The Diary of a Lady - 3

Spellcheck is an escapist, who will do anything to remain untouched by the harsh realities of life. This is her rambling diary, written exclusively for The Crystal Ship

The book had a pink and black cover, but that's all I can remember. It was a compilation of short pornographic stories set in 19 ^th Century England. Behind the staunch Victorian façade, he spanked her little fanny, as the horses snorted in disdain.

And my boyfriend and I would read those wonderfully sordid passages to each other. We never knew who the original owner of the book was. Another flatmate remembered it, his friend had 'thumped' through it (the stains were still there); their girlfriends blushed coyly when we mentioned the book. It was our dirty little secret that bound us together in the termite-ridden flat with green and blue walls.

That was years ago. The boyfriend, I married. The flatmate became a self-absorbed, money-obsessed non-entity. His friend exiled himself on the high seas. I never saw him again. One girlfriend died. The other became my friend.

And the book? It's nowhere to be found. But in honour of its memory, I will name my future children Dick and Fanny.

A new map of Iraq?

This one was sent in by Bahrain's very own Flying Scotsman. Who has finally got around to reading this blog.

Diary of a Lady - 2

Spellcheck is an escapist, who will do anything to remain untouched by the harsh realities of life. This is her rambling diary, written exclusively for The Crystal Ship

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road bumped into me and my dog. We were running, running fast…wanted to leave everything behind. But we had to return, always. There's no place but home for a 10-year-old and her dog.

Mum wanted more out of life, dad was content to remain where he was.

Dad believed in a good god, mum believed in a good life.

But they both worked very hard, they didn't know what else to do.

Mum was trapped, dad was trapped — in a nice little house, with a garden and a mango tree.

And the 10-year-old? She's still running. Sometimes she looks at the moon, hoping to spot a moocow jump over it.

Is Darrell right?

When disgraced cricket umpire Darrell Hair’s QC Robert Griffith’s claimed that his client was being racially discriminated against, it raised more than a few eyebrows.

The truth of the matter, however, is that sub-continentals are among the most racist people in the world, and there’s a distinct possibility that Mr Hair is being victimised by the so-called “Asian bloc” of cricketing nations, simply because he’s white (the fact that he’s Australian makes no difference).

The sub-continent is increasingly targeting 'white nations' with racial abuse that manifests itself both verbally and physically. That they garb it in patriotism and national pride demeans both those admirable notions.

Cricket has become an Asian domain; this is where the money and crowds are, and in the battle to wrest control of the powerbase from the traditional stomping grounds of the sport’s elite at the MCC, they are using the same tactics these nations did to keep Asians at bay in the early years of the game.

The sub-continent must tread carefully here, because if anyone, they should know that tradition can, at times, trump wealth.

The Controversies

• Hair's first Test match was between Australia and India at Adelaide on 25 January to 29 January 1992, won by Australia by 38 runs with second innings centuries for David Boon and Mark Taylor after a first innings of only 145, and two 5-wicket bags by Craig McDermott. Wisden (1993 ed., p1011-2) noted that the game was “marred … by controversy over lbw decisions – eight times Indians were given out, while all but two of their own appeals were rejected”.

• The Test match between Australia and the West Indies at Adelaide on 23 January to 26 January 1993 was a fluctuating match won by the visitors by a mere one run. The victory was achieved when Australia’s No. 11, Craig McDermott, was dismissed after a 40-run partnership with Tim May had brought Australia so close to victory. Hair ruled that a short-pitched ball from Courtney Walsh had brushed McDermott’s glove and upheld the appeal for a catch, but many observers believed that McDermott had not gloved the ball.

• In his only match between Australia and Sri Lanka, at Melbourne on 26 December to 30 December 1995 he called Muttiah Muralitharan seven times in three overs for throwing. Wisden (1997 ed., p.1129-30) stated “unusually, he made his judgement from the bowler’s end, and several minutes passed before the crowd realised that Muralitharan’s elbow, rather than his foot, was at fault”. Sri Lanka captain Arjuna Ranatunga responded by leading his team off the field. When they finally returned, Ranatunga switched Muralitharan to the other end where he was not called by either Hair or his colleague, New Zealander Steve Dunne, although Hair told the Sri Lankans at tea on the second day that he was ready to call him from the striker’s end.

• In November 2005, Darrell Hair referred a run-out decision concerning captain Inzamam-ul-Haq to the third umpire Nadeem Ghauri during the Faisalabad Test. Inzamam was taking evasive action, and according to the laws of cricket, a batsman cannot be run out if he leaves his ground due to evasive action.^[11] However, if Hair suspected that Inzamam had been already out of his ground when the evasive action was taken then the referral would have been justified as if that were the case the batsman would, under the law outlined above, be out.

• On 20 August 2006, the fourth day of the fourth Test between England and Pakistan at The Oval, Hair was involved in controversy when he and fellow umpire Billy Doctrove ruled that the Pakistani team had been involved in ball tampering. They awarded five penalty runs to England and offered them a replacement ball. Play continued until the tea break, but the Pakistani players refused to take the field thereafter in protest at the decision.

Diary of a lady

Spellcheck is an escapist, who will do anything to remain untouched by the harsh realities of life. This is her rambling diary, written exclusively for The Crystal Ship

Sex is fun. If you come, it's even better, 'coz then for a brief minute, your mind stops thinking, and all those irritating voices in your head shut up, and acknowledge the big O (or the small O, but an O nevertheless).
I've had sex in quite a few weird places: on the steps of a deserted church (may god forgive me), on my parent's bed, in the bathroom of a local gym, in my old classroom (after I passed out of school, I returned with one of my boyfriends to mark the place).

I never did come any of those times; the fear of getting caught nipped all Os in the bud. But years later, these memories make me smile.

The point of this little tidbit of absolutely useless piece of information? Nothing whatsoever. It's about memories, about little bits of hedonistic pleasure, about moments in your life when you dared to break the rules that the nuns and priests taught you.

Editorial cartoon of the day

Here's one from The Australian

The native despairs

Why did I take the decision to leave Bahrain and head back to Mumbai and India? There were three reasons.

The first being Bahrain’s lack of culture, or rather English-language culture (I have been led to believe that the Arabs have a vibrant performing and visual arts scene).

There is a dearth of bookshops on the island and the few that do exist price themselves out of the reach of the common man. In Mumbai I could guarantee myself a world of books at reasonable rates and ready availability. I could also visit theatres and art galleries, which dot the city.

I am happy to note that in this case my decision has been vindicated.

The second point is people. The diminutiveness of Bahrain meant that one pub crawl and you’d know half the island’s drinking expats, it also meant that people could begin to grate.

Bahrain’s expatriate community (be they Britons, Americans, Indians or Filipinos) is not known for its intellectuality and mundane conversation takes centre-stage with alarming regularity. In Mumbai I hoped to find exciting conversation and prodigious intelligence. I was wrong.

I have always believed in my amorality, although as I have grown older a large swarm of nihilistic bees have invaded my bonnet. In Bahrain, morals are discarded like used condoms; expats live the depraved life (or try their level best to) and the social judges hide their faces.

For all my intellectual elitism I have realised that on the island we formed a bond in our moral anarchy, and even though we didn’t spend evenings discussing Proust and Liebniz we were amassing life experience by the pint-full.

Men and women swapped tales as they did fluids...with an ease that came from familiarity. The barriers were smashed and the speed of descent into a carnal heaven became our totem.

Mumbai is different: conservatism rules the day and the youth have little or no experience outside the box of religious and social dogma. So while one can easily find someone with whom to expound on Cartesian geometry and Empiricism, you’d be hard-pressed to find a loose-moralled, non-judgmental person with a lust for life.

One slip into the amoral thought process and the stares are withering. I have managed to keep to myself in order to prevent myself being labeled evil incarnate.

I miss my friends in Bahrain, not out of any love for humanity, but due to a yearning for simpler times, when you could say and do whatever you chose without running the risk of being made a pariah.

The third reason was to further the cause of my journalism career. And in that respect I am happy to add that I have found a newspaper I enjoy reading and working on (I, however, do wonder how long it will be before my trademark predilection for boredom sets in).

And so we come to the most important question of all: did I make the right decision? Yes and no.

Yes because I have a job with a future (in Bahrain the room for professional growth was fast-running out) and it’s good to be back among the books.

No because the city will kill me, if not with its congestion then with its oppressive conservatism, lack of global perspective and at times Neanderthal outlook on life and its issues.

And then there’s the lifestyle change: I have to adapt to moving to a poky house after the large one in Bahrain, and the fact that, contrary to popular belief, money goes a longer way on the desert island.

But the bed has been laid and I intend to sleep in it, for a while at least. If it turns out that I have made a mistake then I have to consider that I might have to sacrifice my career for an easier life and head back to the Mideast (or somewhere else).

If that day comes I will do it rather sheepishly, because when the dust settles the only truth left standing may be that I simply couldn’t hack it in Mumbai. And that’s not something I want on my tombstone.