Time to take The Nashman boat for a relaxing row row your boat, gently down the river afternoon. Warp speed Mr. Sulu.
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, a good day for a boat ride and an alcohol-fuelled picnic along the green banks of the River Cherwell. All the beautiful beasts were out to enjoy the bright and lovely sunshine. I was in London earlier in the day, but I left my Serbian gal friend, still in bed snoring, as I wanted to catch the train back to middle earth. I'm not a mean friend though, I left a note, in a heart shaped stationery pa, saying "Sorry had to leave so early. PS. Couldn't be bothered making breakfast, so I stole all your chocolates. I didn't bring a change of undies so I used one of yours - the pink one. I left my red Bench undies in the hamper though so can you please have them laundered." Thank God for my friends who are always looking out for me.
With my expert instruction, Lourdes' rowing technique is slowly improving. All that is needed now is to teach her to sing arias from Il Trovatore or La Traviata. Sometimes, I pity the people who did not have the childhood experience of boating. It's ok not to learn how to swim but it is unforgivable never to have taken a boat ride if you grew up in an archipelago like Las Islas Filipinas. Even I don't swim, but I take to water like a junkie takes to drugs. I was fortunate enough to have the treacherous waters of Burnham Lake to practice my rowing skills on.
Clinton brought the picnic food of smoked salmon, organic chocolate biscuits, the cheese board, and madeleines and Lourdes brought a bottle of Spanish red which even the naked drunk undergrads at the weir from whom I borrowed a corkscrew were totally impressed (I was actually surprised to find lots of drunk naked undergrads drinking and swimming, don't you peeps have exams? But then again, they are probably geniuses and I found two girls on the banks solving differential equations. I guess the river is a really good place to beat pre-exam stress). The irrepressible Gina offered to cook for dinner apres rowing. I of course was Captain Kirk and got us a beautiful boat from the Brasenose fleet moored along the banks of the River Cherwell. If there is such a thing as laptop-envy, there also exists boat-envy. The sight of me deftly steering a beautiful blue boat on the Cherwell with an Akbayan sister rowing gracefully and my passengers drinking Rioja, not from plastic cups but proper cut glass, drew gasps of admiration and shrieks of Whitman's "Oh my captain, my captain" from the girls. (Wait a minute, I shouldn't have taken those seemingly spontaneous poetic outbursts as a compliment. Whitman's poem actually ends with the captain dead. Bah, inggit lang kayo kse maganda ang bangka ko. Sakay na!)
Girl tries to block the path of The Nashman's boat.....
Girl wipes the blood off her forehead after The Nashman's boat catches up with her and The Nashman whacks her with a paddle for trying to block our way.
The river makes us all do crazy things....pity the tree branch....
River Cherwell Traffic.
River Rage - Man prepares to whack opposing punter with punt.
The Nashman drops anchor for the day. Look at the quality of that slip knot. Barely visible on the right is Lourdes' Chanel handbag. I really didn't want it in the frame because it was a fake. I might not be invited to Paris or Milan fashion week again if they find out I've been hanging out with dodgy characters wearing bootlegs. I can't afford to lose my backstage pass as that's the only chance I can get in meeting a potential supermodel trophy wife. I really don't mind that the models think I'm the errand/linis boy. I mean, por ehemplo, who cares if I have to lick Ms. Valeria Mazza's puke from the floor as long as I can admire her beautiful naked form up close? "Si, muy bonita Senorita. Que horror, you look dirty, would you like me to give you a sponge bath?" I always say.
The spice of life. Sili is my favourite. It goes with anything. Although I always keep forgetting not to scratch my balls after handling sili.
After banishing the rower Lourdes, (I mean do you really want to invite a sweaty girl to dinner? That's so like giving oral sex to a girl who has chlamydia and who is having her period or giving anal sex to someone with diarrhea.), the apres-boating feast at OxFlip HQ consisted of Hainanese chicken with the killer sauce of ginger-sili-soya and handmade dumplings. After me getting lost in London Chinatown earlier in the day looking for this small, authentic, off-the-beaten track Chinese eatery with the sweaty shirtless Chinese baker who spoke no English making beautiful looking dumplings with such skill and dexterity only for Cordon Bleu-trained Clinton to mangle them, thank God sweaty shirtless Chinese baker was not there to see them. He would have chased us out of Shangri La with a cleaver. Now I know why the Chinese waitress did not really want to sell me 'uncooked' dumplings. Ah you suuure yu don wan dem cook? she kept asking me. No, I said. We have a Cordon Bleu-trained chef at home who knows how to cook them properly I boasted....