What is it about a beautiful sunny afternoon, with the birds singing and the wind rustling through the leaves, that makes you want to get drunk?

I don't like small birds. They hop around so merrily outside my window, looking so innocent. but I know that secretly, they're watching my every move and plotting to beat me over the head with a large steel pipe and take my shoe.

It's beauty and pure enjoyment to listen to the birds singing early in the morning. They are my alarm clock.

Sir, we are a nest of singing birds

By three in the afternoon, after one Bintang too many, I was absolutely smashed and feared that trying to stand may end badly.

Sunday afternoon is for papers and writing.