Arrest me but only after dinner

Every morning and for a month now we have been receiving a copy of the Straits Times, the most popular newspaper in Singapore albeit almost the only local one written in western characters. There is always the News section, the Home section, classifieds and other bits and pieces. After a month however it is clear that today's news is more or less the repetition of yesterday's news.

There is always the discussion about house prices, how they are going up and how the government should intervene to calm them while some MPs think instead that house prices going up are a good thing because it means the market is living and dynamic.

There is then the debate about HDB, the equivalent of Council homes in the UK or low cost housing heavily subsidised by the government. There are strict rules controlling how these homes should be used by the locals and how they invariably abuse the system, get caught and pay a hefty fine. One would think that they would have understood it by now but no, they still try to beat the system.

There is then the announcement of the grand opening of a new shopping mall or a new condo that promise to change life the way you know it into something out of this world.

Lately there is the story of a Romanian diplomat who supposedly mowed down an innocent bystander in a hit and run incident and then said the car had been stolen even if it was sitting the whole time at the Romanian Embassy. The story is so dodgy I wonder how he thinks he can get by with it.

So we are now thinking of stopping the delivery service and save a couple of bucks by reading old copies.

Today however there was one good story and I am still rolling on the floor laughing after reading the article.

It's about a tax official in Jakarta who fled to Singapore after being accused of bribery and corruption. Clearly a serious story with serious implications. He was tracked down by the investigators and found having dinner at the Lucky Plaza, another one of the usual malls though with a rather seedy side to it.

The investigator was ready to pounce but waited until said rogue tax official had finished eating his meal of nasi padang, a mild curry dish originating from Indonesia.

Clearly being arrested after a meal is better than going to jail on an empty stomach but one would imagine that it was not really essential to the story.

In any case it is reassuring to know that Sing journalists have their priorities clear.

House hunting golden dragon rules

I have now become an expert in house hunting. First of all location is not necessarily the main requirement here as opposed to the UK where proximity to the station could command easily an extra 20% in the asking price. Here it is all about what the new best thing is. In fashion today are frosted glass, merbau floors, stone worktops, terraces and ovens doubling up as microwaves. This means that some of the new developments are absolutely stunning though getting to them is a hike. With cost and maintenance of cars so high one wonders why having easy access to transport is not considered to be a mega plus.

Being Londoners at heart we decide to defy fashion , also known as we do not have the budget for the newest thing, and opt for the older best thing. Budget aside, older developments offer more for your money as they tend to be bigger in size. These new condos are beautiful but the size of the rooms is abysmal. Maybe because the are all so tiny here but it is considered to be a luxury to offer a master bedroom the size of match box with a bed my adorable niece would not be able to fit her teddy bear in.

It is also difficult to get the estate agents to understand this issue and only when I lay on the floor with my head touching one wall and my feet touching the opposite do they get a feeling of what I mean. But then they smile happily and tell me I could knock down the outside wall and extend the room into the huge terrace. The idea is not silly at all but clearly it would just be easier to build homes with a proper room and reduce the 70 square meter terrace to something a little more reasonable.

In any case I spend my days phoning estate agents and viewing flats weeding out the absurd ones and then presenting the best to Max.

Unfortunately I lack the gift of seeing past the current state of these flats and I require all my strength to visually remove the clutter, the red and golden drapes hanging from the ceiling, masses of little ceramic cats lifting their left or right paw representing good fortune, happiness and money, paper dragons and red lanterns. I need to think minimalistic, clear lines and white walls.

The choice of shoes is essential during viewings, not only because of the miles one will walk to do 4 viewings a day but also because it is respectful to remove shoes before entering somebody's home so fumbling on the floor with shoe laces is not dignified. This means that all the shoes are kept outside the home and as long as there is a shoe rack to keep them in order I think it is a very good idea....less floor cleaning for me.

We like MOM!

This time I come prepared so armed with a bottle of cold water and cash in abundance I go back to MOM to pick up our passes. At 7.30 am I am not the first one there but the office opens 20 minute early and there are a lot of cubicles so by 7.40 I am done and I proudly carry my 2 passes. One is the employment pass for Max with details of his occupation and the other one is the dependant pass for me with absolutely no details at all apart from my name. They are meant to be carried with us at all times and will allow us to enter the Country without having to go through the whole Visa paperwork again and they also double as ID cards.

ID cards here are necessary for lots of what appear to be rather strange reasons. The strangest of all so far has been the dispatch of a small parcel to the UK. I went to the Sing Post office as I wanted it to be a recorded delivery and was asked to produce a passport or an ID card. I was rather taken aback by this request because I have never been asked to prove who I am to send a letter. I did not have any documentation and I certainly did not want to walk back to the apartment to pick up my passport so I made a lot of fuss and whined a lot and managed to convince the girl at the counter that I was not a criminal.

The same cannot be said now that I have my ID card which comes in the shape of a sage green credit card with my finger print on one side and my photo on the other.

Now having been reproduced in black and white and as it is now prohibited to smile when posing for an official photo I look like a drug baron one step away from being executed by the militia, not flattering at all.

Still I am now officially allowed to stay in this Country at least for a while.

Max instead looks like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed and slightly panicky.

So between the two of us one might wonder why they gave us the passes at all...too late, now we are in though two years from now we will have to start the process all over again as the passes are only valid for a limited period.

What part of debit card is not clear to you?

On Monday morning bright and early Max and I went to MOM. This is not to say we went to mommy for tea but we got all dressed up to go to the Ministry Of Manpower to convert our tourist Visas into an Employment pass for Max and a Dependent pass for me.

Wanting to look our best I decided to wear a white, crisp blouse with my new trousers knowing it would make me feel cool and sophisticated.

Being low on cash we decided we would take some out at the ATM machine at Dhoby Ghaut underground station. When we got there we found out the ATM was inside the office and being 8am the office was closed. This should have rung some alarm bells in my head because what is the point of a ATM inside an office when you need money outside office hours? Well, there are plenty of ATMs in this world of shoppers so I was confident we would find another. Down the stairs we go and Max realises the balance on his travel card is low. $6 is all I have and we use up the lot to top up the card.

We get to MOM in plenty of time and relax while waiting for our turn at the booth. When we are called in we efficiently take out our passports, landing card, Max's company visa sponsorship for the both of us and pictures.

The nice lady at the counter starts with me and everything goes well, even the finger printing on a silly looking machine. Fine, I am in.

However the situation complicates when Max's picture, taken against a white background, does not show his right ear. This is a show stopper, he will have to have his picture taken again. The fact my own ears are covered by my hair does not register with the nice but now annoying lady and we are stuck. By chance there is a photo store round the corner but...they only take cash and we do not have 1 cent between the 2 of us. So while Max goes to have his picture taken I rush down to get some cash. A nice girl tells me where the closest ATM is. I rush off in the sticky, hot air to find the hole in the wall. I find it and though it is not my bank I am not worried, a fee is the worst thing that can happen. And instead the machine spits out my card with disgust saying it will "not process my card". Time if flying and it's hot and since I am not known for my patience I flare up in a flash. What do you mean by "will not"? Not in the mood to argue with a stupid machine I run away and attack an innocent bystander asking for the location of a real ATM machine and not one with PMS. I am directed 500m away to a different one. I try it again and this time it's "technical difficulties". Close to strangling somebody I ask for an actual working, not hysterical ATM machine and I am directed further away to a 3rd and 4th and guess what? they "refuse to process my card". I mean REFUSE??????

Sweating and with the start of a major headache I get a call from Max telling me that there is a ATM from my bank half across the block. I follow his directions and 10 minutes later, drenched in sweat I finally find a working ATM. At this point however I am in the foulest of moods ever, ready to pick up a fight with the whole island if they really insist on it. Still now we have the silly money to pay for the silly photo. All is well and the passes will be ready on Monday.

I then found out, to my utter dismay, that there is a lot of competition here between banks hence their own ATMs not accepting a competitor's card. The stupid reasoning behind this is that a consumer will take out a bank account with them as well. What the banks must not "bank" on is the fact consumers such as Erica will refuse to be held at ransom by idiocy and I will make really sure I always have cash before I venture out again. By the way, oh weary travellers, this happens at supermarkets, cinemas and other outlets. Beware!

CV writing and unwanted news

What a day this has been! it's 5pm, I just got home after a 2 and a half hour CV writing course followed by 3 flat viewings all at 33 degrees Celsius. I am sweating profusely, I have a headache and see double.

Too much to do in one day when it's so hot and especially when the outcome of such events is not exactly what one expects.

So CV writing or Resume' as Americans like to call it. I am happy either way as long as somebody reads it and hires me but clearly life is not that easy.

So off I go to the American Association for this CV writing workshop and thank heavens I did go. It is clearly classic CV writing with the do's and don'ts and I must say I am rather good with the don'ts but need a little more work on the do's.

Now the idea of going to a CV writing course is to improve one's CV and be sure to have that extra humph! that will land you at least an interview. I would already be happy with this.

After the dreadful experience of having to find a job in the UK after leaving a perfectly good one in Italy over 12 years ago I had sworn to god I would never repeat the same mistake again but here I am a lot older but clearly not wiser and without a hint of a job at hand.

And according to the speaker at our course with very grim prospects of ever getting one again.

Now this is enlightening! happy to find out I have even less opportunities than I had 12 years ago.

It starts off with the fact locals MUST get 85% of all jobs even if they are not qualified for them, so much for meritocracy! This is then followed by the fact nobody uses head hunters because they are too expensive with a side course of job adverts only being there because by law a certain amount must be posted even if the job itself is not available. But the icing on the cake is the fact that spouses of expats, mostly wives of course , are considered unreliable since dependant passes, while allowing us to work, are only valid while the main bread winner still has a job. When that ends so does the right to work irrespective of the super dooper job the spouse has. Furthermore most expats leave within 3 years so what is the point of putting a lot of effort in a expat's spouse since they will go as well? Yes, dependant passes can be turned into permanent ones but luck would have it that the government has decided to out a stopper on these types of permits thus leaving a lot of people in a lurch.

So to make it sound better spouses of expats are called "trailing talents" which really translates to me as being nothing more than a drag.

There is light at the end of the tunnel however and it is called networking evenings and job offers by expats for expats. This means tomorrow night I am out at a networking night where bored employers and eager would be employees meet to find a common interest. Never been one for networking but one must start somewhere so I will dress to impress and be the belle of the ball!

Even stick insects drown

I don't know what Mother Nature's plan was when I was put on this planet but it certainly wasn't to be a shopper or even more, a clothes shopper.

First of all she gave me an hourglass figure 30 years after it had been in fashion while now it's all diaphanous, angular (as in bony) stick insect like figures. Clearly fashion is made for such shapes and those this way endowed enjoy flapping around like pretty, delicate butterflies where every fold of fabric falls neatly and elegantly into place.

To add insult to injury every time there is a revival it's for the fashion of the '80s, '70s, '90s or '60s but never , ever for the '40s and '50s which were truly the best years for fashion........ ever!.... if only because more suited to my bodyshape.

Then came the time of the overweight and obese which brought a plethora of tent like clothes made for big bums, big thighs, big tummies and ample chests but still no middle way. And really! whoever thought that stretch fabric looks good on you if you are overweight is seriously deranged.

And now this! An overload of shops and boutiques, crawling on top of each other, strangling each other like parasites, all the photocopy of the previous one but with more colours, with more bling, with more music but with still the same clothes and....very small people I tower over very easily.

And now the dilemma: on one side the big designers where a T-shirt will set you back a few hundred euros, on the other the cheap looking, cheaply made, cheaply designed underworld of teen fashion showing clothes that are more apt to mop the floors than to wear.

So once again I am back to square one even here, in shopper's paradise and it will take a little time to find the little golden shop where I always find the right thing.....(where are you Hobbs when I need you)?

Therefore I decide to feel good about myself and go and buy a book and just to be virtuous I have a lean, chicken and mango salad with an ice lemon tea, no sugar. Still, I cannot help feeling a bit cheated and mutter boils-forming-on-nose curses under my breath to counter all the "we don't have YOUR size madame".

It's pouring buckets and buckets again when I leave the Paragon shopping mall after lunch and this time I forgot my umbrella. I have no choice but to brave the downpour and run home. I am drenched beyond measure within 5 seconds but then so are all the tiny stick insects trying to escape the rain. The elegance is gone and so is the flutter of delicate wings. Only drowning bugs remain and I smile ruefully to myself.

Deep thoughts after a trip to the grocer

There comes a point when you get a bit tired of eating out and even Asian cuisine starts feeling a bit boring especially for their childlike aversion to the green stuff. While veggies are readily available in supermarkets, albeit individually wrapped asparagus make me a bit skeptical, it is difficult to find them served as side dishes or main courses at food centres. One dish stands out and it's called Baby Kai Lann, a long thing green leaf that looks suspiciously like something from the cabbage family. It comes stir fried, drenched in soy sauce with fried onion on the top. Clearly not fine cuisine and in any case the only one of its kind.

So, armed with new found energy I headed out today to buy food and prepare a home cooked meal for my hubby. I was full of enthusiasm and determined to buy exotic looking produce to transform in a Mediterranean style delicacy, a sort of West meets East.

However I had not considered the difficulty of finding an ingredient labelled in any know language ( or at least known to me). So, all too ready for excuses, I decided to opt for the first time, for steak, boiled potatoes and a salad. The leafy green stuff was relatively easy but then I moved to the meat counter. Endless rows of strangely named cuts of meat appeared and not only were the names unheard of but also they looked different than usual.... right! Just a regular steak anyone? And then I see a little booth covered in red flags with a banner and the words "wagyu beef". I had heard of this prized beef from Japan but never really thought too much about it as the meat in the UK is superb anyhow but....I am not in the UK any more so I ambled close to the stand and peered at the display. The first thing that stands out is the marbling of the meat, I have never seen anything like it. It makes me think immediately of juicy, melt in mouth, buttery, caramelised goodness and I pine for a small morsel falling madly in love with the idea of a BBQ and a glass of good Shiraz and then I look at the price and I think immediately ....savings! so I move on and get myself a steak from good, traditionally corn fed US beef and think to myself "it's just as good..... ha!".

I remember reading about wagyu beef and as far as I know it is supposed to be fed on beer and massaged daily with sake' or maybe it's the other way around but in any case there is a lot of booze and the cow must be really a happy cow and permanently drunk.

Silly me! I thought cows were supposed to eat grass but after feeding them protein derived from sheep carcass back in the '80s (thus making cows carnivorous....frightening thought that brings to my mind images from Jaws!) and bringing into this world mad cow's disease all for the sake of a quick buck regardless of the consequences, I guess being a little tipsy most of the time just takes the edge off being turned into a freak by human madness.

Landlords? Not that silly after all

Here I am, having an apple juice at the side of the pool and seething because the silly landlord I spoke about earlier has double crossed us.
All this time we were told that the Chinese way requires both parties not to lose face in front of each other and that is the way business should be conducted and bla, bla, bla. So, we have answered every request in such a way that would make the owner look good as long as he just said yes and signed the lease. After a gruelling weekend back and forth trying to appease the guy we finally find out today that he was working with another "secret" agent and had been keeping us on the line because he was waiting for the downpayment to clear since he had sold the flat 1 WEEK ago. Is this supposed to be the Chinese way? It feels to me more like the London way or should I say the international way?
In theory he was supposed to be a little bed ridden old guy and we were supposed to feel sorry for him but I have a sneaky suspicion he is just as able as I am even with my wobbly ankle and that he is more than happy to go the western way if it means taking potential tenants like us for a ride. So the conclusion is that the old, traditional ways are nothing more than smoke screens that conceal a darker, more sinister truth. There is no such thing as little old bed ridden men but instead the world is populated by loads of silver surfers spending the kids inheritance and telling their 20 year old girlfriends stories about gullible newcomers.

Urban jungle?

The endless rows of shopping malls, eateries, boutiques that flank the large central artery that is Orchard Road with its constant traffic would be too aseptic and cold if it weren't for Nature that entwines with these man made structures. Various types of palms, cycads, ferns and frangipani grow everywhere, in every available corner and tall trees that I believe look like jacaranda trees, though I am not an expert, line Orchard Road and add grace and shelter from the sun and help conceal the giant billboards. During the day the sound of chirping starlings is everywhere and drowns the noise that comes from the traffic but late afternoon they congregate outside one shopping mall in particular, the 313@Somerset, and get into a chirping frenzy that covers everything in sound, like a blanket. At the same time the hooting of a different bird transports you to some mystical land and you almost expect to see orangutans hopping out of the trees around you. At night geckos ride the lighted billboards in search of suicidal insects and if you look carefully at what looks like a very long runner bean you might discover that is it in fact a green snake with a triangular head deciding if he should try and out stare you or slither for his life.
This contrast between modern city and nature is incredible and it's a joy to be able to witness it

Aches, pains and mosquito bites

These past 3 weeks have been a bit difficult with the relocation and the getting used to our new Country but we are slowly getting there. The fact I have a few cuts and bruises however has not helped and I cannot wait to be completely healed.

I started off by falling down the stairs while cleaning my home in the UK for the new tenants. Just when I was thinking my foot was in a precarious position and had to move it to a safer one I slipped and tumbled down the steps, falling on my ankle and twisting it. Spraining one's ankle is never a good idea but less so 48 hours away from an international move. Hobbling painfully I managed to get through the following 2 days. Then I got to Singapore and I hoped the heat and the sun would help the healing process so off went the heavy boots and on came the summer loafers. I had not taken into consideration the swelling of my feet due to the humidity and before I knew it I had blisters on both the back of my ankles. Undeterred I decided to wear my faithful flip flops, I mean what can go wrong with flip flops? Well loads can go wrong because they do not have any grip so in due time I slipped on a wet floor and to avoid spraining my already weakened ankle I grabbed onto a metal display and managed to cut my wrist in 3 places. Now I look like a suicidal hunchback of Notre Dame. As if this was not enough the local tiger mosquitoes have taken an unhealthy liking to me (they leave Max alone naturally!) and have been dining on various exposed and, more embarrassingly, hidden parts of my body with glee. Once again I react by buying a mosquito repellent. I spray this on every inch of my body but I take care to wash my hands as I do not want to find myself ingesting the stuff by mistake. Little red, itchy marks now cover my hands, though the rest of my body is bite free. In the meantime I am collecting blisters on my feet like one collect stamps. The back, the side, the front, one after the other little painful blisters appear and my list of wearable shoes diminishes at a frightful speed. So, a little worse for wear, I am off to the Pharmacy to buy plasters. I check the mirror and a big, fat pimple has grown on the centre of my nose. Is it just me or do I get a feeling Sing does not really like me?

In praise of taxis, umbrellas and..banana splits

Though not as torrid as I imagined Singapore to be, it is still pretty hot and humid and after a while it gets to you physically and mentally. The heat is relentless and only early mornings and late evenings are sufficiently cool to walk around. Therefore we woke up early to get to the other side of town and visit the Jurong Bird Park (www.birdpark.com.sg). It is quite a hike even with public transport so we hopped on a taxi to get us half way there. Taxis in Singapore are plentiful, clean, cheap and air conditioned and are a real pleasure to ride. It is certainly not a luxury and everybody uses them constantly. Taxi stands are conveniently located in numerous areas with a shelter from the sun and a bench to rest on. Most taxi drivers are chatty but I remember one in particular. When we told him we had only recently moved to Sing he immediately replied that Sing is a beautiful place and that we had all the rights to live here as we share the same sun and the same moon so our nationality is not important. It was very touching, considering, as well, that many, like him, lost their job in the crisis of '97 and that these jobs have been taken up by expats like us. There is no resentment, just acceptance of the cards they have been dealt with.
Even umbrellas are heaven sent as they are clearly used when it pours, like at this precise moment, but also as useful parasols. On day one I said I would not be seen walking around town with an umbrella in full sun but I dutifully opened mine today when at 10am, instead of the expected downpours, the sun shone hot and fierce. I felt a bit silly but survival, as some of my readers know, is my mantra so I adapted.
However nothing beats the refreshing yumminess of a banana split, courtesy of Ben and Jerry's. After spending half a day at the bird park (too hot to complete the visit) we sat down at the ice cream parlour for lunch and treated ourselves to a mix of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, hazelnuts and a banana.

No Durians please and useless landlords

Silly landlords and their frustrating habits of changing their mind every 5 minutes. One moment he accepts our offer and the next he starts making a fuss because he does not know if he wants to sell or let. So after a lot of talk we are going to see the flat just above the one we want and if all goes well I will be throwing peanut shells on his head and blowing raspberries ha ha.

The area would be good for us because it is very close to good transport and to the MRT short for Mass Rapid Transit. Most of it is overground but when it gets close to the centre it dives under ground. Every station has a name but also a number to make travelling easier, the carriages are modern with high ceilings (good for Max) and the newer ones have a lighted display that always shows you where you are and on which side the door will open. The door opening area is indicated at the platform by arrows, yellow ones positioned to the sides and pointing towards the doors and green ones pointing outwards. It is clear that customer alighting have precedence over those going in. On day 1 we were very diligent and placed our feet right on the edge of the arrows but by day 2 we had understood that this was all wishful thinking and that , just as in London, you need to push like mad to get in. Otherwise the expected signs are at the entrance. Do not push, careful not to fall on the track, do not smoke, do not drink or eat and most of all NO DURIANS with the picture of a small round, spiky object. I know that durians are an exotic fruit but I never had the courage to try one. According to the experts the smell of the durian fruit is that of rotten eggs mixed with sewage. Well, you do not see this in London for sure but I do appreciate our Mayor's decision to ban smelly food on the Underground.

Rain and estate agents

It has been quite overcast since we arrived over a week ago but only yesterday it rained for the first time and well!!!! did it rain. It started to trickle down at about 3am and by 7am it was pouring buckets and buckets of fat, heavy drops. Locals have been complaining about the weather not standing up to the usual expectations in the past months due to an unusual lack of rain and it is true that the grass appears to be dry and patchy in some areas even if the constant humidity certainly does not remind one of the Sahara desert.

However the sun came out by midday and the air now is cleaner and fresher. I also wore a long sleeved shirt!

I am now sitting by the pool after a gruelling discussion with our estate agent. After long consideration we decided that the area we liked so much to the west of the city is not practical as it would take over 1 hour for Max to get to his office so we went back to the east of Singapore in District 15 for a second viewing of a flat we visited last week. The flat is on the second floor with a balcony that overlooks the long, slim pool. The flat is positioned in such a way it never gets the sun and there is always a lovely breeze. This will allow us to reduce the use of air conditioning which is good because we use less electricity but mostly because we really do not like the blast of chilly air in our faces. The floors in the living area are laid with white big tiles and the kitchen, though a bit on the small side, has everything we need apart from a dishwasher. Dishwashers are not very well known here as everybody has a live in maid so as usual we got a funny look when we enquired about putting one in each flat we visited. But the good thing about this flat is that one can take the lift to the 13th floor and walk into an open space the size of the whole building with decking and plants overlooking the whole city. One can see the ocean and all the tall rises and especially the almost completed Marina Bay Sands http://www.marinabaysands.com/en/index.html. Wow!

I must say that the idea of living in a rented accommodation once again after having owned our own house feels a bit like stepping back however the flat is only 3 years old and it is really new, fresh and bright . The estate agent has just called to say that the owner has accepted our offer which is below the asking price. Usually we try to be clever but we chicken out as soon as the stronger party gets stroppy. It seems that for once we win if only by a few dollars a month...:-).

Time for a dip in the pool, all this negotiation has made we sweat!

Prawn satay with glass noodles

After a gruelling morning out and about at Singapore's Botanical gardens looking at orchids and big spiky trees we stopped at a small restaurant for a light lunch. We both opted for a Prawn satay salad. The salad arrived in a large bowl with 4 prawns, lightly spiced, I believe, with a little turmeric and salt and grilled on skewers and a fresh salad made of cooked and cooled glass rice noodles, iceberg salad leaves, slices of mango, pieces of pink grapefruit, gently sweated sliced shallots, sliced tomatoes and a vinaigrette of grapefruit juice, a little fish sauce and a sprinkling of coriander leaves. Yummi!!!!

Night out at Singapore's business Centre

too tired to write tonight, filming instead....click on play

Holland Village

We viewed a property in Holland Village and as we liked it very much we decided to return to the area for dinner and to get a feel of the place. The "village" is on a small hill and there are a few streets with little shops, the baker, the pharmacy, the hairdresser and so on and loads of little restaurants. In the centre of it all there is a little round market split in the middle with tables and hawkers on one side and the fish market on the other. In this area you can choose any food you like from tiny little stalls the size of a cubicle in a changing room and each one specialises in something different. You get your drinks from the fresh juice stall and the dumplings from the dumpling stall and chicken and rice from the chicken and rice stall and....by now you should have understood the general idea! You get you food and drinks and sit at any table.
Standing at the sides of the semicircle the cleaners are waiting with their little cleaning stations on wheels and each time somebody finishes their meal they hurry to the table to remove the plates and clean up ready for somebody new.
After our meal of fried dumplings -that should have been steamed but the little guy at the stall decided otherwise- and chicken washed down with watermelon juice, we headed towards the other side of the village where the pet store, the beauty parlour and the small supermarket (called Cold Storage) are and we jumped on a bus back to Orchard proudly using our permanent bus pass for the first time as this makes us true Singaporeans.

Brash brands and the facts of life

Singapore's shopping area in Orchard Road is a far cry from London's Old Bond Street. The boutiques in London have a touch of understated elegance given by the use of brushed silver or brass door signs above small display windows and it feels as if only those who are in the know can access these realms of fashion.
In Singapore the big designer names are forced in your face in a pointless display reminiscent of rival male peacocks.
Enormous, exaggerated display windows dominate the road and nowhere more that at the ION Orchard Shopping centre. The brand names are illuminated by strong, harsh, shiny lights and sparkle to make sure you do not miss any of the details. The P in the Prada store is twice my height but it dwarfs in comparison to the YSL one.
Blinded by all the lights and attracted by an electronics display Max and I enter the first shopping centre we see and we are immediately greeted by girls asking if we want a massage. It seems a bit strange to me and only after a few seconds I see a life sized poster of an almost naked girl with a caption that said "naughty boy" and an invitation to enter what looks frightenly like a sex shop. I explain to Max that the type of massage on offer is not designed to give relief to his neck, still sore from the move and in a mild panic we thank the now lascivious looking girls and head straight outside.

Breakfast at Treetops

I am sitting at a table for two with the pool to my left and the breakfast buffet to my right. The pool features a waterfall and I discovered a jacuzzi behind it yesterday during my "daily" explorations. I like the noise of the water, it's soothing and calming and the smell of frangipani flowers is everywhere, permeating the air.

The fans on the ceiling keep the air moving and it is fresh and breezy. Max is reading the local newspaper and I am writing this blog. There is a contingent of small, starling like birds waiting for the guests to move away from their tables for a cup of coffee to pounce on their plates and steal whatever they can lay their beaks on. It's funny to watch because the guests get rather upset when they find a mess on their table and the birds just squawk back at them. I am thinking of the starlings at the old B&Q in New Malden (before the opening of the giant B&Q Warehouse) and how they used to sit in wait, close to the bacon butty van right outside the doors for a piece of bread or if really lucky for a morsel of bacon. Evidently bad habits are "international". Today it's out again to look for a home for us but for now I just have my fruit and cereal and enjoy the moment.

Treetops

Changi airport is almost deserted when we arrive 30 minute early on 2nd March. We think the immigration process is going to take ages due to the fact we are migrants but the officer gives us a strange look and ushers us out with a little piece of paper and our promise to register with the local Authorities within 90 days. The bags are all there and the driver is waiting for us as expected. So far so good. We both crave silence to try to understand the magnitude of our life choice but the driver, on discovering we come from London, decides that his stay there for 2 weeks in 2009 earns him the right to blab on for the whole 40 minutes it takes us to reach our residence. Having been bundled in the taxi directly from the airport lounge we do not have the chance to appreciate the heat and the humidity until we are delivered to the Treetops residence (www.treetops.com.sg). Having been warned by all our well wishers that the heat would be unbearable we are relieved to see that though a bit sticky and hot it is not that bad after all. We are welcomed by the residence manager and taken to our flat after a series of lectures on everything there is to know about the area. Being jet lagged and very tired most of the talk is wasted on us but we nod dutifully and make all the right noises. After the manager we are attacked by the housekeeping manager and go through the whole inventory fork by fork and bowl by bowl, again totally wasted on us. However he brings us a delicious ginger and lemon grass tea and home made sweets though we now understand why Asian sweets are not famous outside Asia. Slightly dazed we unpack and move down to the pool where we finally can relax.

...and we are off!!!

....and it finally happened after all this waiting. After spending our last 3 nights in a B&B in Wimbledon we are finally off on a Singapore Airlines flight at 6.15pm on Monday 1st March. The flight itself is unremarkable and the choice of exit seats at the cost of £30 extra is a winning one. Max fails miserably to give the impression of being a seasoned traveler and instead of releasing the remote control for the on-board entertainment by pressing on the release button he decides to eradicate the whole contraption, cradle included, ending up in a tangle of cables and earning himself the disapproving look of the pretty Singaporean hostess. In a vane attempt to restore dignity he opens up the little bag containing the headset and separate foam earphones covers only to have one of the covers bounce gingerly in the air and land after a double somersault on the feet of said hostess who is clearly not amused.

In all of this my own personal theatrical crying at the thought of leaving London behind for good is not registered by my hubby while he lives his own personal flight drama and I find myself sniffling away alone and wondering what I did wrong in a previous life to deserve this.

The rest of the flight continues without any problems and we both fall asleep despite the turbulence.