A couple of crooks in Kompong Som got a lesson in how not to steal last month.

They broke into a house while the owner was away, found a video camera and then the

proverbial light bulb went on: "Hey, what a great idea. Let's take pictures

of ourselves while we're inside this guy's house." Lounging about, enjoying

a smoke, having a grand old time, indeed.

The boys got back to work, loaded up all the loot and then fled the scene. A clean

getaway. Right?

Wrong! Because then the lads had another bright idea: "Let's sell the video

camera because we can get heaps of money for it." They then fenced the gear

but forgot to take the film out. The end of the story was in living color for all

to see: crooks go to jail.

** CNN, which probably cajoles its reporters into doing those self-serving,

ridiculously pathetic, in-house promos touting themselves about once every ten seconds

as the world's most professional news organization ("We covered the Berlin Wall

coming down, blah, blah, blah;" "We were there when the earth trembled

in Kobe, blah, blah, blah;" "You can't cover China by just visiting, blah,

blah, blah;" aren't you sick of it?), is so professional that it can't even

pronounce correctly the name of the First Prime Minister.

So, one should have been able to feel a twinge of sympathy for Jim Clancy when on

the evening of Nov 21 he announced three times within an hour an upcoming exclusive

interview with "Prince Norodom Rana-reed". One should have, that is, except

for the fact that CNN barks at us so regularly about how great they are.

** Scotland, that rugged land with wind swept crags and heavily sweatered

dales, produces a hardy lot of men. One such lad visited the Kingdom this month.

Fresh in Asia for three months on the juice, so to speak, he landed in Phnom Penh

and kept up the intake. He met a pricey lass to his liking and trundled her off to

the Tokyo Hotel for a bit of Highland necking. A rugged nip on her passionless throat

was a tad too much to bear, so she fled in a huff. Sooner, not later, came a rap

on Robert's door where, to his liquified chagrin, stood three guys with AKs. Of a

sudden, Brave Heart turns goose-pimply chicken, slams the door and bolts out the

window, his drawers barely buttoned, shinnying up the drain pipe, across the roofs

of three buildings, and then down, dropping too drunken down into a Lock Ness-like-cess

pool. The stink stuck still when he called for more swill at the bar, as he finished

his tale, then caught a flight to Bangkok for his next round of Asian ale.