Should I stay or should I go?

I was kinda bored the other day and decided to visit the website of a social/recreational club I worked at 6/7 years ago. I like to do this sometimes. Y’know, see how previous employers are doing without me. See if they’re still using any of my designs or photos, or to note how crappy their current design/photos are and convince myself I’m better off without them!

What I saw on this club’s website puzzled me a little. Some of the staff who were there when I was there, are still here after all these years. And they were there years before I was there too. The odd thing is, this is a rather small place, with hardly any room for growth. If you were a manager here 8 years ago, you’d still be in the same position after all these years. And so they still are – department manager, assistant to the same manager, executive in the same department, with the same day-to-day job, seeing almost the same members doing the same activities, day after day.

I remember when I first joined this establishment, I took over the design and publications job from the PR & Publications Executive, Veron, who was leaving. She warned me that I’d have to work closely with one of the club members, who had generously agreed to offer his two cents' worth as Editor for the club’s monthly magazine. He was said to be a mean and nasty fellow, hard to work with, strong-minded, hard to please, and what not. I was advised to always order him a beer during our meetings, to keep him in good spirits. Let’s call him Mr X.

A few days into this job, I had my first one-to-one meeting with Mr X one night. It was almost impossible to maintain working hours of 9-to-6 (or the alternative 11-to-8 shift) at this place. My Mom used to say she thought this place was “illegal” and "very suspect" cos I’d come home at 11pm on most nights, and way past midnight on other nights, and even work on Saturdays and some Sundays.

So anyway, I ordered a beer for Mr X as so strongly advised, and he decided he’d like to have some satay and tahu goreng with his beer. This shocked everyone the next day, cos they said he never eats.

We didn’t discuss the magazine much, and I guess he was just trying to be nice since it was our first meeting. He was really excited when he found out I was from Malaysia, and the rest of our meeting revolved around stories of his adventures living and working in Malaysia many years ago.

After a few more one-to-one meetings and other PR and Publications meetings with the other member-advisors, I discovered that he could get rather bratty and annoying at times lah. I can’t remember if he ever made me cry. Must ask Shorbs this...

Yes, this is where I met Shorbani. She was 1 month (or 3 months?) into her job here as PR Executive when I joined, and we hit it off almost right from the start. ‘Almost’ because I used to be alienated from the rest of the PR team, with a little cubicle sandwiched between Alice, the GM’s secretary, and an empty cubicle which was used in the afternoons by Mr Yeo, a very friendly and likeable old man who worked sort of part-time, running errands for the office and doing little jobs like pasting stamps on envelopes.

He used to ta-pau lots of snacks n goodies for all the girls in the office too. I even remember one time when a cellphone company was giving out free helium-filled handphone-shaped balloons at City Hall MRT and he went around collecting them for anyone who wanted one.

Working in a tiny cubicle can drive one a little insane.

Our first PR Manager was Anna-Marie, and we got along really well during my interview for this job. Unfortunately she didn’t inform me that she was leaving, and left a few days after I joined the team. That left the PR department with just Shorbani, myself, and another PR Exec Esther, who was the most ‘senior’ in this tiny ‘department’.

Attending the Annual Staff Party the very first week I arrived;
Anna-Marie n Esther on the right.

Esther was an ok girl. She got along well with most of the members, knew how to work her way around them (that’s what PR is right?), and very popular with a few gross guys from the Sports department.

She wore A LOT of make-up. I wonder how she found the time each morning to paste those nasty little sticker-tape-thingies that gives a typical Chinese girl instant double-eyelids, and plaster on layers of electric-blue mascara. I remember she came in to work one day wearing the biggest sunglasses I had ever seen, and left them on the entire day, cos she whined about how she didn’t have time to do her make-up that day! But anyway, she really was a nice girl, and gave me lots of tips and pointers along the way.

I think it must be from my days at this place that I learnt what a big difference a short skirt and some make-up makes. I don’t mean it goes “a long way” as in doing kinky, slutty stuff. I just mean, guys can be such suckers!

Connie & Corinna are still working here, and I sometimes bump into Zul in Bedok.

They never promoted Esther to PR Manager, and only after a while, hired a new PR Manager (let’s call her Ms X). Esther left soon after, joining her buddy Veron. So I got to take over Esther’s desk in the “PR Room”, sitting right behind Shorbs.

We chatted A LOT. We chatted non-stop. We chatted so much Ms X would come out of her office (the door to her office was just two-feet from Shorbs’ desk) and say something sarcastic like, “Wah, you guys really talk a lot huh”. She never bothered to realize that even with the non-stop chatter, Shorbs would always be constantly typing and I would (most of the time) be clicking the mouse all the way to rodent-heaven.

With Esther gone, I had to take over the Tombola activities. Tombola (Bingo) nights were held on the first Wednesday of each month if I remember correctly. The “tombola guy” was this fella Jeya, who was always almost impossible to contact, and sometimes he’d forget and not turn up, and we’d have to conduct the session on our own. “Kucing berlari, 2-3 cat, run run run, twenty-three” --- “Lucky number eight” --- “Upside down, 6 and 9, sixty-nine”......

The only fun part about organizing Tombola was shopping for prizes and door gifts. With a very limited budget, Shorbs and I would go to Marina Square and shop for cheapo door gifts from the 1.99 store and spend a considerable waste of office time wrapping all the gifts.

Shorbs blames me for getting her addicted to coffee. Actually, many people I’ve spent a relevant amount of time with blame me for making them coffee addicts. I’d offer to make her a cup of coffee each time I made one, and soon, she was so hooked on coffee that sometimes she had to ask me to make her some coffee even when I wasn’t having any. I was like her personal 'drug-pusher'.

There’s something about instant Nescafe, sugar and loads of Coffeemate in those styrofoam cups that’s just special! It never tastes/feels the same even if I make it at home in a mug.

Shorbs and I were also partners-in-crime. Sometimes when I got my usual killer cramps, I’d pop some painkillers and curl up on the carpeted floor under my desk till the pain subsided, and she’d keep guard and make sure I didn’t get caught. As Forrest Gump would say, we was like peas and carrots.

Staff trip to Bintan.
Here we look like Siamese twins joined by one skinny arm.

We were really bad at time management, and this saw us working till midnight very often, and bringing work home too. The trouble was that we’d work till around 10pm, and be too lazy to take the train home by then. So we’d stay on till midnight or 1am to take the free staff transport home.

I remember Hamid, one of the duty managers who’d been working at the club for donkey years. Everyone loved Hamid, including the club members. Some nights he’d drop in and say in his deep pak-cik tone, “Girls… aren’t you going home?”

Soon, Raena joined the PR team, and was made to sit at a tiny cubicle just outside the PR Room. Unfortunately for her, this cubicle was also right at the front of the whole Club management office, almost right in front of the door. So she’d get people coming in, thinking she was the receptionist or office girl, asking her for directions, or to sign and accept deliveries.


Like Esther, Raena was soon a target for the lecherous and desperate guys from the Sports department (except for Mr Pau-yau-yee - he’s a sweet guy). Luckily, unlike Esther, she never wore short tight skirts or enough make-up to sink the Titanic (or a certain President’s jade boat), and the guys soon realized she wasn’t one to mess with.

The people in the Sports dept were really nice except for one very obnoxious fella. Let's call him Mr Mess-with-the-best-Die-like-the-rest, cos that's what he printed on all his files. He had a red tan and looked like a baked lobster in the smallest skin-tight shirts and even tighter pants. It was really an eyesore... too much butt on display if you ask me. He was a terrible flirt, and married!

We were glad to find out later that he finally did himself in. Apparently he had been sending lewd SMS-es to one of the girls, and she played along till she had enough 'data' to send to the cops. She charged him for sexual harassment, and he was sacked.

The Sports people probably avoided me like the plague though, cos I was always bugging them for photos and articles for the magazine, cos they never met deadlines. Merey, Kumar, Udaya and Andrew were really sweet people. There was Mr B who was nice, but also married and flirting with another girl. And then there was Mr P who was always interested in any new PR girl who came along. He was generally quite nice, but also pretty messed up. Poor fella. I hope he's alright wherever he is now.


By now, we also developed an addiction for Root Beer, and kept our stash of it in the teeny-tiny fridge at the back. We had to stock up on our own soft drinks cos the F&B guys were no longer allowed to give us free Coke. We’d still lepak at the Beer Garden some nights, drinking our own ice-cold root beer and complaining about Ms X, Mr X or other members or colleagues who got on our nerves.

Mr X and wife are actually nice folks; maybe just a little difficult to work with at times. There were other members who were genuinely nice too - Gilbert, Pauline, Gwen, Yvonne, Lawrence, Pandian... The gentlemen from Toastmasters seemed friendly too but I never had to work with them, so only Shorbs and Raena would know. And of course there were a few scary ones, like Mr & Mrs M from Bridge, and some of the dirty old men who usually drank themselves silly at B Lounge most nights.

The 3 of us at the Beer Garden with Shannon, the 'baby' of the team

Simon, the F&B manager at that time, was a gatal guy who used to work at Hooters. I remember I asked him once if one really needed big honkers to work at Hooters, cos I thought the pay there was so good. He told me to stick to my current job.

The F&B asst manager Ramesh was a really sweet guy who used to always give us free drinks before the new rule was implemented. And then there was Ayu, the F&B assistant who’s really loud and speaks REALLY fast. She was one crazy woman. She was quite a tomboy, and then she got married and would wear a tudung sometimes. Some of the other Malay colleagues were really bitchy and very critical of her, but she didn’t give a shit.

It used to be a real headache translating the Chef’s version of English into real English for the menus, which were updated every week. There were also two restaurants, a Japanese and a Chinese, which were let out to external parties. The manager at the Japanese restaurant, Ricky (also a bit gatal), used to give us good discounts if we dined there. The chawan mushi n fried udon here was yummy!

Andy, the manager at the Chinese restaurant, was a tall, good-looking (in a Tony Leung sort-of-way) guy from Hong Kong. Both these restaurants had standing contracts for advertisement space in the Club magazine, and Andy always wanted the most colourful, jang, ang-king-kong type of ad designed for him. Lots of red and other bright colours, lots of over-the-top effects, while still featuring almost every dimsum offering from the menu. There was a super special soup on the menu (the bowl covered with a puff pastry) that he let us try once, and it was exquisite!

We were allowed to makan at the staff canteen for free, and meals were usually cooked by the trainee or junior cooks. I remember one of the chefs named Freddie, a very friendly fella, but can’t remember who the other chef was. Usually there’d be rice and some dishes (like Chinese chup-fun style) and there would also be soup and dessert most days. Sometimes there’d be ‘specials’, like really good fish beehoon soup or pulut hitam.

Even though the free food was quite good, we ate out regularly too. We ate at Café Cartel a lot. If we walked to Marina Square to have lunch at Han’s, it would usually be with Karen, one of the HR girls. Karen & Lydia from HR were really sweet, and so were the girls from Accounts/Finance, whose cubicles were usually plastered with posters of Takeshi Kaneshiro and the boys from F4. Jacky was the stationery supplies guy and he was really nice too.


Being part of the PR dept meant that I was sometimes involved in the events and activities planned by the rest of the team, as well as some of the sporting events. Usually just to take photos, sometimes help with decorations or registration, or just to kaypoh about. Every month, the Dancesport Comm would have a themed dance night for the ballroom dancers and other members to dance the night away, all decked out according to the theme.

It was a real joke that no matter what theme, time, place, or music, the line-dancers (looked upon as not REAL dancers by the ballroom dudes) would find a space to do 'their thing'. I guess Wild Wild West night was their favourite, cos at least for once, they didn't look like sore thumbs in their cowboy hats and boots.

The 3 of us with Ms X on the left.

Christmas-time at the club was also a special time. The Maintenance guys pull out all the stops and decorate the club with enough lights to scare away the club at the other end of the field. A HUGE Christmas tree would go right in the middle of the lobby, and there'd be lots of Christmas parties to plan for the Kids' Club, the dance dudes and of course the Women's Wing, who every year without fail, would bring in the choir from the Eurasian Association.


Christmas Eve however was a nightmare. I wasn't allowed to apply for annual leave for Christmas so my family wasn't expecting me home. But I hoped to catch the last flight back to KL to surprise them. Everyone had left by noon as it was a half day holiday, but Ms X made be stay back till I finished some crap.

When I finally left the Club (at night!), it was impossible to get a cab. What with it being Christmas Eve, and standing right in the heart of the cab-unfriendly City Hall zone, plus, it was raining heavily! I remember I actually started crying as it dawned upon me that I might actually miss Christmas altogether. The sweet people at Front Desk were calling every cab company in the book, and Duty Managers were running up and down the street in the rain to get hold of a taxi for me. I finally managed to take the train to somewhere East-bound and made the flight.

My brother Andrew was really secretive about picking me up from the airport so my parents thought he was gonna pick up "a girl". We surprised them in Church halfway through Midnight Mass, and my parents were so happy cos it was the first time in more than 5 years that my whole family had been together cos we were all scattered across the globe since we were 20.

This Christmas was also the last time I saw my grandmother alive. I remember exactly, my dad saying, "You coming home this Christmas has made it the best Christmas for Mummy and I". And to think I could have missed all this because of work and Ms X. I will always remember her for this. For making me work, cry and lose hope on Christmas Eve.

Anyway, Raena, Shorbs and I were like the mad-trio from PR. We ganged up against Ms X cos she really was quite annoying. She wasn’t a bad person, just a bad manager. We used to make fun of the way she started every sentence with “Basically…”, and started every sentence to defend herself with “The thing is…”

I think she hated the fact that her office was like everyone's walk-in store and she couldn't feel like a big boss in a private office. Everything was stored in Ms X's office - files, files, files, a cabinet full of photos from every single event from as far back as photos existed (and the Club has been around since 1883, so that's a shitload of pics), vouchers, tickets, invites, cards, stickers, props, gifts, giftwrap, ribbons, balloons... It was like a mamak shop!

Anna-Marie didn't mind sharing this 'store-room' with us. And before Ms X, the place was practically ours. So when Ms X came on-board, she'd get so annoyed each time we walked in and out of her room, opening cupboards and cabinets, grabbing this and that.

She tried to do a major spring-clean by removing all the files from the cupboards and dumping them on us. We had hardly any space at our little desks, and Shorbs had a tiny rickety shelf that was falling apart. In the end most of the files were intentionally left haphazardly on the floor just to piss her off, cos now she had lots of empty space and 3 really mad girls to deal with.

She knew we disliked her, so this made things within our department awkward, unfriendly and just really fake. Shannon who was part of our ‘gang’ started siding Ms X more, so it really was always just us, the gila threesome, chincheongroy.

Raena's last night at the Club.

Then Raena left, and a month later, I left, and two weeks later, Shorbs left. Our days at the big brown block on The Padang were over. Now it’s finally safe enough to look back, remembering mainly the happy times, and wondering why there are still those who’ve stayed on for more than a decade.

I have actually always wished I could be like that. To find a simple job, be contented with a liveable and steady income, and just stay put forever. It’s not like I have big goals cos I always shy away from big positions and don’t mind staying at an Exec level forever. Art Director sounds too full of headaches and politics for me. Manager too. I wish I could just stay put in a happy workplace and not job-hop as much as I do. I’ve been working full-time since I was 19 and I’ve had 6 different employers from 1997-2006.

One of my former employers told me when I resigned, that the problem with people like me is I always expect more. Like say he gives me two dollars and I’m happy with it at first, but after a while, I want $2.50. Is it wrong to want more? Why can’t “people like me” be satisfied with 2 bucks? Or perhaps it’s because “people like me” get bored?

I really don’t think money is the deciding factor. I think I’ve always left a company because it stopped being a happy place. It didn’t become an unhappy place because of money. It stopped being happy because of CHANGE. Change in management, change in people, added politics, added drama, more work, same pay. So it’s not about having the same pay, but more work with added drama? Maybe.

It’s like you belong to a family, and home is a happy place. Then suddenly the head of the family is replaced with some new bugger. Or an annoying uncle or bitchy aunt is added to the happy home. Even worse when outsiders are added into the picture. The chickens are restless and they fly the coop.

It’s also not that I can’t accept change. After all, things change, people go their separate ways, life goes on, and so should you. We can’t just stay the same when all around us have changed or moved on, right?

Ok, so some people can. But “people like us” can’t.

I don’t think there’s a right or wrong, or if you’re better or worse if you stay or go. After all, I envy those who stay. Those who stay, the “people like them”, stick together in the comfort and familiarity of the same place, braving all the changes and drama that comes their way. “People like us”, leave and go our separate ways, but no matter where life takes us, we’re always “one” even when apart.


I guess it’s all about GROWTH. It doesn’t have to mean getting a bigger position or higher pay, but just taking that next step. Stepping out of the safe zone to find a happier place, or to build a new happy place. The crude way of putting it is, at the end of the day, it’s “people like us” who have the balls to take that next step, wherever it may lead us.

We leave the once-happy place behind, take the happy people with us, and once in a while look back without regret, and have the last laugh.

A Fishy Tale

Talking about “many fish in the sea”, I remember that this was exactly what my Mom told me when I had my first ever “break-up”. She exclaimed as I sobbed through all the tears and snot, “There are so many fish in the sea! Why cry over this fella. And he’s so short! It’s not the end of the world! You can find a tall and handsome guy.” Hmpf… tall and handsome? That’s a whole other long story.

So this whole drama came about when I was 16. First boyfriend. First so-called (blinding) love. Of course, I kept this relationship a secret from my parents cos at 16 a girl is supposed to be studying hard for her O-Levels, not worrying about whether he loves me or loves me not.

It started out like all grossly-sweet puppy love romances lah. All the corny love letters and shit. But he really was quite a useless fella, then (I’m sure, or I hope he’s ok now). I even did all his homework for him, even Geography, which was a subject I wasn’t even taking that year. I’d scrape whatever savings I had to buy him stuff he liked, and he’d say things like, “Yang, next time you buy me a shirt, make sure the sleeves are longer.” Next time? Hah!

By the way, ‘Yang (short for Sayang) is the endearing term used to call each other in Malaysia, even if you’re not Malay. And in those days, fashion was ‘gangsta-rap’-inspired, so it was all about stuff like big n baggy t-shirts with huge pictures of dead rappers or Malcolm-X printed in the front, big n baggy berms, and chunky Caterpillar or Timberland boots.

After a few months, we saw less and less of each other, and I finally realized it was all crap when I ran away from home. I’m not proud to say it cos it was a horrible and harrowing experience for my parents. It all started because of a big misunderstanding with my Mom and I won’t go into details even though I still remember everything vividly.

I remember packing as much as I could into a gym bag, and even asked my grandfather for my bank savings passbook. Then I told my older brother that I was running away, and he cool-ly replied, “Orh” and went back to daydreaming. My younger brother however has always been like the protective bodyguard stand-up-for-what-is-right type. And so he stood in front of the door to stop me from going, and I said something really nasty to him and left through the back door.

I went to The Park – the small playground behind Nat’s house. After a while, I realized that Nat would be the first person my parents would hunt down once they discovered I was gone. So I took a cab (!!) to somewhere near my boyfriend’s house, bought a Fillet-o-Fish from a nearby Macs, and sat at another playground as night fell.

After a while, I noticed a cockroach scurrying towards the bench I was sitting on. Crap! And then, another ka-chuak. Crap crap!! And then another, and soon there were like half a dozen cockroaches approaching, probably sensing that there might be some leftover scraps of fish burger on me. Freaking big grandfather cockroaches that have the ability to fly and land on your neck, crawl into your clothes or get stuck in your hair! Aarrrrgh!!!

So I left, and called the useless boyfriend from a nearby payphone. I told him the whole story, and that I was at a public phone nearby. Instead of comforting me or coming out to meet me, he said, “Just go to Janet’s house. She’ll let you stay there”.

So I called Janet, a schoolmate of mine, went to her house and stayed the night. The next evening, I called home and spoke to my older brother, who tried his best to tell me in secret code that it was safe to come home (cos obviously my parents were right next to him, expecting and praying that I’d call). So he picked me up from Janet’s place, and after that it was just a big emotional drama at home. But it was from this experience that I was able to open up and talk to my Mom about the break-up later.

Anyway, I soon heard from our mutual friends that the useless boyfriend was doing the nasty-nasty with some girl from one of ‘em Ah-Lian schools. He denied it of course, and we broke up over the phone. And then stupidity, as it often does, got the better of me, and I thought, Maybe I was wrong to believe our friends and not him, the so-called love of my life?

So I went to his house to grovel n beg, and he shooed me away saying I betrayed him for not believing him, yada yada yada. I remember I just sat there bawling like an idiot outside his house, and his sister came out to “pau-toh” him, telling me that the Ah Lian skank was in their house at that moment, and that she had stayed the night!

Even though I did feel like it was the end of the world for a while, at least I had our mutual friends, and even his sister on my side. I remember I got his sis to take back the bloody expensive pair of ‘Cats’ I bought for him, and I sold it off to one of his friends! Muahaha!!

So even if there are many fish in the sea, it takes quite a while, and sometimes quite a lot of heartbreak to learn that it’s not the quantity that counts but the quality. So remember, never fill an empty space with just any ol’ fish. And never run away from the ones who love you most.

Why I'll never keep fish again

When I lived in Singapore, I would sometimes buy little fish to keep in a little tank, just to add a little bit of life to a quiet and lonely flat.

I was never an avid 'fish-keeper' and never got into that whole 'louhan' or 'Nemo' craze. But I liked weird fishes, especially puffer fish, and that breed of goldfish that look like overstuffed fishballs floating dreamily in the water.

However, I now have this weird idea in my head that fish are scary little creatures that possess a kind of 'energy', or in this case I think ANTI-energy.

Some years ago, I came home from work one night and found that one of my puffer fish had died. A few minutes later, I got a call from home (family home in Malaysia), that my grandmother had passed away. Her passing affected me very badly. I actually suffered insomnia for 2 months, and it was the only time in my life I could drink Bailey's by the MUG, and still not fall asleep.


I still miss my grandmother terribly, and it still bugs me that I had not seen her for more than a year, and was going to see her in Malacca during Chinese New Year the next week, but she died just before. Her death made me do/think lots of stupid things. Like the feeling of regret that I was "old" and unmarried, never had a good enough boyfriend to introduce to her.

So I actually agreed to go out with this one guy at work, who had been asking me out for ages. I told you I did stupid things. It was just dinner with this dude, but next thing I know, his GIRLFRIEND calls me later that night to ask why I went out with him. Like, whoa... you can have your jerk-off back, there are plenty of other jerks in the sea. The worst part was when I asked this loser why he asked me out when he had a girlfriend, why all the sweet talk and flirty SMS-es. He turned against me, saying I got the wrong message and we're just friends.

There are many fish in the sea. One just died.

Then a couple of years after this whole drama, I was living in a different apartment, and had different fish (I can't remember what type). One morning before work, I woke up to find that two fish had kicked the bucket. Later that night, my cat leapt 11-storeys down from the apartment window, broke some bones, suffered internal injuries, and died a few hours later in a pet hospital, while I was out at a meeting.


So again, I only arrived when it was too late to say goodbye. Too late to apologize. Too late for one last hug and to say "I love you".

No insomnia this time around. Just pain. Just a heartache that never goes away, even till now. Sometimes when Ben's at work, the apartment feels empty, and for a second it gets lonely; I think of my cat, and feel the void that was left behind. But I'll never fill an empty space with a fish again.

It's Over!

Water running from the COLD tap is hot, but not scald-yourself-pink-and-silly-scorching hot. So it's official. Summer's finally over in Dubai!

When The Smog Is Going Down

Aiya... haze, haze, haze. Haze in KL, haze in Singapore, and most of all, haze in Dubai almost everyday throughout the whole bloody year.

On most days it's just blah and grey. But sometimes, it gets so bad that the dense dust particles in the air block out most of the light from the sun, leaving the whole world looking yellow.

THE WHOLE WORLD ISN'T SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE IT'S GOT JAUNDICE!!

Give me back my blue skies and clean air, please...

Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?

London, baby!
Home of Harry Potter and Queen! Not the Queen, (though yes, the Queen too…) but I mean, rock-your-socks-off-Freddy-Mercury-Queen...


Day One – London
We arrive in London really early in the morning, so we aren’t able to check-into our room till later in the day. Our first stop is Millennium Gloucester Hotel, to drop off a bag for my brother. Now that he’s on the A380 fleet, he probably flies to Sydney and London more often than anyone else I know. He was supposed to arrive in London the same day as us, but unfortunately his roster was changed, and he had a flight just before, and just after us.

So I leave him a bag of stuff to bring home for me, and he leaves me a bag of goodies with our ‘hotel’ reception, filled with stuff from home like ‘beh teh so’ (heong pneah), mooncakes, instant chrysanthemum tea, etc. I also asked him to pack in 2 cans of ‘Jia Jia liang teh’ for Ben, but he thought he was being kind enough to bring us 5 cans!

We have to drink all of them as quickly as possible cos it’s the start of our trip and already the weight of our haversacks are killing us.

Luckily our ‘hotel’ allows us to stow our bags at the reception before check-in time. So, although tired from a restless and uncomfortable 7-hour flight over, we head out to visit Buckingham Palace. The State Rooms are open for public viewing each summer, when the Queen is holidaying in Scotland. So we can’t really say we’ve been to London to visit the Queen.


We're amazed by the beauty and grandeur of the palace interiors. Absolutely breathtaking! Photography isn’t allowed in the palace, so, sorry, no pictures of the exquisite details of the famous paintings, porcelain and decor. For the first time ever and only this summer, a special tour is also held called ‘A State Banquet’. This features the setting of a state banquet in the ballroom when heads of state visit and dine with the Queen. Not very interesting though.

We weren’t expecting the weather to be too cold, but it is cold, and windy, and we’re shivering our underpants off as we walk through parts of the lovely gardens at the end of the tour.


It’s not yet noon and we’re starving. Our booking for lunch at Le Caprice is only at 2.30pm, so we walk about looking for a light snack. On the way, we pass this grand-looking but very odd ‘church’.

It says, "Cleanse the leper. Heal the sick. Raise the dead."

We decided on lunch at Le Caprice, a very popular restaurant in London, because it was recommended by an acquaintance of Ben’s.

Tired and hungry, I suggest we try to get an earlier seating as I read that they sometimes take in walk-in guests who can enjoy their meal at the bar. So we walk to the restaurant which is situated just behind The Ritz, and are greeted by the friendly managers who are already expecting Ben, the chef from the Burj Al Arab.

Immediately, they give us a place at the bar even though we’re two hours early, and welcome us with two complimentary glasses of champagne. Not a good idea to drink champagne when you’re this tired and hungry though. Really not a good idea.

Ben orders one of the daily specials for his starter, a fillet of mullet, which is filled with bones, lots of bones! He keeps asking me for tissues to spit blobs of half-chewed fish and bones into. Very disappointing. Luckily, he suggests that I order the Tortellini with sweetcorn & girolles since I like mushrooms, and I love it! So does he. It is really, really good. The flavour, the texture, just bloody good.

Then Ben notices that one of the guys seated next to us has ordered Eggs Benedict which looks really appetizing, and looks around to realise that almost every table has ordered it too. So he orders one, and it more than makes up for his first starter. The egg poached to perfection, the muffin toasted to a lightly crisp piece of heaven. Just DELISH!!

While seated at the bar, we are hugely entertained by watching a bartender with hands more skilled than David Beckham’s feet. He works so fast, we keep having to make double takes. Like first he’s brewing a cappuccino, then taking down a new order while clearing soiled cups and glasses and preparing a pot of tea and next thing we know, there’s already cocoa sprinkled on that darn cup of coffee. I almost suspect he has a wand hidden somewhere while he secretly utters magical incantations. Expecto cappuccino!

He prepares little pots of fresh peppermint tea so often that I decide to try some after our meal too. It’s refreshing and especially soothing since I have a bad headache from a very bad combination of lousy flight + lack of sleep + sightseeing overkill + champagne on an empty stomach.


After lunch, we make a super-quick stop at Oxford Street so Ben can see what the fuss is all about at this famous shopping area. Like an upsized, open-air Mega Mall, with huge-ass versions of H&M, Topshop and the biggest Apple Store ever!

Finally, we head back to our ‘hotel’. Inverted-coma-ed because we’ve never experienced a hotel stay like this before. Grandly named the ROYAL Norfolk Hotel, I chose it because of its very strategic location and the pictures of the room looked ok on the internet. I was also very happy that the manager allowed Andrew to leave a bag at the reception for us for 3 days.

So, as I was saying, I selected this place because it’s so close to Paddington station, which is where we’ll depart the next day for Maidenhead. It’s so close, you can even ‘experience’ the train every ten minutes. The railway tracks are just below, as pictured here. I don’t even have to zoom in on it, this is the exact view from our room on the 3rd floor.


The en-suite bathroom is so small, you get blue-blacked elbows just trying to brush your teeth. But at least, the room is clean, the bed is comfy, and no ghostly encounters or worst, cockroaches! We manage an uneasy afternoon nap with the persistent drone of construction works going on downstairs plus the frequent rattle and clatter of passing trains.


And of course, I no longer need to tell you all about our dinner at Ramsay’s that night. Except that we think we may be the only ‘regular Joes’ who’ve taken the tube and walked 15 minutes to one of the best restaurants in the world.

Complimentary breakfast the next morning is made up of soggy toast, very salty bacon, eggs and the smallest but toughest wieners in the world. ;p But it’s hearty and enough to fuel us on our onward journey.


Day Two – Maidenhead
After breakfast and checking out, we visit Harrod’s to look for the cheese that Ben enjoyed so much the night before. We’re not allowed to walk around Harrod’s carrying our two haversacks and large bag of goodies (plus a very heavy copy of Gordon Ramsay’s latest book, 3-star Chef). So we have to check it in at their Left Luggage Room, reluctantly parting with £9 - 3 pounds for each bag!


Harrod’s is so huge, it’s a good thing we only have time to browse the Food Halls cos we’re already lost on the first floor and can’t even find an exit. Like the Takashimaya basement multiplied by six, it’s food, food, food everywhere. Looks nice in pictures, but not that intriguing lah. And they don’t carry the elusive Plaisir au Chablis. Too bad.


We take the First Great Western to Maidenhead, and check into Ray Corner Guesthouse. The owners of the guesthouse, Sue & Graham, are very friendly. They’re very excited to hear that Ben’s a chef, and tell us about what they know about The Fat Duck, peppered with a bit of local gossip here and there.


The room is clean and very well maintained. Again, we have a window overlooking the main road outside. Most small hotels and guesthouses here do not have air-conditioning because it’s cold most of the time, and even their summers aren’t that warm. So we have to leave the windows open for some form of ventilation, which means being disturbed by the sound of passing cars, buses, people, dogs…

Before this trip, I read a lot about the Thames Path that stretches 180 miles along the River Thames, passing interesting places like Windsor, and small towns like Maidenhead and Bray. The guesthouse is within walking distance from this path, and I had planned to walk to the nearby village of Cookham to admire the ‘countryside’ and scenes of farms, cottages, etc.


This afternoon, I suggest we walk to Boulter’s Lock, and maybe visit Ray Mill Island there, which I read is a lovely nature spot with wild ducks and guinea pigs. Again, I guess I’ve been fooled by pictures on the net, cos nothing seems remotely ‘countryside’ about the views along this part of the Thames. Perhaps it may be so closer to Cookham, but we don’t have the energy to find out. We stop at a small café for coffee and Fish n Chips.

Again, I’ve already described dinner at The Fat Duck, plus lunch at The Waterside Inn the next day.

Day Three – Bray
After lunch at The Waterside Inn, I decide it’s not worth the money to take a cab back to Maidenhead, and then take a cab back here again for dinner, and then a cab back again. There also isn’t enough time to travel to and do a bit of sightseeing in Windsor, which is about 15 minutes away by taxi. So we make the very unwise choice of staying in Bray till it’s time for dinner at The Hinds Head at 7pm.


Bray is a one-street village. No kampung-style cottages lah, but their High Street (usually the main street in any town), pictured above, stretches for just about 250 metres. There are nice homes and cottages just beyond this street, and we go looking for the church that looks like a part of a castle from a distance.


St Michael’s church was built in 1293. Like most super-old village churches, its grounds are dotted with really old gravestones of loved ones past. We try to sneak a peek inside, but come to a locked door, from which I manage peer into its interior.


Apparently this church has a number of ancient sculptures, including a Sheela na Gig. [A Sheela-what?!! Read about this very interesting artefact here]

The Jesus Hospital is an almshouse, founded in 1609 by William Goddard (whose full-sized effigy stands over the entrance) to house 34 of the aged poor of Bray and 6 of the ‘Worshipful Company of Fishmongers’ to which he belonged. [Ref: Wikipedia]

We search for Heston Blumenthal’s lab/kitchen, like two clueless souls on a ‘Da Vinci Code’ trail. After walking up and down the High Street till the people at TFD think we’re stalkers, we’re so bored and finally sit on a bench at an open field nearby, waiting for time to pass.

The next day, Sue tells us that HB’s kitchen/lab is actually at the carpark just across from his restaurant because the locals won’t allow him to extend the kitchen at his restaurant!

We suspect Bray may also be home to some hobbits.

Bored and as dull as beer-without-hops, we go to The Hinds Head an-hour-and-a-half before our dinner booking, and Ben enjoys a nice pint of Fosters in the pub. We hope to see HB popping in for a pint so that Ben can pick his brain, but remember that the waitress told us the night before that he’s travelling for some new stint.

Dinner is worth the wait! Ben describes it in his blog post here.
To view all the photos taken in Maidenhead and Bray, click this.

Day Four – Maidenhead-London-Dubai
Our last day here. When checking out, Sue and Graham chat with us for a while. It’s funny how Sue fondly says “Heston’s just a pussycat”. She was comparing him to Ramsay of course, telling us about how there was a chef who used to work at Ramsay’s, who then came to work at TFD, and he’s the only chef who’s ever quit The Fat Duck, probably cos he’s just too used to being screamed at at his former kitchen.

There’s a bus stop conveniently located at the doorstep of the guest house, from which we take a bus to Heathrow. We go to the airport first so that I can do the online check-in and we also leave our bags at Left Luggage, this time for £6.50 per piece! Our flight is only later in the evening, so we have the whole afternoon to walk about London.


We head straight for Portobello Road Market because there’s a special bookstore here called Books For Cooks. It’s a Saturday, and the area is crowded with hundreds of stalls, selling everything, from souvenirs to army paraphernalia, fresh fruit & veggies to vintage toys.

Unfortunately, we didn’t know that the bookstore closes in August. I'm more disappointed than Ben is, probably cos I felt this was the objective of visiting the market in the first place, whereas he was enjoying the atmosphere of this bustling place.


Dejected, we take the train from Notting Hill Gate to High Street Kensington, hoping that the WH Smith store here might carry a wide range of food-related books. They don't, but we pop by the park at Kensington Palace just so Ben can have a look-see. We pass Stick n Bowl restaurant, and I tell Ben about remembering how some SQ crew just can’t let a day pass without eating Chinese food, no matter where in the world they are, no matter how lousy the food is.

We hope to get some really good fish n chips before leaving London. With the flu getting the better of me by this day, it seems luck really isn’t on our side today, until we find an Italian restaurant that has a Fish n Chips Special displayed outside.

Seated next to an old lady, we place our orders for F&C. The old lady turns to me, points at Ben’s t-shirt, and says, “I believe I have that same exact t-shirt”. (Ben thinks that people must like my round funny-face cos strangers always approach me.) I tell her that it just might be the same cos it's from Topshop. We chat a bit more, and I ask her where we can get really good F&C here. She says we’re at the right place, and I suspect she’s just being a nice, old lady.

She’s right though! The fish n chips here is great. Really light n crisp batter, tender fish. As she gets up to leave, the little old lady bids us goodbye, wishes us a safe journey and says, “God bless you”. So sweet.

View all the photos taken in London here.

When we’re at the airport waiting for our flight back to Dubai, I get a bag-full of meds for my flu from Boots, and finally get my hands on a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.


Overall, our holiday was superb! We were blessed with good weather – cold the first two days, warm and muggy the next two, but at least no rain! The full effects of the flu only hit me the last day, so at least I could taste all the amazing food we had.

Apart from a closed bookstore and ‘overly-strategic’ rooms, everything went great and as planned. With the magical dining experiences and enchanted places we visited, I can gladly say, mischief managed! :o)

Old Skool Glam

Through the Rain, by Cinderella
I know it's hard
In a world gone bad
To find the truth
To understand
And I know it's hard
To turn the page
To walk the line
To have the faith

I know it's hard
In a world so cold
To feel the love
I know it's hard
And I know it's true
That in the end
We all find our way
And that's life my friend

But sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain

He Says, She Says

Benjamin and I made a trip to London recently; a holiday unlike any other, dedicated to food, glorious food! Ben has already posted his blog about our 3-day dining extravaganza on his website. For his version, click here. And for all the photos, click here.

This is my side of the story – a somewhat mak nenek, unprofessional version of the binge fest that took place.

Let’s get the facts right first. I’ll accept that the holiday was a birthday ‘gift’ for me, although it didn’t start out so… but I’ll just leave it as that. The focus of the trip was to makan at The Fat Duck, but I’m not the sort who knows her kappa from her carrageenan. So the whole dining portion of the holiday is what I’ll call Ben’s “search for (dining) perfection”.

Getting a table at The Fat Duck was the tricky part. Bookings are not accepted earlier than 2 months before a reservation date, and the phone lines are busy the minute the clock strikes 9 every morning in Britain.

On a day exactly 2 months before our preferred date, I made more than a dozen calls to TFD – one call every 10-15 mins till I finally got through about 3 hours later. At the same time, I had to have the British Airways online ticket booking webpage at the ready, so I could have a few dates to play around with. At least 5 of the dates I asked for were already fully booked by the time I got through to the restaurant. But I finally got a date for dinner that was ok, and we were good to go!

Imagine that – booking dinner at a restaurant almost 3,500 miles away even before booking our flight there. Growing up in Petaling Jaya, the furthest my family and I have travelled just for good food was probably the 50-min drive to Klang for bakuteh or a little further for seafood. So anyway, with our table at TFD set, I could finally book our flight, accommodation, and plan the itinerary. Now this is where that one fat duck multiplied into one grossly obese animal! Sebab nila se-itik…

There's a Malay saying that goes, "Sebab nila setitik, rosak susu sebelanga"
which is like the English "One bad apple spoils the bunch"

Like, since we’re gonna be in Bray, we might as well have lunch at another 3-Michelin-starred restaurant, The Waterside Inn. And since we’ll be in London first, let’s pick just one really good restaurant too. So we decided on Gordon Ramsay’s at Royal Hospital Road.

Our first 3-star dining experience was at the latter. And it was bloody amazing! After dining here, I don’t think I’d ever need to “search for perfection” anywhere else. Perhaps I’m just a ‘sua koo’, like a beggar who can’t choose. But nah… this is it! Absolute perfection!


I usually dread the idea of dining at a fine and expensive establishment. Firstly, kena pakai cantik-cantik, and then, kena act all proper and posh-nosh. Then be surrounded by uppity diners and served by snotty wait staff with put-on accents and plastic smiles. Ugh!

But NO, not here! I’m not saying the service staff here were like all lepak and bo chap lah. They were extremely professional, carried themselves very well, were confident, eloquent and just oozed charm like a diabetic with a nose bleed. They didn’t allow this confidence to seem anything like arrogance, or to be exaggeratedly charming that it made you feel awkward. As Ben puts it, they were genuine. I did not spot even one tiny ‘jeling’ (cynical/derogative glance) from anyone.


We only managed to get this dinner booked for 10.15pm. When we arrived, we weren’t treated as though we were late, or as if we were the losers who couldn’t get an earlier booking. Instead, we were welcomed with such warmth and grace, with the maitre d’ leading us into the dining room like VIPs, saying “Ahh, yes, we ‘ave a special table ‘ere just for you”. I’m sure he says this to all diners who come through the door lah, but for me, it was like, Dude, you had me at hello…

The amuse bouche, especially the cornet, was so darn good, it was like, Dude, seriously?!! You had me at hello again!

Each course a foreplay to the next, it just got better and better. A soothing, sensual build up to the main course, which was ‘blow-your-effing-brains-out’ out of this world! To make things even more enjoyable, there Ben was, making little mmmms and ohhhhs and ahhhhs as he almost licked his plate clean of the main course, plus the dreamy, half-stoned look on his face during the cheese course.


We were so full by the time the dessert came, but the Tarte Tatin was so freaking awesome that we just couldn’t help but stuff our faces till we got cross-eyed. I told Ben that if I drool in my sleep from now on, it’ll be because I was dreaming of that remaining portion of the tart that I couldn’t finish.


And yes, Jean-Claude the maitre d’ presented me with this little ball of mango sorbet with a candle in it, and very softly sang (like it was our little secret), ‘appy birthday to you… ‘appy birthday to ze lady who’s birthday eez next week… ‘appy birthday to you…

I truly have never had a dining experience this perfect. From now on, every fine dining establishment I visit will be compared to this one. I admit I’m not some globe-trotting foodie or gourmand, but I dare say it will take many more years and many more meals to beat, or even come close to this. Sweet, savoury, sensual dreams, are made of this.


It was with this feeling that I’d never eat the same again, that The Fat Duck and Waterside Inn had to welcome me and try to live up to that ultimate makan experience.

So here’s the no holds barred version of what I really thought of dinner at TFD as compared to how much Ben enjoyed it. I don’t know if I try to give excuses just cos I try to be nice. But by the next night when it was time to have dinner at Heston’s, I wasn’t feeling too good from lack of sleep (the sleepless flight over plus too much activity crammed into the first day and not enough rest throughout). Ben had a luxurious nap before dinner, whereas I, being as usually anal about planning and preparing, went through checklists and itineraries, did some packing/unpacking and spent some time chatting with the owner of the guest house while doing some ironing.


I won’t go into the details of the meal itself, as Ben has already done that. Some new tastes/sensations here and there of course, and overall, the food was really good. Perhaps I could say out of this world only because of how you look at it – snails on bright green porridge, ice cream that tastes like bacon n eggs… weird, but good.


However, I’d just like to pick at the “Sound of the Sea” and why I didn’t enjoy it at all. Heston Blumenthal’s cuisine is about involving all the senses – sight, smell, taste, sound, touch… and emotion, or memory. I suppose most people would really feel like they could almost be by the sea when ‘experiencing’ this course, recalling fond memories of happy days at the beach.


I love the sea, the beach, reef flats and the likes. But maybe I’ve seen, smelled, tasted, touched, heard and felt too much. Perhaps the “Sound of the Sea” jogged something in my brain, flashing an image/memory bank of worms, slugs, back-breaking pre-dawn Wildfilms trips, trudging through knee-deep mud, getting sand in all sorts of ‘cavities’ including all over my camera… And believe it or not, I love it! But the “Sound of the Sea” just didn’t work for me. Dunno why. I guess it proves that everything tastes different to everybody.

Now the gloves come off. I was terribly disappointed with the service. When we entered, we heard one staff tell the other who was showing us into the dining room, “just any table”. It felt as though we were tucked away into the corner of the dining room. It was actually a nice n cosy spot, and because it was by the window, we had a lot of natural lighting that proved useful for taking photos (non-flash photography is allowed at most of these restaurants).

In fact, when were in Bray the next afternoon, we noticed that another Asian couple were sitting at the same table. Maybe they just push all the Chinese dudes to this corner cos they know we'd be flipping out our cameras and snapping away at everything. And I mean, everything.


Anyway, only when I had almost reached the table, someone else came up to ask if I wanted my coat taken. He then took it from me as though my coat was a piece of snot-filled tissue to match his snotty attitude. You had me at hel-… No, you didn’t.


I suppose with all the smoke and mirrors that comes with this sort of menu, the service staff may start to sound quite robotic, repeating the same ‘script’ and jokes over and over and over again, at every table, every afternoon and every night.

To make things worse, two tables away, there sat the most annoying boy in all of England. At that age of adolescence when he sounded like a diseased duck being strangled each time he spoke, plus with a puffed-up know-it-all attitude, he annoyed Ben to bits! He kept giving the plot away!

Like when they were served the orange & beetroot jelly, even before his parents or sister could pick up their spoons, he bellowed out loud, "THE ORANGE ONE IS THE BEETROOT AND THE RED ONE IS THE ORANGE! I've read about this before."


Now, orange we glad we arrived early and are at least two courses safely ahead of Mister Smarty Pants.

There was only one wait staff whom I wish attended to our table more often. He was funny and seemed genuinely friendly. He probably would have made all the difference to how I felt about dinner.


Unfortunately, the young lady who served most of our courses was really fake. Although she didn’t have her head up her a** like the guy who took my coat, her smile was really plastic and she had this sort of haughty and critical glint in her eyes. She couldn't really hide that look of impatience each time we tried to take a picture of something.

By the end of the meal (about 4 hours later), I rushed Ben to leave. I was tired, and just wanted to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unwelcome. You had me at… No, you never got me. Or perhaps I just didn’t get it.

I feel kinda bad cos I know Ben was trying to linger and just sit there, soaking in the whole experience and the very fact that he had just dined at THE Fat Duck.


The next day, we had lunch at The Waterside Inn. By this afternoon, I was already suffering from the early effects of the flu, having a slight sore throat, runny nose and just that overall annoying droopy-eyes feeling. The restaurant here is sort of open air, looking out onto the terrace and the River Thames. It was a refreshing change to the usual dimly lit dining room that makes everything around you look sepia or jaundiced.


The service staff were more reserved (bordering on being aloof and detached actually), but at least not arrogant. Overall, the food was enjoyable but somewhat evanescent. Nothing really stood out except for the fact that ingredients were really fresh, but that was the same at the other restaurants too. Oooh, the desserts were yummy though!


I guess, like how the meal at Ramsay’s built itself up to such an apex, it would have been so much better if we reversed the order of where we dined first and last. ‘Cos now, everything post-Gordon Ramsay seems like one anti-climax after another. He'll always be 'the one that got away' (till I find another).

Rambu Tan and Botak Chin

In the 70s, Malaysia had its very own "guwazhai", a notorious gangster named Botak Chin. Some considered him the Robin Hood of Malaysia, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but most describe him as a cold-blooded killer who took the law into his own hands.

My old Sejarah Malaysia textbooks told his story using words like penjenayah ganas dan kejam (vicious and evil criminal) and kongsi gelap (secret society).

When he was 15, he joined the kongsi gelap Gang 360 (or 306?), and later formed a gang of his own. After years of the usual "guwazhai" robberies, inter-gang rivalries and killings, arms-dealing and other kegiatan haram (illegal activities), Botak Chin was caught in 1976, and sentenced to death by hanging in 1981.

He's like Malaysia's original gangstah, and quite a household name lah. Since my surname is Chin, my two brothers have been called Botak Chin whenever they sported a crew cut when they were boys. My older brother takes on the Botak Chin tag quite seriously now with his bald pate.

So it's not surprising that the other Chin of the three siblings has also decided to go botak.


I've always liked my hair ultra short. It's either that or really straight and super long (rocker style!) which is not achievable for someone as impatient as me. Although I made up my mind to get my hair cut really, really short, I felt Ben might not be able to handle the sudden change, so I opted for a short but not too short style first.

I went to a hair salon at the nearby mall one afternoon. While sitting at the waiting area, I noticed that the salon also offered other 'beauty' services like waxing, and made a note to set an appointment for a bikini wax later. (A "Brazilian" here is just called a "full bikini").

A "shampoo girl" led me into the salon and washed my hair with REALLY hot water. She then placed a tiny hand towel on my head as water dripped down all over my face and neck while I stood in a corner waiting for a rather angry Lebanese stylist to receive me.

She was really clumsy and unprofessional, and kept dropping stuff - the hairbrush, the comb, the hairdryer, the hairbrush again, the hairclip, the hairclip, the bloody hairclip...

After she cut my hair, she asked, "Blow dry, or just blow?" Here, "blow dry" costs you an extra 20-30 Dirhams, and "just blow" is free of charge. During the "just blow" she held the hairbrush in one hand, the hairdryer in the other. Sometimes she had to free one hand to use the hairclip, so she'd clasp the hairdryer between her legs at her crotch! Seriously! Seriously... Like this:


Here's how my hair looked after she performed a "just blow":

Imagine how BIG my hair could be if I actually asked for a "blow dry"!

I'm definitely not going back to this salon for a haircut again, and of course, a bikini wax here would be absolute coochie suicide!

I had to bear with my 0biang-retro hairdo for four days till I went to a better hair salon to get it sheared. The stylist here is a Middle Eastern guy, probably Lebanese, and he asked about Ben, "That guy is your husband?" He knows you're getting your hair cut THIS SHORT?" I guess he was quite taken aback cos the Arab ladies here really love their tresses and big flying saucer fringes, and of course the men really love their ladies with flowing tresses (not so much the flying saucers).


Khalas! Although Ben now calls me "rambutan", I'm really happy and pleased with my new haircut. It's spunky-gangsta-chic!