You have no idea how hard it is to find a chic short sleeve shirt that doesn’t come across too butchy. Thank god for best behavior. Retails at USD117.60 (usual price: USD168.00).
Via WelcomeHuntersLa.com.
Simple pleasures of life never mind the dreadful, gloomy weather. Still, it wasn’t perfect without my girlfriend around. From 16 to 27 August 2007, this is what I did.
1. Relax at Ramsden Road SW12
A place I consider home.
Ramsden Road, a place I know like the back of my hand.
The McGuires were on their way back from Cornwall when I arrived. Being a complete whack at cooking, I helped myself to the char siew paus I had brought into London for my aunt and relaxed in the garden.
Is it me or does the algae splattered in the mid-section of the tree look like a deformed clit?
2. Reconciled with a friend I was once close to
It’s been over 5 years since W and I last hung out as friends. Glad we met up at long last.
We met at Gipsy Moth for a cider (her) and a pint (me). Had to enter by the rear. Heh.
I’m taller than her, if you include the height of my hair.
We roamed about Greenwich Market, a place for antique and vintage lovers. Too bad we were too preoccupied drinking. The Market was almost closed by the time we got there.
Found a store with a stupid name, next to Greenwich National Rail.
3. Brought the boys out to Camden Market
I doubt I’ll ever get sick of Camden Market. Packed with endless shops selling just about anything and everything from arts (I got my art prints there) to gothic/punk clothes to food and tattoos, it’s just such a unique experience. Oh, watch out for the oceans of emo punk kids who favour the market too.
Dom, Fergs and I
Camden Lock
Walking down the streets
The boys got tired after a while…
So we headed to Nandos, a chain that’s famous for their peri-peri chicken.
Notice the caps on the 2 bottles of sauces… Bored Dom decided to shove one of the caps into the bottle. We left as soon as we could.
No ladies, lay your bloody hands off my cousin.
4. Viewed the masterpieces of the one man that could turn me straight: Salvador Dali
Probably the highlight of my trip. I made it to visit Tate Modern this time, and viewed its most spectacular exhibition held ever, featuring my all-time favourite artist, Salvador Dali. The collection featured was stunning; The Persistence of Memory and the flaccid head on stilts of Sleep. It also includes his classic films L’Age d’or and Un Chien andalou, made with fellow surrealist Luis Bunuel and featuring the infamous image of an eye being cut by a razor. I almost teared when I saw Sleep for the first time.
5. Flashed the finger in front of 200 people
I was with Fergs watching a street performer strutted his stuff at Covent Market (really boring, don’t bother visiting). The street performer must have had a thing for Asians, for I was singled out to be an unwilling volunteer, alongside with 3 others victims. We were to mimic his actions and as he lifted up his shirt when it was my turn, I automatically flashed him my finger. And no, I failed to remember that there were over 200 people, kids included, in the audience. Fergs was really proud of me though. And going by the thundering applause from the audience, I don’t think they mind neither.
6. Chilled out with friends at Candy Bar
Opened in 1996, Candy Bar is the one girl’s bar any lesbian tourist should patronise. It was only natural for me to visit this institution, and I had the honour of both my ex-colleague, J, who now works in a reputable ad agency in London, and W, to come along with me. In spite of the pole dancers, who stripped every bit of of cloth off and flashed their pussies in our faces, it was pretty boring. Likewise to the local lesbian scene, where every lesbian kept to her own clan, the same could be said for Candy Bar that night. We nearly fell asleep.
7. Returned to UK’s biggest gay city, Brighton (1 out of 4’s a homosexual)
Home to Norman Cook aka Fatboy Slim, Brighton’s one quaint camp town you must visit.
Brighton Pier
W has sunglasses bigger than my bra.
Life feels like a Carousel ride.
Baby, I wish you were here with me.
Brighton’s a pebble beach
Whelks! A Must-try from the seafood stores along the beach
Met up with Alistair, my ex-colleague whom I was working with in Vietnam. He has since moved back to Brighton, and lives 5 minutes away from Brighton Pier. Damn it.
8. Celebrated my birthday with my family
It pays to have a brilliant chef cum event planner for an aunt.
Crabmeat for starters
Us girls
Them girls with my dear chef in the middle
I love my aunt
I love my uncle too
Jas gets some Pat-lovin’. Poor girl.
Up yours, baby.
Happy Birthday to K, W and I!
I think we were wasted by the time this photograph was taken…
The grandmother I should have: Dulce Maria
Mila and I, attempting the Tango with little success.
The only one dog Jas isn’t afraid of
Awwwww.
Well, that’s pretty much sums up what I’ve done in London (and Brighton, of course). As much as I’ve enjoyed myself with my family in London, as I always have, it is great to be back home… Back home in the arms of the one I truly love (oh so sue me for being sappy).
Home is where the heart is.
I never understood that sentence until now.
I am probably the coolest older cousin/aunt any kid can ask for, simply because:
I will so miss the boys. Will be back in Singapore tomorrow. Goodbye, London.
If Brussels was a lady, it is likely I’ll fall head over heels for her. Her silence coos such eloquence gently into your ears, quite unlike the head-throbbing never ending clamor and grunts of New York City. Too nonchalant to dress up like Paris, she doesn’t try to attract you desperately, but you will be smitten by her allure anyway.
Haute couture chocolates from chocolatier Pierre Marcolini promise to overwhelm your senses with a brief moment of nirvana for however long the chocolate could stay in your mouth. Thirst-quenching Belgium beers like my favourite, Duvel, pour down the streets as generously as rain is to London. Freshly caught delicacies of the ocean are served in a popular standing-only café known only to the locals called Mer du Nord, shrewdly tucked 5 minutes’ walk away from the heavily polluted tourist attraction – Grand Place.
I have been extremely fortunate to enjoy the unbelievably warm hospitality of my aunt and uncle’s family in Brussels. I adored Brussels for I have managed to get under her skin, and surely this will be quite impossible, if I have not had the company of locals. With no intention to sound crude here, her mussels were absolutely delicious. I believe I’ve had nicked 100 mussels alongside with 3 bowls of escargots soup (warning: these from Mer du Nord are dangerously addictive), 2 ice-cream cones, 2 pints of Duvel and 2 glasses of 1999 red wine from the family’s vineyard… all in one day, all by myself.
Yes, I have gotten fat. Enjoy these photographs while I go grab myself another Duvel before I hit the sack. My apologies for the poor quality of these photographs. My camera’s battery went flat and I had to resort to the use of my phone’s camera.
Patrick & Minouches’ House
Entrance with trees by the sides to greet each visitor
I’m utterly embarrassed that all the kids half my age golf, and I don’t. Not even on Playstation.
The beautiful garden reveals itself from the patio.
Wine by the patio with the family.
The Stunning House We Lived In
Minouches’ parents were away on a vacation and we stayed in their gorgeous house. I have never seen hedges more manicured than a Gucci-loving ad girl like these before.
This photograph doesn’t quite do the magnitude of the garden any justice at all. My pathetic phone camera has probably only captured one third of the entire garden. Such a pity.
I Like to be Special
Or so the people from the neighbourhood believe. To express their individuality and creativity (or lack of), home owners often strive to design their houses as differently as possible from the rest of their neighbours. Ironically, with everyone sharing the same mindset, the neighbourhood ends up with such oddities that in a way, do look similar. Don’t ask why there aren’t windows on the sides. We have yet to figure that one out.
Finally…
The cam whore in me strikes.
We got a bit bored. Say hi to my family.
Hmm, you don’t sound like Alan. I questioned my driver, who had picked me up from the airport. The bloke I have earlier spoke to on the phone had an unmistakeably south eastern accent.
No, I’m not Alan. Alan sent me to get you. My Indian driver replied.
Really? He should’ve said something. What’s your name then? I squinted my eyes suspiciously at him, as though I was biologically capable of scanning out deceit by doing so.
Doesn’t matter. Your aunt lives at XXX Ramsden Road. Shall we get moving?
What is her last name?
McGuire.
I could feel him getting impatient, especially when my flight delay had him waiting for over an hour. Still, I pressed on, just in case.
What’s her cup size?
Excuse me?
Actually, I’m not sure myself. Never mind. Could you be so kind as to help me with these? I pointed at my areyoubloodymigrating suitcase and a gym bag dedicated to nothing but 2kg of bak kwas, 50 char siew paos, 10 soon kuehs and get this, 2 packets of char kway teows. My aunt knows her family rights and most definitely leverages on them. And no, I wasn’t dumb enough to declare them at customs.
It has been only 2 days since I’ve arrived, and already it feels like eternity. Shoot me here for being one sappy fuck, but I miss my baby. Like the artist missing his pain. It’s incredibly frightening to feel this way, but I won’t exchange my fear for assurance of certainty collected from years of experience.
Thanks to my nomadic ability to fall asleep just about anywhere, I’ve managed to catch some winks on flight in spite of the illegally cramped up space found in the economy class. The airfare was cheap so I shan’t complain. I just feel so sorry for the fat lady who sat next to me (P.S. your wish came true, Midnight). I didn’t mind her bulging lump of fat spilling over my space. I just feel so bad that I ended up using her as a bolster for my legs. Especially when she had bothered to keep my meal for me whilst I was happily snoring away. That’s what I like about fat people – they tend to practice more humanity and graciousness because they don’t want to be like their bullies. Of course, there’s always the alternative demographic of a fat person – insecure, defensive and never fail to seize the opportunity to put another down, with both their weight and their attitude. Personally, I think if one does not provide any visual aesthetic values to the community, he/ she’d better be nice.
I have never been a fan of contact reporting my travel adventures. Makes writing feel like homework and that would defeat my point of blogging. I’ll upload images when I return instead.
I’m off to Brussels in 5 hours. Ta.
Hi there,
This is an auto-response message. I will be away from 15 August to 27 August 2007 in both London and Brussels.
No, I will not help you get a bottle of Absolut Vodka.
Depending on my itinerary and family commitments, I may, or may not, be blogging. Good riddance, I guess. Too bad it’s only temporary.
Will be back on 28 August 2007 to bitch the shite out of everyone and everything on my blog again.
Til then.
That girl your mother warned you about,
Pat Law
P.S. Try going anywhere near my girlfriend during my absence and I’ll beat the crap out of you, I promise.
Those tender lips against mine,
When two souls intertwine,
When time decides to freeze,
When it feels like home to me.
Isn’t it strange how we keep running,
Isn’t it stupid how we keep falling,
Isn’t it fucked when the sun stops shining,
Isn’t it cruel when life’s governed by timing?
Her delicate skin against mine,
When our bodies collide,
When intensity rises to this degree,
When it feels like home to me.
Isn’t it funny why we keep running,
Isn’t it silly how we lose our way,
Isn’t it sad how we fear to speak,
Isn’t it a pity when life’s governed by practicality?
Her hair in my face,
Her scent I inhale,
Her love I embrace,
Her presence I will miss.
She feels like home to me,
She feels like home to me,
Such feelings I have never felt before,
She feels like home to me.
Japanese designer-duo Noto-Fusai show us how interactive t-shirts can be through monochrome expressionisms.
Reversi
It comes with a pair black and white badges each, which you can arrange any way you want on your t-shirt.
Venetian Blind
Tug on the rope and reveal your beer gut.
Shoulder Bag
A pity the belt draped over the shoulder does not come with an actual bag.
Umbrella
Hang a brolly over your shoulder. Or better yet, fasten that actual press stud on your brolly.
A text message from my aunt’s driver in London earlier, confirming the pick up, made me realize how close I am to my vacation. In three short days, I will be on board a 13-hour direct flight to Heathrow, London. Alone.
This is not the first time I’ve traveled alone. This is not the first time I’ve traveled to London. Yet, it feels different. My suitcase feels lighter.
Endless river of red wine and champagne. Tantalizing, crispy shrimps sprinkled with slices of juicy honey baked ham. Laughter and joy shared amongst family members in the garden. That particular scent of rosewood soaked in autumn’s tears. A requested attendance with my extended family will also see me in my best behaviour in Brussels over the weekend.
I should feel excited, but I don’t. For the first time ever in my free-spirited life, I wish I have my girlfriend with me for company on this trip.
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