Since secret Burmese immigrants started appearing in Blogland in the dead of night and taking over designer beach properties intended for absent westerners, I have found myself driven back more and more to the confines of my compound. Occasionally, I still walk up to the social club but even that is now being taken over by Burmese peasants. Sitting cross-legged in the shadows, they mutter about me and occasionally chortle with malevolent laughter.
|Arun - The Coconut Boy|
Then he brings me my drinking nut with a big wide grin saying "Dis for you Master". He's about eleven years old and as thin as a rake. He calls Thuza "Auntie" but I have a strong suspicion that he is in fact her son as the physical resemblance is quite striking.
Anyway, last evening he came running home from the social club where he'd overheard a group of the new immigrants gossiping on the bay terrace. Thuza had to translate his breathless report.
"He say they no likey you. Want take back Blogland make it back to Lampi Island gain.. No wanty white man here. Say dey gonna murder you. Come with torches. Burn dis house down. Feed your body to dem fish!"
She became increasingly tearful - almost hysterical. "Oh Mr Pud, Mr Pud! I really scared. They bad men! You gotta escape or dey kill you!"
"No way am I running away Thuza. For Christ's sake, I am a Yorkshireman. We aren't scared of anything! Tell The Coconut Boy I am grateful for the information but I'm staying put!" I said.
Even so, as Thuza skilfully oiled my aching shoulders before bedtime, I couldn't help feeling a degree of nervousness. I mean - this isn't why I came to Blogland. To be butchered by a bunch of illiterate thugs in the dead of night. I came here for peace and freedom and to build a new, alternative society with my blogging buddies. If only they were here. This invasion would never have happened. We'd be arm wrestling, dancing in the moonlight, sipping pina coladas and guffawing at each other's humorous tales till the wee small hours. The dream was so close I could almost touch it but they never came and now the jungle drums are beating.
|The machete knife - not just for cutting open coconuts|