The Masked Avengers

L was bathing the dogs (one after the other -- two together is impossible!) yesterday when he realised that the washcloth he uses on their faces was full of holes.


Go ahead, laugh, humans. We will avenge our b*ths yet! Poop is a solid weapon!!

Yin and Yang

The men don't get it

This is a poster for the annual Eat With Your Family Day and it's directed at the fathers. It's almost pathetic. It has to spell out for them what to do -- cook (one dish it says, not even a full meal is to be hoped for), or take your family out, or at the very least, bring home something they'd like to eat. And if the dads register their participation at a website, they stand a chance to win prizes.

What about mums? Shouldn't they win something for doing something they do all year round?

To absent friends

As the motto of this year's Aids Candlelight Memorial says, "never give up, never forget".

Leaping tall buildings in a single bound etc

It's not easy taking pictures of a jumping fox terrier...

... you end up taking shots of the baby gate instead ...


... but once you get it, it's spectacular!

Puppy love

You know your dogs love you when they lie down by the clothes that you've left out on the bed when you were in the bath, guarding them.

You know you love your dogs when you unhesitatingly put on furry underwear.

A drive down memory lane

Last night, when the company transport van pulled up and the door opened to let us in, a solid wall of Deep Purple spilled out. Most of my fellow passengers were rather taken aback but I flashed an appreciative grin at the driver and he didn't make any attempt to turn down the volume.

A couple of nights ago, there weren't many people on the bus so when I was the last passenger left, the driver gave me a somewhat apologetic smile and cranked up the music.

He needn't have worried. Santana (the early years) came on, followed by Deep Purple, Ritchie Blackmore/Rainbow, The Eagles, Eric Clapton, Gary Moore.

He wasn't just driving me home, he was taking me back to my misspent 20s in a basement pub called The Cellar. I had just landed my first job after graduating and it was as a reporter covering the arts (simply because I had an English Literature degree) and nightlife (because nobody else wanted to do it) beats. I had an editor who considered sitting in the office a waste of time if you weren't filing anything, so he made me go sit in a pub instead. Like that was hard work.

I still have all that music stashed in a box in my mother's house somewhere. Only thing is, they're all in -- gasp! -- cassettes. Now to find them all in iTunes.

Crazy old world

Q: What sort of goverment expels aid workers who have just flown in when 100,000 of its people are feared have to died in a cyclone?

A: The sort of government that closes its embassy in Bangkok for a festival so more aid workers waiting there for entry visas will have to wait at least four more days.

Q: How many more cyclone victims will die in four more days if they don't get help soon?

A: ...

So the international community is leaning on China, Thailand -- countries with ties to Myanmar -- to get the junta to open up the country to aid workers. That's where I think Singapore should step in. As the Asean chair, it has been gentle with Myanmar during the crackdown on protesting monks. As a country, it has business ties to Myanmar; its hospitals has treated junta members; and it has very probably sold arms to Myanmar. We shouldn't be part of this shame.

'The Bitch Is Back'

The last time we went to a concert -- the Police reunion tour -- L complained that we spent $350 on tickets for seats that we hardly sat on. Let's just say that this time round at Elton John, we made full use of our seats.

Not to fault Sir Elton or anything. This is the third Elton John concert we've been to and he's, well, 'Still Standing'. (And that was the song that got the audience on their feet -- other than the one soul in the $500 seats up right in front who danced a lonely dance all by herself at the beginning of the concert).

Sir Elton opened with 'Funeral for a Friend' -- much to L's consternation. I had no problem with that, it never sounded like a requiem to me anyway. And then, the other requiem, 'Candle in the Wind' came later. At which point, I think we were all unconsciously holding our breath to see if he would do the Marilyn Monroe lyrics or the Princess Diana version. L, the rabid Elton fan, said later that he would have gone off Elton if he did the 'England's rose' version.

Also from the 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' album, he did the title track and 'Benni and the jets' (which must've made our friend with that name also at the concert very happy, L leant over to whisper) so he had that album more than covered.

Nothing from 'The One' -- which probably was the first Elton John album I really got into (I can only console myself with memories of 'The One' concert which wsa the first time I saw Elton live). I don't know his early stuff, I'm an Elton John fan only by marriage. Nothing from 'The Lion King' -- that's a soundtrack, not a definitive hit, sniffed L. And noticeably, nothing from the last two albums 'Songs From the West Coast' and 'Peachtree Road' -- which yielded no hits whatsoever. Which is probably a sign of a waning star. And the reason why this tour is touted as the 'Rocketman -- the definitive hits' tour. Rocketman should be so lucky that a 30-year career has yielded enough definitive hits for a three-hour concert (he really earned his pay last night).

I thought it was going to be the usual white crowd and the usual middle-aged crowd and so was surprised to find two expat kids next to me that were probably around 12 or 13. They were kinda lost at the beginning with 'Madman Across the Water' and 'Levon' (to be honest, so was I) but perked up considerably as Sir Elton went through the years and leapt up to 'Crocodile Rock'.

Unlike the Police concert, I didn't see much recording -- until 'Sacrifice' came on and the whole stadium was lit with the glow of LCD screens of mobile recording devices.

Only two cigarette lighters came on at 'Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word'. Instead people were waving their mobiles, their cellphone display screens making little arcs of light as they did so. Either no one smokes any more or the era of waving cigarette lighters is well and truly over.

Playing footsie

The most powerful muscle in the world is a dog's chin. When a dog rests its chin against any part of you, you're stuck in that position till it decides to move and release you.

Hmmm...

I think I need to get to know a politician.

People become discriminatory, bigoted even, because they form ideas of what they don't know -- whether it's a different race, skin colour, religion, sexual preference. And education, exposure even, is the first step to curb discrimination because the more you get to know a person whom you at first think is different from you, the more you realise how similar you both are.

So maybe I'm distrustful of politicians because I don't know any.

I am nothing

We're no strangers to Milo the Jack Russell and her mummy -- they always stop to say hello when we see them on walks and Milo gets plenty of play time with Rupert.

Yesterday, I was alone, walking towards the train station when Milo and her mummy crossed my path. No hello, no nothing, no sign of recognition.

I am nobody without my dogs!

I am even lesser than chopped liver. Had I been chopped liver, Milo would have at least stopped for a sniff!

Fashion statement?

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this tshirt in the window of a store that's known for selling cheap ladies' clothing.

Where would a girl wear this to?

I can only think of nights at my uni's student union after the rugby team won a match.

Or a Red Hot Chilli Peppers concert. Even so, they don't seem to do that sock thing any more. The last time I went to a RHCP concert, they'd gone respectable and Anthony Kiedis even had a hair cut.

Overheard

Sometimes you don't mean to eavesdrop but some people do talk so loudly on their cellphones.

"If you commit suicide, the problem is this, it would leave me dead."

I would have thought the problem is that it would leave the person who committed suicide dead.

The guy on the phone was black, and speaking with an African accent. I've had Nigerian friends who would be spitting and snarling at each other till you think that it was a blood feud involving the virtue of their womenfolk when actually they were having a conversation about the weather. It's just the inflection of their speech that makes you think they're having a fight.

So I don't know if this African guy was joshing with whoever he was talking to or if he was having a serious existentialist problem.

Further adventures in the kitchen

Why is it when Jamie Oliver roasts peppers on the stove top gas ring it looks so cool but when I do it, it looks ugly, bumpy, pimply and the kitchen stinks of charred flesh?

It's my blog and I'll rant if I want to

So Singaporeans grumble about taxi drivers (and a whole lot of other things) all the time...

The cabbie waiting at the taxi rank at the shopping mall saw us coming out of the mall because he made eye contact with me. He watched as we made our way to the taxi stand, both burdened by lots of heavy grocery bags. He continued to watch dispassionately as we juggled the bags about so as to get a hand free to open the taxi door.

And he was driving a taxi with an auto door -- which meant that he could open the passenger door without getting his butt off his seat. He didn't say a word at all on the ride, no response to L giving him directions. We could have been driven by a robot. Although I think a robot would be a little more personable.

Maybe if he actually said something, I could have videoed it and uploaded it to YouTube.

Beer bread

Pix for the Catswhiskers who was curious. This is the easiest bread I've ever made because it is one of those no-knead recipes. But unlike the usual no-knead recipe, this one didn't take 24 hours to proof because there's a bottle of beer in it, maybe all that yeast in the beer sort of kickstarted the bread.

I put a bottle of Corona beer in it, I couldn't find Miller Lite or any light American beer at the supermarket and I think that hale and hearty local brews wouldn't suit the cheese in the bread. You can also add in bits of chives, ham or bacon. But I put cheese instead because I have a vegetarian coming for dinner tonight and one of the reasons why I made the bread (other than out of sheer curiosity when I came across the recipe in the Sunday paper last week -- I'd never heard of beer in bread!) was that we could have some with the lentil stew I plan to make.

Half of the cheese is grated and the other half cut into bite-sized cubes so you can actually bite into a piece of cheese as you eat the bread. The recipe also called for drizzling melted butter on top of the dough before putting it in the oven, and that has resulted in a golden brown crusty top.

It's more like a cake bread, like banana bread for instance, than an airy kneaded loaf. There's still nothing like thumping the hell outta your dough when you make bread, but this one was so quick and easy, it may just win me over to no-knead bread.

And that's not the beer talking.

Goofball

Rupert is as endearing as he is goofy. Or maybe it's the silly part of him that makes him endearing. He has just tried to climb up on my lap as I sit typing.

When he was a puppy, I used to plop him on my lap when I was on the computer, it was the only way I could make sure that he was not being naughty somewhere else.

Now, he's too big to fit on my lap but that doesn't stop him from trying to get up. He tried to lie down for a while but as his backside gradually slid down my legs, he gave up and decided to take a nap on the floor instead.

He's got a whole lot of floor to choose from, but had to lie on my work bag where I'd dropped it in one corner. It can't be too comfortable to lie on because there're pokey things in it like an umbrella and a Walkman.

But hey, this is the dog that will sleep with a chewie bone sticking into his ribs.

More animals

And now, we've got birds. There're a bunch of pigeons and sometimes a couple of mynahs who come to use the water pooling from the moisture from the aircon as their drinking fountain.

I'd worry when that drinking fountain becomes a swimming pool.

Poetry in motion

We were walking on the path across the field to the mall when the wind blew a child's parasol across the grass. There's a haiku in there somewhere, L remarked.

It also seemed like a good time to test the camera in the new cellphone.



Yellow umbrella
Wind-waltzing across the field.
Who will dance with me?

Call me anytime

... because I now have two cellphones. I don't really know what to do with two since with just the one, it was already underused but I guess I can now accessorise with them -- I can either carry the pink or silver one to match what I'm wearing for the day.

My service provider offered me the sleek silver Sony Ericsson free if I renewed my contract for another two years. Since I'm sticking with them anyway because of my corporate plan, I decided to take up the offer. The previous phone, the hot pink one, was also free, from the last two-year contract.

This new one is armed to the teeth with a web browser; magnetic mouse pointer for surfing; picture and video blogging; web feeds ticker; Google maps -- all of which I don't know how to use.

Would you believe it, I mostly use my cellphone to make phone calls?

Before and after

Someone needs a haircut...



... and got one.

Poor thing was so worn out by the trauma that she practically fell asleep on her paws, even though she had just been harnessed and leashed to go for a walk.

Three's a crowd

Rupert had painstakingly dragged Big (when you buy two stuffed dogs, one big and one small, it's a stroke of genius to name them Big and Small) into his crate. Then he realised that there wasn't a whole lot of space inside after that so he sat at the doorway to contemplate what to do. Then he keeled over and had a nap. When you're a Dog of Little Brain, thinking is a very strenuous affair.

HRH, meanwhile was having her nap on the couch. When she woke up and discovered that Big was in Roop's crate -- which she annexes sometimes for a nap -- she tried to take things in paw.


There isn't room in here for all three of us.

Not one of mine

This isn't Rupert. It's Jagger, who yesterday afternoon followed us upstairs to check out the new toys.

He and Roop had a delightful game of chase around the apartment, which both couldn't quite call off even though both were tired. Roop ran into his crate but Jagger only went in after him. Roop then squirmed out, and E shut the door on Jagger, who didn't mind being shut in a strange crate at all but promptly lay down for a breather.

What on earth did I buy?

So I'm taking the receipts out of my wallet after a hard day's shopping yesterday and checking them. I can just about make out Kalas Cutlery, Brada Laptop Su, Blund Soft Toy, Grono Table Lamp, Sparsam Blb (bulbs for the Grono), Heat Pot Stand, Sagolik Jar and Gosig Golden So (2x -- so that must be the two stuffed dog toys).

But what were Bastis Blond PA, Rationell Vaire, and more worryingly, Forsiktig Child -- what, I bought a child yesterday?

New toys -- for both me and the furkids

The thing about shopping at Ikea is that after you get what you went there for, you wander around the displays and end up buying a whole lot of stuff that you didn't think you'd need until you saw that it existed.

Such as the laptop tray. It's hard plastic on one side, just nice to put a laptop computer on, and soft cushion on the other side, so it rests comfortably on your lap. Nifty invention, much better than having a breakfast-in-bed tray that I used to use when I was using the laptop on the sofa or in bed.

We also bought some stuffed toys for the furkids. Ikea is one of the few places where the children's toys are pretty good for dogs too because the eyes are embroidered on rather than buttons, ie, no little bits that the dogs can bite off. So we got a big dog and a small dog -- for our big dog and small dog.



HRH: It's bigger than me, whaddaya expect me to do with it?


Heave ho! Hmm, it's not working.


So if I can't move it, I can use it as a cushion.


Roop: Big is not a problem for me!

Watching the watcher

Night has fallen and the curtains are drawn, but nothing stops the Queen from watching over her realm.

Four dog night

I came home last night to find an extra furry welcome -- two doggy neighbourhood friends, Jagger and Diamond, had popped round for a visit. The dogs -- and their humans -- had meet in the field downstairs on their respective evening walks and decided to come up for some wine (for the humans).

Need a tissue?

One of the little idiosyncrasies of Singapore living is to chiope (reserve) a seat at the food court/hawker centre by placing a packet of tissue paper on it before you go off to get your food.


It was a damn smart agency to put this slogan on giveaway tissue packets as an ad for an online air ticketing/booking site.

In Tokyo, pocket-sized tissue packets like these are practically an advertising medium -- you can't leave or enter a subway station without having them shovelled at you. I used to think that the Japanese never needed to buy tissue paper -- C, my Tokyo friend, certainly never did. He once said that if he felt a cold coming, he'd head to the subway for tissue before he'd head to the pharmacy for cold tablets.

Are you a leader?

The Malaysian ruling party has gone from dismissing (political content) blogs as rumour mills to saying that candidates for some party posts must have blogs. Guess they underestimated the reach of blogsphere in last month's elections.

"All candidates must have blogs," the Umno general-secretary told AP. "If not, they are not qualified to be leaders."

Which must make a lot of people I know more qualified for leadership than the people now ensconced in Parliament House.

Life with dogs

I'm beginning to think that Hillary Price, the genius cartoonist behind Rhymes With Orange has a spycam in my house...


... that's how it is on our couch, in our bed -- two small dogs that occupy a very big space.

Back to work

It took a week off work to lessen (but not completely eradicate) the stiffness in my shoulders. And it took one day back at work to tighten them up again. Sigh.

L said that while I was gone, the dogs would get up from their naps and walk around the house, peer into the rooms, as if looking for me. They weren't upset or anything, it was more like they thought they were playing a game of hide and seek with me, he said.

Queeni yipped sharply at me when I came back, as if scolding me for playing the game for too long. Rupert bounced at me -- but then he does that even if I'd just stepped out for a minute to take out the trash. But at least Queeni gave me her customary face-washing welcome. Maybe that was the joy of leaving the house -- the welcome you get when you return home. I hadn't had a doggy facial for a week. I don't care what my mother says about dog licks and hygiene, I think my face is all the better for a doggy kiss.

Today is Qing Ming, the Chinese tomb sweeping festival, where you're supposed to honour your ancestors. So, quite understandably, when we took a taxi to the crematorium yesterday, the cabbie thought that we were going to the columbarium part of the complex.

It was the first time we were going to the new crematorium/columbarium complex at Mandai and I wasn't familiar with its layout. The cabbie knew how to get there but didn't know where to drop us off. Telling him that we wanted to go the crematorium and not the columbarium didn't help, he didn't speak much English and clearly couldn't tell crematorium from columbarium (and who could blame him), and I didn't know the Chinese equivalent. Telling him "the funeral place" also didn't help, he couldn't distinguish funeral from the joss sticks and paper offering thing you're supposed to do at Qing Ming.

Finally he had a communication brainwave. "Ancestor or burn?" Which in a nutshell, got the columbarium/crematorium thing down pat.

"Burn," I answered weakly, trying to dimiss mental images of was going to take place in the next hour.

Eddie would have thought that's funny.

Other people's words

Eddie's best friend, Q, in his eulogy, said we should publicise Eddie's blog because otherwise it is a loss to the blogosphere and to journalism, so here it is. I never even knew until today that Eddie had a blog. All this time he was reading mine for the doggy pictures, he never told me about his, named after his dog too. There's a pix of Sophie on it

More eulogies from other people, because I have run out of words

Remgold

Obituaries in The Straits Times and The Business Times

Obit in My Paper

Tributes from media colleagues

More tributes

Eok.net.

Yellow Canaries

No words

Men deal with shock by withdrawing to the couch with beer. Women go get their hair done. My hair now has streaks of copper and ash in different shades. Thanks, I think, Eddie.

What is there to say when you've just returned from the funeral of a friend? I look at the entry of a few days ago, where I thought I'd spend my days off from work doing this, that and the other and it is laughable. Plans of mice and men, the gods giggled, etc. And I had written about how strange it was, to think that eventually I spent my birthday at a wake. Eddie's widow shares my birthday. How much more she had to go through.

The funeral was kinda funny in that you could straightaway tell which were the media people (E's job for 20 years) and the PR people (he left journalism to join a PR agency last year). The journos had open-necked shirts, some with their shirt tails sticking out, were in sneakers or sockless. The PR people wore ties, jackets, suits and hid behind sunglasses -- the women looked like Jackie O at Kennedy's funeral. The two camps were sitting on opposite sides of the funeral hall. And ever the split between.

A PS from the previous entry -- Sophie may come over to stay for a while. Queeni had better be nice. Rupert will love to have a new girlfriend.

Still sad

At Eddie's wake, all I could think of was Sophie the grey mini Schnauzer (who was mentioned along with the family in the obit), forced to stay home while everyone else was at the funeral parlour. How do you explain to a patiently waiting dog what happened?

Bad news

Goodbye, friend.

We knew as soon as we got up yesterday from a text on L's mobile. But L didn't want to postpone the surprise party that he organised for me, even though he was very upset.

I didn't think I'd spend my birthday at a wake.

Life is short. Call that friend.

Yesterday...

... a bunch of people came over


... some of them sang along to the Guns n Roses and Bon Jovi that was playing on my iTunes while others entertained the dogs


... and I had a happy birthday!


PS -- More pix here.

I'm watching

First, a little background: Queeni eats just outside the kitchen, her dish set down next to the communal water bowl. Rupert eats in the study, where a baby gate keeps him away from Queeni when he's done eating because he eats twice as fast as she does, and then wants to help her. And after he's done eating, someone needs to stand at the gate to keep a watchful eye on him or he'll start to do some, erm, instant processing for the want of something to do since he's stuck in there till Queeni is done.

Just now, L was standing guard over Roop. Then he had to go off to do something. "Watch him," he told me.

That was when it hit me as I took over the shift and watched Roop through the bars of the baby gate. That dog is more watched than that escaped JI terrorist. The prison wardens let JI Guy go to the loo alone while we watch Roop poop. And pee. And do all manner of things. Just about the only time we don't watch him is when he sleeps. Oh wait, I do that. I have to confess that sometimes I watch the dogs sleep -- it's more fun than you think and definitely more interesting than what's on TV most nights.

Now They want us to help spot JI Guy. Maybe when They finally catch him, They might want some extra wardens. Maybe I should volunteer.

Ready to chill out

I got a bunch of books from the library (one serious and two fluffy -- sometimes I want some brainless zero-calorie reading) and baked a batch of shortbread cookies today -- I'm ready for a week's leave from work.

Not that I have nothing else to do to fill my days for the coming week. I need to get a microwave (the existing one gave up the ghost after six years' service); do an Ikea run for a bedside lamp (the last in the set of two pretty but cheap ones from Thailand finally blew; it isn't the bulb -- L changed it but it still flickers -- and I don't trust it because the other lamp in the set previously tripped the electricity for the whole house); get my passport renewed (I'm thinking of getting the new biometric one); get a haircut; get Queeni groomed; and she also has an appointment on Friday with Dr T for her quarterly post-cancer check-up.

So... busy, busy, busy. I think I'm busier when I'm not working than when I am.

What Black Monday?

It is always nice to get a Monday off. It is especially more delicious when it comes after a long weekend and the faces you see trudging off to work seem even blacker than usual.

What's that Geman word for it? To enjoy someone else's misery? Although this feeling on Easter Monday does not apply to those in the UK where today is a bank holiday. It especially does not apply to students in the UK -- you know who you are, the one cavorting round the Kenilworth countryside.

So I'm going for a leisurely meal in an empty cafe where service will be twice the speed of what it was yesterday, and then go grocery shopping where I don't need to bump carts with anyone else because the aisles will be mine, all mine.

Hey, I earned today off, OK, I worked Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

Lazy weekend

The 84-inch window TV comes with a chin rest.

Horizon envy

No real reason for this pix other than I got envious when a friend, now studying at my alma mater, posted pix of the countryside surrounding the campus. I am tired of seeing buildings out of every window, of concrete blocks stretching into the distance. I want to see space; see a horizon where earth meets the sky, with no buildings in sight; feel my soul expand with the expanse of space around me.

I think I need a holiday.

I am just lucky that I have a tree outside my window. If I manouvre myself correctly, I can see leaves and flowers, and sometimes an oriole or two, and ignore the buildings at the peripheral.

Queeni to the rescue

Which dog do you think looks more ferocious -- the little one that looks like a teddy bear, and with teeth like toothpicks; or the one with the mouthful of vampire teeth and a solid muscular body that one of our friends call the Missile?




L was walking the two furkids when I was at work. Coming up the stairs, he had Rupert on leash in one arm, and Queeni scooped up in the crook of his other arm (she has never learnt how to climb stairs).

When Roop stalled on the stairs and refused to go up, L didn't realise why and tugged at him. Then he turned round and saw the stray cat on the landing.

Missile Boy didn't quite know what to do with Cat. Cat wasn't going to wait and took the initiative first. By snarling and lashing out at Roop. That was when Teddy Bear leapt out of L's arms with a mighty growl. Luckily, she was still leashed and the end of the leash was looped round L's wrist, so she couldn't reach the cat, which then turned tail and legged it down the corridor. Otherwise, L was sure she would have done some damage. And probably got damaged herself. Cat claws are pretty sharp.

Queeni has always liked cats but I guess just not the one who was about to eat Roop. So now we know. She can get uptight and grumpy with him, but she's also protective about her little brother. Nobody messes with him. Except her.

Home alone

I'm a little concerned about the papillion upstairs. Harvey's people have gone for a short holiday. We know this because L met the guy at the mail boxes and he told him about the trip and asked if we wanted anything from Hong Kong.

L, in typical dog parent nature, asked what about Harvey. Harvey would stay home alone, and an upstairs neighbour would pop in daily to feed him. L, a bit aghast, offered to take Harvey in. Or at the very least, even if he didn't stay over, we could walk him daily. No need, he was told, Harvey would be fine, he does his stuff on a peepad and doesn't need to go outside.

Well, I hope so. I worry about the little dog who's home all by his lonesome. I look up everytime we're downstairs walking the furkids, I don't see any sign of him by the window where he usually is. And the windows are shut tight, so I hope he isn't too hot and has enough air.

Harvey may be used to being home alone most of the day, but being on his own at night in a dark house is a bit too much. Just a daily feeding visit isn't enough company for a hyper little dog like him.

Yesterday afternoon, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. There was a crack of thunder almost overhead which made Queeni nearly jump out of her fur and run straight to her Daddy for comfort. She was lying next to me but apparently I'm not comforting enough. Sniff. And I worried about the little dog upstairs.

I don't even trust Roop home alone for more than a few hours. I wonder what Harvey is going to do, home alone for a few days.

A dog of many names

Most of my gentle readers would probably already know some of Rupert's nicknames. Roop the Poop is fairly obvious, because of his carefree toilet habits.

Depending on the nature of the transgression, he is also called RuPEE or sometimes, Bloody Leakhead. (That one is mostly from L)

And then there's Vlad the Confused. Vlad because of that little snaggle tooth that shows up vampire-like against his black muzzle. Confused because of his carefree toilet habits.

Now, there's Rupert Zero. L came back from the vending machine with a new Coke variant -- Coke Zero. Which really is the Coke Formerly Known as Coke Light, Formerly Known as Diet Coke. Same zero calories, just newly packaged and freshly marketed. Rupert was watching me drink, tail wagging in anticipation of sharing. Not. And that was when Zero seemed to be another good suffix for him. The dog of big heart but little brain. And carefree toilet habits. Rupert Zero.

Queeni has no nicknames. Royalty is not amused by that sort of thing.

Joined at the hip

Sunday evening in

The windows were thrown wide open and the furkids were lying in front of it, enjoying the breeze and watching what L calls the 84-inch window TV. So I drew up the deck chair alongside them and watched with them.

As soon as the sun started to go down and the day cooled, the dogwalkers started to come out. The first to go past was the Schnauzer owned by the guy with the speech impediment so we never really caught the name of the dog. He's usually the earliest dog walker. Rupert saw them off with some frantic barking.

Ten minutes later, Junior the Schnauzer trotted briskly past to more barking from Roop. HRH joined in with a few sharp yips but mostly left Roop to do the work. There's royalty for you.

Junior was soon followed by Milo the Jack Russell, off leash as always, but quick to respond to her Daddy's "come". My two seemed so astounded by that fast recall that they were struck silent.

In less than five minutes, Mei-Tei came along. He's yet another Schnauzer, but for some reason, his tail has not been docked. He must've been groomed recently because the tail is naked -- and it looks like it belongs more on a rat than a dog.

Then Junior came by again -- he sometimes does several rounds of the estate if his mum is feeling particularly energetic.

Next on the scene was the white Japanese spitz that we've nicknamed Devil Dog because he's such a tough aggro little fella. No barking from Roop or HRH -- they've learnt to leave him alone.

By then, L had gotten out of the shower and it was time to take our two out for walkies. Or Roop would almost certainly wee in excitement at seeing so many of his friends go past the window.

By the time we got downstairs, Junior was back on his third tour. All the dogs had a prolonged sniff session after all that long-distance barking from upstairs.

Then Ginger the springer spaniel came downstairs too, her entire rear end wagging in greeting. And the dog socials continued.

Oh the things I miss when I work evenings.

Saturday night out

Yay for LC's wedding banquet last night. Finally!

L and I found ourselves at a table full of former colleagues so it was like a Streats (lookit that, we're in Wikipedia!) reunion. Even though most of us still work in the same building but in different newsrooms, there were also a few who had left and it was nice to meet up with them again.

Almost all who had left the organisation were the Foreign Talent, and many did so as soon as they had been in Singapore long enough to get their Permanent Resident permit. And the next step after getting a new job seemed to be buying a new house, especially with the rents so high and now that they are PRs, they can own property. And then some bought cars, others employed maids, as their families expanded. So not surprisingly, the talk went on to the price of property, this car versus that car.

To put it simply, the PRs out-Singaporeaned the Singaporeans.

My life in rock n roll

Got stopped again by a promoter at a shopping centre. I could fill in a lucky draw form and win a holiday, she said.

I knew what was between the lines -- the holiday was a time-share and to get there, I would have to sit through an hour's presentation and buy the damn thing first. And they might throw in high tea or something after the presentation, to make me feel like a winner.

So I decided to have some fun as she filled in the form for me.
"Your name, ma'am?"
"Ruby Tuesday."

She got as far as writing Ruby but she hesitated over the surname because of the spelling and not because of anything else.

"Here, let me fill it in for you," I offered.

She handed over the pen but continued to read out the entries I had to fill.
"Your occupation?"
"I'm a honky tonk woman."

"Address?"
"I'm in between moves. Cos papa was a rolling stone."

And she still didn't get it.
"Why do you shop here?"
"Can't get no satisfaction anywhere else."

She still didn't realise anything. I was beginning to feel bad.

I think people are not listening to enough rock n roll.

Three dog night

No room on the couch for me ... all I did was to leave my seat to go to the loo and when I got back, all the space was taken up by furry beings.

Saturday Night Live at home

Wine, chocolate and fox terrier entertainment. Sounds good to me.

Bath day

Doesn't Roop look like an extra in Star Wars?

Weather like leather

Keith Richards is the new face of Louis Vuitton. I suppose it helps if you have a face like 100-year-old leather.

I'd have thought he'd make a better spokesperson for Jack Daniels.

Or maybe he's doing it because he failed to get his doctorate in astrophysics like Brian May.

Legitimacy

L finally got round to getting Rupert's dog licence so he's now legitimate. It cost us $14 for his right to live with us. The dog, that is, not the husband. :P

Roop also has a new harness since the last one was getting a bit frayed -- he used to bite it when he was younger. He's stopped that now but this new one promises to be bite-proof. Well, at least the label says that it won't fray when bitten through.

But I have a feeling that Roop, being Roop, will once again prove to be the exception.

Cats in the family!

I have a new cousin and it's a cat!

Two, actually, Chloe and Cyrus, a brother and sister pair of American curls. This is Cyrus, the more outgoing one of the two. E was very protective and wouldn't put Cyrus down but I think Queeni wouldn't have hurt him. She was certainly very intriqued (she grew up with a kitten and likes cats) and when E brought Cyrus back upstairs, whined after them. Rupert was restrained off camera, nuff said.

Day off

OK, I'm switched off.

Weak in English?

I'm sure the person behind this DIY ad stuck at the bus stop is a very good science tutor. He just needs an English tutor.

One of the perils of subbing must be the constant desire to take a red pencil to everything you see. *Must activate shutdown*