Next morning I find Oscar on the terrace having breakfast. Bottle of Mountgay it looks like.
There’s an old cannon mounted on the wall and pointing out to sea. I hadn’t noticed it last night. Looks like a 3-pounder, probably Spanish. Then I get a whiff of frangipani, ‘dama de noche’ as the Spanish call it. The smell takes my mind back to Manila when things were hopping in Ermita. I’d walk down Del Pilar every evening on the way to work and pick a blossom or two to hold under my nose.
It’s a beautiful view out across the lagoon towards the East dotted with small islands. Oscar picked a nice spot I must say. The hillside is bright green, the ocean is blue and there’s a splash of pink from the group of flamingos.
“See,” says Oscar,” they’re looking better already.”
“Must be the shrimp,” I said, “seems to suit them.”
Such a relaxing place. I just want to let my mind go blank. The last thing I want to do is discuss geopolitics and suddenly he starts talking about the future of western civilization.That’s Oscar, he likes a good rant to start the day.
“We’re doomed Dick,” he says. “As a species. Doomed by our own greed. Overcrowding, pollution, cholesterol, global warming, if some new disease doesn’t wipe us out we’ll blow ourselves up. Just a question of time. And if none of that happens we’ll get hit by an asteroid sooner or later just you wait.”
“Nice to see you so cheerful this morning Oscar,” I say.
“Not a question of cheerful Dick. Just being realistic. The world’s fucked. And that includes America. The days of cheap land and unlimited resources have gone. The good times are over. Now America is run by Wall Street and Rupert Murdoch. And the CIA, They are watching us from satellites as we speak. And when they’re ready they'll hand everything over to the Chinks. And they’re in cahoots with the Ay-rabs. One day, people will wake up and the world will be wall-to-wall Walmart with mullahs on every aisle reciting verses from the Koran. If we don’t all get beheaded. Obama’s a goddam muslim.”
Then he gets started on Iraq. Or Eye-rak as he calls it.
“All the fucking ragheads should be nuked,” he says. (This is the kind of thinking that separates us from the animals.)
“Aw, leave the poor sods alone,” I say, “why stir them up?”
“Leave them alone?!” he yells, “Leave them alone! What about 911? They fucking attacked us!!!”
Strewth, he’s on good form this morning. He’s starting to look genuinely pissed off. Once he gets worked up it’s hard to stop him.
There’s no point arguing with him when he’s in this mood. Just makes him worse. A few times I’ve told him he’s full of shit and he starts screaming and shouting I don’t know anything etc. etc. Don’t get me wrong. I like the bloke. We’ve had some good laughs over the years but lately he’s got awful touchy. Where does all the anger come from? He's filthy rich, owns a beautiful island. Why take it out on me? I pass the Mountgay and he calms down a bit.
“The fucking planet is overpopulated.” He says, “What we need is a good cull. Maybe some kind of epidemic. And don’t get me started on Vladimir fucking Putin.”
I’ve got no problem with Vlad to be honest but I keep my thoughts to myself. Can’t post stuff like that on the blog. People will call me a Putin-lover. So I try to change the subject. I bring up my problems with the blog. I tell Oscar how it needs some kind of theme or story line and he says,
“Why not just have a good rant? It’s your blog you can say what you want. What’s the blog thing about then?” So I tell him about how I started posting on the internet. Just for something to do like.
“Ever thought about publishing it?” Oscar asks.
“Don’t be daft. Who would publish it?”
“Oh, I know people in New York,” says Oscar. “Of course it would need some work. Where are you going with it exactly? You don’t have a coherent plot and the characters need fleshing out. Fancy yourself as a writer do you Dick?”
“I’m not. That’s the trouble. I get in a real mess with the dialogue sometimes. Especially when I’m pissed.”
“I’ll get another bottle.” Says Oscar.
Bastard. No respect for the fiction process.
There’s an old cannon mounted on the wall and pointing out to sea. I hadn’t noticed it last night. Looks like a 3-pounder, probably Spanish. Then I get a whiff of frangipani, ‘dama de noche’ as the Spanish call it. The smell takes my mind back to Manila when things were hopping in Ermita. I’d walk down Del Pilar every evening on the way to work and pick a blossom or two to hold under my nose.
It’s a beautiful view out across the lagoon towards the East dotted with small islands. Oscar picked a nice spot I must say. The hillside is bright green, the ocean is blue and there’s a splash of pink from the group of flamingos.
“See,” says Oscar,” they’re looking better already.”
“Must be the shrimp,” I said, “seems to suit them.”
Such a relaxing place. I just want to let my mind go blank. The last thing I want to do is discuss geopolitics and suddenly he starts talking about the future of western civilization.That’s Oscar, he likes a good rant to start the day.
“We’re doomed Dick,” he says. “As a species. Doomed by our own greed. Overcrowding, pollution, cholesterol, global warming, if some new disease doesn’t wipe us out we’ll blow ourselves up. Just a question of time. And if none of that happens we’ll get hit by an asteroid sooner or later just you wait.”
“Nice to see you so cheerful this morning Oscar,” I say.
“Not a question of cheerful Dick. Just being realistic. The world’s fucked. And that includes America. The days of cheap land and unlimited resources have gone. The good times are over. Now America is run by Wall Street and Rupert Murdoch. And the CIA, They are watching us from satellites as we speak. And when they’re ready they'll hand everything over to the Chinks. And they’re in cahoots with the Ay-rabs. One day, people will wake up and the world will be wall-to-wall Walmart with mullahs on every aisle reciting verses from the Koran. If we don’t all get beheaded. Obama’s a goddam muslim.”
Then he gets started on Iraq. Or Eye-rak as he calls it.
“All the fucking ragheads should be nuked,” he says. (This is the kind of thinking that separates us from the animals.)
“Aw, leave the poor sods alone,” I say, “why stir them up?”
“Leave them alone?!” he yells, “Leave them alone! What about 911? They fucking attacked us!!!”
Strewth, he’s on good form this morning. He’s starting to look genuinely pissed off. Once he gets worked up it’s hard to stop him.
There’s no point arguing with him when he’s in this mood. Just makes him worse. A few times I’ve told him he’s full of shit and he starts screaming and shouting I don’t know anything etc. etc. Don’t get me wrong. I like the bloke. We’ve had some good laughs over the years but lately he’s got awful touchy. Where does all the anger come from? He's filthy rich, owns a beautiful island. Why take it out on me? I pass the Mountgay and he calms down a bit.
“The fucking planet is overpopulated.” He says, “What we need is a good cull. Maybe some kind of epidemic. And don’t get me started on Vladimir fucking Putin.”
I’ve got no problem with Vlad to be honest but I keep my thoughts to myself. Can’t post stuff like that on the blog. People will call me a Putin-lover. So I try to change the subject. I bring up my problems with the blog. I tell Oscar how it needs some kind of theme or story line and he says,
“Why not just have a good rant? It’s your blog you can say what you want. What’s the blog thing about then?” So I tell him about how I started posting on the internet. Just for something to do like.
“Ever thought about publishing it?” Oscar asks.
“Don’t be daft. Who would publish it?”
“Oh, I know people in New York,” says Oscar. “Of course it would need some work. Where are you going with it exactly? You don’t have a coherent plot and the characters need fleshing out. Fancy yourself as a writer do you Dick?”
“I’m not. That’s the trouble. I get in a real mess with the dialogue sometimes. Especially when I’m pissed.”
“I’ll get another bottle.” Says Oscar.
Bastard. No respect for the fiction process.
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