Iun

Because that's my name? Or at least, part of it. David Scott Iun Rohhann Robert Jastallis Teleka Hockley is something of a mouthful, no?

http://the-diplomat.com/2011/06/21/china’s-doctrine-of-indifference/ My first academic paper has been published on Asia's number one international affairs magazine! Woot! Woot!

No, I want to play with LEGO on my own like I used to and make a really big city with my train set and Octan garage, police station, F1 pit stop, woodland cabin and all the other awesome stuff I have bu can't remember because it's in my parents loft...

I want to be allowed to play with LEGO again...

Pfft. You know you care. You try not to care, but you care. You care. You care.

No...no, I think I'm going to judge it. And I'm going to call it "Breaking Wind". So ner.

All was still. The darkness saturated and soaked in everything around the forest, from the tiny pinpricks of light that dotted the sky from overhead all the way to the horizon. No light, no hope of brightness, not even the distant glow of the farmhouses could insinuate itself through the all-encompassing shroud of blackness. A bird chirruped for a moment, and was silenced by her own voice, frightened at the curse she had uttered against the perfect stillness. She ruffled her feathers nervously and drew closer to the edge of her nest, her chicks quaking in fear, desperate for some comfort. But there was none. Even the trees themselves were motionless: not a leaf dared stir and break the unbreakable vow that the darkness had extracted from the land. But slowly, silently and sadly there came a breeze, gentle at first, then roughly raging against the impenetrable quiet. The trees stood immobile, the very tips of their leaves begged to quiver but the twigs, the branches and the trunks steeled themselves against the insidious breeze that seemed to carry upon it a deadly sound sound, a dangerous voice that strained against the silky night, a voice that seemed to say... "No, just you, you sad bastard."

My initial response was "Breaking the Waves? More like...breaking wind!" Then I saw it was an artsy romance movie and my response was: "pfft, gay" But then I realized that's not a good thing to say and I dont mean it as an insult to my homosexual brothers and bottoms, so here's the sanitized version of what I meant: "pfft. Of interest to those who still believe love is this misty-eyed expression of tearful thanks towards someone who you believe is far superior in mental, physical and emotional capacity to you and has thereby overwhelmed you with a sense of misplaced gratitude at the thought that they might reciprocate one tiny iota of the feelings you have deluded yourself into having. Also of interest to those who believe that movies that feature more blindingly elegant vistas and symbolism are intrinsically superior to any other form of art through their overt ambition to give you a false sense of belonging by driving you towards the conclusion that YOU are the one person in the cinema/room/underground train who actually "gets" what is going on and thusly you are imbued with an unnecessarily high self-importance quotient and are likely to look askance at anyone who isnt on the same "wavelength" as you. i.e. Everybody as this film has convinced you that by loving it you are somehow superior to everyone else in your vague and extended proximity." The thing is... "pfft, gay." was a lot easier to think and say than actually explain.

My grandad was a mechanic - a proper one, not like at Kwik Fit. Those guys simply remove parts and replace, true mechanics repair damaged parts that are repairable because it's cheaper in terms of physical cost. However, labour costs tend to be higher. I learned a lot from my grandfather about cars, it was a good time for us, we had a lot of meaningful conversations. He's 80 now, still as fit as a fiddle, but only takes care of their own motor. "hey, grandad... Is there a god...what do you think? I mean, you were brought up Catholic and I remember we used to get visits from angry nuns when I was younger..." "Well, Scott... I'd like to think there was, I don't really know for sure. I hope there is. Because...there's so many bad people in the world who hurt everyone else and die rich and happy... I'd like to think there was some kind of consequence for that. Then there's all these good people...don't tell lies, don't hurt a fly, just a pint of beer after a twelve hour day...they go home to bills and all these worries... Wouldn't it be nice if they got a reward for that?" Now I'm depressed because I miss conversations with my grandad. Thanks, Flink. Try living life without Wine Gums for three years, then get back to me.

There are a shed load of magic shops appearing around Shanghai...these people hang around outside them trying to get you to go in and teach you the tricks for about £100. Them: Hey, want to learn magic? Me: Let me show YOU some magic. See this money? Them: Yes? Me: Watch it disappear! Now, where did it go? Them: It's in your wallet! Me: AND NO AMOUNT OF MAGIC WILL GET IT OUT OF THERE! TA-DAAAAAA!

Bloody hell, that's still a tempting offer...

God...that is tempting... Have you still got the bag so I can smell it?

For trade/recycle: one Mrs Iun. Complains far more than considered normal by female standards, requires frequent dining-out for nourishment, rarely happy with the nice things she's got and useless at buying birthday presents. Will trade for a bag of wine gums, Maynards variety preferred.

Once you go black, you go deaf.

*snicker* This.

We always have about a week's worth of tinned food in the house, as well as a minimum of three days drinking water. We have gas masks in the event of an airborne contagion, the dining room table is opposite the main door - which is extremely heavy and contains a double bolt lock. We have plenty of spare wood for burning as well as a year's supply of newspapers. Admittedly we only have so much newspaper because MADAME can't throw anything away. Ever.

The only thing I know about this guy is that he got his name from a Northern Exposure episode, and that makes him cool in my book. Northern Exposure was cool.

I thought she only cut off the P? Leaving them to certain bowel-related death.

A shame. But it always confused the he'll out of me when George dressed up as "Georgina" and everyone pretended George had gone to visit "Auntie" to humour the poor guy. I swear George was an alcoholic.

Yes, but are there boobies in it?

Here for you m'dear: I'm an enormous cat-lover (the missus hates them) and the way the ordinary Chinese person treats cats and other animals is shameful. I won't tell you the stories. I got the final results of the full bacterial analysis yesterday: negative. We now move on to slightly more depressing possibilities.

Stupid kid. He could have gotten triple that if he was smart.

A rum fella indeed, happy birthday!

Whut's the stairy in Balamairy: it's Charlie's birthday, let's go! Happy birthday!

Agreed. Your graduation is MUCH MORE important than her holiday. It marks the culmination of several years of hard drinking and a few nights of frenzied study.