As Far As I Can See

I’ve mentioned before that I have pretty bad eyesight. The other day I went to buy some new glasses which is always fraught with problems, including not actually being able to see what the glasses I try on look like. Unless I put my old glasses on top of the ones I’m trying on. Which looks stupid and doesn’t work.

Another problem is swimming. I can’t see much in a swimming pool and because I don’t have my glasses on I have less spatial awareness and become easily disorientated. The other day I was in the pool, trying to get from one side to the other without taking a breath. I thought I was about another breast stroke away from the edge, so I gave it one last push, cracked my head on the wall and received a large bump.

Neil, Cath and Ella all found this fairly amusing for some reason.

I didn’t.

People have suggested I get prescription goggles in order to solve this problem. My friend Andy, however, was quick to point out that this would probably result in my head sinking from the weight of the lenses.

Once again I wasn’t massively amused.

This experience reminded me of some Top Tips:

Just in case you smash your spectacle lenses, stick two pieces of tape on each lens in a cross shape.

In order to avoid having to wear cumbersome glasses, attach a piece of wire to each ear and fix a piece of glass to the other end. Simply balance the pieces of glass on your nose and cheeks.

Don't waste money buying expensive spectacles. Simply stand closer to the object you wish to view.

Can’t afford contact lenses? Simply cut out small circles of cling film and press them into your eyes.

Avoid losing contact lenses by drilling a small hole in each one and attaching them with a length of nylon fishing line. They can then be worn around the neck.

As far as I can work out, these top tips are also lacking in any kind of humour as far as I can see.

Buses And Conducting

Went to a classical concert by the Singapore Symphony Orchestra the other Friday with the visiting Grandparents to celebrate Ella’s Grandad’s birthday. Singapore has a fantastic concert and theatre venue called the Esplanade which looks a bit like a couple of giant insects. This was my first trip there. The music was ace.

Particularly spellbinding was the conductor, Hubert Soudant. He was a little eccentric, to say the least. He used his hands rather than a baton. At times he looked like he was dancing to house music, doing big fish, little fish, box etc. At others he looked like the Emperor in Return of the Jedi when he zaps Luke with those spark things from his hands. Sometimes he drew his hand across his front, as if playing the strings himself, a bit like the action replays of Alex Ferguson on the touch line heading in the crosses himself. We were sat on the side, above the orchestra, so occasionally, when he twisted himself round, we could see his face. He was smiling, nodding and beckoning constantly. During quiet bits just before the noisy bits (sorry about all these technical terms), we could hear him breathing in on behalf of the wind instruments. I’d never really understood the point of a conductor before as I’m sure that all those talented, well trained musicians can stay awake for long enough to know when to come in. However, this seemed more than him signalling to the musicians when to play. He seemed to be easing and coaxing the music out of the instruments himself. The sound was unbelievable.

Another great thing about the evening was reading the programme. There were mini-biogs of Schubert, Mendelssohn and Beethoven. Schubert and Beethoven at least seemed to have been a little unhinged. Schubert was a school teacher who composed when he should have been teaching, and beat children for disturbing his compositions. The Beethoven we listened to was his 6th Symphony which features one “movement” called the Merry Peasant’s Dance. Apparently, he composed it to reflect the growing inebriation of the band that played at his local pub. Within the piece, the oboe is supposed to come in at the wrong time, if that makes sense, and the soloists try to outdo each other as the piece reaches its climax.

I’ve always been a bit of a fan of people who can do things right, but choose to do them wrong on purpose. An extension of this is shooting civilians in computer games when I’m supposed to be rescuing them. Not that I play computer games anymore.

Actually, I think I’m actually quite bad at quite a lot of things that I’d like to be good at. My early attempts at making electronic music were laughable and having just been given a CD by Neil of one of my band’s gigs when I was about 20, my early attempts at guitar music were similarly aurally challenging. I used to do a spot of djing and when both records were playing I often had no idea whether they were in time or not until it was too late. When I play football, I run around a lot to very little effect. I’m even quite bad at teaching some of the time, too. Indeed, I had a dream last night about this. I was trying to teach a lesson in a busy bus station car park. No idea why. I spent the first 20 minutes trying to dig through my bag to find copies of the poem we were studying. The kids couldn’t hear a word I was saying because of the noise of the buses. Passers by kept putting their hands up to answer my questions and I kept nodding at them to answer, not realising until they’d said something sarcastic that they weren’t actually in my class. It was like Heartbreak High in a bus station. Take away the bus station and the passers by and it’s not too far off reality at times.

But, unbelievably, people keep giving me the chance to do these things and I always seem to get away with it. Dave and Joe Onion at Funky Onion in Bristol let me DJ for about four years and possibly never even noticed my general ineptitude. I kept getting picked to play centre midfield for my football team despite the fact that I couldn’t head, tackle or pass. I was asked to play bass guitar at a school concert recently and managed to mess up the entire first chorus to a Monkees tune despite having the notes written down in front of me. And people keep employing me to teach, despite the fact that I’m not always the most organised of people.

Maybe I should take up conducting.

Close Enquinters Of The Waff Kind

So, Neil and Cath (Quin and Waffs) have been to stay and we've taken some photos of ourselves in Bangkok and Singers. We had numerous debates about what to call this post, but eventually settled on the above after discarding "Singapore Swingers", "Partners In Grime" and "Meet The Fockers". Hope you like the photos.

Neil's desperate to know how Hope FC got on in their shield semi final, and Cath needs to know whether the fish are dead yet. If anyone (ie Joe, Iyers or Jonny) can furnish us with the appropriate information, we'd be delighted to hear from you.


"Our kids" amongst the orchids

Singapore Sling down at Raffles init.

Feeding the monkey peanuts. Did we win the raffle?

Mark Lamarr and Patsy Kensit

Happy New (Lunar) Year

Meet The Fockers

Neil gets lucky in Bangkok

Cath is remarkably impressed with Neil's one note melody

Happy New (Lunar) Year in Singers.

Neil and Cath at "The Pink Panther" bar in Bangkok.

Mr Michael and Error: "Mange tout, Rodney, mange tout "

Stuff I've Been Doing In The Last Few Weeks

Been busy. Went to Malaysia for the day with Ella's grandparents. Been to Bangkok with Neil and Cath. It's been Chinese New Year too. Too busy to write, but here's a selection of some of the things I've seen.


This chap was waiting to silence the lambs.

Went to Melaka in Malaysia for the day and they have trishaws like this.

It was Chinese New Year, so there was a lot of colourful stuff.

At the river.

A tower.

A home.

Woman, wall and window.

Chinese New Year bamboo.

Chinese New Year prosperity dude.

Giant buddha by the river in Bangkok.

A geruda type thing outside the temple of the Emerald Buddha in Bangkok.

Sak the monk. We had a nice chat. Ella tried to shake his hand, but he wasn't having any of it.

Man asleep at the Grand Palace.

A couple of mops. Lovely.

Pig's face, anyone?

Little girl in Bangkok.

Little girl unimpressed by the temple of the reclining Buddha.

This is one of the monkeys that was playing around one of the many corners at McRitchie Reservoir.

Lambs To The Slaughter

Two weekends ago I saw some beautiful wildlife on Saturday whilst on Sunday I saw some sheep being slaughtered, skinned and butchered.

Saturday was a beautiful day – rainy season seems to have admitted defeat as brilliant blue skies and searing sunshine have ruled for the last couple of weeks. We went for a long walk around McRitchie reservoir which is flanked by second generation forest. Tame monkeys play around many corners, two metre monitor lizards creep through the brush, turtles’ heads poke above the surface of the water and a vast variety of butterflies flutter by. All this is about a ten minute bus journey from my home and it’s the first time I’ve been in about five months of living here. I’m always a bit surprised by guide books about the region that say Singapore is only good for a trip of less than a week. Sure, it’s only a tiny island without the scope of Thailand, Indonesia or Laos maybe, but there’s plenty of experiences to be had.

Which brings me on to Sunday. It was Hari Raya Hajj, the Islamic festival of sacrifice. Found myself at a Mosque. 91 sheep had been purchased and shipped in from Indonesia - there are no sheep or cows here at all. There was an information booklet which explained that this was a time in which Muslims show their love and compassion for people and for animals. The meat is shared out – 1/3 is for oneself, and can be distributed amongst friends and family, 1/3 is for poor Muslims and the other third can be given to non-Muslims.

So much for compassion for people. The compassion for animals bit was slightly harder to follow (or perhaps I should say swallow). Apparently the sheep are well rested and content before they are slaughtered. According to research they are slaughtered in a way which is almost painless – within 6 seconds after the throat is slit, the animal is dead.

What I saw, however, was disturbing. The sheep had been delayed at the port. They were already over a day late, so whether they’d been left on the boat, or herded into a pen for hours, I don’t know. When they finally arrived, they were chased into the mosque through a makeshift sheep run, some dragged by the horns, one dragged by the hind leg and seemed anything other than rested. Many tried to escape, running in the opposite direction of the one in front, which I thought was most unsheeplike and perhaps evidence that these sheep were anything but rested amd content. They seemed to sense that something wasn’t quite right. This was surely exacerbated by the noisy, excited crowd, baying for blood.

The sheep were deposited in a makeshift pen behind the mosque. After a few minutes, the animals were brought out a couple at a time, their throats were slit, their bodies were knelt on to force the blood out, they were hung up and skinned very quickly, then butchered before our eyes.

What was I doing there? I asked myself this a number of times while I was waiting for the delayed sheep. I was with some friends and doubt very much whether I would have gone alone. It was a disturbing and bizarre experience. Everything had been explained to us as if this was quite humane and quite normal – even holy. I wasn’t in the least bit bloodthirsty. I turn away from wildlife documentaries when insects are eaten by snakes etc. In the words of Uncle Monty, "as a youth, I used to weep in butcher’s shops…" I was clearly nervous before the sheep arrived, because I was making pathetic jokes about being a bit "sheepish" about how em"baa"rassed I would be if I was sick...

I suppose I went for several reasons. I was curious to see a religious festival that I doubt I’d see at home. I was curious as a meat eater – this is perhaps the most compelling reason why I stayed – if I eat meat I feel I should be aware of what happens before it arrives on my plate – although I’m sure that the processes involved in killing many animals for meat are far more disturbing than this. I wanted to see how people reacted. I wanted to know how I’d react. It’s a strange ethical issue and I felt like I should probably see this and decide whether continuing to eat meat was something I wanted to do.

I think the overriding feeling I had was one of helplessness. Part of me wanted to rescue a couple of the sheep. I didn’t want to stand by and watch as animals were slaughtered. Of course, I disagree with animal cruelty of any kind. And yet I eat meat. How could I even begin to think this just because it wasn’t happening behind closed doors? What a hypocrite.

And, of course, I’m (still) far too English to do anything except stand by and watch as someone else does something that I’m not entirely sure I agree with which involves the slaughtering of innocents. It’s what we do best…

The thing that will stick in my mind for longest was one sheep which I watched in stunned silence as it continued to struggle, kick and flinch for about five minutes after its throat had been slit. According to the information we’d received beforehand, it was already dead. Eventually, one of the slaughterers approached it, knelt down, stroked its head and gently, almost tenderly, squeezed its body, pushing the remnants of life out through the hole he'd made in its neck.

Social Life Shock

Sorry about the distinct lack of entries recently. It's not that I can't be bothered, or that nothing interesting's happened. We have visitors, Ella's grandparents, so all my blog time is being taken up by socialising.

Normal service will be resumed soon... I have two days after the grandparents leave before Neil and Cath arrive, so I might have another couple of weeks off then too...

Keep watching this space and something will fill it soon...