Bum Chums (Get Your Mind Outta The Gutter)

Bumming had lost its lustre. There I was, searching for work, regular work, any work, as long as it had a fixed income, because, the thing I missed most, was my credit card. (Yes ladies and gentleman, as much as that lowers me in your estimation, I have to say, like George Washington, I cut down the cherry tree, I cannot tell a lie ((well actually I can, but in this case, I'm not)) )

Anyway, I thought the days interminable, sitting at home, stuck on the computer, or watching yet another rerun of M*A*S*H - you ever realise how watching the same comedy over and over tends to depress rather than amuse you? Like when I had my wisdom tooth knocked out, and stayed at home with about 10 new PG Wodehouse books and after reading most, started sobbing because it was all so frivolous and if another person said well pip pip then I could have cheerfully chopped off their heads?

OK. All that buildup and that's not what I came here to talk about. I do not exist when I'm drunk (OK it's early in the morning and it's only coffee, but still).

I discovered why bumming has paled. You need someone to bum with. And yesterday, I had just that. Addy came out for lunch with me (she's a member of the working elite, but she was off yesterday) and we lingered over Chipotle Roast Chicken sandwiches at Coffee Bean, talked up a storm, tried on clothes at British India (Addy, not me), visited a few art galleries in Bangsar (we're both very distinguished art critics, ahem)

Addy: Honestly Jenn, how do they choose these things? That looks like something a talented three-year old could do.

Jenn: Yes, yes. (Imitates La Penseur for a bit) I dunnolar Addy. Anyway, that other quite striking what?

Addy: The background looks silver from this distance. If I had a Malay restaurant with dark wood walls, I would definitely buy that.

Jenn: Hmmm, lot of these end up in restaurants, huh?

Addy: (nodding wisely) Yes, yes.

And then we ran some errands. And ended up at Strudels Lucky Gardens, with clove and cardamon teh tarek and a tangerine ice tea as well as a sujee cake. Yum, the sujee cake was nice and buttery. Then we talked up two storms. (I tried to sell Addy on Shantaram and she has finally agreed to borrow my book and do the flip test). Then Addy had to go to the hairdresser for a hair wash (nice luxury, that) and I went along with her and we discussed really abstruse topics like Madeline Wickham (a pseudonym for Sophie Kinsella of the Shopaholic series) and women who prey on vulnerable men at funerals.

OK at this juncture I have to report that a sum total of two people have said they like my hair. My good friend Omar, whom I talked to about the possibility of hiring me and Addy's hairdresser. So that's two. Versus like a 100. But I would say I'm still ahead.

Then we decided that since we had done nothing but eat the whole day, it was time for dinner. So we sashayed along to the T-Club and had the mutton curry (which was very nice and I would definitely recommend it). As we meandered through Bangsar Village on our way to T-Club I picked up a nice white kurta. Yay! Now I have all of two kurtas.

Large and roomy, that's the ticket.

Addy's friend Antoine joined us at T-Club and he ordered some Japanese dishes (which were also very good)and we talked about Paris, and he said the most unusual time there was Fall of 1996 (the time I visited) because everyone was on strike, so Parisians actually started talking to each other, offering lifts to strangers (cos all the public transportation was on strike) and being uncharacteristically nice. I said my view on Paris was formed then, and I find it difficult to shift. Strangers were chatting to me on the street, everyone was nice, everyone spoke (or tried to speak) English. I found out that the artist on Montmartre who sketched me without permission and then asked for 300 francs for his effort, had cheated me blind, but I didn't feel as indignant as I should have.

I love Paris in the Springtime
I love Paris in the Fall

It's surprising how after a day of doing nothing in particular you can feel so pleasantly tired. I came back to do a Mensa test that the Chubster (that's my brother Ivan, for those not in the know) had sent and was gleeful that I got 16 answers where he got only 5. He asked how I got so many, and I said I must be a frigging genius. Or at least, highly intelligent. Then I asked him how to email him my answers...and he said, duh, why don't you click reply on the mail I sent.

And he said: "Genius???? Highly intelligent????"

And I said: "Heh, I'm tiredlar. And according to your stupid test I am."

And he promptly offered to send me a few more Mensa tests. But I declined. Declared my intention of knocking off. Which I did.

(Oh yeah, I did all of five Christmas cards yesterday, which I think is pretty good. I also collected a whole heap of addresses. Am I efficient or what? What do you mean what?)