Chinchiagay lor, the colours
The sun was out, the weather was great, kids were playing cricket (yes!) and chucking a rugby ball around, and believe it or not, this was at the SMU field, Singapore. Not Paine Reserve, Kingsford/Randwick, Sydney.
So the kids and their parents spoke with Aussie accents, but what the heck, the sun was out and the weather was great.
Our game of touch footy was a shambles, though. Five blokes bailed on us, and so we had to run ourselves ragged again playing three on three till we got bored. Then we played three on three with full contact instead of touch, though self-preservation took precedence and we more or less tickled each other to the ground instead of tackling.
Fun and sunburn was had and enjoyed by all present, and we’re planning to make this a weekly (every Sunday) event. Same place, 5pm. If you’re interested (boys and girls) please apply here.
Right now I am deathly busy, but very glad I had a bit of a run on the paddock yesterday. Doesn’t get any better than this, I don’t think.
Mr Miyagi can catch fly with chopstick, Mr Miyagi don’t need help with the chicks. But for those who do, here’s an interesting dating service called a ‘dating mistress’ or a ‘wing woman’.
Keen to meet women, yet sick of rejection by those who have heard every line in the book, a handful of Australian men have decided to conquer the dating challenge.
Men have long roped in their mates to win over the ladies, with varied success. But for those who don’t have female accomplices to do their dating dirty work, assistance is available for a fee of $60 an hour on weekends.
By day, Jessica studies teaching at the University of Technology, Sydney. By night, she moonlights as a dating mistress, or wing woman….
…The 22-year-old says the service is simply cashing in on an existing social trend. “I have some male friends where the guy says to the girl[friend], ‘Hook me up with that girl’ or ‘Bring your girlfriends’,” she said.
Jessica will meet clients in a bar and get them to point out girls they are interested in. Then she will approach the girl and strike up a conversation….
…The man appears and Jessica introduces them, pretending they are friends. But she shrugs off suggestions that such behaviour is deceptive.
I dunno, might only work for Australians.
Last Saturday I attended a wedding banquet I enjoyed for the most part. The only part I only sort of enjoyed was putting freshly withdrawn banknotes into an ang pow just before I got to the banquet. It was only later on that I felt parting with my money was worth it, because it was a pleasant wedding banquet. Unpretentious, short speeches, shorter (2 song) singing performances and decent food that was served quickly. Two spoonfuls of sharks’ fin soup, and the fifth course was already on the table. On hindsight, I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be unbearable, because any event involving Lat and his lot is almost always enjoyable.
A few days before the wedding, I met up with the groom and bride and they told me a funny story about the wedding preparations.
The bride was in charge of the invites, and the groom the banquet seating arrangements. They didn’t take leave from their jobs, so as you can imagine, they were very busy and very flustered. The bride looked up the names and addresses of friends and relatives of both families and hand wrote each card and envelope. Then, as is the way with modern living, you know some friends but don’t know their full names or addresses, only their handphone number and/or email address.
So, the bride goes, ‘Darling, you inviting your friend Carl?’
‘Yes’, replies the groom, poring over details of the banquet, and telling the banquet manager on the phone that there was no way he wants suckling pig on the menu because suckling pigs suck.
‘OK.’, and she starts to write out the invitation, and all is well.
‘Darling, how to spell ‘Carl’?’, she asks a few minutes later, while he is still busy on the phone.
Now, maybe she mumbled, maybe she mispronounced, maybe he was hard of hearing or maybe, and most probably, he wasn’t paying attention.
But he replies, ‘C-O-W’.
‘Are you sure it’s ‘C-O-W’?
‘Yes, C-O-W, C-O-W! Why you ask me this kind of thing?!’
A few days after the invites were written and sent out, the groom and bride were again doing some more preparations for the wedding. The bride handling the RSVPs, and the groom finalising the seating arrangments.
Looking at the list of confirmed guests, he scrolled down alphabetically till he came to ‘C’, and saw ‘Cow’.
‘Oh my God. Darling, why you call my friend Cow?’
‘I asked you how to spell, you said C-O-W’.
‘Since when? Where got people named Cow one?’
‘How I know? You and your Ah Beng friends, maybe got one called Ah Gu, so English name Cow lah!’
Put me at the right table, I give more ang pow, can?
How hot was it today? Blue sky, no clouds, and car upholstery hot enough to cure you of piles once and for all.
I got a call from the boys asking to go down to the SMU field to kick some footy for a bit, in preparation for Sunday’s long-awaited touch footy game we’ve organised. It’s been a while since we’ve played, and I don’t think we’ve had a decent game since when we were all in Sydney.
In Sydney, almost every weekend was a sporting weekend, rain, shine or hail. If you were really sick or injured (from playing sport), you’d stay home and watch sport. If not, you’d be out there, playing all four codes of football (rugby union, rugby league, aussie rules and soccer), sometimes in the same afternoon.
But we’re not in Sydney anymore, and it’s hard trying to organize a game of footy, because unlike games like soccer where everyone plays soccer because it’s a simple game, touch footy and its variants require a little bit more grey matter, and most people don’t quite want to work their noodle during leisure time.
Today, there were three of us, and a schoolboy who asked nicely if he could join us, and we ran ourselves ragged after half an hour. I am aching everywhere. But I have a very, very slight tan and I’m happier for it.
So I’m hoping its blue skies, no clouds on Sunday once more. Gotta get as many games in before I grow too old to run around on the field.