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My grandfather, my “ah gong”. I don’t really know how to start this post, except to say that every single year at Chinese New Year, I miss my ah gong more than you’d expect and surprisingly, more than even I expect. I never knew him very well ~ I was born in Australia, but we moved back to Malaysia when I was a wee bundle of fat rolls, because he was old and his health was ailing. He passed away in December 1986. I had just turned seven. 
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In the tradition of Chinese New Year, home-made loh bak goh (Chinese turnip cake) from my gorgeous friend Charmaine. Best lunch I’ve had in a very long time.
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I love LA. I love LA. I love LA. Where once I thought that if I lived in the United States I would for sure live in NYC, I now think it’s LA, it’s all LA. For every reason that everyone else seems to not like the place, I love it. I love the flatness, I love the expansiveness (one could read that as expensiveness but heck I live in London ok), I love the urban sprawl. I love the bleached blonde wanna be starlets (ok I don’t love them per se, but they amuse me), I love that everyone’s an actor, I love the bigness that is LA.
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Last week, I gave y’all a lesson about crabs and their hepatopancreas. Ok fine, I didn’t give a lesson I gave a link, but whatever, you’re now more knowledgeable than you were before so I rest my case. All that talk about hepatopancreases (my new favourite word) pulled at my heart strings, which I know sounds weird, like why would crab “mustard” make me all sad, but it does. And it does because… I miss my daddy. And his chilli crabs. (in that order).
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Somehow, some how, we made it to Chamonix last week. After spending a gruelling 16 hours at Gatwick Airport due to flight delays (I think I topped up my frequent flyer points from the number of loo visits I made) and then being cancelled again at the end of the 16 hours, we somehow managed to make our way to Stansted Airport, and then to Chamonix, albeit 27 hours later than planned. We were all cranky and tired and quite possibly very smelly, but arriving in Chamonix was like one of those lightbulb moments. Not so much like we had a great idea, because believe me, our brains were not thinking, but more like ah-haaaaah… ahhhhhhhh (that’s the glorious sound of me realising something). The wondrousness of the place, the snow capped mountains and seemingly endless runs of white powder ~ it is seriously mesmerising and a natural upper like you can’t imagine. After the 27 hour commute, we arrived and literally picked up our skis and hit the slopes straight away.
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