Living alone and being the glutton that I am, settling my meals during the Chinese New Year period is quite a hassle. I do not keep any food in my room apart from energy bars and those are hardly the ideal replacement for proper meals. I thought I would be saved by the Indian food stall one block away, which serves pretty decent grub, but it has been closed since Friday. What the hell? Do they have Chinese blood in them? Although business was decent, they did not seem like they did not need the increase in business during this few days. The coffeeshop specialising in Malay food was open for business but I would not touch the fare they serve with a ten-foot pole, it is absolutely atrocious.

I have been eating at three eateries almost everyday, a 24-hour bak chor mee stall, a tze char stall that is open till 3.30am and Macdonald. Hmmm, I have been stuffing my face at ungodly hours, maybe I should cut down on that. Speaking of Macdonald, it could warrant a separate entry, but I am too lazy for that. Yesterday was the first time I attempted to study there, in the form of completing an essay as an attempt at a coherent piece of work at home was hindered by an inability to think fluidly. Maybe I needed some fresh air, and food, so off I went. After settling down and devouring the obligatory meal, I started on my work.

lthough it was very likely that supernatural explanations were subscribed to when?

hu Xin Nian, Zhu Xin Nian? The high pitched song on the Macdonald television interrupted my train of thought.

umans have always supposed that agents outside our bodies and environment?

arah Michelle Gellar?Happy Ending!?blared the television.

And so this continued for more than an hour before I finally had some success with adjusting to the noise emanated from the television. I was not the only one afflicted, my buddy could not concentrate on his drawings too.

Then along came three teenagers, two guys and a gal, at five plus am in the morning to chat, louder than the television and with less pauses, about common topics, like clubbing, school and polytechnic schoolmates. Oh yes, and sex, but they spoke in hushed tones, or at least tried to, when it came to that.

o-and-so has more than two hundred girls on his MSN list.?One guy marvelled, obviously envious.

o-and-so is a hardcore clubber, she goes clubbing every week.?The girl ventured, half in awe.

irst impression matters a lot to you girls, right??The other guy tried to reaffirm his ideas about the way women are wired.

e all have had a girlfriend/boyfriend before, you slept with your boyfriend right??The nosey chap tried to keep his volume down unsuccessfully. It drew a shy nod from the girl. To which the other guy proudly declared that he was lean?with his ex-girlfriend and adding a feeble stab at humour in the form of  was thinking with my head and not my body? Dude, hinking with the correct head would have sounded a lot less lame.

 got drunk at Double O, I do not remember what happened after that?this other time I got dead drunk at Zouk? The girl offered of her clubbing experiences, stopping short of completing her accounts of the nights, probably too embarrassed to state that she got humped by some guys she would not have gone near had she been sober and whose names she did not remember.

After that, they got into a debate about getting drunk and getting high from alcohol, with different definitions of and attempts to distinguish between the two of them, it was quite messy and not making sense.

Still I soldiered on, doing my best to shut them out. Then a sharp pain hit my belly, probably my stomach not agreeing with the Sausage Macmuffin with Egg that I had (I knew there had to be a reason why I normally abstain from Macdonalds?. I had to take a shit in the smallest cubicle that I have seen in Singapore. The Gents?had two cubicles, but the other is meant for the handicapped and I am not Xiaxue and I do not squat on toilet bowls too. It was so cramped that I had to hitch my left knee up against the wall, it was odd designing that the left side had less space than the right.

After a few splutters and splats, I returned to complete my essay. It was almost eight am and the place was full of kids, which meant noise, noise and more noise. I gritted my teeth and continued my work. I did manage to get it done, but upon proofreading it felt like a halfwit disjointed masterpiece.

Oh well, at least I finished what I set out to do.

I was fully aware that like every other year, the reunion dinner at my paternal grandmother house would revolve around a steamboat and the house does not have air conditioning. Nevertheless, being a vainpot that I am, I went ahead and chose a hooded sweater as my top for the occasion.

(Beside it is the cargo pants I wore)

I figured that I would be wearing some long-sleeved shirt or t-shirt anyway and I should have been accustomed to it by now.

The ten minute walk to my destination did not result in any perspiration, so far so good, I mused. After greeting my elders, my cousins whisked me off to the play room. Not surprising, since I am very popular with my young cousins, probably cause I am the only adult who entertains them. Sort of like being the most handsome chap between the age of 21-40 because you are the only one who falls into that age range. Not a bad idea, I thought, the play room had less people and was cooler. Not a bad idea, it turned out, as they demanded that I carry them around. Respite came more than half an hour later in the form of dinner and I think some of the sweat dissipated during dinner instead of an increase in perspiration.

Thanks to some speed eating, I think I managed half an hour of rest before I was dragged into the play room again. It was an absolute nightmare that they preferred to be lifted around via piggyback. There were so many safety concerns that I had to take note of, looking out when they lean to the left or the right, making sure their heads do not bump into anything, not tripping and ensuring that I lean forward so as to discourage leaning back. I outright vetoed some dangerous manoeuvers, like wanting to jump onto my back while I maintained and upright position when my cousin is at least 40 cm shorter than me.

After more than an hour, I felt like I was at a sauna. I had to take a break to cool down and rest my aching back. Thankfully they were distracted by another game introduced by one of the older cousins until we said our goodbyes.

It was fun playing with my younger cousins, more specifically, young cousins, since I am the eldest, especially with my sixth uncle children, who are absolutely adorable. However, my body, most notably my back, is telling me that it was more strenuous than a 5km run. Luckily I do not have to do it on a daily basis, I think I have a rough idea of how tiring parenting can be.

And the bath I had when I reached home was quite divine. And I do not regret wearing it, all in the name of vanity.

Bloody hell, after numerous delays, I will be moving house after Chinese New Year after all

The Reason Why We Don’t Like Ronaldo
IT’S BECAUSE OUR GIRLFRIENDS FANCY HIM!!!

That’s why we hate Ronaldo and his cheating. It’s not the cheating per se, it’s because he’s young, good-looking, and the missus fancies him. No one moans about Rooney diving because not even Gran would shag him (oh…hold on…).

Pires was the same…filthy oily foreigner, coming over here, taking our women and our jobs, earning stacks of cash, making our girlfriends take a sudden interest in footie. She wasn’t interested when Martin Keown was playing, but now she can’t get enough of Ronaldo’s step-overs. And the thought of him dribbling around the edge of the box has her leaving damp patches on the sofa. “He can’t go down in the box often enough,” she says. “He’s got width AND penetration,” she sighs. No wonder we all hate him!

And I’ll NEVER wear that Man Utd home strip with the number 7 on that she bought me…not even on Valentines Day or her birthday. Bitch!
Tom, Gooner, London N10

Courtesy of www.football365.com

Avramovic is a bloody genius, he ought to be awarded some medal for this masterclass in coaching.

D, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, it’s true