After getting in late on Saturday night, I went watch-hunting on Sunday. Just a simple dive watch, nothing too flash. Duty-free prices in Melbourne were around the $300 mark, so when the first place I went offered something at $260, things were looking good. I was prepared to pay that, if only I could look around a bit, first. But $260 was too high, only a fool would pay that, kind sir, and only a fool would waste his time looking elsewhere. $200. That's a much more reasonable price. What do you mean its suspiciously low? Are you serious sir? $150. International warrantee. I'm making a loss, but I want to see if you're serious, I don't think so, you're not serious about buying, yes we take Visa.
So then it was work for the afternoon, sitting in the well-air conditioned hotel bar. The air conditioning in this country is something else. Cryogenic preservation, to be exact. Let's just say that by the end of the briefing session I couldn't feel my feet. In Standard Chartered's offices it's even worse. Fancy needing a jumper 1° from the Equator!
On Sunday we (Rob the project leader and I) went to Boat Quay, kind of like Southbank, but more lively. This was followed by rickshaw-chicken, a game involving an old rickshaw driver complete with tired rickshaw, two expats, and lots of traffic, all going the other way. Then Monday was the Singapore Zoo Night Safari, one of the few places were you can see animals trying to sleep in the dark.
On Wednesday, Rob left for the UK, leaving me all alone with my first ever audit. Quite an experience. But enough about work.
The weekend was an exercise in refined culture, starting with sailing on Saturday out near the airport. It's quite exhilarating seeing jumbo jets coming in to land that close to the airport, but not as exhilarating as dodging the container ships and barges. Whilst sail has right of way, might is right when it takes several miles to stop.
Anyhow, that night I took a quick turn through one of the clubs at Chijmes. They had a cover band. How good was it, you ask? Well, let's just say they'd be a suitable band for Brisbane's Royal Exchange Hotel. But then I'm ordered to order a beer. All I caught was "cover charge ... have to buy a drink ... have to leave" How gay is that? I'll tell you. It's gayer than a black Lycra singlet and the greased-up, buffed-up, gold-jewellery-wearing guy wearing said singlet down Chapel Street. (I had a whole lot more, but I thought I'd keep it clean).
That's how gay it was.
So Sunday it was back to high culture: Rodin exhibition in the morning (much better sculptures than the Precious Moments dead-baby figurines on sale in the mall), Raffles after lunch for a drink, then a couple of temples with Kim, the Texan I met drinking at Raffles, (and she was ALL class).
Nothing else to report. I've got a tonne of work and a fast approaching deadline. So there.
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