I didn't know whether to laugh or be upset in the pool yesterday. I was the only person there, so I put my towel on a table on top of my keys, and got in the pool. After a few lengths, I turned at the "deep" end and saw a maid just strapping arm bands onto two yellow-haired pink-faced little girls dabbling around in the shallow end. The maid then dumped all her clobber down at the same table as my towel! Um, why? You have 20 empty tables to choose from all round the pool, and you have to pick mine?
I breast-stroked slowly back, watching to make sure she didn't touch my stuff. I was gradually aware of a look of alarm on the faces of the little girls as they watched this red face getting closer and closer to them through the water. I changed direction slightly so that I wouldn't be swimming straight at them, but they stood up and stared at me then ran back to the safety of the maid. Of course I then had to get out and go to "their" table to get my things. They stared at me as if I was Jaws himself. I felt awful!
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Running out of health
I go to see an osteopath fairly regularly, just to stay lined up. Last time he told me that my joints were as stiff as an old lady's and that I really needed to exercise. And no, walking to the supermarket and back with heavy bags 3 times a week did not count. Neither did walking 20 minutes into town instead of taking a bus. Doh. The thing is, I'm small (5'2.5"/160cm, and 112 lbs/8 stone/52kg - depending on what language you speak) and naturally fairly muscular, so you wouldn't automatically think just from looking at me that I needed to lose weight or get fit.
So I set myself a goal of exercising twice a week "to start with", I thought optimistically. The first week I swam. Boring boring boring. So I wondered about jogging, which I haven't done for years. You have to understand that jogging in 31 degrees of heat is not a thought that makes me spring out of bed in the mornings.
But Royal Sporting House are doing this deal where you trade in your old running shoes and get 25% off a new pair of selected brands. Cool. So I... er... got the bus into town yesterday with my old trainers and chopped them in for a snazzy new pair of purple Reeboks. And... er... got the bus back. Well it was raining.
And today I took my new Reeboks for a run. Oh my. I must be woefully out of condition. I was red-faced, leaking out of every pore, hammering heart, wobbly legs - aagh! My first run was 2km followed by a quick change and 4 lengths of the pool just to cool me down. A bit pathetic really. I'm planning on building it up to a point where I don't have to keep stopping and gasping for breath. There's hope. I mean I didn't know whether I'd keep up the blogging, but I'm still here, aren't I?
Apparently blood type Os like me are supposed to need exercise. Well this fitness regime had better pay off...
So I set myself a goal of exercising twice a week "to start with", I thought optimistically. The first week I swam. Boring boring boring. So I wondered about jogging, which I haven't done for years. You have to understand that jogging in 31 degrees of heat is not a thought that makes me spring out of bed in the mornings.
But Royal Sporting House are doing this deal where you trade in your old running shoes and get 25% off a new pair of selected brands. Cool. So I... er... got the bus into town yesterday with my old trainers and chopped them in for a snazzy new pair of purple Reeboks. And... er... got the bus back. Well it was raining.
And today I took my new Reeboks for a run. Oh my. I must be woefully out of condition. I was red-faced, leaking out of every pore, hammering heart, wobbly legs - aagh! My first run was 2km followed by a quick change and 4 lengths of the pool just to cool me down. A bit pathetic really. I'm planning on building it up to a point where I don't have to keep stopping and gasping for breath. There's hope. I mean I didn't know whether I'd keep up the blogging, but I'm still here, aren't I?
Apparently blood type Os like me are supposed to need exercise. Well this fitness regime had better pay off...
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Ugly Naked Guy
We live on the 19th floor of a condo block. This occasionally affords us unsought but tantalising glimpses into other people's lives. Anywhere I have lived, but especially in this country where public nakedness is actually illegal, I find it bizarre that people would allow their unclothed or intimate moments to be seen by anyone who might happen to be glancing casually in their direction. I mean, we close the curtains - don't you?
So the couple who spent one evening lying on their bed watching TV together in the altogether, with the light on, the windows open and the curtains and goodness knows what else blowing in the breeze was a bit of a surprise to us. In that strangely compelling attraction of Big Brother, every time one of us got up to get a drink, we'd just have to glance out of the window and comment "they're still there".
There's a guy in the block opposite us, a couple of floors down. We've seen him before, taking off his socks and hanging them up to dry. We've never actually caught him putting them back on again, but you can't help wondering, can you?
I was talking to Mum on the phone the other day. Now I usually wander from room to room, looking out of the various windows while we chat. I had to interrupt her account of the shocking weather in England to tell her about a much more exciting event unfolding opposite. Sock Man was out on his back balcony, taking off his clothes and putting them into the washing machine, garment by garment. It was one of those train-wreck, can't-look-away moments, you know?
And do you know what? They don't have tan lines.
So the couple who spent one evening lying on their bed watching TV together in the altogether, with the light on, the windows open and the curtains and goodness knows what else blowing in the breeze was a bit of a surprise to us. In that strangely compelling attraction of Big Brother, every time one of us got up to get a drink, we'd just have to glance out of the window and comment "they're still there".
There's a guy in the block opposite us, a couple of floors down. We've seen him before, taking off his socks and hanging them up to dry. We've never actually caught him putting them back on again, but you can't help wondering, can you?
I was talking to Mum on the phone the other day. Now I usually wander from room to room, looking out of the various windows while we chat. I had to interrupt her account of the shocking weather in England to tell her about a much more exciting event unfolding opposite. Sock Man was out on his back balcony, taking off his clothes and putting them into the washing machine, garment by garment. It was one of those train-wreck, can't-look-away moments, you know?
And do you know what? They don't have tan lines.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Happy Harry and friends
In our last condo, we had Happy Harry the car cleaner man. I have no idea what his real name was, but he was a little, very dark Indonesian who had the widest smile and the whitest teeth I've ever seen. He also had a convenient command of English. That is, he understood "S$50 a month to clean your car sir", but he didn't understand "but my wife says you didn't clean it once during my 2 months' business trip away so I'm only paying for October..." He'd just give that enormous innocent smile until DH coughed up the dosh. He also had this amazing ability to beam and wave cheerfully at us as we drove into the underground car park under lobby A, and somehow manage to be waiting for us as we parked up under lobby J without being out of breath at all. On payment days. Of course. Maybe he had a colluding twin brother.
Often as we wove our way through the car park pillars, we spotted Shirt On Pipe Man. He was a Chinese Singaporean who would park up after a day at the office, unbutton his shirt, then take a coat hanger out of the car boot and hang his shirt up on one of the water pipes that hung from the ceiling. Sometimes I would come back down to the car park to deposit my bottles and newspapers in the communal recycling bin, and the shirt would still be hanging there. We never saw whether he walked to his apartment half-clothed, or whether he had a t-shirt in the boot.
Another person we never actually saw was Scary Merc Parker. We only had the evidence: the silver Mercedes abandoned across a selection of parking spaces, so that it effectively took up at least two if not three spaces. This was a head-shaking, eye-rolling, forehead-smacking habit that had the most impact when the car park was full. As it would.
Give me time, and I shall acquaint you with some of the characters from our new condo.
Often as we wove our way through the car park pillars, we spotted Shirt On Pipe Man. He was a Chinese Singaporean who would park up after a day at the office, unbutton his shirt, then take a coat hanger out of the car boot and hang his shirt up on one of the water pipes that hung from the ceiling. Sometimes I would come back down to the car park to deposit my bottles and newspapers in the communal recycling bin, and the shirt would still be hanging there. We never saw whether he walked to his apartment half-clothed, or whether he had a t-shirt in the boot.
Another person we never actually saw was Scary Merc Parker. We only had the evidence: the silver Mercedes abandoned across a selection of parking spaces, so that it effectively took up at least two if not three spaces. This was a head-shaking, eye-rolling, forehead-smacking habit that had the most impact when the car park was full. As it would.
Give me time, and I shall acquaint you with some of the characters from our new condo.
Sunday, 1 March 2009
My hair is a science experiment
Today we decided to go for a walk at Peirce Reservoir. DH had seen monkeys there when he was last driving past, and he wanted me to see them too. So we set off armed with mosquito repellent, sunscreen, umbrellas, sunglasses and a spare pair of shoes. As we drove out of our south-facing condo we got our first sight of the drama unfolding in the northern sky. Think of bright cream and white sunlit buildings against a purplish navy backdrop with pale grey candy-floss wisps racing across at building-top level. Think of tropical monsoon season. Think of the barely believable daily 3 o'clock downpours reported by holidaying friends and on those National Geographic documentaries. Yup, we were going to get very wet indeed.
We headed north, with me oohing and wowing in the passenger seat, and DH watching the road ahead for the first signs of buildings disappearing into a sudden haze of water. We saw a girl hailing a taxi by the roadside, her long black hair blown into a rippling banner with the ground-gusts that herald the rains. Then the bucket tipped on top of us and the flashing and crashing started. We saw an entire bus shelter crammed with what appeared to be a motorcycle learner's class, and suddenly we were driving through lakes the width of the road. The windscreen wipers couldn't go fast enough. It eased off as we turned off onto the road through the rain-forest to the reservoir. Those pre-storm winds had brought half-trees down onto the road. And there were the monkeys, sitting in little bedraggled groups around parked cars. As we watched, food was thrown from the windows, in blatant disregard to the signs up everywhere.
We carried on and parked up near the reservoir to watch the storm. We could see the lake, a light apple green in the dim light, and the swathes of rain turning the trees on the far banks into tinted mist layers. Treetops appeared, then vanished again. We suddenly saw a building roof which hadn't been there before, and then the tops of two red and white transmitter towers emerged from the haze - but not the bottoms. The lightning forked and flickered around us, and with the car engine switched off, we could feel the thunder through the soles of our shoes. A big group of at least 14 youngsters was hanging about under one of the rain shelters, but they were taking photographs, studying together, laughing and talking - there was no sign of mischief. We sighed, wishing it could be like that in England.
After the conversation we always have between my restless and impatient self and my calm electrical engineer DH about the dangers of umbrellas and thunderstorms, he finally agreed that the storm was calm enough to go for a short walk. We set out along a straight path, with the water on one side of us and fields and trees dropping down, down to the distant Kallang river on the other. We were fish-spotting. It was still spitting, rumbling and flickering. DH suddenly looked at me differently. He said "your hair". I said "what? I know it's a mess" smoothing it down. He said "it's sticking straight up" Huh? I have long, heavy, curly hair tied into a pony-tail. It simply doesn't do "up". But it was.
Did you ever play with a Van-de-Graaf generator in Physics lessons at school? You know those gadgets that you put your hand on, and they generate a static charge, then you touch someone and they get a shock and scream? And those little hairs on your head stick up? Well that was what mine was doing. Then there would be a lightning bolt and it would go down again. Then rise back up until the next strike. DH stared around at the ominous skies, and decided very firmly that we shouldn't be there any more.
We headed north, with me oohing and wowing in the passenger seat, and DH watching the road ahead for the first signs of buildings disappearing into a sudden haze of water. We saw a girl hailing a taxi by the roadside, her long black hair blown into a rippling banner with the ground-gusts that herald the rains. Then the bucket tipped on top of us and the flashing and crashing started. We saw an entire bus shelter crammed with what appeared to be a motorcycle learner's class, and suddenly we were driving through lakes the width of the road. The windscreen wipers couldn't go fast enough. It eased off as we turned off onto the road through the rain-forest to the reservoir. Those pre-storm winds had brought half-trees down onto the road. And there were the monkeys, sitting in little bedraggled groups around parked cars. As we watched, food was thrown from the windows, in blatant disregard to the signs up everywhere.
We carried on and parked up near the reservoir to watch the storm. We could see the lake, a light apple green in the dim light, and the swathes of rain turning the trees on the far banks into tinted mist layers. Treetops appeared, then vanished again. We suddenly saw a building roof which hadn't been there before, and then the tops of two red and white transmitter towers emerged from the haze - but not the bottoms. The lightning forked and flickered around us, and with the car engine switched off, we could feel the thunder through the soles of our shoes. A big group of at least 14 youngsters was hanging about under one of the rain shelters, but they were taking photographs, studying together, laughing and talking - there was no sign of mischief. We sighed, wishing it could be like that in England.
After the conversation we always have between my restless and impatient self and my calm electrical engineer DH about the dangers of umbrellas and thunderstorms, he finally agreed that the storm was calm enough to go for a short walk. We set out along a straight path, with the water on one side of us and fields and trees dropping down, down to the distant Kallang river on the other. We were fish-spotting. It was still spitting, rumbling and flickering. DH suddenly looked at me differently. He said "your hair". I said "what? I know it's a mess" smoothing it down. He said "it's sticking straight up" Huh? I have long, heavy, curly hair tied into a pony-tail. It simply doesn't do "up". But it was.
Did you ever play with a Van-de-Graaf generator in Physics lessons at school? You know those gadgets that you put your hand on, and they generate a static charge, then you touch someone and they get a shock and scream? And those little hairs on your head stick up? Well that was what mine was doing. Then there would be a lightning bolt and it would go down again. Then rise back up until the next strike. DH stared around at the ominous skies, and decided very firmly that we shouldn't be there any more.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Comedy Club
We went out last night to a fantastic Comedy Club called Howl at the Moon in Singapore. They have a house band and "duelling pianos", and the last weekend of each month they have stand-up comics. So good! Stephen Grant was rib-achingly funny and very sharp-witted. They all seem to have the same basic material though: the differences between Singapore and England, sex, picking on the different nationalities in the audience, genitalia, sex, relationships - oh and did I mention sex? This guy used the F-bomb only to effect, which was refreshing. If some of them took the curses out of their sketches, they'd have to write twice as much banter.
We loved the music. There are two grand pianos jammed on that stage, and they'll take requests from the audience. After the comedians have finished, they bring out the big guns: guitars, drums, harmonicas, you name it. They're like the Blues Brothers - any of them can play anything, and they're a comedy act in themselves. Highly recommended if you happen to be out this way!
We loved the music. There are two grand pianos jammed on that stage, and they'll take requests from the audience. After the comedians have finished, they bring out the big guns: guitars, drums, harmonicas, you name it. They're like the Blues Brothers - any of them can play anything, and they're a comedy act in themselves. Highly recommended if you happen to be out this way!
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
More crafting
I had a great day yesterday card-making. I've entered my creations into 5 competitions with various end-dates, and the possibility of actually winning something after having the fun of creating them as well is addictive.
Yesterday we had 2 short, sharp thunderstorms. During the second one the rain must have come from a different direction, and it just streamed into our back balcony. Unfortunately it brought with it a whole pile of mud from the balcony above - I think one of their plants must have fallen over. It made such a mess! Splattering mud all over the walls and over my cleaning cloths that were hung out to dry. I went upstairs to tell them, and the door was opened by a man in a suit who listened then ran off, shutting the door in my face - no apology or anything. I could see over his shoulder that the apartment was empty and obviously being refurbished.
And today there's a herd of elephant-footed construction workers up there, all clomping about and making my ceiling rattle. We've already got one of the other apartments on our floor having their marble floors being hacked - well you can imagine the noise that's making.
So.... I've decided to go out. Bye for now...
Yesterday we had 2 short, sharp thunderstorms. During the second one the rain must have come from a different direction, and it just streamed into our back balcony. Unfortunately it brought with it a whole pile of mud from the balcony above - I think one of their plants must have fallen over. It made such a mess! Splattering mud all over the walls and over my cleaning cloths that were hung out to dry. I went upstairs to tell them, and the door was opened by a man in a suit who listened then ran off, shutting the door in my face - no apology or anything. I could see over his shoulder that the apartment was empty and obviously being refurbished.
And today there's a herd of elephant-footed construction workers up there, all clomping about and making my ceiling rattle. We've already got one of the other apartments on our floor having their marble floors being hacked - well you can imagine the noise that's making.
So.... I've decided to go out. Bye for now...
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