An epiphany from doing nothing

The weather was supposed to be predictable. So I was very much peeved when I called off touch footy on account of a Category One storm brewing (because one does not recover from a lightning strike quickly enough for work on Monday), only for the clouds to clear and the rain to stop.

But it was a good Sunday otherwise, because I had a good break, two decent cups of coffee and the best Sunday company I could wish for.

Sometimes, it takes that sort of company to change the meaning of the things around you: the heat, the rain, the traffic noise, the rude salespeople, the clueless waiting staff and the good cups of coffee.

(Or it could be that Ireland beat England at rugby)

Only the best for me and my kakis
Only the best for me and my kakis

Surf stop: Wurh.com (Yeah, I know, Surf stopped twice before. But she’s a cutie. What to do?)
iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: She – Elvis Costello – Notting Hill, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Laws of our land: Part I

Being the kaypoh that I am, I got myself caught up in the furore that was unfolding on FF’s last couple of posts, in which she described how outraged she was at a dinner companion’s photographing her cleavage/bosom/chest/blouse.

So, I looked up the Penal Code to see if, at law, what the dirty bastard did was a punishable offence, here in our country vaunted for our protective justice system.

If you’ve been here long enough, you’d have heard the term ‘outrage of modesty’ being bandied about: How some women have their modesties outraged in the lift, on the bus, in the mrt and at the supermarket checkout queue.

So, I thought maybe the first port of call might be Section 354 of the Penal Code.

But as far as I see (pretty near), the law does not define how one’s modesty is outraged, and if anyone knows where I can find the definition, set in stone, please leave a trail in the comments.

Some other interesting things I found from our Penal Code today:

  1. If you (a male) entice a woman with the false belief that she is married to you in order to make her your flatmate or to have sex with her, you’re a criminal: s493.
  2. If you entice a married woman away from her husband, you’re also a criminal: s498

What gives? The women of our land are as thick as trees? Would a woman not know whether she’s married to the guy she’s about to give her body to (or sign a co-tenancy agreement with)?

But honey, we’re married. Come to bed leh!

Is it? Since when we were married?

Neh, last month, you were unconscious, but I took you to the ROM and made you sign everything by propping you up and holding the pen in your hand? Remember or not?

But back to the issue at hand. The boy who used his phone cam to take pictures of FF’s ample (she said it herself) cleavage, I think, could be guilty of an offence under Section 509.

If not, she might wanna do something really nasty to him, but then she could as a result, find herself guilty under Section 508: Act caused by inducing a person to believe that he will be rendered an object of divine displeasure.

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Force Of Nature – John Mayall – Archives To Eighties, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Let’s fold scarves

Me and Mr Brown, we’re going to our secondary school reunion dinner next week. It’ll be the first time either of us has attended such a thing. Not that it’s that important to maintain old school ties, but this one’s a big one. It is twenty years since we took our ‘O’ Levels.

Naturally, a little anxiety has set in. We don’t know what to wear.

Maybe we could design our own outfits.

Surf stop: Hailey Xie
iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: My Funny Valentine – Chet Baker – A chance of sunshine, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Blessings from between heaven and earth

I had a break in work yesterday morning and so I drove myself and my business partner to breakfast. In the car, he noticed three large blotches of birdshit on the windscreen, and laughed his head off. Totally understandable, because the blotches were so big they looked like upturned tubs of chutney (without the tubs).

Maybe because it was a slow morning and there wasn’t much else to laugh about, the business partner kept laughing about the birdshit, which was stubborn enough to resist several squirts from the windscreen wash thing (what is that thing called?). He laughed halfway through breakfast until he was stopped by a quite audible plop. He’d been shat on by what must have been a really, really big bird. The blotch on his shoulder was so big it looked like an upturned tub of cucumber raita (without the tub).

After helping him clean his shirt and our hands, we settled down to resume breakfast, but we were interrupted by the coffee shop auntie who asked, ‘Niao da bian ah? (did a bird just defecate on you, you poor dear ah?)’.

Auntie exhorted us to buy 4D, using the unit number of her shop, saying the last time someone got shat on, he struck big time and bought her a meal.

We said ok, just so she’d leave us alone with our meepok breakfast.

But this morning, she came by again and told us we owed her a meal because the unit number turned out last night to be one of the starter prizes.

Fucking birds.

Novena Coffee Shop
Big tree give us shade. Big tree also give us birds perched and primed to unload: Novena coffee shop

Our (shared) secret history: Reader email

…I agree about the pace of change and what with this whole ST interactive crap, it just accelerates the feeling that we have lost some of our identity and ‘anchor’ to the Singapore that we grew up. Too much change with shiny, plasticky, contrived ‘entertainment’ offerings are de riguer in Singapore and just about every developed country nowadays.

I’m Antipodean-Singaporean 🙂 I spent most of my life growing up in Singapore and now live in Sydney. I loved my childhood, ‘that’ Singapore that I knew. I remember at primary school, recess was a treasured time because being a sickly child, I was prohibited from having anything remotely fried, fatty, salty and sweet. In other words, anything that was tasty. Recess then, was my freedom. I would go the whole hog with chocolate (20c), kachang puteh (20c), char kway teow, King’s ice cream, sweet cordial (10c). A kid could gorge himself on $1 a day.

And as if that wasn’t enough, after school, we (my brother and I) would cross the pedestrian bridge over Jalan Toa Payoh and wait for mum/grandad to pick us up. Inevitably, there would be the ice-cream man, you know, the guy on a motorbike with a sidecar full of Meadow Gold/Magnolia/Walls ice creams waiting for us. And of course I would stuff my face. If mum picked us up, we wouldn’t dare for fear of catching hell for ruining our appetite. But if it was Grandad, man oh man, nothing like a grandfather’s love to stuff ourselves full of ice cream 🙂

Grandad’s gone now and so’s the school. Only the building is left (I’ll give you a hint, it’s pink and it’s got scales. Oh yeah and we used to whup anyone’s ass in the A/B/C div rugby comps in the 80s….. 🙂 But every time I’m in Singapore, invariably I would pass the building, the bridge and the memories will come back. (Darn this speck in my eye! 😉

A part of me will always be there, as a kid of 10, having that Choc Fudge bar (TWO ice cream sticks in one. Whoa).

Thanks for the great blog and the points you raised…..I’m trying to dredge more from the depths of my memory (not so young leh, ‘cos I can still remember the first McDonald’s that ever opened in Singapore……maybe a story for another time)

Cheers,

Damian

The first McDonalds opened on 27th October 1979 at Liat Towers (where Zara is now) and I used to keep the styrofoam Big Mac boxes to use as lunchboxes for school.


Singapore International Airport

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Ojos Negros – Stephane Grappelli – 85 And Still Swinging, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.