On Speed

Sorry Stewie, this one isn't about finding a local den of iniquity and indulging in illicit substance abuse.

But to my former football coach (Hey Paul!), I would like to tell you how disappointed I am that you did not move me to the Singapura League earlier in my brief and spectacularly unsuccessful gridiron career.

So when out and about, the locals move about at a distinctly deliberate pace. In fact I’m not sure that “pace” is even the correct word. I think something like “amble” or “drift”. And when I say drift, I mean drift at roughly the same rate that a small acorn takes to progress into a towering sixteen foot shady oak.

In fact, I am a little surprised that the island is not overrun with tortoises. This place would do wonders for the ego of a tortoise as they eclipse tall homo sapiens across a 40 yard stretch.

The real issue of people meandering about (what appears to be aimlessly) is that they are so densely populated into sidewalks, trains, malls, shops, walkways through the parks, corridors, lifts, aisles between the cute little cube farms at work, the kitchen (er, “pantry” … I keep looking for a bone or the bones of Mother Hubbard in our tea room), or the “wash room” (or to try and explain for the various demographic of readers: the Small Room, the Library, the John, the Pisser, the Restroom, the Lavatory, the Toilet, or as I like to think of it – the Powder Room) … anyway so densely packed that you cannot get past if trying to move at a clip.

It is hard not to think of the wandering local as lazy when they walk so slowly you wonder if they will start going backwards. (And maybe some of the less svelte ones are in fact moving at their top rated speed … after all a four-chambered heart in an enormous vessel in 33 degree heat at 85% humidity is only rated to half-tortoise pace.)

If only I could find the local Singapura Gridiron team. I would finaly get that shot at running back.

To be fair, I have come to the conclusion that the locals have it right. If you are caucasion and move at anything that rhymes with “brisk” then you will melt into a small puddle (which will be promptly mopped up by an Indonesian feller who appears out of thin air whenever anything that resembles rubbish or waste hits the ground).

So of course, I am trying to defy nature, my surrounds, and not to ease into the gentle way of life by briskly pacing about, bumping into relaxed locals and crushing tortoises. The secret? You have to plan a duck into an air-conditioned venue every 20 yards or so. Otherwise you join the Wicked Witch of the West.

And just a quick shout out to Sis for helping me correct that address that I had listed as “Telok Karua” when it is in fact “Telok Kurau”. And you are correct “Kurua” as in “Prease may I have ice with that Kurau and Coke”. Love your work, Sis.