Being Singaporean

I think we've met the conservative greyhead of the estate. You know the type. Elderly retired gentleman, used to being in a position of authority, has a view on everything and his view is always right.

We were walking the dogs, Rupert on leash and Queeni trotting alongside offleash. She usually ignores everyone and goes about her business but our paths crossed Greyhead's and he muttered something at her so she snorted at him and went on her way. Snorted. Not barked. Nor even growled.

Don't worry, she's tame, L assured Greyhead. Greyhead then lectured L about the virtues of keeping a dog on leash, "they could go wild on you anytime," he emphasised. "Oh really, you're an expert on safety?" enquired a now irritated L.

We're always mindful that dogs are really domesticated wolves. Queeni does get leashed when there are children about and we're always mindful of the Muslim neighbours. So I guess L felt really unjustified about the impromptu lecture on dog behaviour.

Greyhead clearly wasn't used to people talking back to him and launched into a monologue, building up for the grand conclusion -- which was addressed to me because by then, he had drawn level with me as L had fallen back with Queeni who was busy sniffing at a tree.

"Singaporeans!" he thundered.

By which he probably meant that we were ill-mannered, inconsiderate, discourteous louts, the usual complaints one makes of Singaporeans.

What I don't get is that he obviously is Singaporean too. He's one of us. Unless he somehow thinks that he's better than us. Well, he's quite beyond me.

All that while, the elderly lady walking with Greyhead, probably his wife, kept her head down, ignored everything and stepped up her pace. I bet she knew too well what Greyhead is when he's home.

A Singaporean.