Gone

The children were gone and I was a wreck on Monday morning.

Having moved from a town where I knew everybody, my children knew everybody and the transition from an adorable pre-school into a lovely infants school was just so easy due to the close knit community we were part of, the horror of packing your 4 and 6 year old onto a school bus to be deposited on the other side of the island was traumatic to say the least.  My little one gradually slumped into a worried ball in his seat and neither of them could really look at us as the bus pulled off.  After finally ushering my dithering husband out of the door I managed to have a good old cry.

Then I thought to myself.  Honestly!  There are children in some African nations who walk miles on their own to get an education and kids in rural parts of the UK who have probably taken buses from a tender age to get to school and here I am crying over my lucky children who are getting into an air conditioned bus to be driven half an hour to their state of the art school and will be dropped back at my door in the evening.  I felt like a tool.  But as is always the way with these musings and guilty feelings, after about 10 minutes I thought, well, I don't know those kids in Africa or those kids in the Highlands of the UK so ultimately I don't really care and started crying over my poor little offspring again. 

My initial worry about my small children heading off on their first day on the big scary school bus was mainly because the bus amah (a lady who is installed in the bus to take care of the younger children)  was about 100 years old and therefore left me with little to no confidence as I saw her strap in my youngest with his rucksack still attached to his back.  

Anyway, once I had collected myself, I grabbed my organic cotton John Lewis shopper bag (why do we get so terribly flag waving when we are abroad?) and then popped to Holland Village to buy a few extra ingredients that were missing following my back breaking trip to the Chinese supermarket on Sunday morning.  I thoroughly enjoyed my shop there but my trolley was so full and so heavy I could not lift it into a taxi so had to drag it all the way back home.  Unfortunately, the exertion, weight of dragging my trolley and heat combined, has resulted in a thrown shoulder, muscle strain across my abdomen and some other physical problems which I will not go into but if I say bunch of grapes you may comprehend.

Anyway, I picked up my last few ingredients.  I was missing one item exactly from the three meals I planned to cook.  I did manage to get everything I needed in a variable form to that of home.  So, I cooked goulash (worth more than gold due to the price of beef here), some Thai salmon burgers to go in the freezer and Chinese braised pork with ginger and Shaosing rice wine.  I could not get Shaosing rice wine so had to settle for foochew rice wine. I believe "chew" means "wee wee" in Tamil which was a tad worrying but it was all they had so it was going in.  I also could not get spring onions of  the variety one gets in the UK so bought some sort of purple spring onions that were about 5ft long.  I picked up a beautiful non-soggy fresh bunch of coriander for 25p which made me very happy and then trooped home.

What I discovered on my first day alone with both my children in full time education:

1.  I cannot skin fish.  No idea. Four large fillets of salmon were bought to make these burgers.  About three fillets actually went in.  The rest were attached firmly to the skin and went in the bin.  Given I did this with a laser sharpened fish knife was a pretty poor show on my part.

2.  Crying, after your kids have left is terrible and sad but cooking while listening to old skool ska is truly joyful and triumphant.

3.  Cooking, in this country is hot sweaty work.  I moved one of the fans into the kitchen while I was cooking.  Problem with that is it blows the gas flame out.

4.  I completely burned my Chinese pork.  I have a freaky steam oven that I don't know how to use.  Clearly.

5.  When I asked my husband to get some household products including a bottle of Cif, I did not expect to find a yellow bottle of concentrated yellow gloop Jif from 1978 in the cupboard.

And, on an unrelated cooking point:

6.  Week 9 and my skin is a disaster.  Flawless skin is sadly not found amongst the majority in Singapore which is rather worrying.  Society here is unfortunately rather acne clad and not just a few spots here and there.  I am talking pebble dashing.  I have been advised that it takes five months before ones skin improves in line with the sweat glands adjusting to the climate, so I will just have to accept my skin feels like braille and I look like I am the victim of some sort of chemical attack for the next few months.  

I plan to buy myself a handkerchief to keep from using my germ infested hands to wipe the buckets pouring off my face, which could be causing the spots.  Handkerchiefs are normally the preserve of gentleman who blow and pocket (yuk) but will now be my Elinor Dashwood style dab and pocket.  Realistically it will be more likely a violent wipe, wring out and pocket and then two minutes later, do it again.  This will all simply result in an ongoing sweaty face, as well as a sweaty pocket.

I planned to be lazy this week and just read and swim and rest but I have discovered that while the children have been at home I have not done any of the domestic essentials that one would do when you arrive in a new country like registering with a doctor and a dentist.  I only just organised a cleaner today and bearing in mind I complained about my inability to clean in this heat about two months ago, you can imagine what a cesspit my apartment is now.  I still need to get my pictures and mirrors hung as I had to cancel Ricky Martin last week due to our rum tums.

Once I have done these things, which will probably take all of this week.  I will dedicate next week to myself to relax and work out how to fill my days.  I have been invited to a few lunches and I do need to sign up to Pilates again and would like to give yoga a whirl.  Given the grapes, this is really a matter of urgency and as I now lug grocery trolleys and shopping bags around unlike the terribly civilised Sainsbury's deliveries of yester year, I need Pilates to straighten out my rounded shoulders, separating core and back hump that combined with my polonium face is making me quite the catch!

Singapore Deranged

I have had two interesting episodes with the deranged this fortnight gone.  Please note that I am not mocking the deranged, although I do feel slightly within my rights given I have had numerous hairy encounters with nut cases (yes, not PC) in London over the years.

As you know I have stopped smiling as a means of conserving energy.  I did the same thing in the UK following a very scary encounter with a mad cyclist who followed me and kept talking to me for about 20 minutes outside Senate House (the main University of London library) while frothing at the mouth and telling me how well spoken I am and that I must be a news reader and work for the BBC in documentaries.  He became insistent that he would walk with me to the three stations I said I was going to during this unnerving conversation as it got darker and darker outside.  I ended up saying I forgot something at Uni and ran back into Senate House knowing he could not get in as it was for college students only.

I often tell the children this light hearted story as we watch "Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang", as Senate House doubles up as the War Office in this movie.  How we all laugh as I reminisce about running terrified into the building in fear for my life, wondering if this lunatic was going to wait outside until I reappeared.  Yes, it was certainly a hoot.  It was, in all honesty, very frightening and I swore that I would only ever wear the guise of a miserable cow from that day forth.  And it worked, as I was never bothered by any captain crazies again.   

Anyway, even though I have not smiled for 20 years and intended not to since we got to Singapore, I just can't help myself sometimes.  The weather is so warm and everything is so clean and I was going to buy mangosteens and so of course, I got caught again.  This time by a woman.  Probably in her forties. I don't know why being in her forties is relevant but I suppose it explains her taste in clothes. She stopped me not very far from our apartment.  The conversation went as follows:

Lady:  I really like your shorts.  Where did you get them from?
Me: Oh, these.  They are from England.
Lady:  Where are you from?
Me:  I am from England?
Lady:  Do you live here?
Me:  Yes
Lady:  You work?
Me:  We are here with my husbands job?
Lady:  Can I work in England? 
Me:  Errrr...
Lady:  Cleaning?  Is it possible?
Me:  Errrr...
Lady:  How much are flights?
Me:  Errr... well I just looked into it for my Mum and if you book early its about £670.  It isn't cheap.
Lady:  So can I work in England?  Do I need a visa?
Me:  Errr...
Lady:  Paddington.  Can I work in Paddington?
Me:  Err...
Lady:  I don't have big education.  Just little.  Grade 5 but I can do cleaning.  Can I do cleaning in England?
Me:  Err...
Lady:  How old are you?
Me:  Err... 38
Lady:  How old is your husband?
Me:  42
Lady:  Where is he from?
Me:  England.  He is English
Lady:  Do you know anyone I can work for in England?
Me:  Err.. no.  I don't know how easy it is to move from here to England and find work
Lady:  How old are your children?
Me:  6 and 4
Lady:  You have a girl and a boy?
Me:  Yes
Lady:  I know Paddington

I didn't know if she meant the station or the bear and by this point, I could not even see the children because they were half way to the village. I realised this lady might not really like my shorts afterall, so I excused myself by saying my children have run off and goodbye.

My second conversation with the mad was today when I phoned up Ikea to see if they had the Solvinden solar powered string lanterns in stock as they do have them pictured on their website but without any pricing.  The conversation went as follows:

Ikea:  Hello, how may I assist you?
Me:  Hello, I would like to find out if you have a particular item in stock.  It is the Solvinden solar powered string lanterns for the garden
Ikea: Can you give me the article number?
Me:  No, I am afraid not, as it is not listed on your website, only pictured
Ikea:  How do you spell the name?
Me:  S O L V I N D E N.  They are solar powered string lanterns for the garden
Ikea:  It is not coming up on the system.  Can you tell me what they are?  Is it a table or a chair?
Me:  They are solar powered string lanterns for the garden.  Solar powered.  By the sun.  For the garden.
Ikea:  No, they do not have it in stock at Ikea Alexandra.
Me:  Can you check if it is at Ikea Tampines?
Ikea:  Yes I will just check.  Please hold the line while I assist you.
Ikea:  Hello ma'am.
Me:  Hello
Ikea:  No, they do not have it either.
Me:  Do you know when either store will have it in stock again
Ikea:  No they will not have it in stock as this is a summer product.  If you come back next year and quote this number 301.457.809 you can get it then.
Me:  Yes, thank you very much.
Ikea:  Can I assist you with anything else today?
Me:  No.  You have been very helpful and I will come back in 2014.  Goodbye.

The deranged part of that conversation was:
1.  It is a summer product. Yes, Singapore has a wet season but basically it is 30 degrees all year and is noted for the fact it has no seasons... therefore.... there is no summer.... as it's all summer... 365 days of the year.
2.  She asked me to come back next year.

I am definitely enjoying the Singapore lunatics so much more than the ones back home.  I think it might be the nice climate.  Everything is so less threatening.

Quiet

I have been rather silent these last two weeks due to much excitement.

Firstly, a lovely weekend in one of the Singaporeshore islands.  A bit like Geordie and Jersey Shore but without the Geordies and Jerseys.  The island is called Bintan and ridiculously, is bigger than Singapore.  It was a wonderful break with the family, much needed and enjoyed. Plus, the visa takes up a whole page in ones passport.  I think that is capital, given it only took 45 minutes to get there.  A few more weekends on Bintan and my passport could be mistaken for Michael Palin's.

Secondly, our sea freight arrived the Monday after we returned.  Needless to say, I was in seventh heaven and spent the rest of the week unpacking, arranging, shifting, manipulating, building and tweaking.  I have a handy gentleman coming over on Thursday to hang our numerous mirrors and pictures and then we will be complete and the apartment that has so far been the preserve of two adults and two children, quite a lot of spiders and every trades person in Singapore, courtesy of the resident idiot developer, (see Singaportrait A Week) will feel like home.

I do expect the handy guy whose name is Ricky to hate me as I am rather pernickity about how pictures are spaced on a wall.  I have not decided if I am going to call him RI_IY from Eastenders parlance or roll my "R" in the Spanish form a la Rrrrrricky.  I might just call him Ricky.

Thirdly, the Thursday and Friday of the same week were public holidays in Singapore.  Thursday was Hari Raya Puasa which I believe is the end of Ramadan and Friday was National Day in Singapore.  Due to my ignorance I didn't even know who Singapore were celebrating their independence from.  I asked my husband if it was from the Mongols, then the British, as everyone in the world has celebrated that at some point or perhaps Mauritius?  No, apparently they are celebrating independence from Malaysia.  Need to do a bit of work on my south east Asian history.

Since we arrived in Singapore we have witnessed a daily fly by of chinooks, various helicopters carrying giant flags, tornado jets blasting past, all we assumed in rehearsal for the big celebration on Friday.  The country has looked great with flags being hung out of windows across entire blocks.  A veritable sea of white and red.

We were contemplating attending the ceremony but my little boy came down with a fever and tummy bug and we decided dragging ourselves down amongst the crowds was probably unwise.  After watching about twenty minutes of the broadcast on TV I was very glad I did not go to the trouble.  We turned on about half an hour into the official show and were watching a demonstration of how the police deal with hostage situations, many of the police going into the crowd and mock shooting the "terrorists" down as families in the audience watched on.

There was then a huge amount of tankery, gunnery, shootery and blastery going on which I found rather odd.  Singapore is a very small nation, multicultural, successful, peaceful, safe and I apologise for saying this, a fairly minor player in the global scheme of things. I was therefore confused as to the need for such a chest beating army dominated performance.  We came to the conclusion it was small man syndrome.  I talk too much and have a loud voice because I am short.  Same principle with Singapore.  Anyway, we stopped watching shortly after the military eight year olds stepped up to do some sort of hip hop dance in uniform.  Bless them, they would not have won Britain's Got Talent.

Well, now that I have insulted a nation and no doubt the Singaporean Big Brother satellites who are watching me as I type this heresy will be stamping a big black mark next to my name and having some ganglord plant a bag of heroin in my luggage for my future trip to Thailand, I can lead on to the fourth reason I have been quiet.

The kids and I have been stuck in Monday and Tuesday of this week because my nail biting son, who no doubt got his stomach bug from the bus bogeys he injested by chewing his fingers, making the fact he is very vigilant about washing his hands when he comes home utterly pointless, has now passed his bug on to me.  I foolishly shared his drink as most stupid parents do because they are still our little darlings even if unwell.  So I have been in the last two days with stomach cramps and a headache. On the plus side the kids are having such a boring week so far, they will be gagging to hit school on Monday morning.

You might have gathered from my last few posts that I am rather excited about the children starting school having being alone in the water with them since early May.  Yet, I know come Monday I am going to feel pretty choked up.  Mainly because I am not taking them to school, but they are being collected by a school bus at 7.45am and will be deposited back at our apartment at 4pm.  Between those two hours, I will have no idea what they are doing.  I do plan to hop a taxi and hide out at the school peeking through door cracks and hopefully blending into the surroundings like one of the X-Men and making sure they are not unhappy, not that there is much I can do about it.

Anyway, watch this space and think of me next Monday as I stand in the road wearing my slippers, nicotine stained pink flannel dressing gown, ratty hair and a vodka tonic in my hand at 7:45am waving my children away, the youngest for his very first day at big school and know that I will be missing home and specifically the convivial school drop off at that precise moment, I will be wondering what the hell I am going to do with my future now both my children are in full time school, but will probably start this new stage of my life by watching the Ice Age movies back to back without childish interruption, just to get me through my first morning alone.

I will probably go dress shopping after that as my Singapore uniform of shorts and vest top combo is not working as I continue to be mistaken for domestic help.  Not that I mind being mistaken for domestic help.  I just do not like the indifference that is afforded me because I am thought of as domestic help.  Fairly poor show by Singaporeans and Westerners alike to treat these young ladies with such disregard.  I guess sweating around with a trolley and a couple of latte coloured children does not help me much in looking the expat missus.

Anyway, I have had enough and I intend to buy some nice floaty dresses and will no doubt attempt to do my best impression of Madonna trying to pass for an English rose.  I am sure I will fail, as did Madonna and as my dear friend back home said, with a tone of disappointment that I was no longer going to be an expat undercover maid, will instead end up looking like Hyacinth Bouquet.