The aim is to hit a mosquito and hear it sizzle. It is quite a heart warming sound and we feel a real sense of achievement when we have sizzled thirty or more in one evening. I feel like the character in the Grimm's fairy tale who 'felled thirty at one blow' but they were blow flies. Mark handles the device with grace and waves it around the room as an extra dimension to some of his taekwondo movements, I just bang and slash in every direction, we can spend quite some time at this task.
There is a small tiled courtyard outside fronted by a high gate which has spikes on it to keep out intruders. The side wall also has spikes but they are obviously not high enough as the intruders leapt over it and stole all our shoes which were residing on a receptacle on the outside patio. Beyond the gate a careworn woman with a conical hat and ragged clothes squats on the road going through the garbage bags, her ancient bicycle is piled high with folded cardboard boxes, sacks of glass bottles and other items she has taken from various dustbins along her route. This is a regular occurrence and if a householder deposits more valuable items, such as old clothes or furniture, within minutes there is a convergence of tattered rubbish collectors all squatting and sorting outside the residence. I have not been able to determine whether there is an official regular garbage collection but everything seems to have disappeared by the time we are dressed and ready for the day. I keep wondering what they do with all those soiled nappies? My daughter had some underwear to dispose of but she refused to put it in the garbage as she said she didnt want her bras and panties strewn all over the street. Mind you her panties are those extremely uncomfortable thong things which would mystify most rubbish collectors, they would probably hang their onions or garlic from them.
By 7.30 am the surrounding streets are full of activity. The house over the road has a smart black limousine parked outside and the chauffeur is giving a last polish to the already shining exterior before the master comes out. Mark's chauffeur is parked outside our gate in his little yellow van which looks like a noddy car. Mr Phu wears a battered baseball cap and has endeared himself to us because he can drive. By that I mean he doesn't sit on the horn and sound it frequently every two minutes even if he needs to, he doesn't weave in and out of the traffic pretending to be a racing driver at Silverstone, slamming on the brakes and then accelerating and throwing any unfortunate passengers from one side of the car to the other, and, as a bonus, he has a modicum of English.
Our grandson, Billy, age two and three quarters, gets his own back on these drivers and throws up all over the car, serves them right, and no we don't want you to wait for us, your car smells!
If you want to be fit here you have to start exercising very early in the day, our daughter and her husband who run a Cross Fit Gym are up and at it (so to speak) at 5.30 am (yes am) they are pumping iron and turning somersaults on cross bars while lifting weights and doing squats and push-ups. No it isn't in air conditioned comfort it is in the fresh open air, the gym is frequented by the fit and healthy who want to stay fit and healthy. My idea of exercise is a leisurely bike ride to the French boulangerie to buy a baguette. I have a new pink bicycle with a basket on the front and a superior lock on the back which is fool proof unless picked up and manually carried away which I had to do when I couldn't undo the foolproof lock.
The doorbell on the gate goes frequently throughout the day and as we are not only bolted into the interior but padlocked as well we rely on the maid to do her duty and deal with the task of identifying the invader and going through the motions of unfastening our various security devices. Lo and behold however if the maid is out and I have to deal with it. I rush down the two flights of stairs (actually that is an understatement because they are very very long stairs and they twist) get to the bottom and sight the invader peering through the keyhole in the gate. Remember I have forgotten my key which is at the top of the very very long staircase and race (race? yes I can hear you laughing well perhaps not) and rummage through my shopping bag (I am not allowed a handbag because of robbers), after ten minutes I finally find it stuck to my grandsons magnetic Thomas the Tank engine at the bottom of the bag and race back down. By now I must have lost at least two kilos and I haven't even been to the gym. It takes me another ten minutes to wrestle with the padlock and bolt and when I open the gate with a sense of achievement I find that it is the Vietnamese landlady who I am not really that fond of.
Our Vietnamese landlady doesnt speak a work of English but she has a presence. She is a small woman with a smile fixed permanently on her face and rides a super smart red motor bike which she brings into the courtyard with an air of purpose. My heart sinks, she is going to be here at least an hour and although she doesnt live here she acts as if she does. She walks through the front door uninvited and through to the kitchen where she calls out the name of the maid and then turns to me with an expectant look on her face. I stand in front of the staircase which I have just run down and up and down trying to make an escape. She has a phobia about the amount of air conditioning we use and loves to sneak in when we are out and check that we haven't left it on. Which I have.
to be continued