“Did you know,” said Norbert, “did you know that the full name for Bangkok is Krung Thep Mahanakhon amon Rattanakosin mahintara ayuthaya mahadilok phoP noppharat Ratchathani Burirom udomratchaniwet mahasathan amon piman awatan Sathit sakkathattiya witsanukam Prast?”
Norbert and Denise had just flown out of Bangkok on the final leg of their journey home. They had spent two months touring Europe on the trip of a lifetime. And now, travel-weary, they were looking forward to getting home.
“What I’m looking forward to,” said Denise, “is my own bed, and our own shower.”
They had loved their trip abroad, but home was home sweet home. One of the great things about being away is often the arrival back home.
“And our own food in our own kitchen,” said Norbert.
It was back to work on Monday. The life’s savings and credit card had taken a fair beating. It would be good to get the money flowing in again.
“And I’m looking forward,” said Denise, “to sitting down and going through our photos of memories, and the souvenirs.”
They hadn’t purchased many souvenirs. In fact, only two things: a large Waterford crystal vase from Ireland, and an unbelievably beautiful clock from Austria. It was better to have spent money on several things than on lots of junk they didn’t really want.
“The vase will look great on the table in the foyer,” said Denise.
“And the clock in the sitting room,” added Norbert.
They arrived!
“Home sweet home!” said Denise. But it wasn’t. One day earlier, during their flight from Bangkok, their house has burned down.
To listen to the story being read click HERE!
Weave a Web 
I knew you were going there! Hopefully they had full insurance and can build a home suitable for the Waterford and the Austrian clock [which, I’m assuming, is a carved wooden cuckoo?]
I knew someone called Norbert once…….
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One would presume the clock was cuckoo – but it’s very hard to tell as it was extremely charred after their second house burned down!!!!! 😦 I’ve never known a Norbert (what a wonderful opening line: I’ve never known a Norbert!)
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I’ve never known a Norbert
I’ve only known a Bert
But if this poem was a washing machine
It’d be a load of shirt.
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The poem isn’t bad at all
In fact it’s pretty fair
But know when on Olympus you sit
It’s still your own derrière….
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It’s a consolation to know that if one can sit one still has a bottom.
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I’d dare you to do it, but being fairly sure you’d kill him off I’m not sure if I should……..
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Hey, I knew a Norbert once, also. If I say once was enough, I don’t mean “knew” him in that sense!
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I never knew a Norbert – and in fact, now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I’m not sure if I’ve ever known anybody…
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Just look where your stories lead, Bruce!
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Such a fine example of classic vintage Bruceiana!
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OMGoodness! Thank you ! Bruceiana is presumably sort of like the Victorian Era only with a touch of class!
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Yes, you could look at it that way…
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Pronounced: Broo-chee-ah-na
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I did go back and forth a bit with the spelling, and decided to leave the “e” in there for emphasis that it was an English soft “c” and not the Italian choo choo “c”. Youse Venetians will probably still say “Broo-chee-ah-na.”… sigh…. Goodman would have worked better…..Goodmaniana sounds more like a mania….
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Watch it! Very Synthetic! and heading towards a C.
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Yvonne wants to call you “Brooch”…..or “Broo-chay”…..Don’t know as you would like that….
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It’s a horrid name anyway. I was going to be called Bernard but Mum didn’t like Barney. It would’ve been confusing anyway, because in the USA the accent is on the NARD and in Britain/Aust/NZ the accent is on the BERN. So Bru-SEE it was!
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I have a long sad story of being among Catholics (who have no saint Cynthia) and Irish and French Canadian progenitors who can’t pronounce the “th” in my name, and reverse-snobs who insist that “Cynthia” is uppity and I should allow myself to be called by them “Cindy”, whether they know me or not, whether they are intimates or not……tell me about it…..
I never knew a Bruce before…to me it is exotic and I like it! All Hail to our given names!
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No Saint Bruce either – there’s a Bruno and an Ambrose. In fact, when it came to taking vows (yonks ago) there was no Latin equivalent for Bruce so everyone was beside themselves. I just said “Bruce” – not even Bru-chey!
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“Yes, but which class”, I ask.
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“Class” is one of those few words that should always be uttered with a plum in ones mouth.
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If only Norbert had been more respectfully-attentive and culturally-sensitive to the hotel desk attendant from whom he thought he learned his Bangkok long-name factoid–or had he been even slightly more tech-savvy, and used google–he would have bothered to get an actual translation:
“We received a message from your home alarm company, sir: There’s some sort of short in your home system that needs attending to right away.”
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He would inevitably have done so – for he was very culturally sensitive – being neither a cultural romantic nor an ethnocentric idiot – but the P in phoP proved to be the stumbling block.
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Always my worry – that going home there will be no home! Happy New Year!
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Just remember to turn the iron off – better still, never turn it on!
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The end of the story was like a bucket of ice water!
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Summer is here in the Antipodes! Ice is welcome!
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All is right with the world – Brucie’s deliberate bathos is back
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Thank you. Lovely to see you’re still in touch with reality, dear Derrick!
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I imagine this story accompanied by a photo of a expensive vase tilted in a muddy field, accompanied only by a broken clock. Thank you. I enjoyed it.
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Thanks for reading. Perhaps there should be the occasional dead body with the vase and clock!
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A bare foot sticking from the bushes?
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I was looking for new reading material and I stumbled upon your blog. Great post. Well written and inspiring. Looking forward to coming back and explore other ones you have.
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