A Human Teenager

My male staff has been to Singapore a million times, so you'd think he could have warned me about it. The moment he let me out of his suitcase the humidity was like being constantly slapped in the face with a hot, wet towel. My fur immediately went limp and flopped in a greasy, lank curtain over my face so that I looked like a human teenager - not at all attractive.

The whole place has a strange smell too. It's a potent combination of decaying vegetation, diesel fumes, clove cigarettes and over-boiled rice. Singapore is about as crowded as Pamela Anderson's bra too, and nobody looks where they're going. They're all far too busy talking on their cell phones or madly texting. I'm amazed that they're not constantly crashing in to each other, and yet they don't. It's almost as if some invisible magnetic field is keeping them apart. Just as one texter is about to collide head on with another, something repels them like opposing poles and they spring to one side at the very last moment and continue texting safely. It's truly astonishing.

We're staying at an ultra-modern hotel in Little India. I guess windows must be old fashioned in Singapore because our tiny room doesn't have one. The room's so small that I'm not really sure what to do with all my bush chocolate as there isn't an unused corner of the room in which to deposit it. Consequently my staff keeps treading in it and it then sticks to his bare feet to be transferred neatly into his bed. Never mind, it'll be a nice surprise for the maid when she comes to change his sheets in the morning after we've checked out.
Little India's interesting. it's full of swarthy little men who sidle up to my staff and say "Pssst." It's a passable impression of a leaky blow-up doll - not that I have personal experience of blow-up dolls, leaky or otherwise you understand. Anyway my staff just ignores them and eventually they either give up or deflate altogether.

So, all in all I'm not at all surprised that many Singaporeans are a little odd. (See http://pemery.blogspot.com/2011/03/killer-ibis.html and http://pemery.blogspot.com/2011/04/best-friend.html ) All that humidity must seep into their ears and short circuit something in their brains. So anyway, tomorrow morning it's back into the suitcase for me for a flight to London to see Wills, Kate and my male staff's poorly Mum. I hope she's not allergic to guinea pig fur.