With half the day gone, we were in no rush to achieve anything for the rest of it. Well, it was sunny outside. In a past life that would have meant going outside and enjoying ourselves, but in Singapore even mad dogs and Englishmen don't go out in the midday sun. They stay in and watch Bar Rescue until the sight of a giant shouting Jon Taffer is just too much, and then they eat some toast.
As Bar Rescue continued, either the Taffer got more angry or they needed a way to add excitement, so at one point he stands behind a bar and tells a barman he's the worst barman he's ever seen, right in front of all the customers. Which is good, because it's an example of heckling somebody while they try to do their job, when they're not a comedian. Comedians often moan about how awful hecklers are, and how they don't go to somebody's workplace and tell them they're rubbish at their job. Which proves most comedians haven't worked with me. I suppose I've mellowed since the days when I would have punched through a wall if somebody couldn't use Excel properly, but I haven't mellowed that much.
In the evening, we went for a short walk. A short, three hour walk to the Arts Festival, where we saw some French people riding horses in a very pretentious way, and then my horse allergy kicked in with stabbing pains in my eyes, a burning sensation in my throat, and constant sneezing. All because I walked past somebody shovelling (French) horseshit. I've got a very weak constitution.
Then again, last year I put myself through a month of physiotherapy because I was stupid enough to go to the cinema, so perhaps I'm getting better, or something.
We got home, I had some toast, and so to bed. Saturdays don't get more exciting than this.
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