BOLD

Some days are just not our usual "run of the mill"days Instead they seem to be controlled by a mysterious power intent on following an agenda of its own. Those days have the particularity to signal their difference as soon as we, innocent human get out of bed. You may, for instance, unavoidably  hit a corner for every piece of furniture in the house; or find that door handles are determined to catch your sleeve, all for no apparent reason. In my case, it also happens to be the time when most ordinary objects I reach for will rather attempt defying gravity and risk shattering to pieces upon landing on the floor rather than letting me grab them. Go and figure?  I call those "serial days" and today has been one of them with a particular theme: it has been an "insects day". It all started this morning (it always does). As I was walking through our car porch I almost stepped over a huge rhinoceros that had crawled in there to end its insect life (what d

                                                                                                         Stick Insect The insect world will never cease to amaze me; merely observing those surprising creatures is an adventure in itself that does not even require me to leave my garden and often not even my house!  Only this morning, as I was getting organised to spend some time on my lap top while seating on the terrace, I started moving one of the rattan armchairs to position it under the cooling draft  of the ceiling fan.      I am far from being the only one to enjoy the comfort of the semi-outdoors and I am not just thinking of my family and friends here: I often find tree frogs under the cushions (I guess they feel more comfy than they would on a branch) and more often than not one or two of the unavoidable abominable Cicaks*. There are also elusive night-birds that enjoy perching on the back of the chairs and leave droppings behind them, so I know they were there.   

                TO AN ENGLISH PRINCESS WHO LIVES IN (I assume) ENGLAND Dear Beatrice, I am pretty sure that it’s been quite a long time since a frog was last in touch with a princess and I can only guess your surprise. I’d quickly recommend though, that if we ever come to meet, you wouldn’t, in any circumstance, attempt to kiss me. It’s not that we French are most certainly prejudiced against English kisses, but rather because there is no hope that I’ll ever transform into a prince for you see, I happen to be a girl frog. You may, of course, be wondering what a French frog is doing in such an unlikely place as Borneo, and how on earth she may be able to write in the Queen’s language (or almost!)? May I recommend you look for the answers in my blog (http://www.anotherdayinborneo.blogspot.com/ and http://www.untoitaborneo.blogspot.com/ ) I was not always a frog like I have turned out to be; the incredible transformation only happened when I crossed the borders of my