A matter of stealing ones thunder

Going back to the hierarchy thing. Dan's a little perturbed because without me and Phil around he'd be the 'elegant, strong, powerful, masculine-looking tall' foreigner and hence have all the attention because let's face it we all love the movie star-esque attention.

I'm a little gutted because if Phil wasn't around I'd be the exotic, ridiculously long-limbed, non-coconut shaped headed Westerner and I'd be the one the question 'Do you play basketball?' would be directed at (of course not the verbal question, more the question asked by the flailing of arms and hand gestures made famous by Lionel Blair in Give Us a Clue.

So we come to the King of the Thunder Robbers, Phil. He's a little miffed because me and Dan don't seem to produce from the locals the same kind of hysterical laughter, the same kind of contorted faces of children due to morbid fear, the same lengths of gawking that we as Englishman have been taught is friggin' rude.

But alas, Phil is on the verge of cracking. His calm facade is melting away. The endless pictures being taken as we sit round our dinner table, the uncontrollable hysterics as he merely says 'hello'. The smile is fading, the blood is boiling and I fear by the time you read this Planet Earth will have lost a quarter of its population and been ridded of all the Mr. Wangs, the Mrs. Wongs and all the little Dongs.

But ogling and mass slaughter aside we wouldn't have it any other way. Since meeting up with Dan and Phil on 1st May it's been 10 days of partying and adventuring and this day we rest - come on, even God himself couldn't last more than 6 days before his body said no more to beer and wine and creating. Well, we haven't been CREATIN' but the dancefloors have seen plenty of SHAKiN'. It all started in Hong Kong with our resident friend, Ellie taking us salsa-ing, bar dancing, sampling exclusivity that her 'sex and the city' lifestyle has afforded her to last night here in Yangshuo when after returning late after our usual quota of a barrel of beer for 50p I decided to play a devilish trick on the guys by running ahead up the stairs to open our room door and close it before they could get there (yeah, I know I know - ingenious and mature). But, it backfired because in my beer induced condition I had chosen the wrong door (which my key worringly opened) and as I smugishly closed the door and irritatingly laa-ing the Greensleeves tune through the keyhole to again prove my maturity and superiority to Dan and Phil as they walked up to my door....and then passed it to go to our PROPER room.....****!!! Run away!!!!

So here we are thinking we've drunk too much lately just taking it easy and relaxing free from all the cycling in the mountains, free from Bamboo rafting and free from crawling through caves on our bellies using our lips to pull us along because there's no room for our arms to come with us.

Hong Kong though...Whew! What a city. It's just entered into the top 6 at No. 2. Certain aspects of it give it a No.1 billing but the Brazilian samba beat keeps its nose ahead, just. So the table stands as thus:

1. Rio

2. Hong Kong

3. La Paz

4. Sydney

5. Buenos Aires

6. Kuala Lumpur

Other cities just missed the top 6 by a hairs breadth ie. Bangkok (but was too crazy), Brisbane (too hot) and Santiago (too many homosexuals).

Right, must fly as our little China girl, Amy is due to arrive in an hour who we met on the bus. It's a nice recipricol agreement where she practises her English the way God intended - by not talking to Americans and we have the opportunity of ordering fried rice noodles with beef and not getting a pot with yoghurt-come-porridge and a chicken's foot which you must understand has happened before what with the language barrier being comparable to their own Great Wall.

Ah, erm....better go now as the military police has just surrounded me saying that I can't say this sort of stuff over the Net. I'm a Westerner and I demand freedom of speech, damn it! Oooh, sorry Mr. Communist sir...ow those cuffs hurt....Nooo...Heeeeeelp!...let me go......Mike, looks like I'm not coming to your wedding.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Olly