The Xpress-Lounge last night was a miniature version of the Stadio Olimpico in Roma. I left office round about dusk, with my arse still asleep. Drove the Green Hornet (And one day i'm gonna catch the little thieving rascals living 'round my neighborhood and throw them plonk into the river). You see, i been putting my company bumper stickers on my car and they last about a day or two. The little rascals scratch 'em out every single goddamn time!
And driving my victimised Hornet i get to the X-Lounge ( a spa-sports bar) located in this rebellious building (reasons cited here are legit: illegal construction- as it stand a mere 12 feet away from the Highway). Its the only-eist and lonely-est building in that area (a 5-minute drive by from Thimphu thoroughfares) and i happen to live on the fourth floor (in Bhutan buildings may rise as high as the fifth floor with an attic to booth. We're also into controlling sky scrapers, besides GNH)
There are three standard bedrooms in my apt. with two balconies, a kitchen, two bathrooms and a living room.
I use one room. My belongings are a rugsack, couple of worn-out jeans, a pair of worn-out boots and a television.
I got side tracked! So that's where i drove to. Got there and spent the next (Match Kick-Off 12:45 Bhutan Standard Time- 5 hours ahead of Roma).
Whiled the hours watching Nadal do another regular demolition of some guy from Siberia who's obviously lost track and found himself wielding a tennis racket on the hallowed gravels of Roland Garros wondering who is this Rafa!
My football mates are not coming over. I'm beginning to get bored. The little rascals in the building come in, plonk themselves on the couch and switch over to the Cartoon Channel. I don't even have the energy to complain.
The Barca jersey i've been sporting for the occasion looks grimy, real grimy. My tattoos are beginning to dry out and the dragon's scales look eerie. I'm beginning to feel dirty!
Added to the dirt issue is immense hunger. Man i'm famished! Yangchen gets my dinner done at last (she runs the place). Its Bhutanese "Paa" (steak). I ate like a croc.
I look at the clock on the wall and there's still 3 hrs to kill before the build-up to the match starts. None of my mates how up. I thought we'd all meeet earlier, have dinner, order drinks and warm up by playing some football on my PlayStation.
I leave my game here in a jute bag. I look in and there's no game! Its been whacked! Boy! This is getting iresome. This week i had a shaver and 1500 Ema Datsis stolen (1 $ Dollar - 47 Ema Datsis) and now the PlayStation!
The "Kharram" (The Evil Tongue) continues.
My cell buzzes. Its Jimmy the Jewel. He sounds loud and excited. Says there are many "Chillips" (white-people) in Benez (the local watering hole downtown). I'm not interested (reputations in small communities don't wane and fade away that easy. It's like that battery slogan: lasts long; really long).
Its a yawn. Nobody calls. The cell buzzes again. Its the Jewel again. I decide let's see what's the big fuss. I drive at 90kmph on the Express Way. I'm there in 5 minutes later. Tshewang the Hero greets me outside Benez. There must be Chillips around if he's there (another stickler he carries). The Benez porch is packed with Chillips and its a bunch of females.
My mates are lost in translation, conversation and Red Panda beer. The Jewel gives me a grin; he's weaving his own story in a corner. I see Tosh AKA Speedy Gonzales chattin up a rather red-nosed blonde. She's Swiss. I do a yodel and join in the chatter.
A herd of yaks later i'm bored (I'm getting the boredom in the kingdom syndrome and its not a good sign).
Supe the Sleeper wants to quit the place too. We bid the group adieu and head back to the Hornet. 5 minutes later we're back at the Lounge.
A glance at the clock- two hours to kick-off! The door slams and there's the Kid. He's got nocturnal stories from the aftermath of Cyclone Aila.
An hour to kick-off. Then happiness comes in the form of three musketeers from the Gross National Happiness Commission. Good. The place is beginning to feel festive. Greetings hither and dither. Man U? Barca? Lot of Man U supports. I'm looking rather clean in my Barca shirt. There's a slam again. Its Harry the Doctor. He's all dressed for the occasion; the Red Devil.
Tiger beers, fried dried fishes later, the build-up begins. Its Ten Sports and there's the usual pundits. The punditry is full of punditry.
They don't know any better than we do.
Cing the GNHC Secretary walks in. He's also my elder brother. I'm a big fan. Nice guy: smart, decent, hardworking, fair and fun. I get the feeling he'd like Man U to nick it.
"These are the Champions...." The signature song bellows out of the 57" flat-assed TV. The room is full of outsiders too. My gang's right up front. By now, Tosh is sloshed. Harry takes him home. Harry comes back, Eto'o does a nice shimmy in the small box and with a left, its Barca 1- Man U-0. And Ronaldo's three free-kicks had us all in thrills. Now the room's coming alive. Jimmy the Jewel is sloshed too. But he's vocal and the Jewel is screaming his vocal chords.
Somewhere in the 70s there's a sexy inviting ball into the box from Xavi. A puny li'l Messi heads the most beautiful goal he's ever gonna score with his li'l head. It rainbows up and over Van Der Sar. Barca 2-ManU-0.
By now Ronaldo's throwing tantrums and playing spoilt. ManU look like they forgot to football.
The final whistle blows.
The orgasm is relaxing.