Man of my word

Well, people DO forget that there is a third sex. A woman in a mans world.

I do hate to name drop, especially when it's an entire country. If one name drops in conversation it smacks of a certain desperation. However what I'm about to say won't make a lick of sense if I don't start with what I despise most.

When I first arrived in Thailand, I was struck by how prehistoric the place was. I summoned some assistants with the turn of a slender hand - fingers are such POWERFUL things, aren't they? Better than money, that's why they call them digits - and two or three appeared before me.

- See those cliffs?

My lengthy digit arched like a skeletal model towards the skyline. The face on the assistants - because sometimes they must share - sighed a tender spot as they realised that physical exertion may be needed.

- I wish for you to find me a pterodactyl for Cecil's shoot.

They looked slightly bewildered

- A pterodactyl! You must know what I am talking about, am I speaking Thai? I sometimes do that without noticing.

They tottered off.

I must say, back to the sky line, I do SO enjoy the rocks here and how they are such physics dissidents. Gravity is so demode, unless one has it ones self, in which case it is D-mode*.

My contribution to counteracting global warming was an assistant-powered boat to the island. (I feel that there is a business in assistant-powered technologies. Would you buy an assistant-powered car, my readers? Perhaps we could quilt it like a Chanel bag - I will speak to K on the matter.) I know what you're thinking

- But D! Dearest! It will simply be SWARMING with too-rysts.

I am one step ahead of you, my readers. I bought the island for the shoot -- fabulous tax deductions. Poor Cecil was sweating profusely.

Unfortunately I was unaware that the lack of cloud cover and oxygen ménage à trois meant that I managed to scorch myself somewhat spectacularly. Usually I just glare at the sun and it turns away, mortified. However, it is apparent that the Thai sun doesn't speak English and completely out-glared me. Normally this wouldn't stand, but for a foreign celestial being, I will make a concession.

Most people sunburnish, you understand, but I, however, do not have the luxury. That is right, there are somethings money cannot buy. As a result I appear to look as though I have been stung by a jellyfish. We even met a jelly fish who offered to "even it up" but I politely declined.

The shoot was fantastic, the pictures are so tiny that they fit on the back of your finger nail. But by golly they were good -- then, in an elaborate ceremony, we sent them on a diaspora via a big gust of wind to better inform the rest of the population on how to take photographs.

Oh! And the assistants have returned with something that is definitely not a pterodactyl. A cassowary? Well it does look quite prehistoric. It is quite a pity that the photo shoot was days ago. I am afraid your lack of timing will mean you have no choice but to take the assistant powered boat home. Yes, to New York. Why -- is that too far?

Oh, please excuse me. Fracas abound.

Adieu

D.

*I mentioned this in reply to a comment on the previous post. D-mode is anti-demode, or de-demode, as it is a process where someone is so D-mode that they make people less demode by proximity. Technical term, DO keep up.