Leaving Australia

"Do you think we give a rats arse if people complain? What they goiner do, kick us off our plane? Mate you don't know what we've been through recently, people don't understand. Look I've been on enough friggin flights to get enough air miles to London and back five times over, they never do you, they get a few complaints and thats it". He then slurred "Look what time is it, 10pm, yes 10 friggin pm, If these people go to bed at 7pm then it's their friggin problem not ours".

Great. I had managed to avoid the yellow vomiting screaming babies but had managed to sit next to the Kath and Kim family from Australia. "This is your captain speaking, please would I insist that passengers refrain from smoking in the toilets, it is dangerous and can attract a heavy fine in Singapore". There were serious of tuts from the passengers. "What great gala would do that Kerry?" came the response from the martini-induced man with a packet of Marlboro Lights half hanging from his shirt pocket. It was then that he turned and spoke to the middle passenger in his row, also highly intoxicated. As he leaned over his bottom went so close to my face that not only did I find out that he had a 35-34 dimension Levi 501 pair of jeans but the lower right stitching was slightly loose on his label. There was a moment of rest bite. After straddling her boyfriend for the last twenty minutes they both made it off to the toilets to get their mile high membership forms. Personally I have never been close to joining the club, mainly because I normally sit next to elderly women or fat sweaty men. However I can see the attraction and the secrecy of the event. Timing it perfectly not to arouse suspicion and departing at separate times whilst waiting for a clearing in the queue (I've noticed dinner time is by far the best).

This was obviously not the attraction for Mark and Kerry. "You bastard, what have you done with my bra" she shouted to rows 14-26 of the 737. It had been seven hours of this. Kerry had managed to turn her white top into a multi coloured one - by spilling Tia Maria, Rum and Coke and Baileys on herself throughout the flight. She had also sent the drink flying from the lady in front after diving on the seat in front whilst playing an Olympics game with her partner. They had managed to get at least ten rounds of drink from the young William who was walking the isles. "William, now we now know your name, you know you are so good at your job, you are just helpful". Clearly William did not drunken people from sober people. He supplied their drinks until six hours and thirty-two minutes into the flight - when three families complained from three rows back. I was sitting opposite but was too busy with a sense of enjoyment, cringing and thinking "She didn¡¯t just say what I thought she said did she" moments to ever consider saying anything.

By the time the SQ252 flight touched down at Changi Airport I felt I knew the family opposite better than the family themselves. At least I was heading to bed. The Kath and Kim family would be entertaining another lucky bunch of passengers for their thirteen-hour connecting flight to Heathrow.

The seven-hour flight severed my ties with Australia. It is a great country, it is laid back, it is clean, it is always sunny, the beaches are great, the transport far superior, it¡¯s easy to live in, there¡¯s always things to do, its relatively cheap, the people are witty and confident and generally there is not a bad thing you can say about it. Well maybe just one thing. Let me explain. There was an Englishman, an Irishman and an Australian sitting in a pub. Sitting across from them were three attractive girls. The Englishman and the Irishman discussed at length these three girls. Are the blokes with them just friends? Or could they be their brothers? They would look over and try and get their attention. So they decided on the Dutch courage approach. After eight pints, two vodka red bulls and tequila the Englishman got up. It was 2am. The girl walked out. The Englishman fell over. The Irishman had finished his twelve-pints of Guinness and stumbled across to the second girl. "Hallo, me names is Bryan, can I get yous a drink for the road?". "I'm sorry I can't understand you" came the reply. They had a conversation, well she nodded and he talked in a way that was meant to be English but sounded more foreign. She left after ten minutes after drinking her free vodka and orange. The third girl, well she was nowhere to be seen. She had left three hours previously with the Australian after he went straight up to her and said "Do you want a shag?". Yes it’s true.Australian men nick all the women. They just don’t care.they will walk up to couples and try and get the lady from under the noses of their partner. Annoying for anybody else they are incredibly good at it. Despite drinking from 10am that morning they always manage something witty or have an occupation that always sounds impressive. Did you hear him? He said he was a skipper on a boat! Wow. That’s how the girls normally react. Or Yeah you see girls I’ve just come from the bush after wrestling three crocodiles, saving a baby and breaking my leg, just popped in for a quick schooner. It is refreshing frustrating to see pulling tactics that aren’t pre-planned, pre meditated. They see what they want and they try to get it in the most direct way possible. Like their country they are not tied down by history, tradition or the notion that it’s been done like that for the last five hundreds years so we must do it that way now. As a result the country is refreshing cosmopolitan, uncomplicated, friendly and easier to live in than any place I have been to before. It makes you want to go back, it’s only twenty-three hours after all.

I managed to leave the airport and walk tall, well it's not that difficult when the population are all under five foot eight. I headed straight for the MRT - the new underground train system that had been impressive in implementation. "You want taxi, you want room" were the ignored pleas of the Touts. The Underground system showed all the modern touches I was expecting. You purchase a ticket from the machine and pay a one-dollar deposit that you get back when you insert the plastic back into the machine after use. You hover your ticket over the entrance machine and it reads your card automatically. You can choose to recharge your ticket, get back the dollar deposit or just through it away. The stations were clean bright and gleaming, large LCD screens displayed all the relevant information, and more, and the trains arrived no less than five minutes after your arrival.

I found my way to Little India and prepared myself for the thirty-minute culture shock. If you could block out the smells of rotting fish, abundant BO, rotting eggs and sewage then you could focus on the smells of spices, cooking food, joss ticks and trying to avoid getting run over as there were no pavements. I could understand the BO factor. I had been walking for ten minutes and already the heat had turned me into an unwanted competitor for a wet t-shirt competition. The sweat no only ran down my back but down my legs making my socks and trainers wet. That was probably why the transport was so good. You couldn¡¯t physically walk for more than a hundred metres. You also realise that you are in a true minority here.

The population consists of mainly Chinese and Indian. I counted one white person in three hours of my walk. The laws too are exceptionally clean to help keep the region keep exceptionally clean. If you drop your cigarette butt expect to pay a 1,000 dollar fine §¢ for first time offenders. Fancy chewing a bit of gum to get that smoke taste out of your mouth? Well the possession of chewing gum is illegal. My piece of chewing gum sits at the roof of my mouth just in case there any prying eyes. Fancy running across the street to get way from that butt you have just dropped whilst nervously chewing on that bit of gum? Stop! Walking across the street within 50 metres of the crossing attracts a 50 dollar fine. So you are so nervous about dropping that butt whilst crossing the street chewing that piece of gum that you must go to the toilet. But watch out! Make sure you flush all the evidence or it will cost you another 50 dollars in fines. Look, the best thing you can do is not panic, take a break. No! Loitering carried a 100 dollar fine. Ok maybe you should just sit down, smoke a joint and escape the stress. Well you would have to escape §¢ having 500g of Cannabis means the death penalty

The Inn Crowd

"Ah can I browse your CD's?" a distinct German voice asked. "Of course you can, but I'm leaving in an hour" I replied. "Oh that's ok then, so where have you come from" he enquired. "Well I have just come from Changi Prison today" I responded. The look of shock upon his face quite clearly indicated the loss in translation. I had indeed been to the prison. But only as a visitor to the Japanese torture camp of 1942 . Admittedly my new low grade haircut helped play a convincing role, but I was no escaped convict. I'll correct him. No I won't, let's play the game. "Yes, I left the prison today, after three months in prison. They beat me and whipped me, my back still hurts" I whimpered. "What was your crime?" he enquired. "I walked across the road whilst chewing some gum" was my response. Using my knowledge of local laws I succeeded in scaring this German. His mouth stopped chewing and he showed a look of disbelief. For the next three days he whispered to his friends whilst looking in my direction. He never chewed. And for all I knew he never ever crossed the road again Singapore.

I walked past a neon sign. 'Haircuts ten dollars in ten minutes'. Now that was a pledge. I walked inside the door and sat down, a procedure I had followed for years. "You want haircut" came a voice from one of the uniformed hairdressers. I was going to reply "No I want half a shandy and a packet of Doritos" but refrained thinking sarcasm would not travel well in these parts. "You must purchase card" came the reply. Card? What card. Then I saw the the machine in the corner. You had to insert ten dollars, the prize would be a plastic card. There were seats numbered from one to ten. I sat in seat two and just watched in pure bemusement.

This was a conveyor belt of hairdressing of which I had never seen before. You pay your money and wait your turn. There were seven hairdressers working in the space age like studio. Televisions were blaring the latest hits. Welcome to QB Shell. This is the latest trend from Japan, the new Mcdonalds of hairdressing. Not only does it pledge to cut your hair in ten minutes for ten dollars, it also pledges to save the world and fight the spread of germs.They use a new recyclable comb for each customer, the cutting 'tools' are sterilized by ultra-violet rays, mineral water is used to clean their hands and equipment. Yes mineral water, not good old tap water.

Once I had learned how to purchase a card I just sat back and marveled in the experience. There was no polite and uncomfortable conversation on both sides like back home, well she could'nt speak a word of English. In fact explaining a number four on top graduated to a number two on the sides whilst keeping the sideburns at number one seemed to be as tricky as taking off a wet pair of jeans after eight pints whilst not trying to wake anyone else up. To my amazement I did'nt look like Jim Carey in Dumb and Dumber when she finished. I was even more amazed that she had finished the job in nine minutes and completed the best haircut I had ever had, all for three pounds. The highlight was the vacuum cleaner contraption that appeared from some secret hatch in the ceiling that fell down and vacuumed my hair clean of any hair. She even put it down my t-shirt. Nice touch. But probably the best part of all was not having to deliberate over tips. I had paid up front and did'nt not have to watch the normal expression of 'thanks that will buy me 50 penny sweets' as I exited the hairdressers.

When you think of Singapore you think of shopping. Absolutely nothing that I saw in this island did anything to detach this stereotype. At every MRT station is a shopping centre that would dwarf any you have been to before. In every shop in every shopping centre they sell every make and model of everything that has ever been produced. Only a year earlier that it comes out anywhere else. Each of these shops are open from early in the morning till late at night and are staffed by more people than the cold meat section in Tesco on a busy Saturday morning.

So what do you do in Singapore? Well you start by getting off the MRT and finding yourself surprisingly..... in a shopping centre. You then spend the next two hours travelling to every floor - more often or not nine of them, then you try and work out 'is it really that much cheaper than back home?'. You then spend the next seven hours trying to find the thing you wanted at the first shop after realsing that every shop and shopping centre looks the same. But you spend most of your time actually just trying to walk. This place is so clean that they polish the marble floors in these shopping centres. They even provide (and insist you use them) plastic bags for your wet umbrellas. Each day there would be two hours of downpour. This in turn creates these shopping centres and the streets outside into a free ice skating rink. All you have to do is bring along a pair of six month worn flip flops with no grip and hey presto - Bambi on Ice. I felt I was doing my bit for international comedy, they laughed so hard watching me trying to stand up after I had fallen down for the third time. Singapore is purely a one day stop over. The locals get offended when you question "Well what exactly is there to do here?".

I spent five days in the district of Little India staying at hostel called 'The Inn Crowd'. The backpacker scene obviously has not graced this island - for this was the only hostel I had ever heard of. They used this monopolistic position to put in force their own set of rules. Next to the door were forty two pairs of smelling shoes. You had to enter with bare feet. And next were the rules. "You have to sign in here and sign out there....no noise after 1am.... clean up after you....no sleeping bags.....you have to lick my dirty feet before you go outside" and that sort of thing. On top of the mattress was a big plastic cover. I did'nt know whether they had a problem with people pissing themselves on a regular basis but all I knew was the last time I had seen such covers were on the E-Wing in Southend General Hospital. Sleeping on plastic covers means that whenever a person flips over or moves their head when sleeping (and believe me they do) the sound created is similar to an old lady stuffing five plastic bags in her plastic bag bag (for whenever she needs a plastic bag). This combined with the fact that I was sharing the room with twenty others all of whom seemed to come and go from the airport at different times in the night meant that I went to sleep when the last person got in and woke up when the first person got up.
Despite these interesting 'features' for six pounds a night you could hardly complain and the hostel did indeed provide a relaxed hippy type travelling environment.

The most interesting part about this place is Sienglish. The signs and shops are in English. It provides a certain level of comfort in an Asian place far away from home or the ease of Australia. The only difference between Sienglish and English as you or I know it comes to when they speak it. Even though it is their first language for the masses they have managed to produce a dialect that is harder to understand than a drunk Geordie in a loud pub whilst having a drunk Scot talking in your ear. It seems they just completely make up words. You spend the vast majority of the time just nodding which is fantastic for the local Burger King as you end up ordering a large meal instead of a medium one, the fries and cheese on offer and two apple pies in which you had no intention of purchasing. It also ceased to amaze me that this version of Sienglish for which they used for the majority of the time in everyday life suddenly turned into English when you entered the hi-fi superstore. How talented.