And I love her

Sometimes you stumble upon a tune that sounds so familiar, so much so that it strikes the most inner chord in your nostalgic nerves. You seem to have heard of it somewhere at its times, even though it could be way before your birth - in your previous life, perhaps.

It happened tonight at a pub in south London, and the song, which I later found out, was The Beatles' And I Love Her. The uncanny deja vu tingled my mind.

九龍塘與我

九龍塘與我曾有一段特殊而曖昧的關係。

九龍塘洋房群的爾雅，是香港低密度住宅區中鮮有的，它是香港第一個（不知是否唯一一個）「花園城市」。牛津道、劍橋道上的洋式大宅，殘留著上世紀6、70年代的氛圍，它們風格迴異，長期重門深鎖，石牆高築，既看不到裡面的花園泳池有多大，更不知道究竟是何方富戶獨占如斯的一座城堡，在此建立模範精英家庭。這些洋宅象徵著低調的富裕生活，甚至於我心中形成一種古惑，似乎在守護著不可告人的殖民地秘密。

夏日黃昏，我獨自流連在圖書館頂樓閱讀，看似在研究西方文學理論，實早已魂遊太虛，忙於欣賞著九龍半島在艷陽下的繁囂塵土，再遠眺香港島中西區一棟棟獨目驚心的巍峨高樓，在煙霞中彷彿撲朔迷離，上演幕幕商場廝殺；時而活色生香，蘊釀著調情的把戲。在九龍塘聯福道斜坡所看到的我城，不帶一點嘈音，是寂靜而安然的。那時候，我心中不時想到，中環的上班生活到底又會否與我想像中一樣？到底工作又是否大家所說般危機四伏？

畢業後，我彷彿順理成章的在中環找到了一份工作，辦公室座落摩天大廈的高層，落地大窗戶光潔透亮，擁抱維多利亞港的有如名信片般的景致，遇上好天氣時，簡直是極盡奢靡的視覺享受。有一天中午，我站在窗前呆望維港風光，忽然想到當年的九龍塘，於是我窮目遠望，卻找不到它半個身影。後來得知理想酒店已清拆，多個私人豪宅相應落成，更有多棟令人不明所以的仿西式古建築，聽說都知婚紗店兼影樓。

數年後的今天，我搬到英國倫敦生活，住在Hampstead附近的上流中產小區。有一月圓夜，我心事重重，獨自散步至St John's Wood的Acaia Road，呼吸著初秋冰冷而靜止的空氣。街道康莊筆直，四面八方皆寂寥無人，只有兩旁的英式獨立屋排列得井然有序，屋內燈火通明，卻不帶半絲炫富的氣焰，令我好奇在想究竟是何方富戶獨占如斯的一座城堡，在此建立模範精英家庭。這些洋宅象徵著低調的富裕生活，甚至於我心中形成一種古惑，似乎在守護著不可告人的秘密。

我頓然感覺回到了牛津道上，想起了那個18歲的自己。

Me As A Pervert On Plane

When it comes to travelling, I am not quite my usual self – I easily become a fretter. It is particularly so if a flight is involved. No matter how well-planned and organised I tend to be, anxiety just creeps up from the moment I book the flight. Am I the only one who finds that most airlines use dizzyingly small font size on their website’s booking page? And there is also my bad, if not obsessive habit of proofreading all flight particulars for at least 5 times, mouthing the passport number again and again, just in order to ensure everything’s correct. I’m sometimes anxious as this, thank you very much.

I genuinely admire the 'easy-breezy' travellers, who confidently find themselves at ease on board, strolling in the cabin with much class and nonchalance. I, on the other hand, tend to behave with exceptional clumsiness. Long haul flights are the worst, because I basically cannot rest in motion, for I am too conscious of whether the loo is still available (please refer to my previous post about my issue with the loo). I am also that passenger who spends over 70% of flight time panicking about the mere chance of a flight disaster.

Now, my readers, be seated comfortably and let me share with you a dramatic sex-related anecdote I experienced on the plane.

Me, sex, plane. Sounds juicy, yes?

So I was on the plane to London the other day. The plane took off, the much-loved in-flight entertainment system was in full operation, and you started to hear people laugh hootily to comedy shows like lunatics. You know, typical on-board scenario. 

I forgot my fluffy muji pillow, so I stood up, clacked open the overhead baggage shelf to retrieve my massive baggage. It was a very packed shelf, I tell you, as one bag placed upon another like jenga. I paused for a moment thinking whether I would be able to get my bag out fuss-lessly. With a deep inhale, I stood on tiptoes, as my hands firmly reached and grasped the very bottom of my 10kg bag. Will it fall? Will it fall? Wait… Wait.. WAIT! Ahhhhhh.

It fell, making a noise even the captain could hear.

Not my 10kg bag this time, luckily (though it happened another time when I was on business trip to Taipei. More on that later.) But it was someone else’s shopping bag. Objects scattered everywhere. Packages big and small, everywhere on the aisle now. Brilliant, isn’t it.

Mortified, I apologised immediately to the nearby passengers, even though I hadn't a clue to whom the bag belonged. I was also curious why the owner didn’t bother to stand up to pick up or be mad at me.

But as I knelt down to collect them one by one, I was surprised by what was printed on the packages.

They were sexy ladies wearing S&M leather outfits, handcuffs, uniforms, etc.

“Oh well… I’m so sorry… TO DROP ****SOMEONE ELSE’S BAG***…..” I mumbled…  “Let me get MY bag UP THERE now…” I was suddenly Captain Obvious.

Taken aback by this surprise, I immediately shoved everything back into that big red plastic bag, thinking why the bloody hell he (or she, for I mustn’t gender the use of sex toys) didn’t actually put them in the luggage. 

Okay, now everything's back in place. I hope nobody saw it. (Pretty much everyone did)

"Ammm.. Excuse me" Someone patted on my shoulder from behind.

“Sorry sir, you've missed this.” A guy handed me another bag of hot-blonde-wearing-no-fabric-outfit.

The crowd grew increasingly alerted, and I was in dire need of a clarification that it was not MY hot-blonde-wearing-no-fabric-outfit, obviously. Though I couldn’t possibly clarify that either, obviously. At the time I simply wished the owner of such kinky stuff would stand up so the others would know it’s not mine.

But course, he didn’t. (Why do I keep on using 'him' ?)

So there I was, your kinky young fellow passenger who flew with you for 8 hours. I think some parents actually covered their children’s eyes. I became officially sinful, thank you.