The Godparents

I am, inherently, quite a lazy person.  Thus, explaining to more than one person how Chris and Gordon were connected to me so intimately quickly became a drag.  As a solution to this tedium, I decided instead to simply tell everyone that they were my Godparents, and I think they rather liked it.

The Godparents arrived on the same day as Chandni and Jade, who I saw briefly before they realised that Risk or Death was actually far more agreeable than me: her flat's bigger, she has wine, her internet is faster and she only asked for Double Deckers, whilst I asked for Marks and Spencer's entire Spring Collection.  When C&J disappeared to go and lie on a beach, C&G disappeared to go and lie by the pool.  By the end of the week, they knew more through sun-lounger gossip about the staff base of the Big International School than I probably know about my own mother.  If you need any conspicuous, friendly espionage done, The Godparents are the people to call.

Highlights of the Godparents' visit (other than the free flow of gin, the meals out, the ironing that was magically completed and the joyous discovery of half price bread after 5pm at the Mekong Merchant) was a visit from Mr. Tho.

Imagine my distress on Monday morning when I got half way down the drive on Little Moto and realised that the wobbling handlebars and instability were due to a flat front tyre, and that I would - at 6:55am - have to conceal the Morning Grump and be a reasonable and civilised human being to other teachers on the school bus.  What purgatory.

As honourary father figure that week, I asked Gordon to come and look at it when I got home, and stood around frowning like a girl, saying 'really?!' when he diagnosed a puncture.  Luckily, a very nice driver man in a posh car parked next to us asked us if we had a number for a 'man'.  I didn't, alas.  I have a number for a butcher, and a number for a receptionist, and a number for take out. and a number for a xe om driver and a manicure, but not a 'man'.  The friendly driver man walked me round to the corrugated iron fence of the drive of my apartments and pointed at a number tipexed on the fence with the word 'Tho' underneath it.  'Let's try this,' he suggested.  As he rang the number, I asked him what the word 'Tho' meant.  'It's his name,' he replied.  Amuse.

Mr. Tho!

Anyway, Mr. Tho could teach a number of advertising agencies a thing or two.  Tipexing your number on the fence directly opposite the entrance to the carpark of an apartment block full of rich moped drivers is a very sensible idea.  He turned up in less than five minutes, and Gordon's Your Godfather, the puncture was fixed! Most impressive.

Happy Little Moto!

We also snuck up onto the roof - a plan Risk or Death and I have been harbouring for some time, now - and  got some amazing photos of views.  The Godparents wouldn't let me or Risk or Death climb the ladder that would have lead us up to the place where the aeroplane light flashes to stop low flying jets crashing into the penthouse, though.  Party poopers.

In the lift at the start of our gin induced adventure: please note the double fisting from Godmother, here.

Practically a private balcony.

The Godparents' visit coincided with a voluntary Inspection at the Big International School.  I know, 'voluntary'/'inspection'... I am teaching my year 10s about oxymorons, juxtaposition and duality at the moment and am using this as an example of all three.

Anyway, 'twas a busy affair, but when Mr. Inspector walked into my room, and asked 'May I come in?' it was all I could do to not respond with either, 'No, get stuffed', or 'Yes!  Do!  We've been waiting for you all morning!  Here!  Have a plan!  It took me an hour an a half!  The lesson's only an hour and twenty minutes long!  Can you see the colour coding?  Green for AFL, red for the IB learner profile, purple for differentiation?  And the powerpoint slides are on this green paper, and the resources that they're using, this yellow piece of paper, and here's a seat I've asked Little Johnny to fart in since break time to warm for you!  Please!  Tell me I'm 'Outstanding'!'  Obviously, I communicated this telepathically and with enthusiastic body language, and was a key player in earning the Big International School it's grading of 'Exceeding Outstanding'.  It was me.  All me.

Being outstanding and spoilt by adopted Godparents is really time consuming, which is why the blog wasn't updated.  Please forgive me.  Soon to come: 'C&J's return', 'Post Inspection Tiger Girls Party', 'Paddy's Day Messiness' (featuring Shining Shamrock), 'Lovers Separated by Library' (featuring Frenchie and some books), and 'Bali: the PADI Qualification Vacation'.  Exciting!

Singapore

Watched 'Up'.  Wept like a ridiculous girl (bridging the generation gap through adventures in floating houses is totes emosh).  Thought of Lizzie and Holmes.  Realized there are probably people at home wondering why there has been no witty and entertaining blog for a while.  There are reasons, which I will divulge to you over the next two blogs, separated for aestheticism, and aptly named 'Singapore' (this one), and 'The Godparents' (the next one).

Now.  As you may or may not know, a rather charming Frenchman offered my parents a decent price for me and, warming to the thought of an early retirement, Lord and Lady Shep were pleased to be rid of the burden of a slightly eccentric, forgetful and over-excitable daughter.  Said Frenchman quickly decided that being an expert in shrimp farming, mango growth and global trade had become passe and so changed jobs and now hangs out with crocodiles and snakes for a living, whilst remaining uncomprehending of the appeal of the bags that the unwitting creatures are eventually fashioned into.  He has, as of yet, no fixed abode, but prefers Singapore as a meeting point.  All the 1930s black and white cinema reels I have watched assure me that luckily, this outcrop of the British Empire is the gateway to the East, and the world's largest dock.  A shame, therefore, that I book myself on budget airlines to get there, then, and not luxury steamer.  Having said this, Changi Airport is a delight of Starbucks and duty free, so I shan't complain.

The appeal of my weekend was threefold: spend Frenchie's money, see the sights and... hang out in the library!  Of course.  With a dissertation deadline looming, what better place to spend the first weekend in two months with your Romeo than in the National University of Singapore's library, figuring out how to best use my time the next time I come.  The NUS is a delight, as is the rest of Singapore, which is full of botanical gardens, overpriced restaurants, Southbank-style concert halls, colonial buildings, shiny hotels, parks, tasteful museums, gift shops and philatelic museums (stamps.  (I know - we didn't realise until we got into the gift shop)).  Have some photos:

This hotel is REALLY expensive, and has a swimming pool on top.  Wow.

More attractive South Bank.

Puking lion.

There's still some old stuff.

What's even more exciting, is that my grandfather (not Roald Dahl) hung out in Singapore when he was a young man.  By my calculations, he was younger than me when someone with some form of military authority allowed him to fly a plane on the other side of the world.  Now I'm no expert in genetics, but considering I was breaking into my own flat, my father was falling into banks full of stinging nettles, and my mother had agreed to marry him at around a similar age, I'm not convinced that the early twenties are a time at which anyone should allow the Sheppard/Hartley dynasty to be in charge of any form of heavy machinery.  Grandpapa seemed to come out of this age bracket unscathed, though, and, if we want to be really imperialistic about it, has helped to leave really a rather lovely island nation for future generations to enjoy.  Happily, the Sheppard legacy remains in the form of street art, dedicated to honouring our name:

There's definitely Granddad in a cardigan and a bow tie, here, and a Nana with her reading specs on, and Libby with her headphones.  What about the slightly shell shocked blue one with a plaster?  Or the upside-down one?