Firstly, Malaysian roads are, by and large, quite good. While the local, heavily-trodden roads tend to accumulate potholes — and clumsy uneven patches — at an alarming rate, the multi-lane motorways are a dream to drive. I wish I could say the same of Malaysian drivers. Malaysian drivers have a sense of entitlement about their driving style, whether they’re driving a Mercedes or one of those dinky Peroduas that seem to get in your way at the most inconvenient moments. (Hence our nickname of “Pfd”s for these cars.) And don’t get me started on the scooters.

On the other hand, everything is in a logical hierarchical order. The bigger your vehicle, the more you get your own way. Trucks and buses are at the top of the list, scooters at the bottom. And, there’s really no malice in anything, just sheer and absolute incompetence.

Bearing this in mind, a stumble onto David Astley’s website provided much mirth. I hope he doesn’t mind, but I’ve reproduced his “Malaysian Road Rules” below and — believe me — It’s. All. True.

Since arriving in Malaysia in 1997, I have tried on many occasions to buy a copy of the Malaysian road rules, but have come to the conclusion that no such publication exists (or if it does, it has been out of print for years). Therefore after carefully observing the driving habits of Malaysian drivers, I believe I have at last worked out the rules of the road in Malaysia. For the benefit of other expatriates living in Malaysia, and the 50% of local drivers who acquired their driving licences without taking a driving test, I am pleased to share my knowledge below:

Q: What is the most important rule of the road in Malaysia?

A: The most important rule is that you must arrive at your destination ahead of the car in front of you. This is the sacrosanct rule of driving in Malaysia. All other rules are subservient to this rule.

Q: What side of the road should you drive on in Malaysia?

A: 99.7% of cars drive on the left hand side, 0.2% on the right hand side, and 0.1% drive in reverse (be on the look out for drivers reversing at high speed in the left hand lane of freeways, having just missed their exit). Therefore on the basis of ‘majority rules’, it is recommended that you drive on the left. However, be aware that only 90% of motorcyclists travel on the left hand side - the other 10% ride in the opposite direction or on the sidewalk. Fortunately, motorcyclists traveling in reverse are rarely seen.

Q: What are the white lines on the roads?

A: These are known as lane markers and were used by the British in the colonial days to help them drive straight after consuming their gin and tonics. Today their purpose is mainly decorative, although a double white line is used to indicate a place that is popular to overtake.

Q: When can I use the emergency lane?

A: You can use the emergency lane for any emergency, e.g. you are late for work, you left the toaster plugged in at home, you are bursting to go to the toilet, you have a toothache or you have just dropped a hot coffee in your lap. As it is an emergency, you may drive at twice the speed of the other cars on the road.

Q: Do traffic lights have the same meaning as in other countries?

A: Not quite. Green is the same – that means “Go”, but amber and red are different. Amber means “Go like hell” and red means “Stop if there is traffic coming in the other direction or if there is a policeman on the corner”. Otherwise red means the same as green. Note that for buses, red lights do not take effect until five seconds after the light has changed.

Q: What does the sign “Jalan Sehala” mean?

A: This means “One Way Street” and indicates a street where the traffic is required to travel in one direction. The arrow on the sign indicates the preferred direction of the traffic flow, but is not compulsory. If the traffic is not flowing in the direction in which you wish to travel, then reversing in that direction is the best option.

Q: What does the sign “Berhenti” mean?

A: This means “Stop”, and is used to indicate a junction where there is a possibility that you may have to stop if you cannot fool the cars on the road that you are entering into thinking that you are not going to stop.

Q: What does the sign “Beri Laluan” mean?

A: This means “Give Way”, and is used to indicate a junction where the cars on the road that you are entering will give way to you provided you avoid all eye contact with them and you can fool them into thinking that you have not seen them.

Q: What does the sign “Dilarang Masuk” mean?

A: This means “No Entry”. However, when used on exit ramps in multi-storey car parks, it has an alternative meaning which is: “Short cut to the next level up”.

Q: What does the sign “Pandu Cermat” mean?

A: This means “Drive Smartly”, and is placed along highways to remind drivers that they should never leave more than one car length between them and the car in front, irrespective of what speed they are driving. This is to ensure that other cars cannot cut in front of you and thus prevent you from achieving the primary objective of driving in Malaysia, and that is to arrive ahead of the car in front of you. If you can see the rear number plate of the car in front of you, then you are not driving close enough.

Q: What is the speed limit in Malaysia?

A: The concept of a speed limit is unknown in Malaysia.

Q: So what are the round signs on the highways with the numbers, 60, 80 and 110?

A: This is the amount of the ‘on-the-spot’ fine (in ringgits - the local currency) that you have to pay to the police if you are stopped on that stretch of the highway. Note that for expatriates or locals driving Mercedes or BMWs, the on-the-spot fine is double the amount shown on the sign.

Q: Where do you pay the ‘on-the-spot’ fine?

A: As the name suggests, you pay it ‘on-the-spot’ to the policeman who has stopped you. You will be asked to place your driving licence on the policeman’s notebook that he will hand to you through the window of your car. You will note that there is a spot on the cover of the notebook. Neatly fold the amount of your fine into four, place the fine on the spot, and then cover it with your driving licence so that it cannot be seen. Pass it carefully to the policeman. Then, with a David Copperfield movement of his hands, he will make your money disappear. It is not necessary to applaud.

Q: But isn’t this a bribe?

A: Oh pleeease, go and wash your mouth out. What do you want? A traffic ticket? Yes, you can request one of those instead, but it will cost you twice the price, forms to fill out, cheques to write, envelopes to mail, and then three months later when you are advised that your fine was never received, more forms to fill out, a trip to the police station, a trip to the bank, a trip back to the police station, and maybe then you will wish you had paid ‘on-the-spot’.

Q: But what if I haven’t broken any road rules?

A: It is not common practice in Malaysia to stop motorists for breaking road rules (because nobody is really sure what they are). The most common reasons for being stopped are: (a) the policeman is hungry and would like you to buy him lunch; (b) the policeman has run out of petrol and needs some money to get back to the station; (c) you look like a generous person who would like to make a donation to the police welfare fund; or (d) you are driving an expensive car which means you can afford to make a donation to the police welfare fund.

Q: Does my car require a roadworthy certificate before I can drive it in Malaysia?

A: No, roadworthy certificates are not required in Malaysia. However there are certain other statutory requirements that must be fulfilled before your car can be driven in Malaysia. Firstly, you must ensure that your windscreen is at least 50% obscured with English football club decals, golf club membership stickers or condo parking permits. Secondly, you must place a tissue box (preferably in a white lace cover) on the back shelf of your car under the rear window. Thirdly, you must hang as many CDs or plastic ornaments from your rear vision mirror as it will support. Finally, you must place a Garfield doll with suction caps on one of your windows. Your car will then be ready to drive on Malaysian roads.

Q: What does a single yellow line along the edge of a road mean?

A: This means parking is permitted.

Q: What does a double yellow line along the edge of a road mean?

A: This means double parking is permitted.

Q: What does a yellow box with a diagonal grid of yellow lines painted on the road at a junction mean?

A: Contrary to the understanding of some local drivers, this does not mean that diagonal parking is permitted. It indicates a junction that is grid-locked at peak hours.

Q: Can I use my mobile phone whilst driving in Malaysia?

A: No problem at all, but it should be noted that if you wish to use the rear-vision mirror to put on your lipstick (women only please) or trim your eyebrows at the same time as you are using a mobile phone in the other hand, you should ensure that you keep an elbow free to steer the car. Alternatively, you may place a toddler on your lap and have the child steer the car whilst you are carrying out these other essential driving tasks.

Q: Is it necessary to use indicator lights in Malaysia?

A: These blinking orange lights are commonly used by newly arrived expatriate drivers to indicate they are about to change lanes. This provides a useful signal to local drivers to close up any gaps to prevent the expatriate driver from changing lanes. Therefore it is recommended that expatriate drivers adopt the local practice of avoiding all use of indicator lights. However, it is sometimes useful to turn on your left hand indicator if you want to merge right, because this confuses other drivers enabling you to take advantage of an unprotected gap in the traffic.

Q: Why do some local drivers turn on their left hand indicator and then turn right, or turn on their right hand indicator and then turn left?

A: This is one of the unsolved mysteries of driving in Malaysia.

While we were at the Mid-Valley Mall in KL, we saw a martial arts demonstration, somehow incongruously intertwined with an electronics exhibition. That is, one of those open spaces in a shopping mall was done over to highlight a company’s line of products in mobile phones, video-recorders and small appliances and, amid all this glass, microcircuitry and glass (and did I mention the glass?), a tae kwon do group did a demonstration. Okay, so here’s my take on this for any future martial arts instructors thinking of grabbing a few bucks/a bit of publicity by doing the same thing.

1. Although nothing happened in this instance, take it from me (and every other mother in the world) that (a) well-behaved children jumping around and (b) cases of expensive electronic gear, do not mix.
2. If you’re the instructor, work out yourself. There’s nothing that dents the credibility of a dojo more than having an overweight instructor who puffs and wheezes after completing two boring-ass defensive movements against (yawn) an attacker with a pretend knife. (Extra bonus hint: no right-minded, half-competent knife attacker EVAH attacks overhand. That’s only for movies … and, er, martial arts demonstrations.)
3. When you get your students to break planks of wood, it’s good that you make the scoring on the back of the plank as invisible as possible. But try to also make the little markers — telling the assistants which way to rotate the plank — a little less obvious as well, m’kay?
4. Try to be innovative by coming up with something a little different. Like setting up a more realistic street setting for a demonstration, or another way to perform a form/kata. It means you have to think a little, but it will pay off.

I’m not a fan of the Korean or Japanese martial arts (not until the advanced stages, when all arts blur together), so I’ll keep the rest of my comments to myself … and to a relaxing husband over a scotch, as we talk over our various martial arts experiences and watch the koi in our pond snuffle around the lotuses and not get any. Mwahahahaha.

POSTSCRIPT: I meant to blog on Friday but … well, here was the sitch. In our storeroom — at the very back, do a u-turn and, yep, right there under the stairs just where the bottom of the stairs meets the floor — was a metal pail, half-full of acrylic slate sealer. The bottom seal of the pail decided to expire and the sealer leaked out, muchas litres of it, soaking into a dozen large cardboard packing boxes (full of stuff, natch!), tool-bearing plastic crates, brooms, mops, assorted tins, etc. on its way to freedom . The first we found out about it was when a strong smell, and some thick gooey stuff, started leaking out from beneath the door.

Oh. My. God. Needless to say, the rest of Friday and a fair hunk of Saturday was a bust. Just when you think you can take a breather … Oh well, at least we now have the best sealed storeroom floor in the neighbourhood.

Because (a) we live in Lotus Street, and (b) we have a pond, I kinda got the idea that it would be great to put some lotus plants in our pond. Little did I know how incredibly stupid lotus plants are.

Like this. Don’t plant lotuses in square-edged containers. If you do that, the roots may end up in one corner, go round and round in that corner without finding the rest of the container, and the rootbound plant will die. Solution: plant lotuses in circular containers.

Or this. Never cut off dead leaves. The stems of lotuses are hollow, and if you cut away the discoloured leaves, water will get into the stems and — how ironic is this? — the plant will drown. Solution: don’t cut the dead leaves. If you hate the look of black/brown mottled and dead biological matter, hide those leaves under healthy ones.

And then there’s the koi who love lotus tubers and roots the way I love me some porky goodness. Koi have such a hard-on for subterranean lotusy bits, that they will excavate a lotus plant and eat its roots. The result? You guessed it, the lotus plant dies. Solution: Either don’t put lotuses and koi in the same pond (too late), or “mulch” the lotus container with sharp little lava rocks to deter industrious fish.

Now, believe it or not, I did a stupid thing. I cut the dead leaves off the lotus plants. Then I decided to go and read up on how to maintain lotuses. This is not exactly the correct order of things. Can you say p-a-n-i-c? Lotus plants are not cheap, no matter where in the world you live, and I was facing three examples of terminal cases right there. You can’t get some string and tie the stems shut because the stems are not really pliable like that. What I needed was something waterproof and pliable that I could use like a paste, to close off the holes in the stems (and they’re really obvious when you’re looking at them, scant centimetres under the killing water). What I also had were still a couple of hundred boxes with great stuff in them … still unpacked.

Well, people, if you’re ever stuck in that situation, I’ve found a solution. Lipstick. Using the tip of a metal nail file as a tiny spatula, I scraped off little mounds of lipstick and pressed them into the stem, making sure the lipstick covered all the tubules. I did that two weeks ago, and the plants don’t seem to be dying on me. In fact, I’m seeing new leaves emerge every few days. And some of the fish seem to like the taste of lipstick. While I’m currently breathing a sigh of relief over saving three expensive plants from my own stupidity, I’m trying hard not to think about lipstick and koi diets. One crisis at a time.

Looking for accommodation for a family in Kuala Lumpur is a non-trivial task. It’s okay when you’re 2 adults and 1 child, but with 2 children, it gets to be a pain, mostly because most hotel rooms only have room for one extra rollaway bed and the kids are getting too big to share the one single bed. (And why is it that most hotel reception staff can only give you the size of the room — “It’s 47 square metres, ma’am”? I mean, am I an interior decorator? Can I magically divine what, and how, the furniture has been laid out and what will, and won’t fit? — rather than whether 2 rollaway beds will fit in there? But, as usual, I digress.)

So, when I found the Heritage Railway Station Hotel, offering a Family Suite for only RM$180 a night, including breakfast, I jumped at the chance. The old railway station in KL is a lovely example of Moorish-ish architecture (Yes, there are two “ish”s there for a reason; I’ll go into the history of KL architecture another time), and the fact that part of it had been converted to a hotel fulfilled all of my railway-heritage dreams. Which were soon dashed.

You know how you enter a place sometime, and take a look around, and all you can think is that it needs a damn good hose down and scrubbing? That’s what the Railway Station Hotel is like. The bones are terrific: great architecture, graceful curves, timber balustrades, old-fashioned wire-cage elevator. The execution sucks big time. The blankets and towels provided are so thin you can almost see through them. The room windows are small and dingy. The furniture is old and cracked, with ill-fitting doors and missing catches. Everything water-related that could leak in the bathroom, did. The hot water wasn’t. You can imagine the dust rising from the carpet, pillows and beds every time you rest your gaze on them. On the plus side, the air-conditioning worked. The mattresses weren’t bad. And the rooms are huge.

For breakfast, you have a choice of two dishes — local and western. (For us, it was fried rice or omelette.) If you want another cup of tea or coffee, you have to pay for it. With the exception of the young man at the front desk and one other person, the staff looked beaten down and demoralised. As we soon became. Not the kids, of course; they loved it. But that’s what makes tagging kids along such an adventure for parents.

Actually, in my opinion, the only reason to visit the Heritage Railway Station Hotel is for one man — the dude who seems to run the hotel’s “restaurant”. It might look nice in the pictures (if you decide to follow the link to the Hotel and have a poke around). But, in reality, imagine that room after being buried in dust for two centuries, then quickly swept clear by a bunch of inept archaeologists. Ah yes, that’s closer to what we faced in the morning. But back to the maitre’d. He is, without a doubt, a dusky Basil Fawlty: tall and lanky, with an eternally morose expression on his face, and a nervous, held-in, violent energy. He moved jerkily from table to table, barking out orders to the sole waitress, without changing the expression on his face. He picked up breakfast plates almost before the customer was finished. He crushed errant pieces of paper convulsively in his hand before whisking them away. Nothing ever seemed to please him. And he was a delight to watch.

I was waiting for him to berate a customer for not finishing her tea fast enough, or to take umbrage with a complaint from someone, but he was stubbornly uncooperative in this regard. Still, there was enough entertainment on offer for me to be engagingly distracted during breakfast.

Despite “Basil”, however, I will not be returning to the Heritage Railway Station Hotel and, unless you want to relive some B-grade comedy/horror movie vibe set in a creepy hotel, I suggest you stay away from it too. At least until it has swallowed swags of money and been properly turned into the gracious, and sinuously graceful, hotel it can be.

Central Market, as well as being a popular tourist haven, also contains an interesting shop that specialises in selling t-shirts with topical slogans emblazoned on the front. For anyone following the sub-prime fiasco, there’s “HSBC: Highly Suspicious Banking Corporation”, various ones alluding to “Singabore”, George Bush t-shirts, and ones poking fun at Malaysians (”Malaysians aren’t rude people at all! So, just get out of my f&$*$%ing way!”). Malaysian companies are also lampooned. My current favourite is from a local political controversy regarding a politican called Lingam, a taped phone conversation, an unidentified person at the other end of the call and allegations of corruption. It says, “I’M the one who spoke to Lingam”.

Out of curiosity, we visited the Mid-Valley Mall. Oh. Mama. I think it would seriously take two days to comb through every shop in that centre. It was HUGE! Blatant, marble-tiled consumerism everywhere. Made doubly frustrated by the fact that there was absolutely nothing I wanted to buy … except mustard. Yes, despite the prevalence of mustard seeds in this region, a good selection of mustards ranks up there with continental parsley as the holy grail for gourmets. We found a supermarket and stocked up on some jars. Who would’ve thought I’d now regard it as one of my major food groups?

It didn’t take long for KL to weave its chaotic magic on me again, but it was not the same with J, who thought the city was “a little mean” and full of angst-driven individuals. Admittedly, we didn’t get to sample a lot of food, but tried chicken at two places and found Johor chicken to be much more tender and flavourful in both cases. (My MIL says the eggs in Johor also taste wonderful.)

As a personal observation, almost all the Johoreans we’ve spoken to have been exceedingly welcoming people, and genuinely interested in our wellbeing, from the man doing our kitchen who got us in touch with a security ironwork company because he was worried about our personal safety, to the private taxi owner who picked us up even though we didn’t confirm the appointment (mobile ran out of juice) because he thought we’d have problems getting around without knowing much of the local language, Malay. They have all gone beyond their current jobs to organise services for us, and are delighted that we’re settling in their state. The vice-principal at The Wast’s new school, the nephew of our kitchen cabinetmaker, the manager at our leasing bank, even our car salesman (who bought us lunch, drove us to TW’s future school, and waited in the car while we participated in an ad hoc 30-minute interview), have unstintingly taken us under their wing, with humour and good grace. In J’s eyes, KL — with its capital-city, ‘you have to know what you want first’ attitude — doesn’t come close.

So, even though I was born in KL, I was happy to get back to Johor, and to a more relaxed and friendly people. And, just to top it off, Johor food kicks serious ass. Makan boleh!

Kuala Lumpur (KL) reminds me of Blade Runner, with ageing, decaying old buildings next to flashy architecturally innovative structures, interspersed with bright neon signs and too little greenery. At night, when you can’t see the crumbling bits too clearly, it looks pretty spectacular. During the day, you can’t help but wish there was an effective Town Planning Department managing the city’s strategy.

We stayed around the Petaling Street area, or Chinatown, as it’s known. I can admit that, in the past in various cities, I’ve been harassed by people selling pirated watches and handbags, or movies, or spruikers extolling the virtues of their clubs or restaurants, but it wasn’t until we were strolling down Petaling Street (and it’s pronounced Peh-TAR-ling, not PET-a-ling) that I was — for the first time in my life — surrounded by people hard selling … foot massages. Don’t ask me. Maybe the one thing KL tourists yearn above all else are relaxing foot massages. If you’re after one, go to KL’s Chinatown. Don’t look for them; they’ll find you.

When you’re suffering from the heat in Singapore, Singaporeans like to tell you smugly that at least their city’s cooler than KL. Don’t believe it. Not anymore. There is so much high-rise, crowded development in Singers that it’s difficult to draw a breezy breath anywhere. KL (with a maximum of 33 degrees Celsius for the days we were there) was relatively cool in comparison.

To be continued on Friday …

And Chapter Eleven of War Games is now available.

In the dark ruins of Sab-Inuk, Garza finally tells Cheloi one of her secrets, including her suspicion that it was Grakal-Ski behind their rebel capture. Cheloi is not too surprised by this, but is stunned when Garza tells her she is from the Fusion. She thinks this is a happy secret she can keep to herself, until she finds out Garza has told more than one person about her past. Cheloi’s life is about to get way more complicated.

FAVOURITE QUOTES:

“If you gave them information in an attempt to negotiate something like a prisoner swap, it was a wasted effort. Nothing, short of your miraculous escape plan, would have saved my life.”
“Saving you was the last thing on my mind.”

“I wanted to hate you,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I came prepared to hate you, for all you did to the people of this planet.”

“Grakal-Ski wants you dead,” she said abruptly.
“Yes, I imagine he’s been fantasising about that for the past couple of years.”

[EDITED to add] IPOCALYPSE UPDATE: Now a gentleman has obviously somehow got his hands on J’s number to ask for help with his Apple device. We’re sympathetic, but …

Yes, we’re finally back in the land of the virtually connected. With three machines up and buzzing around the Intertubes, life can finally start getting back on an even keel. In the meantime, lots has happened and I’m just sorry I missed out on commenting on so many great articles from people like Liane (congrats on your new Dorchester profile, Liane!) and Maria (and on your revamped website and always great ideas, M!), just to name two. With lots of additional links to follow, I’m going to be busy for the next few weeks.

What happened, you may ask? Before I continue, you need to know something. J is the reasonable, calm one in our relationship. I’m the person you probably wouldn’t like too much if you met me, especially if you annoyed me over something. After running through what little patience I had on the whole connection thing, I wrote a pithy email to whatever Time dot Com managers I could find suggesting, among other things, that their golf games were obviously more important than something as trite as “customer service”, and suggesting an alternative motto for their company. Within one and a half hours of that email being sent to the capital, Kuala Lumpur, four people were at our Johor house (a few hundred kilometres away), trying to correctly set up our connection. In the end, it didn’t come good till the following night but, while I still consider the upper management of Time to be gross incompetents (for reasons other than what’s detailed here), their people on the ground have, without a doubt, been courteous, friendly and helpful beyond measure. Thanks to the technicians who pulled significantly more cable than anticipated, and still completed the job on time, and to the Project Officer, Tahawi, who has to bear the brunt of customer complaints, in person, more than he should. Having said that, we still don’t have a phone (don’t ask), but at least we have the internet and Skype, so all’s not lost.

I also read about the launch of Apple’s iPhone, content to be an amused bystander watching the Apple lemmings rush their way to the store, and never thinking that we would get caught up in the iPocalypse ourselves. (We detest Apple, for Steve Jobs’ management style, for their arrogance, their closed architecture, their exploitative pricing policies, and other things that will come to me once I have another coffee inside me.)  You see, there’s some poor lady floating around Malaysia somewhere who somehow got J’s Malaysian mobile number and was under the mistaken impression that we were the local Apple store. She called, she sent SMSs, all to help with her iPhone, and didn’t quite believe us when we told her we were just private people and not part of the hospital-antiseptic-white brigade. We’re half-expecting another call from her later today, judging by the scepticism in her voice when she rang off last time.

And, just to finish, I know I’m behind with the Radio Free Bliss podcasts and will be initiating a more aggressive schedule and start sending out schedules and interview questions to all June and July participants this week. I’m baaaaaack!

We made an overnight trip to Kuala Lumpur on the weekend, thus providing enough material for a few blogs. While we were away, MIL babysat Lotus Street, looking forward to two days of peace, serenity and contemplating the pond. Poor poor woman. This is what happened.

On our first day away, she was busy catching up on her letter-writing, when she noticed Fluff and Squeak jumping around an extension cable near the front door. Curious, she rose to find out what the problem was and, as she neared the door, realised that it wasn’t a cable the cats were jumping around. After all, extension cables aren’t brown, a metre long, half upright, and hissing.

With the cats keeping the snake penned to the area just by the front door, she rushed off, returning with a walking stick … and a can of mosquito repellent. While she was relating this story, I commented to J that, if I was that snake, getting mosquito spray in my eyes would have probably pissed me off even more. Anyway, between the three of them, they killed the snake. MIL bagged it and threw it away in the rubbish bin. Even two hours later, when talking to J over the phone, she was still (understandably) shaken, and looking around desperately for some chamomile tea/valerian/industrial-strength morphine to calm her down.

This is what we figured happened. After much haranguing and gnashing of teeth, the telecommunications guys finally fronted up to our place late last week and began laying cable. In the process, they discovered blocked ducts, indicating infrastructure that had been laid years ago, but left untouched since then. In our carport is a small pit for the connection of said cable. Usually, it’s covered with a solid concrete lid, but it was askew to assist the telecommunications guys with their work. And it’s about two metres from our front door. So, all three of us figure that the cable-laying disturbed the poor snake and it decided to go looking for another place to live. And guess where it ended up?

There are no winners in this story. I like snakes. I like their “you don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you” philosophy, which I think the rest of the world could do well to emulate more. I doubt there are more serene animals in the world. I think the one that met its unfortunate fate in our house was probably a Bronzeback, which is not venomous, are very common in this region, and mostly go after frogs and small mammals.

And as for my MIL … well, imo, the woman deserves a medal at the very least. Here’s a Polish grandmother who’s travelled halfway around the world to a foreign-language, tropical country and is alone in the only inhabited house in the area. She is confronted face-to-face, for the first time in her life, by a majorly annoyed, loudly hissing snake in classic threatening posture, with her son and family hundreds of kilometres away. She said that Fluff and Squeak were on that snake in an instant, and provided invaluable help despatching the reptile. (The next day, Squeak undid part of his goodwill bonus points by eating one of our pond fish. I think he thinks he’s invincible now.)

Which all sounds great. Except, I wouldn’t subject most people I know to the kind of stress involved in confronting a pissed-off snake. And, of course, it would have to happen on the one night we were away from the house. When we got home, J also checked under the hood of our car (we took public transport to and from KL), in case there was another snake that took refuge in another favourite snake spot, but it looks like there was just the one hapless animal.

And that’s our most recent snake story.

CONNECTIVITY UPDATE: All cables are connected on our side, but we’re still not getting access. The telecommunications guys (Time dot Com, in case you were wondering) are going to have “a meeting” to “discuss the situation”. The sound you hear is my head hitting a solid surface. Repeatedly.