A weekend, a bit wasted

Although I went to bed early last night, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned for a few hours, then went into the spare room to read. After about ten minutes, a gust of wind made the door slam shut, and after that I had a sudden terror that there was an intruder in our flat. The wind would blow something across the floor and I would be convinced that our knife-wielding assailant was getting ready to slash us open. My wife slumbered contentedly through, while I was woken after a few dismal hours of sleep by my alarm, which I rejected, until a few hours after that the Chinese music recital began.

Well, I say music in the loosest sense of the word. From 8am until 5pm today we had country music playing, while somebody bellowed tunelessly over the top of it (maybe it was the Mandarin version of "You Stole My Heart (And The Keys To My Pickup Truck"). Variously old men, young women in miniskirts, and random people pulled off the street would shout as loud as they could, until I admitted defeat and went to the cinema to see The Avengers.

That was enjoyable, although I'm not sure that parents should take their 4-year-olds to see it. You should wait until you're 5 years old before you watch CGI'd aliens vapourising New York. Obviously.

We went home via the pretzel kiosk, then passed out for a few hours, and then at 6 I finally managed to kick myself out and go for a short run, before getting spruced up and going to the speakeasy on Hong Kong Street and getting shitfaced on cocktails.

I didn't mean to, but they had camp barmen, a vast array of exotic booze (do they really need ten different gins?) and ice cream, so how could I say no? We got there to find the place empty, but because it's Singapore they still need to ask if you have a reservation. No matter; sitting at the bar watching drinks being made is better entertainment than sitting at a table. The ambience of the place (a bar without a sign outside) is definitely 30s speakeasy with a dash of pretension, but fun all the same.

Apart from when an obnoxious Australian arrives, demands a glass of Ketel-one vodka, turns his nose up at the vodkas they have instead (a bit like going to Joel Robuchon and complaining that there isn't a Hawaiian pizza), said bongiornio to my wife, and then left. Wrong, and confusing, and confused, in so many ways.

I drank a Southside and then something with too much whiskey (any whiskey is too much for me after something regrettable in 2006) and then we cleared off home before 10:30. Which means we're getting just a little bit old... And possibly hungover tomorrow.