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?