PRETTY VACANT

SINGAPORE, AGAIN...

Foregoing a shower as the minibus picked me up half an hour earlier than expected, resulting in me opening the door stark bollock naked to my landlady and Natalie the cat who got an eyeful, my 26 hour ferry and bus ride took me to Singapore. Pretty uneventful really but I met Dan, a 24 year old lad from Nottingham. He was pretty funny and we entertained each other with stories of two-timing girls at university, football talk and bad jokes. I realised I missed blokes company, having spent three months with just one girl.

I don’t like Malaysia; even though it’s very modern, it still stinks. It’s not modern and clean like Singapore.

Its a fine city... They fine you for everything; jaywalking, sk8ing, not flushing poos in public toilets (who on earth checks and what is his job title?)


There is still the rural charm of Thailand on the roads but the Esso, BP and Petronas stations spoil that somewhat. The evil bus driver dumped my rucksack at customs with me so high on painkillers and sleeping pills I didn’t realise it had to go through Singaporean customs so yet again guns were pulled on me as I dazed around, back the wrong way through customs having been through immigration once. I swear they only pulled their pieces as they thought I was a zombie from the still open wounds, pretty vacant expression, the smell and the dribbling.

So my common phrase when travelling this part of the world came into play yet again… “dropped in the middle of shitsville nowhere” I called the bus driver an orang gila for being a grumpy old bastard and made my way here, to the real Singapore. The Singapore I know. Number 1 Beach Road.

Though I must say that standards have slipped since I was last here. I think I heard a Sheffield accent and saw some brown people who weren’t in uniforms. After asking at reception if I could use a bathroom, I took a luxurious hot shower in one of the restrooms (score!) and spent a good forty minutes shaving, washing, changing into a double-cuffed shirt and dressing bandages as wedding guests stepped round me for a reception.

I walked into the reception lobby looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, complete with Burt Reynolds moustache, having not washed for two days from my trip on the Charabang of the Undead. I walked back in to thank the funny little fuzzy- wuzzy behind the desk in my mind looking rather dapper.


And so it came to pass that I went out to smoke a cigarette and got chatting to a very nice man, Keith from Tenerife. He had good teeth, Keith; was proper gay and had turned over a new leaf. Keith seemed to have gone on holiday with eleven people he didn’t know. After explaining that he hadn’t worked in eighteen years and was loaded so very kindly bought me a beer. Half a pint of draught Tiger costs sixteen Singapore Dollars; about eight quid or you can get a jug for thirty-five. Thanks.

Here’s a quick joke…
Two lawyers walk into Raffles.
The first turns to the second and says “Cigar? I’m fucking loaded”
The second pauses.
Turns back to the first and says “Thanks. Me too!”


Keith did say I could have anything I wanted and I what I wanted was a Gordon’s Dry Gin, Dom Benedictine, Cointreau and cherry brandy mixed with a little lime and pineapple juice with a dash of Angostura Bitters and Grenadine. Shaken not stirred but thought that too cheeky cheekster to ask. I’ll get them for free on the plane tonight as I’m flying with Singapore Airlines.

Huzzah for me!

I remembered the last time I drank Slings here… For I am now sitting at the same seat under The Long Bar I brought the girl I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I just never got round to proposing… if we’re honest she never really wanted me to.

Well I’ve been here all afternoon stealing their electricity as well as soap, hot water and available light and have nearly caught up with myself on this blog (I guess I must have if I’m writing present tense) so that is a good thing.

Opposite me is another good thing; a beautiful Australian girl drinking Singapore Slings with her parents, she must be all of oooh…twenty-two. It amuses me that she doesn’t have a clue that I’m writing about her. I am in fact grinning hard about it. I might take a picture of her as my phone is charging next to my laptop and pointing in the exact right angle. Hey, I could even post it on here. Now that would be funny. Is this how stalking starts?

Taxi to Changi airport… Make it so.

‘Stralia, here I come!

She just held my gaze that second too long and smiled at me.
I smiled back, but that’s where I’m gonna leave it, as:

a) Both her Australian mum and dad are bigger than me, and I’m still nursing many injuries… and

b) There’s a girl I want to bring here one day…