Going for gold

I'm sure I have written about the Gold Class movie experience in a previous post, but yesterday's film experience deserves a post of its own.  For those of you who have not yet done the gold  thing in Singapore or elsewhere, think of the difference between flying business class and economy and apply that to your local cinema.  It really is the ultimate in movie going.

The cinema we went to seats 30 people -  in three rows 2 seats across, so you can cuddle up to your loved one - or a stranger I suppose if you are so inclined.   The seats are wide, super comfortable and recline to almost flat.  There is a table side waiter service; all you have to do is press a button and someone comes to take your order.  

So far so good, you are thinking, but why does this merit a post all of its own?  Well, it's because we had the whole place to ourselves.  Don't get me wrong, I didn't book all 30 seats just so we could talk out loud and giggle like teenagers without anyone shushing us, (although we did all of that and more).  It's just that at 4p.m. on a Thursday afternoon, no-one else in Singapore wanted to watch Hitchcock at the GV Grand cinema.   It was sheer bliss, made even blissier by a couple of servings of Haagen Dazs and a glass of Chardonnay.

So, if you fancy the business class experience but don't fancy going anywhere in particular, pop along to your local gold class cinema on a weekday afternoon.  If you were flying BA business class to New York it would take almost 8 hours, during which you would be able to watch three movies.  You would get free champagne and OK food.  Your movie watching would be constantly interrupted by announcements from the flight deck and having to get up to go to the loo because of all the champagne you've been drinking.  For the bargain price of 45 pounds, you could watch three gold class movies.  If you add in the cost of champagne and food, it's maybe two hundred pounds compared to at least two thousand pounds for a one-way ticket to the big apple.  As my friend Steve would say, "Je reste ma valise."

The Year of the Snake and the Bougainvillea

The year of the snake has arrived, with much less fanfare than last year's dragon, it must be said.  I'm a little sad about this, as I was born in the year of the snake, so I did a quick search for all the good things that the Chinese zodiac says about the serpent.  Apparently the snake symbol is associated with intelligence, charm, balance and elegance.  Yay!  Go snakes!  There may have been some other stuff about egotism and sneakiness, but I didn't like the sound of that so much, so I've chosen to ignore it.

For 2013, according to Chinese astrology, my lucky colours are yellow and red, my lucky numbers are 2,4,7 and 9, my lucky day of the week is Monday and my lucky directions (lucky directions???) are southwest and northeast.  I think that means that trips to Vietnam and China are on the cards this year, which is jolly lucky really, as we had intended to go there anyway.

Many people choose to leave Singapore during Chinese New Year but the lovely C and I tend to stay here and enjoy the atmosphere and nowhere is more atmospheric for the fortnight of CNY than Chinatown.  If you are reading this in Singapore and haven't been to Chinatown recently, drop whatever you are going and go there now.  If you fancy a spot of lunch, visit Smith Street.  This unusually (for Chinatown) named street runs through the heart of Chinatown and is named after Sir Cecil Clementi Smith, a High Commissioner at the end of the 19th century.  He was clearly very well thought of, as there is also a Cecil Street and a Clementi Street - the trifecta.

So what can you get up to in Chinatown apart from eating?  Well, shopping obviously - for more or less anything.  If you're feeling under the weather, you could visit the wonderful Thye Shan medical hall to consult with a Chinese physician, have a massage or buy some horrible (oops, herbal) tea.  If you fancy a spot of out of season mooncake to go with your tea you can find that too, or if Chinese opera is your thing, pop along to the Chinese Opera Teahouse in Smith street on a Friday evening.  For the bargain price of 35 sing dollars, you get dinner, a pot of tea and an opera performance.  

If you plan to spend time shopping in the stalls that line the streets of Chinatown, I would strongly recommend either developing an addiction to "Gangnam Style" or else buying a set of earplugs - the song is playing non-stop on a loop the length and breadth of Trengganu street.  I'm a big fan of his Psyness, but 30 minutes was enough for me.  I predict mass suicide among the shop assistants of Chinatown if it goes on much longer.

But enough about Chinatown and the year of the snake; what about the bougainvillea of the title?   Well, I have the lovely C to thank for that.  I had been feeling pretty down about something that had happened and when Chris realised, he went shopping.  And what did he come home with?  A bunch of flowers or a box of Dairy Milk?  Mais non!  He came home with two delivery men and four trees.  I didn't get to keep the men of course,  but the trees - my favourites are the bougainvillea and the water jasmine - have taken up residence on the balcony and look absolutely beautiful.  They make me smile - not quite as much as Lola does, but then again, they smell better.  

A quickie

The Impossible

Behave!   Not that sort of quickie, but a brief review of a couple of movies we have seen since the Les Miserables post.  I'm glad to say that the lovely C and I are back on track as movie lovers and that Singapore continues to offer up a menu of delights.  The first course on that menu is French and features the amazing Juliette Binoche.  I have to confess (as often happens with French films) that I'm not sure I fully understood it.  This has nothing to do with the film being in French (with English subtitles), it's much more to do with the subject matter.  I say subject matter rather than "plot" as, in my experience, many French films do not have what most people would recognise as a plot.  Instead, they attempt to draw you in to what the main protagonists are experiencing as the film progresses and, since these are seldom feelings of joy and happiness with their lot, it is often a pretty depressing experience for the audience.  That said, I absolutely love French cinema.  I love the challenge of trying to connect with the characters and think myself into their motivation and their behaviours, which is quite a tough gig for someone with my Scottish Calvinist background.  For goodness sake, my mother was brought up in the Wee Wee Frees.  Enough said.  The lovely Juliette gave her usual excellent performance in "Elles", in which she plays a journalist interviewing student prostitutes for an article.  When I say "student prostitutes" I mean young girls who are funding their university studies by means of prostitution, rather than those who have signed up for a diploma course in the subject.  Wouldn't that be interesting?  Imagine the timetable:

Monday:  A.M. History (well, it is the oldest profession)
                          Oral skills - theory and practice. BYOB (Bring your own banana)

                 P.M. Languages - talking dirty and giving good phone
                          Field trip - making out in the outdoors

But I digress.  As Juliette begins to engage with the prostitutes she becomes more and more critical of her own life and comes to believe that she too, has sold out, although her comfortable, bourgeois life is very different from those of her interviewees.  If Elles comes to a cinema near you, give it a go.  It's not an easy film, and Hugh Jackman does not get his kit off, but it is, nevertheless, a worthwhile experience.

Next up - The Impossible, which is based on a true story of the 2004 tsunami.  Although the real family concerned was Spanish, they have become Brits in the film -  I guess because Ewan McGregor was more bankable internationally than Antonio Banderas?  In any case, it's a goodie.  Lots of action and emotion, and a happy ending for some.  

Finally, The Tree, starring Charlotte Gainsbourg, the daughter of Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin, famous for their duet "Je t'aime moi non plus".    My older readers will remember this song and the accompanying outrage from the British establishment, but if you have not heard it, have a listen to this.  Personally, I think it's a great song even though the lyrics are a load of rubbish, and you couldn't wish for a better soundtrack to that quickie :-).  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Fa4lOQfbA.  

But on to the film, which we saw at the Alliance Francaise, who run a cine club on Tuesday evenings.  I don't want to share too much, because it was truly extraordinary.  Moving, without being sentimental and deeply sad, yet optimistic and life-affirming in the end.  It was the closing film at the 2010 Cannes film festival and deservedly so, in my view.  It's in English and set in Australia, so have no worries about subtitles getting in the way of the experience.















                 

Pure dead brilliant!

One of the larger graves

Sometimes it helps to be Scottish when reading this blog.  Today is one of those times, as otherwise the title of this post may confuse you.  Not to worry - that's what Google is for.

A sense of the wilderness that the cemetery has become

Even though I've lived here for almost 6 years, I still come across parts of Singapore that surprise me.  The latest is Bukit Brown cemetery, which - bizarrely - ranks in the top 10 of TripAdvisor's list of Singapore attractions.  The first I heard of it was last year, when proposals to build a road through the cemetery were published, much to the dismay of conservationists.
Well, I say " a road", but the proposal is actually for an eight-lane highway, in order to relieve congestion on existing roads nearby and to prepare for future housing development.  It looks as if the road building will go ahead, despite the public protestations, so if you live in Singapore and haven't yet visited Bukit Brown, go now before it's too late.

Taking my own advice, a can of diet Coke and my weekend walking companion, the lovely Ann Marie, I tootled off there for a Sunday morning wander and discovered the most wonderful place  - in the middle of the city but part of another world.  The lovely AM brought her camera and all the photos on this post are down to her.  First of all, it's huge - over 200 acres in all.  AM and I had both read up a little before the outing, but we were amazed by the size of the place.  It ceased to be a working cemetery (is that the correct term?) 50 years ago and it shows, but in a good way.  This place bears no resemblance to the serried ranks of graves you see in cemeteries in the UK; it's much more like a tropical forest, with gravestones of all shapes and sizes scattered about the place, many of them almost impossible to access as the forest floor has grown around them.  We were lucky enough to meet a volunteer guide on our walk, who pointed out a couple of the tombs we particularly wanted to see and gave us a brief history lesson.

A small section of the wonder that is Bukit Brown

Apparently there are over 100,000 graves, some very humble and others on a grand scale - like the 600m2 memorial to the 19th century business tycoon Ong Sam Leong, definitely worth a visit.  Many famous Singaporeans are buried here, including some who have given their names to areas of the city or street names, like Boon Lay and Kheam Hock.  It seems to me that the decision to build a road here (involving the exhumation of more than 3000 graves), and the ensuing opposition, is a metaphor for Singapore today.  Bukit Brown is a treasured part of Singapore's history and heritage, but it performs no "useful" function other than as a haven for wildlife and a place to enjoy life away from the stresses and strains of the city.  As a country, Singapore is nothing if not pragmatic and so the bulldozers will shortly cut a swathe through the tranquil paradise of Bukit Brown in order to welcome the roads and enable the building development that is necessary for Singapore to continue growing, as a nation and as an economic power.  The whole subject of Singapore's growth has been a recurring feature in the local press recently, more of which in the next post when I'll share with you some of Singapore's top stories, as I'm guessing the majority of my readers do not have a subscription to The Straits Times.


If you'd like to know more about Bukit Brown have a look at bukitbrown.org or the TripAdvisor reviews.  It is quite simply, in the words of the title, pure dead brilliant!

Les Miserables? Surely that was the audience.

Those of you who know me will be aware that I love the movies.  I can't remember the last time I walked out of the cinema before the end of a film - actually yes, I can, it was the truly terrible Gigli starring Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck.   The film is described as "The violent story of how a criminal lesbian, a tough-guy hit-man with a heart of gold, and a retarded man came to be best friends through a hostage."   With a plot line so thrilling I'm amazed it wasn't nominated for an Oscar, but there you go.  Anyway, the lovely C and I suffered approximately 30 minutes of Gigli and then snuck into the cinema next door to watch something better.  Frankly, watching paint dry would have been better, but I digress, as the subject of this post is Les Miserables.

You may have gathered from the title that I didn't love it.  To be fair, I didn't watch very much of it, but what I did see I absolutely hated.  I'm not a great fan of musicals, but I loved Blood Brothers, Mamma Mia, Buddy and Jersey Boys, so I went to the film expecting to at least quite like it, especially since there was a strong likelihood of Hugh Jackman's bare torso making an appearance.  Oh dear.  Quite frankly, Hugh would have to have been totally naked, sitting in the seat beside me and whispering in my ear some of the saucy bits out of Fifty Shades of Grey by way of foreplay before I could have been persuaded to stay put.  The lovely C and I exchanged a glance within the first 5 minutes and 15 minutes after that  we were out of there.  The problem is that, unlike the musicals I mentioned above, which have proper dialogue to move the story along accompanied by songs at appropriate moments, Les Mis was what they call sung through i.e. all the dialogue is sung also.  Well, I say "sung", but what I actually experienced was a lot of tuneless, shouty stuff that was probably words, but it was so dreary that it was hard to tell. To add insult to injury Hugh didn't even get his top off once in the first twenty minutes - a poor show indeed.  If I were to review it in Haiku form it would look something like this:

Miserable? Yes,
definitely. Victor would
not have liked it much.

On a roll

Nope, I'm not about to share my latest idea for a sandwich filling with you, tempting thought though that is, just referencing the fact that I'm posting for the second time in 24 hours - or actually for the third time if you count the fact that I just published the one that I wrote on the Tour de France in July.

Moving on, I was moved to write because of my new haircut, which I am just loving!  I decided to go short, largely since it's just so damn hot here, but also because I fancied something completely different, sort of spiky and whimsical.  Think Zoe Wanamaker struck by lightning and you're pretty close.  Life in Singapore is so much easier with short hair and it got me thinking about what other top tips I could pass on to those of you who are thinking of moving here or have recently arrived.  Here goes:

1) Cut your hair as short as you can bear it.  I'm sure you will still look gorgeous - perhaps even more so.

2) Bring lots of shorts.  If you want to fit in with the local population, the shorter the better, just like the hair.  (This is a recommendation for the ladies, by the way.)

3) Revise your view of appropriate female office attire and learn to embrace the cocktail dress in a 9 to 5 setting.  It's a strange thing, but Singaporeans really do wear silk, satin and lace to work.  

4) Don't get a live-in helper - unless you want to give up housework completely and ruin your chances of ever being satisfied again with a twice weekly cleaner when you go back to the U.K.  

5) Try the local food.  Those of you who know me will have burst out laughing at this one, as I am well known for my aversion to all things slippy, fatty, chewy, bouncy (I could go on), but I realise that I am more than a bit fussy and Singapore really does have a lot to offer on the culinary front.

6) Shop at NTUC Fairprice as soon as you find a decent sized store near you.  If more expats shopped there, the "Ang Mo" supermarkets would no longer be able to charge 4 dollars for a red pepper.   And try the wet markets too - but early in the morning.

7) Give up alcohol.  Or be prepared to spend much more of your disposable income on wine than you do on food.  It's jolly expensive here.

8) Don't believe half the stuff you hear about what's against the law in Singapore.  It's a great place to live.  

9) Travel.  Lots. And I don't mean go back home whenever you get the chance, I mean try some of the places that are relatively speaking a stone's throw from here.  The lovely Ann Marie passed on this link to me and I am passing it on to you.  

http://www.tripinasia.net/

10) Explore Singapore.  Use the MRT and take a trip to the heartlands, to see where and how most Singaporeans live.  Go to every single attraction on the Tripadvisor list of things to do, or at least the top 20 or 30. Bring comfy shoes and walk.  You can always hop in a taxi if you get too hot or tired.  Whatever you do, don't miss the orchids at the Botanic Gardens.

11) Get a dog.  A small one if you live in an apartment and a bigger one if you have room for them to romp.  Mini Schnauzers and small Labradoodles are popular here, and totally gorgeous, although I recognise that this is not a completely unbiased opinion, but anyone who knows the lovely Lola will understand. 

12) Keep your make-up in the fridge - seriously.  That way it has at least a chance of staying on your face until you get to the office.

13) On the subject of fridges, make sure that wherever you rent has a fridge big enough for your needs.  However big your needs were at home they will be much bigger here (that sounds faintly rude, doesn't it?), unless of course 'home' is as hot and humid as Singapore.  We have 3 fridges here  - clearly, we have absolutely huge needs ;-) - and sometimes that is still not enough.

14) Don't send your husband to pick up groceries at Jason's supermarket or have a drink on his own at Harry's bar in Orchard Towers after dark. 

Easy like Sunday morning

Leo's restaurant in leafy Albert Court

Sunday morning here in Singapore and I'm just catching up on the latest episode of Strictly Come Dancing.  I try to feed my Strictly habit early on a Sunday, while the lovely Chris is still in bed, as he does not appear to share my addiction, preferring to spend his TV hours watching F1 and the Arsenal.  I just don't get it.

Bruce Forsyth is taking a holiday this week (if someone in power at the BBC is reading this, do you think you could persuade him to extend his vacation, say for the next ten years or so?).  In the absence of Bruce, Tess and Claudia are doing a fine job. They are like the little and large of Strictly.  I'm not sure how tall Tess is, but little Claudia looks like a hobbit beside her - in a good way.

Lots of drama on the show today, more of it on the judging panel than on the dance floor, with pantomime villain Craig and camper than a field of tents Bruno at each other's throats.  Fortunately Len manages to lighten the mood with such insightful comments as "Well, it certainly was a quickstep - it was quick and it had lots of steps". You can see why he's the head judge.  What next, I wonder?  "Lovely foxtrot.  I particularly loved the trotting foxes."?

My Singapore Sunday doesn't kick off properly until Strictly is over and I've downed at least 2 cups of coffee.  As this mission has now been accomplished, I'm good to go.  Today is our helper's day off, so, like almost every other Ang Mo in Singapore we tend to eat out.  We've been experimenting lately with Tripadvisor recommendations.  Last week we went to Leo's, the current number 1 on the Singapore restaurant list.  Not fancy or fine dining, but really good food in a lovely setting.  Be warned, though, it's not a place to go if it's raining, as virtually the only seating is outside.  We had the black pepper crab and the garlic prawns - enough garlic to keep a whole family of vampires at bay; just the way I like it.

Talking of vampires, my sister is arriving next week (that sounds wrong, but only because I haven't finished the sentence, so bear with me and read on) and she and I will be off to see the last of the Twilight saga films.  There has been a dearth of good cinema in Singapore in recent weeks, although Skyfall was not at all bad and probably deserves a haiku a bit like this:

Adele opens and 
M closes.  The bit in the 
middle was good too.

Fan though I am of Twilight, I was not tempted by the Twilight marathon on offer at a local cinema - all 5 films shown consecutively in a single sitting, from 9 am till 11.30 p.m.  I'll wait till the fuss has died down and I can watch Jacob burst out of his clothes in peace........

Of course, the lovely Alison and I will be doing more than sitting watching movies.  We'll be lying on the beach in Thailand, lounging by the pool at the Tanglin club and visiting some of Singapore's finest attractions.  My regular readers may remember that TLA was in a wheelchair on her last visit at the beginning of the year, having done unspeakable things to her Achilles tendon, so we will be taking full advantage of her mobility this time, when we are not lying on the beach or lounging by the pool.  I'm thinking Gardens By The Bay, Pulau Ubin and - a bit of a strange one this - Bukit Brown cemetery, which ranks number 11 out of 273 attractions in Singapore.  

Red letter day

As the lovely Chris has pointed out to me several times, it's been a while since I last put finger to keyboard, but I'm back now.  Cue trumpet fanfare and cries of "Hurrah" all round.  I thought I'd better return as he was threatening a takeover.  Well, I say threatening a takeover, but to be fair, he just wrote a post filling in the blanks since I last blogged.  TLC has been a guest contributor in the past, and will be again, I'm sure, but his actions were sufficient to galvanise me into action.

So what can you expect from this post?  Well, there will be food commentary of course - how could there not - as well as some observations on Singapore's version of the MOT and a film review.

Let's start with the film, in this case Jan Dara, a Thai film, probably fairly unlikely to come to a cinema near you any time soon, unless of course you live in Singapore or Thailand.  TLC and I chose this one out of a list of 10 possibles yesterday, largely because it was showing at our local cinema and it was near a chicken rice place that we wanted to try - more of which later.  The film is based on a famous Thai novel - erotic fiction as it turns out - and features a great deal of lusty sex in 1930s Bangkok (never was the location of a film more apt!).  I don't think it will ever win any prizes in Cannes or at Sundance, but it was a pleasant enough way to pass a couple of hours. 

We passed another pleasant hour over lunch at the chicken rice restaurant just along the road from the cinema.  Hainanese chicken rice, to give it its proper name, is Chinese in  origin, and is a staple of "local" food in Singapore.  You will find it food courts and hawker centres and in many restaurants specialising in chicken rice.  A well as the chicken and rice, served separately, it comes with a stock to flavour the rice and some accompanying sauces - chili, garlic and ginger.  When the waitress came to take our drinks order, I asked if they had any wine - fully expecting the answer to be no, as this was a wee neighbourhood restaurant serving local food.  However, a bottle was produced - the only bottle in the restaurant as it turned out.  The lassie poured and a brown liquid came out, the colour of stewed tea.  It didn't take much in the way of expertise to know that this was not what a glass of Jacob's Creek Shiraz should look like and as for the bouquet, well, it was not so much blueberries, spice and dark plums,  as stewed cabbage and damp dog.  The waitress called for the manager, who proudly proclaimed that "This wine is more than 10 years old" and indeed it was - vintage Jacob's Creek, bottled in 2001!  As most Singaporeans do not drink wine, we spent an entertaining few minutes explaining that old was not necessarily a good thing, particularly when the wine has been kept in tropical temperatures.  I ordered a glass of water instead.

While Singaporeans may not major in wine, they are pretty spot on when it comes to the Singapore equivalent of the MOT.  There is no need to book, you just arrive at the inspection centre and queue up, a bit like at a channel ferry terminal.  We queued for about five minutes, which gave me time to pay for the inspection at the cashier's window - about 30 quid, I think - and then we were beckoned forward.  We took a seat and watched the car proceed through four testing stations, where various things were examined from above and below over the course of 15 minutes, the car was pronounced to be in fine fettle and we were given our certificate.  Simples!

The Tour and so much more

The lovely C and I have decamped to France for our annual frolic in the sun, so first off apologies to those of my readers who may be trudging daily to work under grey British, or even Antipodean skies (heh, heh).  The weather here is hot, hot, hot, which is great news for tourism, but not for cement.  This may seem like a rather arbitrary reference, but if you've ever  ordered concrete, only to discover that the cement lorry driver could not find your house and arrived 40 minutes later than he should have, on one of the hottest days of the southern French summer, you will know what I mean.

This last weekend was huge fun - a combination of Bastille Day celebrations and the start of stage 14 of the Tour de France from Limoux, which meant that the whole town was in carnival mood, starting with a fabulous firework display on Friday night and finishing with music and dancing in the square following the departure of the Tour.  I had no idea what a performance the Tour is - the publicity cavalcade alone took 15 minutes to roll by - to much excitement from the crowds lining the route as young ladies threw free samples of everything from detergent and mini sausages to packets of madeleines (what would Proust have said?).  We managed to avoid concussion by saucisson and to be in the right place when the riders left the waiting area to take up position on the starting grid.  We even scored a vantage point just a couple of rows from the front, so we were able to catch the starting action by standing on our tiptoes. Not bad, considering we did all our waiting for the start in a nearby cafe sipping our drinks and chatting to cameramen covering the race rather than standing on the pavement for three hours before the start.......

I did get some footage of the preparations for the race, but it was quite frankly rather dull, so I found this on youtube instead.  It shows the sponsors' parade going through the nearby town of Chalabre, shortly after the Limoux start.  Chalabre is a pretty little town, as you can see.  If you ever find yourself there between 12 noon and 2 p.m., pop into the Hotel de France for a spot of lunch. Starter, main course, cheese, dessert, coffee and wine all included for the bargain price of 12.50 Euros. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cT6htJPcCPs&feature=relmfu

That was the week that was

Hello again.  My regular readers may have noticed that I like to have fun with the titles of my posts and hopefully one or two of them are even old enough to remember the TV programme that gave the name to this post.  For those of you who are sitting there scratching your heads and wondering what on earth I am talking about, have a look at the link below.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NtmGlvHbqA


That Was The Week That Was, also known as TW3, was a weekly satirical comedy programme on the BBC in the early 60s.  As you will see from the clip, it was in black and white - yes, black and white - and featured a very young looking David Frost, as well as Lance Percival (who, I hear you cry, but what on earth is Wikipedia for if not to look up the details of the iconic figures of 50 years ago?).  The show followed the same format each week, looking back at the events of the previous seven days and having a good laugh at the establishment. Millicent Martin (who, I hear you cry etc.etc.) introduced proceedings with a song.  While it all looks a bit old hat now, this was ground breaking stuff at the time.   Of course, Saturday night television on BBC 1 now features such superlative offerings as Pointless Celebrities, The Voice and The National Lottery, but in 1962, we thought TW3 was quality stuff.


Anyhoo, the point of all that was not merely to point out what a load of rubbish is shown on TV these days (whoever invented "reality TV" should be taken out and shot.  No, wait a minute, not shot; they should be made to watch reality TV with no respite until they lose the will to live.  Much more fitting).  The point was to introduce my action packed week as a prelude to thrilling you with details of my exploits.  So here goes.


It started with a trip to the Titanic exhibition at the wonderfully shaped Art Science Museum.  My regular readers will know that I have a tendency to wax lyrical about the spectacular architecture of the Marina Bay Sands area  and I'm about to do it again.  The museum is shaped like a lotus flower, or an open hand with the fingers curing upwards, depending on your point of view and is as wonderfully bizarre to look at as the three towered hotel with the ship on top.  The exhibition commemorates the untimely end of the Titanic on April 15th, 1912 and features original artifacts reclaimed from the sea bed as well as reconstructions of the famous staircase, staterooms and an iceberg - made of real ice - which visitors are encouraged to touch.  As you enter the exhibition, you are given a boarding pass, with details of your name, class of accommodation and travelling companions.  Towards the end, you can check the name on your ticket against the list of survivors.  Well, I was the 25 year old Mrs Bess Allison, in a first class cabin for which I paid the princely sum of 150 pounds 16 shillings and so I fully expected to have a place in the lifeboat and make it safely to shore.  Alas, that was not to be, and I was pretty disconcerted by the news, I can tell you.  


I managed to put it behind me, however, and the next night TLC and I headed off to pub quiz night at The Old Brown Shoe, with the lovely Amy and Jerome.  We've been meaning to do this for ages, but things got in the way and so this was our first time. We were prepared to come in the middle of the pack, our usual placing at such events, but - to our amazement - we won!  Great excitement all round.  The social whirl continued over the weekend when we attended the South East Asia pole dancing championships at Avalon, an amazing night club in an amazing building at - yes, you guessed it - Marina Bay!  Now, those of you who know me will be aware that the words Isabel and night club seldom occur in the same sentence, never mind Isabel and pole dancing, but we had great fun.  We went along with a friend of ours, who is learning to pole dance and she introduced us to the Singapore scene.  I'm happy to say that the lovely C and I successfully predicted the winner.  I took some photos, but a combination of darkness and strobe lighting does not make for high, or even low definition, so you will just have to use your imagination.  On second thought, forget your imagination and use this clip of the amazingly acrobatic and wonderfully named Jenyne Butterfly (perhaps not her real name?) instead. She was not performing on Saturday night, sadly, but don't you just love her technique - and the slutty shoes too, of course.  Apparently the reason that pole dancers strut their stuff in such skimpy attire is because of the need for skin contact with the pole, to enable them to grip on.  Nothing at all to do with showing off their gorgeous bods, then. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTQDOEXA8NU&feature=fvwrel

As if all that wasn't enough for one week, I managed to find myself in the role of scrutineer at the vote counting following the AGM of the club that we belong to here in Singapore.  It  must have been one of the stormiest AGMs in their history, with all manner of challenge to the chair and general confusion.  I say it must have been one of their stormiest AGMs, but I also have to admit that it was the only AGM we have ever been to, so perhaps they are all like that.  I thought at one point I would have to offer up myself as a mediator!

The week finished rather more tranquilly, with a showing of the film The Artist, which the lovely C and I had missed first time round.  It was absolutely wonderful, albeit rather bizarre, being both black and white and silent.  Chris loved it - even the bits he slept through apparently.

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