Swordfishtrombones

I only allow myself one trip to a church a year (not to PRAY! Good God, what do you take me for?) and as it's getting close to Jesus' Birthday this happened last Friday. I wasn't visiting the church for religious reasons, it was to see a musical group, The York Waits. I was under the impression they were a Tom Waits cover band. They aren't, it's a Medieval quintet of merry troubadours, who maketh a noyse of shawms. They were performing at Wentworth Church as they did two years ago when I last saw them. It was a great night of Sackbuts, Crumhorns and Hurdy Gurdys! Although there was no jigging in the aisles we were merrily wassailed all night. Mind you, the rest of the audience were at least three decades older than me, so there wouldn't have been much jigging with all those delicate hips. With the culture out of the way we ended up in the most unfriendliest pub in Wentworth. They even rung the time bell at 10.45! On a Friday night! Christ, I thought we were living in the 21st Century now, what with 24hr drinking licenses back in place. Obviously the news never reached Wentworth...

Tom Waits, not the York Waits...

Saturday evening's entertainment was thwarted by the weather. I love snow, I think it's great. I just don't like it when it stops me from doing things. Like getting to Newcastle for a party because the A1 is completely whited out from a blizzard. I was travelling up North to see Alistair, Keith, Jon and Shirley from No Man's Land for a curry party at Alistair's place. An hour and half into the journey and the snow fell in a flurry, turning the whole road into a Grim and Frostbitten Kingdom. Sadly I decided to turn around in case it got too tricky. I spent the rest of the night drowning my sorrows in the beer I'd bought for the party, a Chinese take away and Wife Swap (the program, not the actual act...).

The A1: approximately 19:00hrs 19/12/09

I made a Festivus card initially for Hrappi then I thought I'd make it available to all who answered the call for addresses on Facefuck. Only a few of you asked for a copy, so I thought I'd better make it even more widely available. Here it is for you to cut out and keep although you won't get a personalised message from me hoping you will choke on your Christ's Mess Pudding:


And just for Festivus, here is a rather long, but pretty amusing Singapore blog, don't worry it's getting closer to the point where I got fired so you won't have to read too many more of these...

Friday, June 08, 2007

Wednesday morning consisted of me laying out some grids until I got fed up with it, well, until we all got fed up with it and we left site at lunchtime. We did have a legitimate reason, Mr Wong and Sing were still Jungle bashing, so we couldn't get near the top part of the site anyway. Also the computer started playing up after I dropped it in one of the hangers... We had to pick it up from the repair shop so we could carry on with the scanning work anyway, so at least our break was legitimate. Ang is getting so used to it, he doesn't argue anymore, he just jumps in his cab, asks us if we are going to Yishun for a lift and drives the JCB to it's parking place. On the way back B&T had an argument, I sat in the back with my hands on my ears saying 'I hate it when mummy and daddy argue!' this meant that T**** didn't come with B*** and I to get the computer. The feculent assistant explained to us that the computer was beyond repair and nothing could be done, the warranty being practically useless as it only covered software. We took it back as it had all the data on it anyway and B*** had an idea as to how to get the stuff off it. We had a lunch of Curry and great Naan Breads and went our separate ways, B*** went back to Yishun to hit the computer with a hammer until it worked. I wanted to go to Chinatown, as I haven't been yet and wanted to make the most of my afternoon off. I went via Little India, just for fun, you realise. I was immediately asked if I wanted to buy a suit off some random punter in the street. 'I don't wear suits.' I told him 'What about a nice shirt?' he countered. 'I don't wear shirts either.' It took a while like this to extricate myself from the conversation. Trouble is, I arrived at Chinatown and I was walking down the main strip a certain Mr Michael Wong dragged me into HIS Manchester Tailor shop. He started by buttering me up 'You look fresh, have you just got up?' 'I've been up since seven.' I told him. It was about 2.30pm. Then he proceeded to go through the exact same conversation as the guy in Little India:

Michael 'You want a suit, I got good suits. All Italian cloth'

Alex: 'I don't wear suits, Michael.'

Michael 'These are very good quality, Italian'

Alex 'Yeah, they really are nice, but I don't wear suits.'

Michael 'OK how about a nice Italian shirt?'

Alex 'Again, I'm afraid I don't wear them.'

Micheal 'Good Italian cloth, very good quality.'

Alex 'There obviously appears to be some breakdown in communication here, Michael. It's not as though I am discussing the finer points of Sartre's Existentialism with Ang. All I'm telling you is I have no need for suit or shirt, no matter how nice or fucking Italian they are.'

I took my leave and went into the Chinatown Heritage centre, with a promise to Michael that I'd be back in two weeks with some money and a change in my attitude towards suits and shirts. The Chinatown Heritage Centre was excellent, as with most museums here. It had a great mock
up of a typical Chinatown building with all the little separate rooms. It also dwelt on the fact that the biggest building in Chinatown (the Theatre, I forget the name. Google it.) was
the best place for suicides until the modern high rise housing developments took it's crown as suicide choice number one.

At the end of Temple Street in Chinatown, is, unsurprisingly a temple. In fact there is quite a few. I went into the Sri Mariamman Hindu temple, a beautiful example of Hindu architecture, bedecked with fabulous beasts and heroes and heroines of Hindu mythology, it is the oldest of Singapore's Hindu Temples and probably the finest. All these wonderful beasts peer down on you as you enter through the main gate, a massive double doored wooden affair. Inside are further sculptures all over the roof of the main temple building. Dragons, Tigers, cows, men and women all compete for the space. I took my shoes off and went inside for a closer look. I saw that you had to pay $3 for the privilege of taking photographs. As the temple was free to enter I didn't mind this little fee and paid my three bucks. I took one picture and my camera's batteries promptly died.

That was one expensive fucking picture. I hope their fucking temple burns down.

I went to see Zodiac on Wednesday evening, a great movie that I will go and see again as it is quite complex and The Coughers Union was sitting directly behind me and hacking his sphincter up during the entire performance. Thursday brought about a full day of actual work, after which
B*** and I went swimming for a couple of hours. Today, Friday was declared a day off. I don't know what the idea behind that was. I prefer a Saturday or Sunday, so I can go out on Friday night. But, I'm not the boss, am I? I spent Thursday evening discussing the finer points of
European women with Ariff, I told him that they were all fat, ugly, violent, broken bottle wielding pigs, which is true for about 70% of them.

I got up this morning and set off to Bukit Timah Nature Reserve. It was fantastic, I saw a couple of Lizards, and a family of monkeys. In fact I walked around a corner and they were all sitting on the path, creeping slowly forwards I got a good few pictures of them, one of them was sniffing another ones arse, so I recorded that for prosperity, or should that be posterity? Then a load of schoolkids came up the path and frightened them away. I also went over to Bukit Batok Nature Reserve, where I looked at the historical site of the Japanese Shinto Shrine which was built buy our POWs. It isn't there any more and the original step appear to have been covered by modern concrete ones, but there is a monument. I finished my battlefield tour at the Memories At The Old Ford Factory, where the British Commander Percival signed the surrender. Again, a fantastic museum. I have yet to come across a bad one.

It's conversation with Ang time again:

I was listening to the Spice Girls on the radio:

Alex 'Ang, do you like the Spice Girls?'

Ang 'Spy Girls?'

Alex 'Spice Girls (starts singing Wannabe).'

Ang 'I only know one spy; James Bond.'

I thought I'd better leave it before we got too confused, then he came over and asked:

Ang 'Where's Bigfoot?'

Alex 'What? The Rockies I think.'

Ang 'No, big foot, your friend.'

Alex (twigging) 'Ah, Dave? He's gone home, may come back later.'

Ang 'I call him big foot, he has size twelve feet.' He then proceeded to show me his feet.

Alex 'I'm only size eight.'

Ang 'Me too.'

Alex 'Well Ang, you know what they say: "Small feet, big cocks"'

Ang 'I see show about Bigfoot.'

He then went on is some detail and gesticulation to describe the film Bigfoot and the Hendersons.

Alex 'Yeah, I've seen bits of, it's called Bigfoot ad the Hendersons.'

Ang 'No, called something else I think.'

And here we go round the mulberry bush...