Song for My Sugar Spun Sister

It's been a long time since I wrote to you so I thought I'd better make a good job of it. Every time I hear Ce Matin La by Air I think of you, a brass Yorkshire trumpet/accordion combination on soft French beats, like a sassy mid summer wine flavoured with Compo type stunts in disused bath tubs against rolling green hills. Biggie Smalls is my man these days, hence the delay in writing.

I'll never forget that first foray into Laos (Ce incursion la); Peruvians, French lessons, spring rolls, chocolate pancakes, tubing, a life changing sunset, Beerlao and an attachment to the local herb that bore pipe dreams which became reality when the sultry Mekong mist and haze faded.

Your prediction long ago came true, shortly after last seeing you in Halifax I came back. I was going to go to India but was talked out of it. I went to China instead. On the way, I stopped off in Vientiane to arrange my Chinese visa and bumped into Dtock. The visit to China was delayed although I did eventually make it to the breathtaking (in every way) Tiger Leaping Gorge. I was soon back in Laos and then believe it or not Thailand. We live together in Bangkok now with our four month old son, Bamboo. He's usually in good spirits but he went for his inoculations yesterday and has been overheating and tetchy since. He's playful and communicative like me, good looking, placid and easy going like his Mum. When he cries he screws up his face like I frown on a bad photo, it's uncanny it reminds me of my Dad in a bad mood, thankfully he doesn't cry too much.

Bangkok still attracts the chaff of the west and we're hoping we can get out of here before too long. We're planning the greatest of escapes whilst dodging the sun, tuk tuks and natives with no peripheral vision. Last I heard from you you were in Latin America with a Hawain called Victor, if you get to Little Havannah yell 'Viva Fidel' or you in Africa? Keep going keep going wherever you are.

Take it East