Your Sunday Paper
It was a hoax
Those of you worried about the safety of Jakartass following the bomb scare at the British and Thai embassies on Friday can rest easy.
Jakarta Police spokesman Tjiptono on Saturday said that Zulfah (22) had sent the threat in the hope that it would force her boyfriend Agung, a guard at the Thai Embassy, to stay on duty and cancel his planned visit to his hometown of Ngawi in East Java province. "She tried to prevent him from leaving because he would not take her with him."
Orphans For Sale?
British aristocrat with Indonesian business faces extradition
Giles Carlyle-Clarke is facing deportation within days to the United States for drugs offences alleged to have taken place two decades ago. Carlyle-Clarke believes his extradition could be part of the deal that led to the release of British detainees held in Guantanamo.
He says he still finds it extraordinary that it took so long to apply for his extradition as his British address has been the same since his childhood and had been held by the American judicial system since he signed the affidavit in 1989. Although he has spent much of his time in Indonesia since he set up a business importing reproduction furniture in 1990, he claims it would be nonsense to describe him as a fugitive. He has always conducted his business under his real name and even visited the United States in 1992.
McCarthy has removed the tights and is walking back up the road when the first police car shrieks up. It's one of six, including Southwark's designated bomb patrol. He explains to them that it was a piece of street theatre. (He tells me afterwards that he said this because people have too many preconceptions about performance art.) He is gently admonished for wasting police time. "In the present circumstances, sir, you will understand that people are likely to react badly to anyone who looks a bit... unusual."
It is interesting, I conclude, that tights-over-face had different resonances for McCarthy than they did for the police and the general public.
, he tells me, is interesting because he's broken down the old order. He puts on Unsichtbare Chore reverently. This is what I've been waiting for - a new beginning. He's as excited as I am. I give him the thumbs up. He gives me a Masonic nod. It's ghastly. Truly bloody awful. Rats scurrying across a blackboard, a washing machine turning somersaults, a car horn hooting in temper. And when it's not quite so ghastly, it turns into a Monty Python sketch - a choir of cheeks being pulled at speed. The blow-job sonata perhaps? He laughs.
Erik Njofi, son of Frothgar, leaves his home to seek Hangar the EIder at the home of Thorvald Nlodvisson, the son of Gudleif, half brother of Thorgier, the priest of Ljosa water, who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of Thorkel Braggart, the slayer of Cudround the powerful, who knew Howal, son of Geernon, son of Erik from Valdalesc, son of Arval Gristlebeard, son of Harken, who killed Bjortguaard in Sochnadale in Norway over Cudreed, daughter of Thorkel Long, the son of Kettle-Trout, the half son of Harviyoun Half-troll, father of Ingbare the Brave, who with Isenbert of Gottenberg the daughter of Hangbard the Fierce ...
He developed a sculptural vocabulary of highly polished forms, a squidgy shape, say, squashed between two hard shapes, between, as it were, hammer and anvil, or squashing out fit to bust from between concrete blocks, as in his highly effective, if curiously
(and long!) named, Public Sculpture at the Eastern Counties Newspapers building in Norwich.
Jakartass has a new colleague, N., also from London, who is a Chelsea supporter. I won't hold that against him nor the fact that he's a Tory and subscribes to the Daily Telegraph; just don't expect me to provide hyperlinks. I mention these facts, however, because N. gives me access to gossip from those parts of Jakarta nightlife I can't reach, afford, or aspire to.
On New Year's Eve at Aphrodites
there was a spontaneous collection for victims of the Aceh tsunami which raised just over $1000. The owner/manager then introduced a gentleman who was purportedly from the infamous tax office
and claimed that donations are subject to a 10% levy. However, as the said gentleman did not understand English and, presumably, hadn't received this message
, the evening's punters were invited to tell him what they thought.
He was offed and outed.