Don’t petrol bomb us. We’ve moved and doesn’t out guesthouse
hate it? Every bloody day I get a call telling me I have outstanding payments. What
cheek! They raised my rent each week without telling me. Some Vietnamese are
slimy bastards I’ll tell you that.
Also, don’t give out your phone number like the pope gives
out sermons. The result of such naivety will be the odd midnight phone call or a
strange text wanting you, their new best friend, to come meet them in some obscure
location.
Anyway the house. Well its quite nice if a little bare. Our
landlord is some old doddery fella who played piano. He can’t speak a word of
English either which is quite innervating as we have to go via our landlord to
get anything done, i.e. know how to get mail, use a washing machine, comb our
hair etc. The buildings pretty cool though, its juts out of the Saigon District
5 skyline like a jack in the box. A big pink skyscraper. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a washing
room and a big bare space where some massive shrine used to sit all neat and
snug against a wall.
A balcony outside gives a good view of the surrounding
sprawl with a decent view of a little pagoda. Look down to the ground of the
building and there’s a fountain complete with elder resident’s power walking
around it in circuits. The mugs. Security are pretty resilient and equally grim
to boot. Miserable dudes won’t indulge my mumbling Vietnamese practice sessions
that I spring upon them.
