The Batman at the end of the bridge, on the castle side of the river, was tonight dressed up in a costume which at first looked like Spiderman. Closer inspection of that satan looking mask, it was obvious he was the devil.
Those Chinese made costumes are hit and miss.
Take your mask off, I ask him.
I’m entitled to know who I’m talking too.
He’s not offended by my effrontery. He’s loving the attention. The more I talk to him, the more the Malays hang around, wanting to pose for a picture. It’s just that simple.
In saying that, I scared off a big crowd the other night. They weren’t into listening to an obnoxious ‘know it all tourist’, I’m guessing.
I even apologized to Najib for it.
‘It’s the price we pay for living in Paradise,’ he says.
Tourists are obnoxious and I’m carrying the banner with pride.
I can’t pronounce Satan’s Muslim name so he says just to call him Sam.
He ran into the other batman, Najib, at Giants.
‘He was selling miniature cars.’
Now Najib was a giant. A giant selling miniature cars, it made perfect sense, right?
Kyro, a very obese Malay who has porky features, told me about a drunken Brit who tried to hit onto the waitresses.
‘We’ll have to manhandle you if you keep that up,’ related Kyro.
‘But I’m the great-grandson of James Brooke.’
Wait, I said, I’ve already used that line.
‘The fucking Brits,’ I said, hay I can swing both ways.
‘They came and took and then they left and took.’
They also brought the Indians.
‘And the fucking Chinese.’
This conversation was steering too close to a raw nerve.
I paid up and hit the bridge that swings.
It’s fun watching the Malays laughing and giggling as the bridge swings five inches to the right and left. It’s only three months old, based on a traditional bamboo bridge.
It’s just downright fucking dangerous and fun. Even I’m giggling at the absurdity of it all.