So, dear reader, where did I arrive last time I typed? Ah, yes, I believe I had entered my room at the Colluseum in rainy KL. Strictly speaking I missed out the chapter in which Alistair and I went out for beer and curry (the garlic naan was crusted white with the herb in question). As I recall, the whole lobby was geared to give the impression of some sort of class. The place had times-of-the-world clocks. They were all pointing to the same hour as well. When I went to the toilet, the facade was utterly broken.

Now, after a breakfast in KL Sentral, the main train station, Alistair and I parted company and he jetted off to London and out of this story. He left a ripple, however, in his suggestions of tourist sites to visit. I headed off into the sunny blue yonder (a kind way of saying the simmering city of stench) and got a taxi to Plaza Low Yat, which I had been advised would be the best place in which to procure a camera. This I did at some moderate expense, and with the pretence that someone two floors down had offered the same thing at the same price, and with a bigger memory card.

From here I headed off to see the most famous site in the city, which dominates the skyline from anywhere that isn't next to any other of the myriad tall buildings. Yep, its the Petronas Towers.
To go to the skybridge you require a ticket. These are free. They are also supplied in limited numbers on a first come first served basis. I, suffice to say, did not come first, and satisfied myself with bitter comments about only getting halfway up if you have one. At this point, I remembered the wise words of Alistair, "Menara KL". This is simply Malaysian for KL Tower. And its a damned good thing to visit. I spent an hour loitering on the observation deck: the highest point to which you can climb in KL. Despite not being as tall, Menara KL has the advantage in height, as it sits happily at the top of a hill, giving it the edge over the more famous twins of the city skyline. Absurd as it is, I felt like this was a victory of the underdog which was to be celebrated. Of course this was in no way linked to my failure to climb the more famous towers of KL....

On the streets I met a group of Malaysians whom I sparked up a conversation with. They were strikingly good at English, and strikingly sociable. Then they started asking a lot about my means back in Blighty (interested in a family member who was to study nursing in Manchester- are there student nurses in Manchester?), and my financing this trip. I became a little dubious, and claimed to be eating next year's student loan in its entirety. They took me for a drink at a roadside stall. Very pleasant, I enjoyed the crack with another guy who was there (and was totally unrelated). They asked me about my family's means. More dubiously, I claimed to have an older brother (not wanting to be eldest nor only son) who was massively in student debt. In a wonderful fit of paranoia, I started checking each of their stories for consistency with all the others. Is he from Sabbah? Did she really only arrive 3 days ago? What did you say the name of your sister was?
Then they asked me to come home with them. Panic! Holy Moo-hamed! They're going to run off with me and post my genitals back to Blighty! I agreed to walk as far as Chinatown, where I would take my leave.
They were still friendly, despite my firm insistence to go no further. They penny dropped down a mineshaft when finally one of them told me that if I came back he could teach me to win every time at Blackjack. Ahh, now I see. Well, I'd love to teach that trick to the masses. How does a secret like that stay secret? Do you have to tell dumb white guys how to do it in order to keep it from leaking out?
I kindly refused, claiming that gambling had never been a vice I was drawn to, and took my leave of the family.

I spent another night in the wonderful Colluseum (described in the guidebook as oozing character, though oozing may be unfair as most of the rot was quite dry). I appreciated the stray cats, which came in through- well, I can't exactly say windows, but the building certainly had openings of a sort. Perhaps it would be better to say that the upper story simply had no walls. In any case, the cats were eating cockroaches, which are far more offensive to the senses.
On my way back from the shower/toilet (the former was a bucket and a ladle, rather than in fact a shower) I met a PRC chinese man residing next door, who after a brief chat asked me to stay in KL a week to teach him to speak English. I thought about how much I would be berated by Nick to refuse such a chance. And then promptly did so.

Shut your whining cripple-mouth!

I moved location the next night, to a backpacker hostel. Not out of fear of the power of the Communist Party following my polite refusal of service, simply a desire to see fireflies in Kualar Selangor. On receiving the bill for this tour, I headed promptly to a cashpoint down the road, and Lo! My wallet had gone! Fucking robbing malaysian bastards, they'll just take anyone for anything, the dirty bloody- oh wait its in my arse pocket isn't it?

-Shame Shame Shame Shame Shame-

I payed and then wandered around the block to a 7/11 looking for a phonecard (I think- I'm not certain). An old man approached me and asked me where I was from. I replied in earnest, and he proceeded to tell me that his daughter was going to be studying in Manchester to become a nurse. Hmm. No, thankyou sir, I don't have time to come home with you and meet her.

I returned to the hostel and payed for my firefly spotting trip, and the bus to Melaka the next day, which the chinky-at-the-desk said he would fetch the tickets for. Brilliant. For 1 ringit (14p) I can get a man to run down the road to a bus stop. Feel the white colonial power! Mwahaha!

With a couple of spare hours, I visited the butterfly park, Taman Rama Rama (if only to make my lepidoptrist companion Nesbit jealous- I bought her a T-shirt though!) which was really quite delightful, and took a quick break and a cup-of-tea-in-a-bag in a roadside eatery next to it. This was a very enjoyable phenomina- the drink-in-a-bag. Great stuff. So brilliantly asian- cheap and undoubtedly quite wasteful. After a rushed trip back to the hostel for the fireflies (which following my panicked taxi hire proceeded at a painful 4 miles an hour) I was introduced to my guide, and to the aussie couple who were to be my companions on this next leg of my Malaysian adventure.