stress

Stress. You know you have hit a new high when you walk down from level 4 of the carpark, ready to walk across to the office separated by a heavy blanket of rain, only to realise the umbrella you thought you were holding... was actually a box of tissue.

What the fuck indeed. 10 more days!

cosmetic surgeon

Met a friend of a friend who's a cosmetic surgeon. No Christian Troy, but he sure knows how to take care of his appearance. Not sure about his marketing skills though.

"You know, Jess, you actually have the potential to be really beautiful!"

"Uh huh, I bet you say that to every woman you talk to."

"No, really. You only need VERY minimal pick-me-ups compared to many others."

"You just need to make your face sharper, nose smaller, eyebrows higher, double eyelids more prominent, eye bags disappear and lips fuller!"

"......"

Kids, be very, very careful what you choose as your internet nickname. You might just become it.

pirates

So we got free tickets to Pirates. The show's good, Simon and I spotted and bitched about many "celebrity" bloggers who were present, met up with some people we know from the same industry... but somehow it just wasn't enjoyable.

Why #1? Aggy got the shits. She left halfway through the show and didn't return after 15 minutes. Nobody else seemed too concerned so my maternal instincts kicked in and convinced myself that she's fainted in the loo. However much I hate to be interrupted during a movie, I got up and fumbled all the way up to the back to the cinema (nevermind we're seated third row from the front) and shouted her name in the loo. No reply. Many occupied cubicles though. Ah dammit. Should I kick down the doors? Knock first? How?! Then I positioned myself as the imaginary poo-ing person in the cubicle. Wah, very malufying to be knocked on...

So anyway... >>fast forward>> I decided to take a walk outside to see if she's there, or ask the guard if he's seen her... when she came up the escalator, from the mall. Hmmm. Apparently she christened the loo on every floor of the mall with her... condition!

I think Why #2 is far worse. Being an event for ad agencies to get together, it's only courteous to mingle around (read: ogle at other agencies' sizzling hot scantily clad AEs) a bit and horror upon horror, people started asking for our namecards! Good Lord is that legal? The act of exchanging namecards surely cannot be proper and polite? How can it be, when the employees of our company don't even get one after working for 3 years? Certainly our bosses won't do this to us! Well, Aggy, Yap and I have just been with the agency for a year... our presence is barely felt, like disposable underwear. Why couldn't people just leave us alone to wallow in our gloominess without rubbing salt to the wound? I bet Roy feels even worse, being with the company for 3 years now and not being acknowledged as an employee even.

This sucks. Oh well... ONE MORE WEEK!

Thank goodness Inmagine gave us good goodie bags. Hurrah!

spontaneity

During the weekend I decided to take a spontaneous drive back to the hometown. I need to make space in the room to see what are the stuff I need to pack to the UK, send to the new apartment, give away or keep at the parents'. I enjoy my solitary long drives once in a while.

I started the 195km drive late afternoon. The journey saw me driving from urban landscapes (and also balancing the camera on the steering wheel while keeping an eye on the road)...

... to rural roads with panoramic paddy fields, oil palm plantations and plenty fantastic views the camera (and my dangerous driving) couldn't capture.

It felt good to be in familiar territory again. Although, familiar isn't the right description. So much have changed since I left 10 years ago. I don't know anyone off the street whom I can wave and smile to anymore. Even the kids who climb the huge tree in front of my house look at me warily. I helped to build the first tree house there, you young punks. Although, there's nothing left on the tree but a rotting plank now.

I started the drive back to the city earlier. Hence the blue skies and fluffy clouds. Damn heat gave me an earth-shattering headache that lasted for 2 days, though.

Tiring weekend but I started work on Monday with a smile.

Yesterday Boss Man #1 gave the studio 6 free tickets to Pirates (courtesy of a supplier). This morning Boss Man #2 screamed at everything and everyone and threatened to close down the company. The air smells like simmering anger, sighs of resignation and I-don't-give-a-fuck-anymore-ness. Not exactly chirpy, morally uplifting times.

If more than 10 years of experience give strength and consistency, why do I feel like I'm walking into a house of cards every morning? If the established culture and system has worked and can work for a long time to come, why do most feel unmotivated and unappreciated?

Solid foundation. Sound experience. Bosses who're not suing each other. What's wrong with the picture?

Change. Everyone is afraid of the big word. Try to avoid it. But little by little, it seeps in. With every new employee. With every old one that leaves. Still we numb ourselves and plough on day after day, taking cautious little steps to not upset the balance that requires Change to join the game. Because, let's face it. Change is a cunning motherfucker that could work just about any way. She's so unpredictable, so unsafe, so... daring. Nobody likes to play with Change, she is like the hi-so butterfly that everyone discusses and secretly yearns to follow but in real life, seldom does.

Change is my middle name. Often guised under other names like Curiosity, Adventurousness, Irresponsibility et cetera. With Change, time passes slower, every sensation more exquisite, every face more interesting.

Maybe, one day I'll divorce Change and settle like everyone else. Maybe. Right now I’m still boarding the plane. Nevermind I'm scared and worried like hell.

Hello again, Change.

birthday week

And so it is... (*swoon* Damien Rice)

My 28th birthday week came and went. A whole week of unadulterated pleasure and fulfilling of desires without inhibition. After a month of eating at the right time/amount, exercising at the right frequency, getting stuck with needles at the right places... I let everything go and just ate. And ate. And scoffed at exercise. Or being extra-conscious about health. (just heard from a friend I can pay for preventive jabs that last up to a year for flu and other common ailments)

Had dimsum with mum, brother and his girlfriend when mum came up for a visit. Food kinda sucked but it's been a long time since we've sat down to eat together, so it was good.

Had my favourite kimchi hotpot with rice with my favourite college friends, and although that was the third time in a row the same week I've been having that, it was good.

Thank you, my beautiful colleagues. For insisting to have Korean barbeque with me on my real birthday, even though we're all tired and worked late and only had an hour to gobble down food. You guys are the best colleagues one can ask for, seriously. You guys are the only thing I will miss when I leave the company. Our friendship will be the only thing I have from here, because I don't even have a namecard after one whole year of service and nobody's gonna believe I was an employee here before. I hope you do, in your memory.

Had our favourite bottomless drinks at Chilli's with the bandboys. Although there were hiccups over transport arrangements and timing, it's been a while since I last saw you guys and it'll be a while before we see each other again after I'm gone (if I don't get deported before setting foot into London, that is... *shudder*) but before I say my proper mushy tearful goodbyes and all...

... Estranged is playing at Laundry tomorrow night! Let's GO wei!

on tattoos

Aragon asked my opinion on the dragonfly tattoo she's going to get. And I realised she could be the fifth person I send to Borneo Ink (I should start asking for commission from Eddie and Simon), and out of the five, four are Christians. Have I been leading the flock astray?

Many Christians quote Leviticus 19:28 as support that Christians should never get a tattoo. Hello?! The laws in the book of Leviticus, from what I understand, were meant to keep the Israelites healthy and holy. Then Jesus came and our saving grace is through His humanity and death. Hence a New Law, New Covenant and New Testament. No, I'm not manipulating the fact that His sacrifice will cover whatever sins we're to commit (I know there's still Paul's tricky Romans 14:20-21). But from my tattoos I've managed to discuss my faith with more people, usually with the initial "I thought Christians aren't supposed to have tattoos or pierced ears!" which is an awesomely easy starting point.

Did my tattoos make me succumb to Satan's wiles? I don't think so. My vile ways aren't the tattoos' doings. The ink under my skin actually increased my ability to witness to others (not to mention increased convenience to recover torn limbs if my plane crashes). Now, it's working harder on the staying obedient part so tattoo parlours don't get torched by angry parents/church leaders. Jesus loves everyone, including the tattoo artist, pub owner and pirated DVD seller ya. Take a chill pill.

Do I regret my body art? Hell no.
MAN LOOKS AT THE OUTSIDE. GOD LOOKS AT THE HEART.
I don't question someone's motive for getting inked. That's between the individual and his/her God. So the next time *you* want to point your finger at whatever I'm not doing right with the precious young 'uns whom you think I'm influencing, maybe you should get a tattoo as well, and take my burden from being a shining example for them (under microscopic scrutiny nonetheless) off. They might think you're cooler and hang out with you instead. Yay.

the farmer's in the dell

My desktop is broken! *wail* I don't know if it is a good or bad thing, but finally I'm starting to use the Dell (which, shall henceforth be known as Dellia) and figuring out where to put my elbows. For documentation sake, they've been on my knees now for the past hour and dammit my back hurts, sitting here on the bed fingering Dellia on a chair. I've gotta find a more comfortable position to get acquainted with this hot (and getting hotter by the minute) thing.

Wonder what went wrong with the desktop. BSOD just because I downloaded Daemon Tools to play Diablo? Mmmmmf. Nevermind, the cheapest expert ever is coming tomorrow (cheapest not because of skill/patience but he only needs a burger and iced lemon tea as payment) and if all resuscitation efforts fail... we can always reformat.

Which reminds me... where the heck are all my hardware CDs? Shit on a stick.

Anyway I found this band picture I took of the boys which I like very much.

Say it with me now: orrrrrrrrrrrrrrsome photo skillzzzzah...

mysterious

I *think* I know now what's the main cause of my frequent inexplicable bouts of nausea, headache and fatigue. I went to the optometrist to stock up my contact lenses to bring over to the UK (Aggy says it's real expensive over there) and since I haven't had my eyes checked for the past two years, I thought I should.

Good thing I did. My power actually went down. How something like that happens, I have no idea. Maybe hyperopia is showing some early-stage symptoms? Tumour? Dammit I've gotta stop being so grey. Point is, I've been wearing the wrong shit for so long it's amazing my eyes and brains haven't given up on me.

I should probably get new glasses too now that the power's different. Yes that's a paper clip in my hair. If only I wasn't so broke, dammit!

concert and play

I've never heard of any concert that requires a round of balloting to decide who are the lucky few allowed to fork out dough to purchase a pair of tickets. Yup, Live Earth is my first. The curious little girl in me registered for the ballot for kicks. And made a pact with Bel (another workingholidaymaker) that we are to bring each other if either one of us reaches the esteemed final stage of actually paying over RM300 for a ticket (what is the world decaying into... we're celebrating the fact that we can use our money!). It's not like the headliners for the concert are extremely impressive (hello Damien Rice) and flying the performers over with turbo fuel-guzzling, noxious fumes-exuding private jets will probably defeat the whole purpose of this "Concert for a Climate in Crisis" anyway. But hey, I'm not about to miss out on the UK summer musical extravaganza.

I didn't get selected.

But I got a better deal. I'm gonna catch Peter Shaffer's Equus, better known as "the controversial Harry Potter play that many parents protest about". On the final night of this season's run! Also my second night in London (I need the first to get the time difference right). So it's straight from Malaysia to London to Daniel Radcliffe's underaged todger for me. Yeeeeehaw!

Equus tells the story of a psychiatrist's attempts to treat a young man who causes senseless injury to horses. Wikipedia says the play is essentially a detective story, with the psychiatrist trying to understand the cause of the boy's actions while wrestling with his own sense of purpose. Bla bla bla, I'm there for the stable seduction scene.

Ooooh this gets me all flustered. You girls don't be jealous now, Jamie Bell will play Alan Strang the next season. No more Harry Potter but you can see Billy Elliot-lah.

If my friend tells me on Monday that the tickets are sold out, I will positively cry.

good charlotte

I can't believe I walked out on a gig. After spending 2 hours to get to the venue, another 2 waiting for them to play... I left Good Charlotte's concert within 30 minutes without even a hint of regret. Sure, the instruments and arrangement were all tight. But they just lack the raw live stage power. I felt like watching a concert on telly. Gosh they say the stupidest things ever on stage.

"I see so many fine and hawwwt people here tonight!"
"I'm going to move here and have beautiful Malaysian babies!"
"I'll need a place to stay, someone to drive me around and a wife!"
What. The. Fuck. Wei.

They're definitely high on something before coming on.

A lot of people went. 80% were there because it's free. 10% were there to ogle at Denise, Utt and Colby. (Fazura who?) 10% were Good Charlotte's legion of screaming, goth highschool girl fans who're probably there because it's free and they can hold hands with their boyfriends without parents' friends or relatives bumping into them.

The opening acts were One Buck Short (too punk rock for my liking), Lo (not really a rock act but hey, Jonesy likes one of his song so...) and Estranged. I'm gonna coo and go on and on about Estranged starting from the next next sentence so if you don't like 'em you can be excused. And find me where they're playing at next while you're not reading this.

Estranged fucking ROCKED my socks! Powerful vocals, tight instruments, the right volume... everything a good head-banging rock experience should be! And ohmygoodiliciousness the drummer really is Azwin Andy. I always think drummers are the yums but Azwin... has got to be the epitome of yumness. Why oh WHY haven't I heard them play before? They're gonna play at Laundry on 12th May... anyone wanna come? C'mon, they totally owned Good Charlotte's asses, must see them live!

What a long wait. In between local acts. Waiting and waiting for the heroes of the night to come out (we didn't know it's gonna be a disappointment yet)... and watching the MV of Keep Your Hands Off My Girl for the 19083762th time... what else is there to do but... take pictures?

No self-respecting rock band drummer should ever pose like this, James. Ever. Leave that to Japanese schoolgirls. But hey, Good Charlotte hadn't come out and we were all in high spirits!

Don't even get me started on the fucking horrible rail transit system on the way back.

catch-22

I have to really start packing and clearing out junk from the room (and also file my income tax return, but hey I still have a week) because ohmygoodness June is speeding towards me in full throttle and I'm panicking. So I took baby steps and started with the book cabinet... and discovered Catch-22, the book I borrowed from a cousin during Chinese New Year. I know this book is supposed to be a classic satirical history fiction, one of the great literary works of the 20th century, but dammit it's so hard to read. Very, very different from my usual Stephen King and the likes.

I'm still stuck at the first quarter. I don't feel like reading it at the toilet (too heavy), I don't wanna read it to wind down after a hard day's work (too much concentration required)... just can't find the time and mood. And my cousin has since flown to India for her dentistry course. But hey, now I know what's a catch-22. It's an idiom meaning "a no-win situation". Perhaps an excerpt from the book (yay I've read the most important part!) would be more enlightening:

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr [a character] was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian [the story's hero] was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle."

...
...
...
Now you know why I say it's hard to read this book, right?

Of course, there're still the 24 books I bought at Payless's sale last year. And more from Bangkok. So many books to read, so little time... ah life!

politik

I haven't registered as a voter. I don't know if what they say is true, that if you miss 3 general elections your citizenship will be revoked. But if I'm not even in the registered database I should be able to live in my remote corner of the world and blissfully ignore anything political.

Tsk tsk all you want, I've decided since 1996 that my dream human leader of the country/world doesn't exist. Because Bill Pullman isn't running for presidency the last time I checked.

"Good morning. In less than an hour, aircrafts from here will join others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind. Mankind — that word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps its fate that today is the 4th of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom, not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution — but from annihilation. We're fighting for our right to live, to exist. And should we win the day, the 4th of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!"

Yup, I still feel the fire in me BURNING after 11 years. Sweet speech. Sweet man.

nido

It's been 3 months since my godbro's passing. I missed my opportunity to pay my last respects or attend his funeral, and I was quite depressed with that fact that I didn't say goodbye when I could. For the past 3 months I busied myself keeping on with moving on. Living so far apart, we weren't as close as I would've liked, but that didn't stop me from missing his online presence. I was angry at how our mutual friends could bounce back into everyday normalcy within weeks, I couldn't bear hearing them talk about travel plans and gatherings. I wanted to wave my fist at them and shout but he's dead, why are you guys so happy!

I know why. Being sad is so tiring. Being angry with the neverending why is so tiring. I'm afraid there will come a time when I don't think about him every day, and that scares me. I don't want to forget about him. But I also don't want to hear "there's something wrong with you since you changed the hair but I cannot pinpoint it" or "you are just grey and lifeless these days" from friends and colleagues. I'm slowly sinking into a bottomless abyss of gloom and I have to snap out of it before it's too late. I get ill easier and tire faster these days. It's amazing (and scary) how powerful and tempting and easy this negativity is. Enough.

Nido had awesome photography skills (to me, and it's all that mattered). He's the one who encouraged me to fumble and learn my way in finding the perfect angle, perfect moment to capture a picture that tells a story without words. Even if that means standing in the cold, waiting, waiting for a leaf to fall from the branch.

Yea he's crazy about photography like that. He could haul the heaviest equipment to other countries and stand in the same spot for 3 hours just for one shot. ONE! I used to say, traveling with Nido must be very torturous. Look who's talking, now I'm torturing my travelmates. Although the same level of enthusiasm doesn't mean same level of output quality. Shuddup, I'm learning ok, learning!

This series of waterfall shots are my favourite, and I wouldn't stop bugging him to develop a poster-size one for me. He'd laugh it off, saying that a poster would cost him a bomb. Ok and here's when things get a little... surreal. After he died, I asked a mutual friend to check if his parents are releasing his photo album... and if I could have a waterfall film to develop it myself. She didn't get back to me and I didn't pursue the matter further.

I was cleaning my room to prepare to shift to my new apartment (or rather, dumping my stuff there and take off to London) when I discovered a letter from Nido which I have absolutely no recollection of receiving and opening. But apparently I did, so I opened (reopened?) the envelope and 4 photos dropped out. And one of them... the waterfall. It was sent on January 2006. I'm not gonna say anything further here. I'm happy (and sad) enough with the pictures.

Thanks, Nido. For everything you've done, given and taught. From now on I'll take the pictures. And one day, I'll trace your footsteps in Greece and your beloved Aegean Sea.

friday the 13th

Friday. The 13th.

It rained cats and dogs just when we finished lunch and was ready to walk back to the office. We were stuck under a torn stall umbrella, and the torn bit was right above Gab who wore white (the rest were wearing black to ward off bad stuff... and in this case, raindrops) so she got wet. Then she dropped her wallet into a puddle.

Ian's in the hospital. Today's the girlfriend's birthday and he just had surgery yesterday. Don't know if I should feel guilty jamming a few nights ago without him and totally enjoying it. Don't know if I should cancel tonight's jam and force the boys to visit him. Brrrrr, I'm so cold-blooded. Or maybe I just didn't have a chance to know him as well as the others.

I went for my first-ever acupuncture session last night. Richard gave me a can of 100Plus for being such a brave girl, having not seen or done acupuncture before. I told him, I'm willing to try anything to get my health back on track before leaving for the UK and her impossibly skyhigh medical charges. So I closed my eyes and bit my lips as he poked needles into me. And twisted them around every few minutes. My limbs felt numb one moment, on fire the next. It was no fun at all, but the pain's bearable. Richard's little daughter staring at me with big, wondrously innocent eyes (nevermind she's also digging her nose) made me even more determined to smile and make goony faces. As if looking like a (a) shedding porcupine, or (b) junkie with really BAD aim, isn't goony enough. It was over in an hour. I'll be seeing Richard every 2 or 3 days from now.

Today is the end of my mourning. Time to put away all the black clothes.

easter

Happy Easter (or Resurrection Day) folks.
I still don't get the bunny, chocolate eggs and lilies, though.

rambunctious

Uh huh. No wonder posting the picture of the dead random rat had me so ill. It's disrespectful to another member of my clan. Upon realising so, my ulcers have begun to subside. I'm a rat. And all along I thought I'm a dog or cat person.

rat ass

Maybe I shouldn't have taken a picture of this poor rat's mishap yesterday. Because it's exactly how I feel right now. In bloody painful hell. My lymph nodes are swollen again, something my doctor and I laughed about last month. The mouth ulcers are back with a vengeance! Got four throbbing ones on the inside of my right cheek and on the gums, same side with the third breast growing above my collarbone. Still my doctor said (reeking of ciggie, that bastard) not to worry and put me on turbomutantpower antibiotics that make me feverish and spaced out.

My lips and cheeks have swollen to the point that my face is now a perfectly symmetrical square. Like it's flattened into 2D by a truck. Maybe this truck face can audition for a role in Transformers. That is if the lymph bean growing on my neck doesn't explode outwards into a sapling. THEN it's an audition for Swamp Thing.

To top off all the glam, my right toe's (can I not be right anymore) slab of skin has rolled up like an opened sardine can. It was raining and I reminded myself that roads would be slippery and I should walk extra carefully and... I opened my car door *whoop* slipped and rammed my right foot into a rock.

Just not my fucking week. *whine*

cafe cafe

Whirlwind Eryn came... and went. Highlight of her trip besides her loot of 10 new clothing items (thank God I have to work) must be our dinner at Cafe Cafe.

"Jess, aren't you excited I'm coming over? Where're you bringing me to eat?"
"Uhh, I don't know... Chilli's?"
"YOU BRING ME TO CHILLI'S EVERYTIME I COME KL! I WANT SOMETHING SPECIAL!"

Cafe Cafe is a quaint little restaurant that's easily missed, even though it's facing the busiest cross-junction in KL. I think it's because the exterior (including windows) is painted in black. Once you enter, though, it's a new world oozing decadence and gothic glam. I think the owner is gay. He must be. Hahahaha.

The ambience is hush-hush romantic. Tea candle, flower arrangement, ancient piano at one corner, bookshelf at another. Normal dinner conversations are conducted in whispers. I sat straighter and pursed my lips Datin-like as we perused the leather-bound menus.

Suddenly a wisp of smoke rose from Eryn's fingers. "Shit! I opened the menu too close to the candle... the edge melted!" We collapsed back onto our chairs in laughter. Plan to project graceful, Datin-like image: Fail. Nevermind she's in an ill-fitting camisole that showed too much bra and me in singlet and sports jacket.

We had crispy brie for starters. It tasted like... coconut-flavoured hairwax that grandfathers like to wear. We grimaced after the first bite, but were determined to finish the slice because it's RM23 for a small slice of fried cheese. Laughing did make the feat easier, though. We then sampled the tomato-based soup (picture not shown because it just look like normal tomato soup, if you still need picture then go Jusco and check out the lable on Campbell's canned soup) which strangely, tasted like dhaal mixed with fish curry. Your normal roti canai gravy. We couldn't stop laughing as our tastebuds exchanged these insightful opinions.

Eryn had spaghetti with king prawns, scallop, squid and some other random seafood bits. It was quite yum until she generously sprinkled tabasco and stirred everything around. I rolled my eyes. Then...

Eryn: Waiter, can I have some cheese powder?
Jess: (omigawd did she say CHEESE POWDER instead of parmesan? this is so not Pizza Hut!)
Waiter: *gestures towards slices of cheese on top of spaghetti* THOSE are cheese already, ma'am."
Eryn: Oh? Okay, hahaha. *turns towards Jess and whispers* Oi the waiter damn cute!
Jess: (eyeballs rolled further and got stuck at back of cranium)

I had braised lamb shank with sun-dried tomatoes. We didn't like it (I love the two small baby potatoes though). So we launched into another discussion about WHERE they sun dry the tomatoes and laughed like hyenas. And food miraculously disappeared.

Eryn has horrendous photography skills. This is the best picture of me during dinner. My camera is too light and it's difficult keeping it still? Yeah right. Only if it's coming from someone who uses a 10kg digital camera. And yes, I'm in the midst of scolding the photographer to hold still when this was taken.

On the other hand, my angled artsy-fartsy candid shots are godlike! Doesn't Eryn look absofuckinglutely gorgeous and dreamy with a tinge of melancholy here? If you disagree then go away and play with your Barbie Doll.

Eryn, I hope you get your Working Holiday Maker visa too. Then it's me and you conquering the world, baby. (shuddup UK is big and foreign enough to be a whole new world for us)

update

Remember the Porsche I was ranting about after I came into work? I bumped into it again on my way home. This is tres unsettling. Of all the millions and trillions of cars in the country, of all the miliseconds and routes people take to go home... I have to see the car again. But this time he's in another lane so I didn't really have to ram him off the galaxy.

I'm not making this up I swear. I shall be careful henceforth with whatever that comes out of my mouth. Because they might just come back for a second (hopefully not third) visit.

Did I mention that I bumped into Matt Bellamy at the McDonalds opposite the office this morning?