicious of his intentions, too early in the morning and all that.

“Look into my eyes,” he was persistent and raised his hands in front of my face, in the manner of Kenny Craig, the hypnotist in Little Britain.

“Look into my eyes. You are going to forget this song. You are going to hate the AlleyCats and never play their ............”

The ladle fell from my hand and I managed to look away just in time before I fell under his spell! How could he! It had always been the Alleycats that accompanied my daily humdrum in the kichen, entertaining me from my newly acquired CD player, specially bought for moi kitchen. They had been the inspiration for the spread that I produce daily on the table and he wants them to stop singing for me? My daughter phoned from Cairo and the first sentence was, “Mama, you’re still listening to them?” T, the usually so calm and sensible T hurt me so much when he said, “Aren’t you bored with the same songs, Mama?” Are they trying to tell me something?

I knew it would come to this and without shame I admit: My name is Kak Teh and I am an Alleycats addict!

It has only been what...three months and its not as if I ‘ve been playing every song – only three or four favourite ones, again and again and again. Is that so wrong? Yes, so David and Loga are the flavour of the moment. It has always been like that, once I get something into my systems, its kind of difficult to flush them out. The rest around me will have to endure...earplugs and all. My husband did whisper to David when we were having dinner, “Its not so much your singing, er nothing personal, but its when she starts singing too, especially when she’s got the headphone on!” Oh, dear!

Anyway, its not just the Alleycats! There’s my obsession with anything chocolatey! I’ll give just one or two examples. When Fererero Roche first came into the market, I had nothing else but...and couldnt get enough of them. He bought two big boxes as we were going to visit friends. Then he said, don’t cook anything as we were going to eat out. But he came back late , you see. Not my fault at all. I sat there, watching the TV, seven months pregnant, and looked at the two boxes just beckoning and inviting me. Within one hour, I finished one box and in the following hour, the second one became history. By the time my husband came back, I was so sick that until now, I do not want to see another Ferrero Roche, not even the advertisement. And that was 22 years ago! It was the same with Cocoa Dusted Almond Chocolate that melts in your mouth and explodes in all manners that is sinful to your system. It used to be availble at such horrendous price only during Christmas in wicked little packages that sort of wink at you when you walk past. Now, its everywhere – even at Tesco’s. Then its the chocolate truffle cake that you could only get at those smart cafes of Grosvenor House Hotel at exorbitant price per slice. We used to make several visits there as no where else could offer anything so wickedly delicious, until of course my husband did a survey and found Maison Boquillon which offered a whole chocolate truffle cake with chocolate dust topping, for a mere £15.00. So, that would be it... for every occassion – birthday, dinner, tea, something to take to friends’....it’ll be chocolate truffle cake! And then came Galaxy, cheap but a gift from heaven. While in labour with my fourth, my husband bought a few bars and we ate in between contractions. He just knew how to dilate , er I mean, delight me.

Oh, the list seems to be endless where chocolates are concerned. But, I was also and still into cheese too. Cheese roll, cheese cakes, spring onion flavoured crackers with soft creamy cheese and better still Boursin. I could break down and cry if I dont get my weekly dose of soft creamy cheese., especially the one from Marks & Sparks.

And not forgettting salt beef sandwiches, of course. I’d never forget that cold wintry night, when my hubby trudged back to the shop in central London, just because the lady loves Salt Beef! And all because he came back and bragged that he just ate them at the office!

When Subway sandwiches was all the rave, I ‘d queue up patiently just for its mozzarella cheese topped freshly baked bread that smells yummy, with tuna mayo filling with generous dollops of more mayo..sigh! A friend shook her head in amazement when I took the bus around Holborn searching for another Subway because the one next to the uni ran out of mozzarella topped bread.

Aaaahh, did I tell you about Thai Sing?? Thai Sing Laksa Paste? I counted my lucky stars the day I stumbled upon this dollop of heaven in a jar at Tawana Thai Supermarket in Chepstow Road. These little darlings were tucked somewhere between satay sauce and habhal kicap that you could almost missed them. I then introduced it to my chums at Rantauan.com and had members from all over the world drooling their way to oriental supermakets in LA, San Francisco, Melbourne, Germany and Holland, in search of Thai Sing. The sales report for last year must have been quite a nice surprise for the manufacturers as it registered a surge in sales around the world.

So, you can imagine, once I get on to something, a good song, a nice recipe...that will be all the family and cats will hear and eat.

But, how my family indulges me! My husband especially, but he has a cunning way of exorcising these obsessions out of me...but, of courselah, he remains my all time obsession.

Kecek-kecek is gone!!!!!!

Help!!!! I woke up very early this morning to do some work and I found a message from Kampo saying that he could not open my husband's blog on Terengganuspeak, "Kecek-Kecek.blogspot.com". I tried opening it and true enough, its not there! This is so strange because my husband had just updated his blog just before he went to sleep and I saw his latest posting. Woke him up and he too is puzzled about it. Does anyone know how this can happen? How a blog can just disappear like that?
Got to get back to my syaer.

Can the person responsible please put it back?
So, everyone, pls save your files.

LATEST: EVERTHING IS BACK TO NORMAL. THANKS EVERYONE FOR THE INFO.
hmmm..bini saja dok kalut, yang cik awang goneng teruih tidork balik.
(translation: aaaah, such a caring wife (konon) while husband continues with his sleep) It is, afterall, 4 am London time.

Blogspot buat hal...my syaer tergendala.

Syaer untuk Blogspot
tersebut kisah sebuah lelaman,
di pagi hari membuat kejutan,
mendapat warta dari seorang teman,
terkejut tergempar gundah gunawan

Blogspot buat hal di pagi hari,
kak teh tak jadi kerja menggigit jari,
awang terus tidur, why lah you worry?
Bila dah pulih, tersenyum sendiri..

dare'kampo bersuara
Tersebut lah kisah
Isteri yang gundah
Mendapat khabar resah
Blog suaminya punah

Dikejutkan si suami
yang lena bermimpi
tapi hampa di hati
suami buat tak reti

Lalu si isteri
menulis di sini
meminta simpati
tidak terperi

Setelah lama menanti
dicari akar dan umbi
si isteri tersengih sendiri
Blogspot buat hal lagi...

lilheaven menambah:
rancak berseloka
merawat lara
tersenyumku membaca
kalian hebat berkarya

alamatnya ini
jemputlah mari
tak seberapa isi
justeru segan berkongsi

kak teh membalas:
menengar kisah di sini situ,
blogspot buat hal memang selalu,
ramai pengunjung komen dan merapu,
kak teh malu tersipu-sipu

cik wang oi, blogspot buat angkara,
bukannya apa biasalah perkara
manis berseri dia mula bersuara
you saja nak bersandiwara!

tunduk kak teh tidak terkata,
mengenangkan nasib diri yang nyata,
nasib blogger yang merata-rata,
mengharapkan blogspot taklagi sengkita.

dare'Kampo bermadah lagi:
Kisahnya tiba bermula
nun jauh di tanah rata
Negeri yang Beraja
Melangkah tujuh benua

Suami dan isteri
penulis sejati
Mengarang luahan hati
penuh berseni

Si Suami digelarnya itu
Pok Awang Terengganu
Si isteri pula mahu
di panggil Makcik Blur gitu

Mereka berdua
Seiya sekata
menjadi umpama bara
membakar rasa jiwa

Memberi satu semangat
penuh ilmu makrifat
Semua pembaca terpikat
Dari jauh dan dekat

Terbongkarlah rahsia
di alam cyber
Mereka berdua
Excellent Bloggers!

sumbangan dr lilheaven:
Bersyaer peri masih bertatih
Pok guru keliling lama doh fasih
Sungguhpun sumbang ku bantai melangkah
Saja nak turut kasik meriah

Blogging mengumpul kenalan merata
Asalnya sekadar ingin bertinta
Kini menjadi teman bicara
Berkongsi kisah suka dan duka

Kecek-Kecek terdahulu dikenali
Choc A Blog Blog kini diminati
Rupanya pasangan suami isteri
Nukilan bermutu kami hayati

Cerita ceriti yang teramat berharga
Mari hormati pendirian empunya
Jangan la ada yg tutup blognya ya?
Kita berkongsi sekadar yang ada

Teruskan berkarya
Moga maju jaya
LindunganNya tetap bersama
Nawaitu kita kerana Dia

MASEHHHHHHHH!!!!