Your not English & broken already?

22/6/11

James opted for a snoo day so I left him to catch up on his beauty sleep and headed off to Batu Caves. Felling like an adventure setting out on my own I jumped on a train and after a short journey arrived at the cave complex that contains a Hindu temple. The place its self was full on monkeys roaming around, steeling things from tourists and generally being a nuisance… So in reality it felt like James was with me. There were huge temples to monkey gods and 272 very steep steps taking you up to the temple in the cave. Gruelling work in 30 degree heat with 95% humidity but worth it. (Don’t worry mum it’s much cooler at the seaside even pleasant)You will be ok in Bali.

Upon returning to KL I lunched at the train station self-services café. In the U.K. this would entail eating overpriced crap masquerading as food. In Malaysia it means cheap but excellent quality food served with the ever present iced coffee. The coffee itself is excellent served with condensed milk and lots of added sugar. Asking for it without the sugar always elects the same response of ‘NO sugar none at all?’ To my mine the condensed milk is sweet enough by the Malaysians and in fact the whole of Asia apparently have a sweet tooth.

Post lunch activity was a trip to the hair dressers an event mixed with equal parts relief anticipation and fear. Relief in that less hair means cooler, anticipation of looking less like a tramp and abject fear for what the end result will be. Fortunately I had found a good salon and even opted for some highlights which have neither turned green or luminescent yellow.

Retuning at 3pm I found James ensconced on a sofa, connected to the internet looking rather hungry. I had left money but leaving the hostel for food had proved to be too daunting so instead he had resorted to eating sweets and when they ran out two of my apples- he must have been desperate! I ventured out to purchase a subway for my husband to complete the fantasy that he was on that sofa at home.

Warring the same clothes day in day out means that buttons fall off so with the latest victim of overuse I headed to the local tailors to have a button sewn back on. Whilst I was waiting the seamstress integrated me about the U.K and then declared that I did not sound English. I explained that I was from the north but this did not placate her as she had a nephew at school in Edinburgh and he sounded English. Upon further probing it transpired that h was a public school and the other reference point was Prince William. I never really had a chance.

Back at the hostel I settled in for an evening with my new netbook but within a matter of minutes i was having problems. I had contracted a virus and despite James valiant attempts the computer would not play. James shook his head and told me that I was a menace to computers and that I had better take it back to the shop and get it sorted out. Felling rather pissed off I set off and promptly got lost looking for the metro. After much walking in circles and asking a succession of unhelpful people I found the metro and headed to the shopping centre. Locating the sales assistant and putting on a winning small combined with a look made of equal parts stupidity, neediness and desperation asked if he could help. After some fiddling it was decided that the netbook needed to be formatted and everything re installed. Fortunately my smile had worked and he agreed to do it free of charge. Oh what a lovely boy!