People keep saying how much I would love our new adopted country. That I would definitely like the weather there better than Scotland. That I would be glad it is closer to home. That I would easily adjust because there are more Indonesians there. That I would be delighted with Asian food there. And so on.

But the thing is, none of what they say matters, or become the reason I would like or dislike our new home. Of course it is definitely warmer than Aberdeen, but it can be too warm, and when the temperature starts rising over 30C, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Ice cream will melt by the time we get out of the shop. Drinks will never be cold enough. I am sure I would have plenty ammunition to bitch about the weather.

The city allows us to travel back to Jakarta only in 4-hour flight, and I might be able to visit Indonesia more often. But I have always come home twice a year and stayed for at least a month, even though I live 12,000 miles and 20-hour flight away. Not many people are that lucky or have understanding partners who let their spouses traveling around alone for weeks. So to me geography and distance have never been a problem. But now, the city is far from everywhere else, and to visit friends in different cities requires a lot of time, and we couldn’t just spend the weekend somewhere else, because there is no somewhere else! The nearest, the only holiday and tourist destination, would be Bali. Whilst from Aberdeen we could easily hop on a plane or train and be in Edinburgh, London, Paris, Amsterdam, and other cities in a matter of few hours.

And as for the adjustment, it doesn’t depend on how many Indonesians living in the city, but whether I could make friends there, regardless the nations. Many Indonesians in many countries only hang out with their fellow Indonesians and don’t bother to form friendships with non-Indonesians, but to be honest, I haven’t been that lucky. The last time I tried to get involved in Indonesian ladies society, I ended up feeling hurt and annoyed, and since then I have stopped forcing myself to have Indonesian friends just because they are Indonesian, and I go back developing friendships with people I feel comfortable with, whether they are Indonesians or not.

Food is never a problem as both of mr.mck and I like to try local dish wherever we are and because I always take advantage of enjoying the local food, I rarely miss food from my own home country. As long as the Asian supermarket has sweet soy sauce, chili, and Indomie, I’m happy. I am not sure if I should be excited to try Australian ‘local’ dish, as meat pie or fish & chips are hardly exotic, but at least our new adopted home has many Indonesian restaurants, and I can’t wait to try them out.

I guess all I am trying to say is living in Aberdeen isn’t as bad as what people think. Yes it can be cold, yes it can be raining, gray, and depressing like today. But my Dutch friend claims she’s seen more sun in Aberdeen than in Holland, and even now we still enjoy surprisingly warm weather for end of October (although people in Australia will start covering themselves up with winter jackets, boots, gloves, and scarves when the temperature hits below 20C). Yes the city is not as ‘hip’ as London, but it gives a chance to live in the countryside with a fantastic view, and only takes half-hour from the city centre. And because it is the oil capital of Europe, it is quite international with people from many countries living and working here. Consequently the city provides lots of exotic spices or foreign food as well. It even holds a monthly international food festival where I fell in love with oliebollen sold buy a big Dutch guy, always buy king prawns cooked by 2 Frenchmen, and buy paella for takeaway. And despite it is far from Indonesia, we have lots of friends visited us, especially this year.

Nevertheless, we are thrilled with our new adopted country. Uggs boots are much cheaper than in UK (although I must remind myself not to wear them outside the house, like people here in UK), and vineyards are close by. I can’t wait to visit my uni friends back in Sydney, after almost 10 years. Friends and family have promised to visit us. Some apparently have been making plans to visit us in January – and I only found out three weeks a go. One actually says he’ll be there when we arrive because he is going to visit Australia for work. We have some friends there who could show us around and introduce us with others. And of course we’re going to explore the Outback.

25 Days to go….

Initially I wouldn’t even tell my dad I was coming, but my parents had just moved to the south part of the city, and knowing my mom and her “collection” of boxes (she even keeps stuff I brought back from Australia almost a decade a go!) which practically fill up the huge storage and other empty spaces, I knew that someone needed to prepare my room, or I’d end up spending nights sleeping on top of the 10 year-old unopened boxes! Plus my parents – just like their daughter – travel around and I had to make sure they’re home.

So I swore my dad to secrecy. He wasn’t contented with my intention, but I finally managed to persuade him to go along with my plan. Just like what I suspected, my room is used for storage and dad quietly prepared the guest room. A little crisis happened when dad installed the curtain out of the blue and it was 5cm shorter than the window height. He hurriedly texted me and wondered if it was the time to let my mom know (so she could fix the curtain and prepare the room accordingly), but I begged him to stick with the plan. He told me that mom wondered why he was suddenly so interested in tidying up the guest room but helplessly couldn’t utter any excuse. He was very anxious on the day he was supposed to pick me up because mom suddenly asked him to drive her somewhere else. Finally though he managed to sneak out and pick me up at the airport.

He called my mom from the garage door, telling her that she had an important guest. I was standing quietly on the doorstep, waiting for her, and seconds later mom appeared with puzzled look as she didn’t expect any guest that day. She looked at me for several seconds before realising that it was me who was standing there. She screamed, sobbed, laughed, and hugged me at the same time, and the delight and joy she threw was priceless. And of course, after minutes of waterworks she realised that my dad was my partner in crime for the past two weeks. He is still grounded until today for almost giving her a heart attack, to say the least….

The surprise continued last Saturday when I attended R&E’s wedding. I have told them I wasn’t coming, I wouldn’t have enough time to go back to Indonesia – as I am busy preparing everything to move to Perth next month – at least until next year. Little did they know that I was planning a surprise appearance. Tamara was very convincing when she delivered the present, telling the groom that I had to go to London to meet her (fake) cousin, who then flew to Jakarta, gave it to Tamara, who then arranged the meeting with him with fabricated story. At the same time I also sent texts from my UK number to the bride and groom, wishing them good luck on their preparation. On the day of the wedding, my (real) cousin delivered the cupcakes to the couple’s hotel room in the afternoon, between their ceremony and reception, while at the same time I was confirming what I should do that night with the wedding organizer, who, conveniently, was my and the couple’s ex colleague. I was picked up on the hotel lobby on the agreed time, and hiding behind Reynolds’s back. Reynolds – who was living in Aberdeen as well and told the couple he wasn’t coming either – had made a surprise appearance in the morning at the traditional ceremony and probably had convinced the couple that he was the surprise and nothing else. But when the groom was singing for the bride, Reynolds was moving forward, slowly, inch by inch towards the centre stage, where the couple stood. When the song stopped I emerged from Rey’s back and both of them saw me there, holding a bouquet, freshly arrived from Scotland, grinning, just for them. It was an emotional moment – to say the least!

But the fun has not stopped at the wedding just yet. I found out that an acquaintance’s new boyfriend turns out to be another friend’s client who is actually married with several kids – and most likely both the girlfriend and wife do not know their man’s extra curricular activity. The stories were delivered separately by different people in different time. I have heard about the new boyfriend a couple of weeks before I went to Indonesia, and for some reason the information stuck. The other slice of information was told as a part of the work related gossip, delivered innocently and with no other intention but to update me about who’s who in the industry, and it took me several minutes to note that the details I was hearing about this guy was the same detail I heard a fortnight a go. I blurted that the guy was probably this lady’s boyfriend, only to be presented with the most powerful fact that he is married. I was so stunned by this… revelation, that I simply refused to believe it, but considering the details are so specific and unique it is impossible there are more than 1 person who tick all boxes. It is more about how and not what I find about that is surprising. Many men (and women) commit adulteries it is hardly news, but it is funny it was me, who doesn’t even live in Jakarta, who found out about this guy’s true colour.

Talking about true colour, I accidentally found out more about a blogger who launched a bizarre virtual attack on me a while a go and it came from someone who actually knew her in the real world, not just virtually, which in short confirms what I have had experienced so far.

Jakarta is the city full of surprises. Some are intentional, some are leaked out effortlessly. The city is so big people think they could easily hide in the jungle of concrete walls and behind the back of millions 0f people. But the city is a big village where everybody knows everybody and it is almost impossible to keep any secret. You utter one name and sooner or later someone will tell you this person’s pet’s name and favourite colour.

But as I am seating here at Cazbar (where else?) in quiet working hours, I was surprised to find out how careless people can be. A group of four at my five-o’clock direction was conducting a very serious business talk in both English and Indonesian and I could practically hear everything, from the name of the company, the Indonesian guy’s job, the money they were trying to agree on, et cetera. And as if it wasn’t enough, when their Indonesian counterpart has left, the remaining people called someone up, put him on the speaker phone, asked the waitstaff to turn the music down, and talked so loud I could hear every single word. Like this isn’t scary enough, the group who was sitting right in front of me was discussing about the legal complications one of them was having and the other guy who was wearing a uniform suggested how much money this guy has to pay to smooth things up. I understand that Cazbar’s quietness probably makes the patrons think they could have private conversations, which might be too sensitive to be done in the office, but really, folks, there are reasons why your office have meeting rooms – or if you still insist on having your meetings at Cazbar, perhaps it is a good idea to lower your voice or go to the second floor.

Maybe, just maybe, since it seems that secrets are unfolded naturally before my very eyes continuously, I should be a spy. Does MI5 have a job for me?

Moving – again!

This is the first time I officially confirm that mr.mck and I are going to move down under. The news, of course, has been circulated around friends for a while. First reaction normally would be something like, “What? You’re moving? But you have just moved!”. Indeed, we have just moved to our new house this summer. We still have boxes unopened and rooms unfurnished. In four months living in the new house we have thrown many BBQ parties and dinners. We have had visitors staying with us. We have been busy planning and fighting about wall colours and Tilly cat’s sleeping arrangement. But I have learned that life is full of surprise, and we’d just need to go with the flow.

The move is much sooner than we expected – we thought it would be at least another year until we got the chance – but we are very delighted, scared and excited at the same time. New place, new experience, new challenge, new friends. If everything is on schedule, we will be there by end of November, right before my birthday. So I stop shopping for winter clothes, and my Sex in The City and Friends DVD set, which I have carried all the way from Indonesia in a very neat box, will still be in it for a wee bit longer (two years unopened box is nothing. My aunt has boxes unopened for 25 years when she moved from Germany to Indonesia) until we get to our new place. I will be sharing the continent with Ecky, although we are 7 hours flight apart (and although she is already looking up the next destination for her next posting, aarrgh! How ironic it is if she is moving to UK?). Another blogger is moving down under too, and hopefully I would be able to visit her sometimes soon. If everything is on track, we will be there for at least 3 or 4 years. But again, looking at our life, I stop planning for more than two months….

Partying and traveling – again

September is a busy month as we had few BBQ and thrown some dinners and lunches for our friends. No one is hospitalised so far, so it’s a good sign that mr.mck and I actually can cook. And because we are leaving in a couple of months, we have several going away dinners to go to. Not really ideal situation to land in summer with expanded waistbands while everyone looks tan and fit with skimpy clothes!

September is also a good month for me because I have finally become a British permanent resident, which means I do not need to apply for visa anytime I visit UK, although sadly it doesn’t mean anything to the rest of the world. I suffered from colossal stomach pain before submitting my documents, worrying that my application wouldn’t be granted, or they need more documents and will cause delays for my Australian visa, and other paranoia. I also had to submit them in person, but instead of getting the appointment in the nearest office in Scotland, I must go to Liverpool, which comfortably can be reached in 7 hours by train. The joy of getting my PR was quickly washed away by another 7 hour-journey back to Aberdeen with changing trains and platforms in 3 cities, and – most importantly – the fact that I had to pay for the train’s wifi service! Honestly, Scottish train is way much better than the border’s or English ones, I get wifi for free in Scottish trains!

Some other trips are already in my calendar, one of them is a trip to the Netherlands where I would like to see my cousin before we leave to Australia. Of course I would grab the chance to meet Indonesian bloggers there, so if you are in Rotterdam in the end of October, let me know, we could catch up and grab some coffee. Or space cakes.

Researching – again!

I vaguely mentioned that I have participated in some research, but I just got the green light to actually mention about it here. If you click on ESOMAR website, you will find out more about European Society for Opinion and Marketing Research – a world association of research professionals – and its activities and conferences. I and other 9 selected bloggers have participated in the project done by GfK UK, one of the largest market research companies in the world, which papers discuss about – what else – bloggers. Yes people, the raising of web 2.0 and social network platforms force companies to change the way the conduct their business. And what we do, sharing our useless opinions in the virtual world, are actually noticed by others. I wrote about how our comments actually worth a million last June, where I shockingly discovered the existence of web scrapers which crawl on to every blog and forum, gather the data, and sell them to the companies which are eager to find the general public’s opinion towards a product, policy, or government’s law. The research conducted by GfK UK actually takes several steps further, by looking at bloggers as research partners (and not just as respondents). A paper was submitted at the ESOMAR conference in Vienna a couple of months a go and another in Chicago next month. To me personally, participating in such important research is really exciting, and it actually forces me to think about what I have been doing with my blog and blog activities. I will publish the complete paper here next month after the conference and after I got the approval from the researchers/writers!

So, what have you been up to?

Well think again. Apparently people have too much time on their hands – either that or too much imagination – and rely a lot on Holy Google to answer their dilemmas.

The Telegraph has featured 20 Funniest results from Google Labs which shows you real-time suggestions for search queries as you type them. Some of the results are hilarious, as you can see below:

Last but not least, my favourite:

Her threads about being Indonesian – or stop being one, for that matter – got me thinking: what actually does make you an Indonesian?

It is the same question asked to me by a researcher from Glasgow University a couple of weeks a go. The research is looking into the nationality and immigration aspects in Scotland, but half of the questions were about me being an Indonesian. Her questions have opened up my eyes on issues I have never thought about before.

So, what does make you an Indonesian? Is it by birth, by ancestry, or by domicile? Do you have to have all three aspects to be a true Indonesian?

I was born in Indonesia, my parents are Indonesian, I have spent most of my life in Indonesia, but have been away from the country since a couple of years a go. Does it make me an Indonesian, still?

How about my friend Rose*, who was born in Indonesia from Indonesian parents, has spent most of her life in Indonesia but since she is married to a British, she has been living overseas for a couple of years and is holding another country’s passport. Is she not Indonesian anymore? No? Then what is she, British? Do you think British people will call her British?

How about my friend Ali*, who was born in Indonesia, from Indonesian parents, but has moved to another country since he was 6 years old. Is Ali still Indonesian? If Ali speaks bahasa Indonesia fluently, is he more Indonesian than if he doesn’t?

How about if it is the other way around, like my friend Uni*, who was born in Austria from Indonesian parents, but they have been living in Indonesia for a very long time. Is she Indonesian?

How about my uncle, who was born in German, from German parents, who has been living in Indonesia for over 30 years and is holding Indonesian citizenship. With his blonde hair and blue eyes and fluent bahasa Indonesia, can we call him an Indonesian?

Can you erase your original nationality and adopt a new one completely?

To me, birth and ancestry play more important role rather than residence, or a piece of paper or a stamp on my passport. I can be anywhere else and/or hold any other nationality, but I am truly Indonesian. I can’t stop being one, even if I want to! It’s here in my blood, my veins, my skin, eyes, and hair colour, in my custom and culture, in my body language, in… everything! It is like the air we breath and the gravity we take for granted. It’s there, it’s ours. I have not met any single Indonesian who lives abroad, no matter for how long, and denies their home country or their origin. Never. Everybody will immediately call themselves an Indonesian, even if they have spent more than half of their lives outside the country.

I also wonder if those who live outside Indonesia know less about the country compare to  those who are living their lives in there, as suggested by the twitter lady. With news spreading faster than the light by the help of internet and social network sites, I guess as long as we have the access, we will get the updates. Maybe we will know later than today, but we would find out quickly enough to keep up with the news and gossips. What separates me from the others, is probably just the degree of interest in different issues. Some will keep up with the celebrity gossips, some will follow politics, some will focus on pop culture, some only will talk about photography, and so on. Even those who do live in Indonesia would not follow all issues – my maid is interested more in celebrity gossips than local elections in her area, for example, so naturally she knows more about local celebrities than politicians. Actually, those who live abroad tend to get news from different sources, which can enrich the perspectives of the news itself. For example, when Indonesian former president Soeharto died, all Indonesian media were being very gentle and only talked about the good stuff, but international media were more blunt, harsh, and quite the opposite, as I wrote it here. But when the bomb blasted in Jakarta last month, UK media reported in similar way as Indonesians, none but all praised the government’s success to crack down the terrorism groups and how the bomb was condemned by the whole nation.

I am not sure either if we need to be physically present to criticise our government. Just like any sport match which everybody thinks they are better than the players or Alex Ferguson plus Jose Mourinho combined, whether they were actually at the match or just watching it on television wouldn’t matter. I guess the only job where you have to be there in order to review it, is food critic. Maybe years from now we could taste food by fax or internet, but not today.  I never knew that people who are geographically challenged are not allowed to criticise their government. Everybody has a right to do so, regardless where they sleep tonight, and only our credentials will determine our voice and will make people decide whether we are worthy to listen to. I will definitely listen to Habibie rather than my own siblings about politics, even though Habibie has been spending his days in Germany and they are living and breathing in Indonesia.

I believe nationality is a more complex matter rather than just a geography (ask Barack Obama!). As it is defined in Wikipedia, nationality is about the relationship between a person and their state of origin, it’s about loyalty, it’s about what we feel. It is personal. It is not what the country, nor man, dictates us. It cannot be printed on us and it cannot be taken away from us. It’s who we are.

* = names are made up.

Al-Megrahi was immediately flown back to Libya by a jet owned by Libyan leader Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, and was welcomed as hero. Hundreds of people waved Libyan and Scottish flags as his plane landed at Tripoli airport with Colonel Qaddafi’s son Seif al-Islam el-Qaddafi holding his hand. He was greeted by none other than the dictator himself and was whisked away to meet his elderly mother. In a split second Scotland has become the target of ferocious international condemnation over its controversial decision.  Alex Salmon, the First Minister, insisted that freeing Al-Megrahi would have no long-term effect on Scotland’s “enduring” relationship with the USA which lost 189 of its citizens in the atrocity. However, the diplomatic and political storm shows no sign of abating, with calls in America for a boycott of Scottish exports such as whisky. A website called www.boycottscotland.com also urges American tourists to visit Ireland instead of the UK.

Salmond also said it was the “right decision for the right reasons” and dismissed suggestions that the move was part of a trade deal with Libya – which was heavily indicated by the media, especially when Gaddafi thanked none other than the UK Prime Minister Gordon Brown (”my friend, for interceding with the Scottish government to let the man go”), Queen Elizabeth, and her second son, Andrew, Duke of York. Andrew has made a reputation for promoting British business interests in parts of the world where Britain has played down its human rights agenda as it has sought oil deals and other lucrative contracts. He has made several trips to Libya previously, where British energy firms hold large oil and gas contracts, and was scheduled to meet Gaddafi next month but hurriedly canceled his trip to Libya amid growing anger in Britain at the reception granted to Al-Megrahi.

Read more:

Lockerbie bombing timeline

Bomber Release Damages Scotland

New Questions in Lockerbie Bomber’s Release

I was still in shocked when Allan Brown in his article “History Behind Scottish Myths”, on Sunday, August 9th, listed other Scottish symbols, which turn out are originated from somewhere else.

The kilt, to take the most commonly bruited example, was originally Irish and Danish and then a sort of kitsch fancy-dress popularised by Sir Walter Scott; Hogmanay is a French word; whisky has its roots, should you care to investigate them, in Italy and China. By now, the alternative histories of tartan (invented by the central European Hallstatt tribe), bagpipes (known to the Hittites) and Bonnie Prince Charlie (light-loafered drunk from Bologna) are as well known as the official varieties.

He noted that for every Scottish claim of ownership and provenance, there seems to be a counter-claim. What seem to be givens are attacked first by correction then by revisionism.

The desperation to claim other countries’ inventions as Scottish, according to Michael Fry, the author and historian, has something to do with Scotland small country syndrome its need to assert a separate identity (from English, of course).

But what we see today, when a man dressed in kilt and tartan, he will be immediately recognised as a Scot. Whisky is called Scottish national drink and noone really knows or cares that whisky was invented in Italy or China. When we say haggis, we immediately associate the dish with Burn’s night and Scotland. It doesn’t really matter if it’s originally English. It has been claimed as Scottish for hundred of years.

However Scottish did invent and discover many things. In a 2003 episode of his quiz show QI, Stephen Fry remarked with amazement on the things Scotland did discover or invent but for which it rarely claimed credit. The list included adhesive stamps, the Australian national anthem, the decimal point, the Encyclopædia Britannica, hypnosis, the United States Navy, insulin, the hypodermic syringe and Bovril and the Bank of England.

Now what Malaysia has been doing for the past few years, claiming many iconic symbol as theirs, I suspect, not only because they suffer from ’small country syndrome’. They probably learn from Scotland, that hundred of years from know, those who keep claiming these symbols, at the end, will be recognised as the owner. Soon we will forget that tempe, angklung, reog Ponorogo, and recently Pendet dance, are all originally Indonesian. Soon the history will rewrite itself and people will call them Malaysian, not Indonesian.

It’s the worst scenario.

There is a big difference between Scottish and Malaysian claims on symbolic icons, though. Scotland might not discovered haggis, but they have been spending 350  years perfecting the dish. And it is not just being a symbol, it’s there everyday all year round for every Scot who eats it on regular basis, not only on Burns night. And the ‘original’ creator of the dish – the English – turned up their noses and decided they didn’t like haggis since 350 years a go.

With Malaysia, they just suddenly claim batik as theirs while Indonesia never decides that the country is too posh to have it. On the contrary, now everybody wears batik almost everyday. Malaysia also does little to support their claim. For example, how many people in Malaysia can actually perform a Pendet dance? How many of them who can actually play or make angklung? Do they have a famous dish from tempe like Indonesian’s tempe penyet? Don’t think so.

So there’s hope.

Rather than keep shouting to the world that Malaysia is a thief, why don’t we keep creating beautiful dances, music, and arts. Action speaks louder than words.

Until a couple of weeks a go.

This particular Indonesian lady, who was gracefully featured in my old post “I Love Indonesia, But…” now will be the subject again for the second time. She must have done something remarkable she’s worth to write about!

This is what I wrote about her in May 2008:

… to some, time is a strange concept. And boy how I forget about it – time is not something to be honoured in Indonesia. Prepare to face the worst, those who don’t appreciate yours, and those who are familiar with rubber time (jam karet). We don’t know each other except through another person – she lives in Indonesia but is married to a Scotsman, and I live here. But I gave her my mobile number anyway, with a PS: if you happen to be in Aberdeen, do not hesitate to contact me. She remembers and texted me the other day, announcing her arrival and her hope that she’d meet me. After a few cancellation, we settled on this particular day. I suggested lunch. She said she’d make it at 11. I said I could make it at 12. At 12.15 she phoned me, saying that they (yeah, she and her beau, apparently), just left home and will be there in 45 minutes, circa. I arrived 12.45, waited and waited. Bought some juice to calm my screaming tummy. 1.30 I got a text from a different number, she apparently left her mobile at home and now was using her beau’s. They had arrived. I chucked my juice away and went back to the cafe (2.00 PM, 2 hours late!), only to find out that she had had lunch. And I though we promised to have lunch? Looked at the watch and it’s already 2.05PM – another appointment – so apologized and buggered off. Wondering whether I have been away from Indonesia too long or this particular girl doesn’t have manner…. I couldn’t even be mad because I was too hungry! She sent text today asking if I’m free on Friday. When I said yes she texted back, and contrary to what I expected that she’d arrange something, she said she’ll let me know later. 2 Hours later I confirmed a a lunch with a group of friends. That’s how it works, baby. Don’t expect people to wait for you with open schedules.

Yes, people with no concept of time is common in Indonesia. But I still believe that since this lady works for a multinational company and is married to a Westerner, she somehow owns a watch and occasionally looks at the clock. She certainly has a calendar and knows about time table, or how to make one. And maybe that is why I have higher hopes on her rather than normally I do on other Indonesians. I guess I am wrong. She lives in her own world with her own time.

Surprisingly, the same lady suddenly pinged me on Facebook two weeks a go after a year has gone quietly without either of us bothered to keep in touch except being Facebook friends. She’s here, in Aberdeen! Let’s catch up? Sometimes next week?

I wasn’t too keen, as I had gazillion things to do to prepare the house for visitors the week after that. I politely told her that I will be very busy from Friday until the week after, but I still have time from Monday to Thursday if it’s just lunch or coffee. She excitedly grabbed the first day I am available, (last) Monday. I told her I would be in Starbucks Union Street, interviewed by a Glasgow University PhD student from 2 PM, but come along before that.

My interview was done at 4 PM and my parking metre was running out but there was no sign of her at all. So I went home. And found out that rather than phoning or texting me, she messaged me instead in Facebook, apologised for not turning up. Something to do with the kids or whatever. How about…. Wednesday instead? I replied in bewilderment that, well ok, I could do Wednesday instead.

Of course she didn’t turn up on Wednesday. And this time she vanished into thin air. No apology. No text. No wall message on facebook. It’s like she’s never promised to catch up. I sent a short message to her, asking why she didn’t turn up, or at least confirmed whether we would or would not see each other, but I didn’t get a reply.

Am I upset? Nah. She is not important for me so I am not really bothered. If she was my good friend I would have screamed at her for treating me and my time with little respect. Sadly, with this lady, I have expected this to happen. It’s not the first time. I have learned my lesson. I kept on going with my schedule on the day, and never wondered whether she would or would not confirm the appointment or actually turn up as promised.

I am more intrigued to find out what has gone through her brain when she did make the appointments and promises. Does she do it all the time? Does she suffer from temporary memory loss so she didn’t remember who she talked to or what sort of appointment she committed to ten minutes a go? Does she do this in office, with her husband, in-law? Or is she too scared to drive for 40 minutes to Aberdeen and only relies on the pity of in-laws to drive her around, and bus is out of the question as she couldn’t work out how to ride one? Does she deliberately make double dates so if her husband doesn’t have an agenda today she still can have fun but if they are going somewhere today, bye-bye to me?

I have deleted her from Facebook, though….

The thing is, I have invited her over for BBQ this Saturday. If she does turn up, I would be very very surprised!

Haggis

But BBC just broadcast a shocking news that haggis, in fact, comes from England!

Historian Catherine Brown claimed that she found references to the dish inside a 1615 book called The English Hus-Wife.  She said: “It was popular in England until the middle of the 18th Century. Whatever happened in that period, the English decided they didn’t like it and the Scots decided they did. We had Robert Burns come along who saw in it a very practical dish using up the odds and ends and making something good out of them. Obviously the English turned up their noses at it and ate their roast beef, and the Scots for 350 years have been making it their own.”

But former world champion haggis maker Robert Patrick said the idea haggis originated in England was akin to claims by the Dutch and Chinese to have invented golf.

He added: “Anything that’s to do with Scotland, everybody wants to get a part of it.”

James Macsween, whose Edinburgh-based company makes haggis, said it would remain a Scottish icon whatever its origin. He said even if the haggis was eaten in England long before Burns made it famous, Scotland had done a better job of looking after it.

And he added: “I didn’t hear of Shakespeare writing a poem about it.”

The dispute is not the first over the origins of haggis, which is traditionally made using sheep’s heart, liver and lungs cooked in a sheep’s stomach with oatmeal and onions, and served with neeps and tatties (turnips and potatoes). The chef Clarissa Dickson Wright has suggested the dish may have had Scandinavian origins, while other theories have pointed to Homeric antiquity, the Romans and the Norman French.

This website, Don’t Judge My Hair, collects hairstyle disaster from all over the world. Here are some examples (look familiar? look at some of your old pictures!):

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