Ann ill

SUNDAY 5Jan20
Ann had been felling low yesterday, and had a poor night coughing and hoarse. On Sunday morning, she felt terrible, hot, achey and nauseous, and we knew she must be ill when she agreed so readily to see a doctor. The local one was closed on Sunday, but we got a taxi to the nearby Katong clinic, registered Ann, and joined the queue. We had to wait about an hour to see Dr Jack Lee, who'd training in London at King's then married a fellow student, Sarah Packer, from UK. Both wanted to be GPs, so the easiest thing (and the warmest) was to return to Singapore and set up a joint practice. Between them, they are open for 7 days a week, from 08:30 each morning until 9:30pm, except for weekends when they only work till 12:30.

Ann's flu medicines

After an examination, Dr Lee pushed a fine probe down each nostril, then dropped the contents into a small immunosensitive slide to test for flu. This was negative, so he prescribed a series of decongestants etc, and Ann and Edwin left for a drink in the cafe next door while I waited for the medicines to be dispensed. A short while later, Dr Lee came out and drew me into the surgery to show me the result of the diagnostic screen - one of the lines had turned blue just as Ann left the room, suggesting she has Influenza strain B, possibly caught on the flight over. He immediately added Tamiflu to the regimen to fight the virus, and said Edwin must have a course as well, as he'd not been given the flu jab. I had, so was spared treatment.

Ann returned to the hotel, thankful to get back into bed, achey, coughing, and dosed high with the combination of six prescribed potent medicines. We both wish her a fast recovery and hope she looses not too much of the holiday.

Raffles

SATURDAY 4Jan20

We felt compelled to visit to Raffles, that bastion of colonialism and testament to the spirit of our materialistic age, newly refurbished and reopened. It stands as spotless and brilliantly white as any mosque or temple, with its grand balconies, marble floors, and extravagant chandeliers. We had pre-ordered their tea, but like so many places, the quality of food and service fell short of the expectation generated by their high prestige. We have enjoyed many high teas at various spots in London, and so often it is the smaller, less pretentious places that provide the best quality.

Afterwards, we enjoyed the authentic Singapore Slings, a cocktail disguised as a fruit drink originally developed to allow women to drink while pretending to be virtuously teetotal - true hypocricy never ages. We approached the Long Bar which was crowded and filthy from the habit of throwing peanut shells on the floor, but chose to sit in the warm sunlight downstairs, where we could be served at the table and sit on clean floors. I must admit the drink is delicious, and could become my favourite cocktail. Ann was feeling off colour, hot with a sore throat, and had been unable to manage much of the tea, but she did enjoy being a colonial lady enjoying a surreptitious drink.

Ann and the Singapore Sling

Raffles has a famous link to a friend and neighbour from Clare days: Pauline's father was manager up until the Japanese invasion, when his services were no longer needed, and he languished and died under Japan's rule.  Also, Ann's father was a Chindit, serving behind Japanese lines after the fall of Singapore in 1942, and may have passed through the island, although his exact history is now vague.

Leaving Raffles, we headed to Merlion park to view the famous emblem of the city,  a majestic beast that like the whole of Singapore is spotless in its cleanliness and working to perfection, with a huge fountain jetting across the bay.

Ann and Edwin at Merlion

John's Sling

Orchids galore

The Orchid Gardens

Princess Diana Orchid

They have been days of development, with each event merging into another like rain running down a window. On Thursday, Edwin bought Golden tickets for the cinema next to the hotel to see Star Wars, The Rise of Sykwalker. It had reclining electric armchairs, blankets, and a button to summon the butler for service. There were barely twenty seats, but for the late show it was almost empty, or perhaps it reflected the eagerness of Singaporeans for Star Wars movies and all the affectionardos watched it on the day of release.

On Friday, we visited the botanic gardens and the  orchid gardens - the world's largest. I have been to orchid gardens before, but always in indoor hothouses in the UK. Here, we are almost on the equator, and all were outdoors with daytime temperatures of low thirties, falling to high twenties at night. They were banked up in a profusion of colour, following the contours of the hills in the garden, part of which was still pristine rain forest not yet smothered by the skyscrapers of the city. At the very top of the hill was the VIP garden where specially developed hybrids are named after visiting dignitaries. In dazzling, gaudy wedding white was Princess Diana. That dedicated to Queen Elizabeth on the occasion of her royal visit was small and dowdy. Others were to celebrate visits by Margaret Thatcher, and many other heads of state especially from the commonwealth, but we couldn't see any to an American president. Possibly Singapore is counted as beneath the dignity of so mighty a power to pay a state visit, but they do the island state a grave misjustice. It contains within its frame a secure and prosperous peace that many states might emulate.

The Queen Elizabeth Orchid

Singaporean New Year

Drone sky sculpture 

Landing in Singapore on New Year's Eve, we went to the waterfront to catch the celebrations. An unbroken crackle of explosions and smoke-drenched sky filled the hour up to midnight, as most of the display occurred before the big moment.  One remarkable innovation was "drone-art" - a coordinated flight of 500 drones fitted with extrordinarily bright multi-coloured lasers, that could build multiple sky pictures with the touch of a computer button. This included running athletes, flying swans, and all manner of imaginative figures and geometries. Finally, as the critical time approached, the drones took on the form of a giant sky-clock, counting down the minutes and seconds to local midnight with we in the large crowd adding audible accompaniment with skillful subtractive arithmetic. The fireworks reached a brief crescendo that would not have been out-of-place in Mosul. Finally the new decade had arrived, and with a delay of just an hour or two, we were able to reach the hotel and crash out to recover.

Happy New Year 2020 Singapore

Paulo's Spanish Evening

Edwin and Sarah perform the Nutcracker

Paulo Lopes was Edwin's piano teacher, before work pressure forced Edwin to drop the lessons. He is Portugese, and always holds a lively end-of-year party to which we're all invited. The theme was a Viva España evening, with casternets and hats provided, and song-sheets for some Spanish songs to lend flavour, aided by Paulo's Punch, a leathal cocktail sold as Sangria, but spiced with bottles of spirit that proved so devastating for Ann last year (see Paulo's ABBA party).

Paulo's partner has an ancient Juke Box that always belts out non-stop loud '50s classics, Roy Orbison being a favourite. Then, with Tchaikovsky being belted out on the pianos and ballet moves by Edwin and Sarah, the party seemed to draw to an early close. We had to leave early to finish packing for our flight in the morning, but everyone else seemed to wind down too.

...while Roy Orbison performs on the Juke Box

Next day, our friends Rae and Malcolm came to look after the dogs, and our taxi came to take us to Heathrow. An unfortunate accident meant a two hour wait on the M11, behind a recent accident from which we could not escape, with all traffic backed up to the previous junction. We had hoped for a couple of hours relaxation with a little late shopping, drinks and snacks, but it was not to be. We were among the last to check in for the flight, and were forced to move at speed through the airport to join the long queues to board, stressed and annoyed that the holiday had been frustrated at the start. But at least we did get there, and did catch the plane, so it could have have been much worse.

A year older, and the brain slows down

Clare footbridge collapsed

Today was my birthday. Last year, I celebrated at Addenbrookes Hospital Radiotherapy department. To celebrate this year, I managed to get an appointment with the local doc to get some treatment for my UTI (urine tract infection). I have had ++++ of blood for some time, and PUing (passing urine) is a nightmare of indecision: will it, won't it? I stand waiting for a long age to see what will trickle out, and it is invariably painful and drips like a thawing iceberg. Dr O'Donnell was quick and effective, agreeing that the thick cream-coloured yuk I had provided was suggestive of infection, and gave me a prescription for the necessary antibiotics.

I managed to combine my medical visit with walking the dogs in Clare park. The old iron footbridge was closed off, with a gaping hole where one of the panels had smashed when someone was walking over it. Unfortunately, the poor man ended up with a broken leg.

In the evening, MA, Sam and one of the girls came round (the other had a heavy cold and chose to stay home), bringing an Indian takeaway to celebrate the day. Then Edwin came through bearing the cake with a few token candles, and we drew some presents from the lucky dip Ann always creates, which should have been for Christmas day, but got forgotten. We ended by playing the game drawn by our grandaughter, Picture This. Ann and I played with a slight disadvantage - we would stare at the pictures, slowly an indentification would form in our minds, but the long time gap between mentally indentifying the object and physically speaking the word was so long, inevitably the younger players could shout out the answer within a fraction of a second while we were still trying to focus on the card. If psychologists ever want to study the effect of aging in slowing the brain, they need look no further than to get their subjects to play Picture This.

In the evening, I was shivery, perhaps because of the infection, so Ann heated a wonderful neck warmer that my thoughtful niece Sue had given at the time of my radiotherapy, along with a warm blanket. Ben, for his part, had given a covered waterbottle, so I can tuck up in my chair, beneath a blanket, with neck and body warmed in various ways by caring people. Thank you all, it is good to have such support, and my heart goes out to those who must suffer illness alone. Last year, we lost our holiday to the Holy Land because of my cancer. Our forthcoming trip to Singapore will be our first big holiday for nearly two years, and we are all counting the days and now hours till we can get away. I am determined not to cost us another holiday, and I've told Ann she is to get me on that plane if she has to commandere one of the airport wheelchairs and push me onto it.

Christmas

The guinea pig died today, soon after midnight. Ann and Edwin had taken turns nursing him in a towel, and he died in Edwin's arms. I was already asleep, so they took him out to the side garden and buried him in the light of a torch, wondering at each moment if some suspicious nosey neighbour would call the police, but no one noticed their activities.

MA and the family called round in the afternoon for Christmas tea. Sam told us about a recent job he was on where the woman had made him a cup of tea. He had his hammer strapped to his belt, and swinging the cup up he caught it on the hammer and knocked the handle off. After that, the woman only ever gave him the same handle-less cup.

My darling

What can I give you husband
at this special time of year?
what can I give you
to make it crystal clear
that you are my life
and have made my living sweet
whatever can I give you
to make your world complete?

Annie Elliott 

Ann's poem for Christmas is a rare present indeed - how many people can boast of such a gift? It saddens me how little I seem to do in return. I am unworthy to lick this woman's boots. Thank you my darling for all you have done and all you continue to do for me and the family, everyone of us. You are a beacon of love in this dark, dark world, and we delight in the joy you bring. Your gift to me is your presence in my life; all else is but the false glitter of trappings. May you know peace and joy in the year ahead, for you work so hard and deserve so much, and sometimes get so little in return, yet you keep on giving. Thank you.