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Management at the hotel are offering to launder a T-Shirt, a pair of jocks and my tracksuit pants.

Clean clothes, I might be in for the running.

A fifteen-minute selfie session at my local, no one had any time to say that I smelt. I was sweety and well, smelly.

But selfies always come first.

The tourists go to the jungle or the coast. They don’t come here.

Pontianak is deprived of Western tourists. I’m all they have.

The problem with wearing professionally washed clothes, ten minutes later they are soaking wet from humidity.

Hand washing and hanging them is the only way to go on the open road.

I had to decline to get my clothes  washed for free.

Why? asked the manager who I think wants me to rent out his room in the hotel for the next year.

Because I’ve only got one set of clothing.

Ha ha ha.

He didn’t believe me.

One more session at the dentist.

She’s been performing magic.

I don’t know how long the teeth will stay white but she’s even patched up the top of the tooth that connects with the gums. The tooth enamel was flicking off.

Now it’s new.

She uses strips of plastic and then zaps it with infrared light.  The light is actually blue. Infa blue light. The results are just amazing. I had no idea she could patch them up.

They are on top of dentistry here.

I’m drinking gallons of beverages just to keep the fluids up on the equator.

Most of the suppliers have rotten teeth. It’s mostly the Chinese who have bad teeth. But selling drinks for thirty cents, my currency, isn’t going to fatten up their savings to invest in a visit to the dentist.

Problem is a bloated bladder needs a toilet. Not a slippery one, or one that has rats guarding its entrance or a door that self-locks.

It’s always a battle when consuming drinks. A battle to find a toilet you aren’t going to slip on the floor and never get back up.

I’ve had a few nasty falls. A bad knee, a neck that is worse from a few falls helping out another friend. Collectively, the neck is saying fuck off. And I’m the one dealing with it.

Walking sticks are just so cool.  I walked vast distances in the desert with one.

A bowlegged lady was walking with one yesterday. I took a photo of her in black and white. A walking stick doubled up as a weapon.

Tap tap.

Nothing too aggressive, more a warning.

‘Fuck off and take photos of someone else you nosy bastard.’

She was pretty good with it, and used it like  a martial artist using a staff.

I’m giving my massage man a big miss. There’s nothing he can do about it. Management won’t let him harass customers.

I wear my stinky running shoes for more traction. When it’s raining surfaces get slippery.

Not only do I get free breakfast and coffee all day, they have added a free laundry service.

Borneo is the land of milk and honey. If it wasn’t, would I be getting all these freebies? Of course not.

I’m not giving up. I’ve got readers to entertain.

An old man pulled a cart full of rubbish with tiny and tired steps. An old lady with twisted legs, crabbed painfully across the road. I’ve got a long way before I’m suffering like them.

So toughen up Princess and no slipping.  You ain’t a young spring chicken anymore but that is no excuse not to go hard.

To access my free breakfast, I have to walk up three flights of stairs. Nothing like an incentive to go the hard yards. The knees refuse to crack under the pressure. They are real team players when it counts most.

I think of Inspector Tay. He aint no spring chicken either. But just look what the bugger does at the end of the fourth book in the series,  The Girl in the Window.  Do you think Singapore gave him a medal for it?

I could even hear his knees creaking as he tracked down that Indonesian terrorist.

If you are looking for inspiration, then read that book.

‘Do not go gentle into that good night..’

That’s  become my motto as the Big Five ‘O’ looms in flashing red neon light.

Could that be a cathouse, just over the horizon? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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