Congratulations Mobi! – It’s a Blind Sober “Seven Oh” – 70…
In “Mobi-Babble” we have: “Reflections of a Septuagenarian” in which I celebrate reaching this incredible milestone and reflect some other significant ‘decade-milestones’ in my incident-packed life.
In “Farewell to the Greatest” – I write about Ali’s passing and the accompanying media circus that is truly out of control.
In “Mobi’s Bargirl checklist” I re-publish an article I first published 5 years ago as my own guide on what to watch out for when shacking up with one of Thailand’s cuties. Family friendly warning: There’s some naughty pics here, but no naughty bits….
In “Mobi-Movie Reviews”, I review two outstanding foreign language films – “Mon Roi” from France and “Mia Madre” from Italy.
Not too much has happened on the Mobi-domestic front over the past two weeks, except that we’ve been having a fair bit of rain, and for the past few days, another dry spell which has been accompanied by an unwelcome return to high temperatures. The A/C is back on in our bedroom, but so far the kids are still in their own rooms with their fans.
Reflections of a Septuagenarian
The only thing of note that has happened in the past fortnight is that by some miracle, poor, chronically sick, alcoholic Mobi has reached the grand old age of 70. As many of my contemporaries are dropping like flies, I guess it’s something to celebrate.
I’ve always been reluctant to acknowledge the advance of old age, and indeed in my late fifties and early sixties, I still had the appearance of someone much younger. People would be genuinely surprised when I told them my age. It had nothing to do with me or my lifestyle – but everything to do with genes, as my late father still looked to be in his forties when he was in his seventies.
But the vast volumes of alcohol that I had poured down my gullet for much of my life eventually caught up with me in my early sixties. I’ll
Farewell to the Greatest – but for God’s sake let’s keep a sense of proportion…
Mohammed Ali was a man of my generation. I was eighteen when he floored Sonny Liston and the world of boxing found a new hero. But he wasn’t an instant hero – many thought the fight was a ‘fix’ and even today, some people still question that punch.
At first, nobody liked this brash, outspoken, vain young man. This was a time when everybody – especially young black American boxers – spoke in polite respectful tones when interviewed. It was unheard of for any sportsman to speak how Ali was speaking. And we liked it even less when he changed his name and his religion. It was as though he was denying his American cultural roots – which of course he was.
Mobi’s Bargirl checklist
A few years ago I was quite amused when I heard that Stephen Leather’s novel, “Private Dancer”, was required reading for young expat teachers taking up teaching positions at Bangkok’s international schools.
The reason? – Because it tells the sad, sordid tale of what can happen to a young testosterone-filled Englishman if he becomes embroiled in the Bangkok nightlife and falls in love with a beautiful bar girl.
It is a salutary story, for sure, with a bad end – and much of it is based on fact. The book was written in the nineteen-nineties – at a time when mobile phones were not in common use, so the story is a little dated – but for all that, it still holds true today.
Then the other day, I was browsing back through my old blogs, looking for my old movie reviews to add to my collection on the Internet Movie Data Base, (IMDb), when I came across an interesting article I had written in June 2011 on the subject of foreigners marrying Thai bar girls.
Two for the EU
In registering my preference for remaining in the EU, despite my animosity towards the EU bureaucracy for decades, today I will review two wonderful movies from our continental friends across the channel.
The first is from France and the second from Italy – two countries that rarely fail to produce outstanding and original films that are such a refreshing change from the Hollywood franchise crap, and also, I’m afraid to say, much of the English output.
These days, my main choice of dramatic viewing on TV is from the Scandinavian countries (who also produce good movies) and from the cinema, it is usually the French and Italians that lead the field.
The very best TV drama that I have seen this year by a mile was, “Trapped”, an Icelandic production, written by, produced by and starring Icelanders and set in their beautiful country.
These days I struggle with British TV dramas. Even some of the best, such as Line of Duty, and the Night Manager are quite watchable but not as great as many would make out.
Most of it is just rehashed rubbish, with badly written, cliché-ridden plots and not always particularly…