The Temperature.

The temperature in the past week has been so cold, I opened the fridge on Monday morning to find that the milk and juice were frozen (I turned the bottles upside down to check) and after some violent manipulation of the plastic bottles, I just about managed to squeeze out some milk slushie onto my cereal, which after a minute of microwaving remained, sitting proudly atop the cereal, taunting me to sink my fragile teeth into them.

And even after turning down the cooling settings from 4 (out of 6) to 2 that very same morning (amidst frenzied muttering under my frosty breath), the juice was still in its slush-like state yesterday. It is, I estimate, 20% slush now, according to the powers of my estimation, which would probably fit in with the forecasted slight increase in temperature over the weekend.

It is now 3 degrees centigrade over here, and yes, temperatures regularly dipped below zero degrees the past week.

Bloody awful weather, this.

Conceptual Art.

Had some spare time today in London, so decided on an impulse to go visit Tate Modern - and since I'd already visited the free sections decided to fork out for the two paid ones.

I must say I was suitably impressed by both of them, particularly the one by Cildo Meireles; in fact, I'd say my impression of conceptual art, and modern art in general, has really changed. In the sense that not all conceptual art is rubbish, recycled or otherwise.

Seriously, there were quite a few pieces of his, which as he describes, were 'instantly seductive' - in other words, they required no pompous self-gratifying smugness in your knowledge of art, but offered total immersion in the pieces, utilising not just the five senses, but also the physiological advantages that fear brings out in us.

Oh and the final installation in the exhibition was, in my opinion, the best - you had to enter a dark room on bare feet (boots available for the squeamish), which was totally dark save for a faint glow from an adjoining room, and treading slowly on some powder-like substance of unknown origin, you were forced to wander towards the source of light - revealed to be a solitary candle burning near at the end of the room.

Now it was only when I came back and researched more about it (it's called 'Volatile') that I found out the powder-like substance wasn't talcuum (or SAF foot) powder, but ash, and there was a smell of gas pumped constantly in the room, which due to my blocked nose I had completely missed.

But at that moment, after trudging pecariously from the dark room, and upon seeing the burning candle, I swear I had a spiritual experience - I realised at once why wasps gravitate towards light, why the British stress so much over the 'handling' of their cars when better 'feel'+crap roads=more discomfort. and why religion seems so enticing when you're lost, fearful and have no straws to clutch for comfort.

Making sense of it all.

I can't, really. And I know that's grammatically incorrect, but to hecklers' hell grammar school with that when chocolate, coffee and coca-cola can't solve the world's biggest problems today, and the substitute for love's labour proves ultimately as worthless as that lonesome STOP sign at the deserted junction ahead?

When, for whom and for what reason shall we all stop? This madness, this mindless scurrying round circles with no end?

Maybe I should move to Switzerland, eh.

Hospital.

Ever wondered why the words 'hospital' and 'hospitality' seem so similar in spelling and structure?

Obviously it's quite impossible to be hospitable to every single patient who demands the best service for the lowest price possible (in my case, for free) but it's interesting to see it this way, don't you think? Being hosts to visitors who've come to visit in times of need.

Cup of tea, anyone?

Photos.

So I finally managed to figure out how to make the Bluetooth connection work between my phone and my laptop - I hadn't held it steadily in my hand, at screen level, before when I tried transferring files.

So here goes:

Changing my car stereo:

I just had to take a smug picture after my hours of sweat (and pain).¹

Looks much better now, doesn't it?

Random picture follows:

I tried making sushi one day. Yes I know it looks rather amateurish, with the two missing pieces of asparagus (I ran out of asparagus, believe it or not) and crudely sliced salmon pieces that look like they've been obtained unethically from some poor tortured fish left languishing on the trawler for days after capture. And does the rice not look dry, overcooked and struggling vainly not to fall apart under the immense weight of the above-mentioned salmon pieces and asparagus?
Yes for your information, it was smoked salmon from ASDA², and the rice was rather over-cooked.

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¹Please refer to my previous post for more sordid details.
²For those of you that don't reside in the UK, ASDA's a supermarket chain that's owned by Wal-mart of the US. Think Shop and Save.

TV On The Radio.

After twenty-six futile attempts at finding the perfect CD, I have finally stumbled on <Dear Science>, a staggering mix of perfect production, lyrics that engage your intellectual self, and of course musical influences that cover pretty much the entire spectrum. This is definitely a keeper, I tell you.

Oh and TV On The Radio's the band name, in case you're wondering lol.


PS Particularly love "Family Tree", am I the only one who finds it a superbly twisted, but no less effective ballad compared to "Love Me", by Colin Raye?

The Weather.

You just knew the recent bout of good weather couldn't last. For those of you in Singapore (who've been in UK before), the sky was, well, sky blue, clear and just perfect for irrational thoughts of picnics in the park - now it's back to the typical weather Manchester seems to be infamous for, grey overcast sky threatening rain at the next opportune moment, clouds crowding for attention, dribbling drizzle sneeringly pattering at you while you curse the dreadful SAD you know it's just around the corner.

On a hopefully lighter note, did anyone actually click on any of the links in the previous post? Did it provide you with a moment or two of incredulous laughter (or not)? I would really appreciate any comments at my attempts at spreading joy and laughter in this miserable world of ours, you know. Genuine comments though, I'd try harder if they were truly too lame.


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SAD=Seasonal Affective Disorder. Trust me, it's why people in the UK seem permanently depressed. OK suffer a propensity towards depression.

Music that moves you.

So I was at this Tchaikovsky concert last night. Well, the Manchester Concert Orchestra playing several of Tchaikovsky's pieces, conducted by Timothy Redmond and featuring Martin Cousin on piano, for that piano concerto.^1,2

Now that's just enough to put you off this post, isn't it, such a magnificently crafted opening aimed squarely at the target audience of elitist SOBs with delicate palates for wine, Caspian caviar for breakfast and the plain old porsche 911 for daily commute?³

So let me substitute a few words - last night, I wasn't at this Sepultura concert which featured guest performers Pantera, playing together with them that monster hit ROOTS BLOODY ROOTS! Awesome, simply head-banging awesome, I tell you.

Or this:

Last night, I also wasn't at this Girls Aloud concert performing their greatest hits (till now), with the sexy Shakira dancing along to Don't Cha⁴ at the finale!


So you get my point. Why the antipathy towards classical music? Why the notion that just because something is old, (well ancient, almost) it should be associated with a certain few age-groups? Or earning power?

Why the vehement reaction, you ask. Well a coursemate of mine, upon hearing that I was attending the afore-mentioned concert, immediately went, "Wah, is it one of those where rich people go and you have to dress up?" And remained sceptical despite repeated attempts at semi-skilled persuasion.

And so I'm puzzled, really puzzled. I mean, I'm not defending classical afficionados who are stuck-up individuals, but aren't there also connoisseurs of rock music who proclaim that 's eclectic and heady mix of diverse influences such as loud noises, random key thumping and sounds animals make in the zoo, is the next big thing since the noisettes released their stunning debut album 2 years ago?

What I'm trying to say is, if Augustana's Boston can move you emotionally, why not Swan Lake⁵? If Don't Cha can get you on your feet, why not a waltz?

Granted, the passage of time has ensured the eminence of numerous composers; the non-copyrighted material available to musicians around the world resulting in a staggering amount of performances to choose from, and you might not know where to start - but with few William Hung-like massacres, and the easy understanding that different performances of a song⁶ can sound just as good - what else should stop you from taking an interest in classical music?

I found it quite astonishing, really, that last night I seemed to be the only person in the concert hall below the grand old age of forty-five⁷, when the clubs near the concert hall were filled to the brim with inebriated teenagers contorting their bodies to mindless noise. Particularly when the music literally moved me to tears at times. Hey (again due to my excellent vantage point) I could even see the conductor himself shedding a few tears at the end of a particularly poignant piece (yes it was that good).

Sure it probably sounds as if I'm imposing my snobbish my views on you, but even I recognise that techno can sound good sometimes - why stick to your pompous views on classical music? Paraphrasing Deng Xiaoping, as long as it moves you, does the genre matter?


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^1. I'm addicted to Google. And please don't click on them unless you're a fanatical classical music follower. And for those of you who have clicked through, I know, they're not particularly famous.
^2. Piano concerto no. 1. Now that guy's supposedly quite famous.
^3. Incidentally, if you indeed are one of the above-mentioned, I sincerely apologise, that truly is an awful introduction.
^4. Just imagine that. Woohoo.
^5. I know, the guy isn't as attractive, but still.
^6. Like Feeling Good - either by Nina Simone or Muse.
^7. Due to my excellent vantage point (cheapest seat, I was sat behind the orchestra (and above, obviously), I was able to scan the entire hall before and after the concert. And have a direct view of the cellists. Interesting, actually, how the price structure works.

On Zhng-ing My Car.

So in case I've given you the impression of me spending my days in preston weeping in despair at my new-found loneliness, and neglecting my studies and growth of facial hair, here's a clarification - I don't weep. And I do shave my facial hair regularly (mainly 'cause of hospital regulations, looking professional etc etc).

OK seriously so I've found ways to occupy my weekends and spare time here in Preston. Yes you've guessed it, I'm zhng-ing my car. Or in american parlance, I'm 'pimping my ride'. Oh yeah.

OK lah so I just changed the factory-fitted CD player-cum-radio to a Sony one. Why? Well aside from obvious differences in sound quality¹ the Sony one also has a front auxiliary input, as well as usb input. Which means that I can blast music from my new mp3 player³ directly, and if I so desired I could buy another memory stick to leave in the car as a back-up in times of emergency⁴. Oh and it has like impressive equaliser settings that when activated, make techno music sound that much more mind-numbingly good⁵.

But yah I'm proud to say that I changed it myself. Bought the stereo, bought the extra wires needed (you'd be surprised at how much more wires that useless 'remote' control on the steering wheel requires) and then finally specialised metal prongs, when I realised brute force alone would not be enough to yank the factory-fitted stereo out of its position.

So please bear with me as I describe the few hours I took to replace the stereo.
Hour 1: Yank. With metal thingies supplied by Sony (they looked vaguely stick-able in various nooks and crannies). And then with keys. And then just random metal rods lying around.
Gave up.
Hour 2: Went to search online for instructions on how to replace stereo. Presto - I needed specialised metal prongs. U-shaped pieces of metal that cost £4.97 a pair in halfords, but realised I couldn't do without. Went to buy prongs.
Hour 3: Reached Halfords. Saw numerous sets of speakers that looked daaaammn cool. And sounded powerful. So went to salesgirl and enquired about them. (Conversation below)

Me: Hi, I'd like to buy the speakers over there (points) but I don't really know how to fix them into the car, can you help me on that?
Salesgirl: Oh I don't know anything about that, I'm just standing guard here at the counter (gives a sheepish smile), but I'll ask my collegue for you.
Me: It's OK (thinking fair enough)
*calls salesguy over*
Me: (Repeats request to salesguy)
Salesguy: Oh, you gotta see, different cars haf different sized speakers, innit? You gotta get the right size for your car.
Me: Oh I heard Halfords provided a fitting service? (Read about it online) How much does it cost if I want it fitted in for me?
Salesguy: I dunno, prob 10 quid? I don't do that, my collegue does that.
Me: (Assuming at this point he'd call his collegue over) So which one would you recommend, eh?
Salesguy: Well, depends on what car you have, eh? You know what size of the speakers in your car?
Me: Eh no, I don't know how to measure it? Ford focus, do you know?
Salesguy: Eh no, you measure it using a tape measure, yeah?
Me: Eh ok. (Pretends to give it some thought.) I'll probably come back another day then yeah. Thanks.

So I just bought the prongs, and left. I mean, he probably thinks I'm an idiot (just measure the speaker size, innit?) and I know he's probably one (I wanna pay you to fit it in for me 'cause I'm lazy, geddit?!) so not much point in continuing the conversation about measuring speaker sizes with tape, is there?
Hour 4: (Outside Halfords) Yank. And yank. And yank. Give up. Drive home. Yank again. Try teasing it out, slowly, painfully, like, well I shall spare you the naughty thought. Tsk tsk, yeah I know.
Hour 4 3/4: Finally! Now for connecting the myraid number of wires. Connect, connect, connect. Done! Fix it in! Now there's only left a gaping hole I've got to cover! Go up to room, job done, buy 'fascia' online to cover up hole⁶.

Now not that I'm trying to brag, but the actual process of disconnecting and connecting the stereos was so much easier than the colossal effort required to yank out the stereo. And seriously, I think this was due in no small part to the ingenious engineers who designed them - each bundle of wires ended up in a sort of adapter, that had either protruding or depressive terminals⁷, and they just sort of fit together without much fuss. And the adapters had varying sizes, so they just sort of fit in different slots, somewhat like solving a simple puzzle, by trial and error⁸.

So there you go, my first step towards zhng-ing my car. Next thing I'll be looking at, obviously, is a company that provides speaker-fitting staff of adequate intelligence⁹.

And who knows? Maybe after that, I might just go on to those neon flashing lights you fit underneath and inside the car, and then eye that extra-ear-deafening exhaust pipe that looks humongously over-sized for the car? And rims for the tyres that radiate blue lights as the wheels spin? Ooh and those racing stripes that make the car look so much more menancing? Or better still, those obscure names¹⁰ that suggest extra-powderful zhng-ing skills lovingly applied on the car?

Ooh, watch this space man. Watch this space.




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^1. As vouched for by Ganesh, my flatmate-cum-clinical partner.^2
2. OK That does sound wrong in so many levels, doesn't it.
^3. Zen X-Fi, it's supposed to 'restore mp3 audio to crystal clarity', according to the manufacturer's website. Which I trust, since Creative's a Singaporean brand and Singaporeans don't know how to can't exaggerate, can we.
^4. Like, when I'm late for class and need to get into the get-there-quick-heck-care-about-road-manners mood fast. I mean, the Zen obviously doesn't work for me in this instance, does it?
^5. I'm joking. No not about the mind-numbing part. As I've mentioned countless times before, monkeys on cannabis can hammer keys with better accuracy than those techrologists in neon printed tees and gel-laden hair half the size of their body weight.
^6. The Sony's only half as big as the factory-fitted stereo. Talk about advances in technology.
^7. Yes they're called male and female parts. I know.
^8. Although I did make sure I'd switch off the engine in between tries, of course.
^9. Hey, the wiring involved in fitting speakers is something I wouldn't touch myself - looks much more complicated!
^10. I think I'll put Picaroon Zhng-ing Co, for the fun of it.

Weekends.

It's the weekends that hurt, really. When the hustle of the week has settled, the stresses decoupled and the buzz of work emptied, to be replaced by this void, this barren waste of energy left unspent, time left unfilled, and emotions left hanging, like corpses for the manically¹ inclined to devour, with fervour and zest.


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¹Mania, in medicine.

Distant Memories.

Distant memories, freshly imprinted on an unsuspecting mind,
Singing the joy of times gone by.

Was walking through one of the shopping centres in Preston on Wednesday when the loneliness and despair just suddenly struck me. I know what I need to do - to fill my days with incessant tasks of great importance, to pick up that forlorn guitar at the corner of the room, to pick up appropriate skills in dealing with substances of abuse, but not to misuse - but right now I just can't see beyond the empty half of the double bed I shouldn't have bought, and the half-empty boxes of tissues I know I'd never use.

Sexy Shingles.

I was just browsing a friend's blog (seriously!) when I swear I noticed the words Sexy Shingles in one of those adverts you find lining pages all over the web. Obviously, and somewhat disappointingly, on closer inspection it turned out to be the usual attention-grabbing geographically-correct rubbish littered on the used grounds of the net.

Yes I know, I need more sleep. Losing too much over this depressing SSC I'm doing right now. And no it's not about the herpes zoster virus, I honestly did not know where that came from.


Oh speaking of rubbish you know the link I put up not too long ago? I really appreciate those of you that clicked through to ipoints, but somehow they haven't recorded you as signed-up to the website, and so I have yet to receive even a single cent from that fraudulent website. I'm still keeping it up for a while more, though, in the vain hope that somehow money will magically appear and I'll be able to treat you to something nice when I'm back in Singapore. Which I will be this Sunday, the 6th of July.

Music.

The more you listen, the more you realise how it defines you as a person; as you age (graciously or otherwise) your taste changes, yet stays the same - shaped by relationships, experiences bitter and sweet; surface ruffled, core calm beyond comprehension as a meandering life takes its toll on your keepity-ups but not your ideals, nor your innate curious child peeking curiously from his round innocent eyes.

I think that is why after enduring an hour and a half of my current eclectic selection of music (Mark that was the exact same cd I burnt for you), my father plugged in the first classical cd he saw (with some relief, I felt?)

Or perhaps he just wasn't used to the words f***ing¹, arse², lying between legs³, none of these being in the good old songs he was familiar with. Or was it an overdose of the usual proclamations of love and teenage-angsty-cries for recognition⁴?

Obviously I only speak from personal experience; myself and random observations of my father aside, my first attempts at stereotyping people according to their music collection (total and ipod/mp3 player/cds in car) seem to have validated some suspicions⁵. And as I've mentioned above, experiences change - I might just throw everything out of the window and believe that humans are fundamentally good and that random thumping of the keyboard (or desecrating good vinyl) is the only euphoric way to go (in style), for there is still time - or I might, just might, write a few years later about how valiantly I tried, and failed, to appreciate the beneficial effects of alcohol, exercise (on the dance floor) and mindless rhythms⁶.

No I did not just come back from a club.



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1."When you first left me, I was wanting more, but you was f***ing the girl next door, what you do that for" - Lily Allen, Smile
2. "Or you can sit on chimneys, and put some fire up your arse - no need to know what you're doing or waiting for, but if anyone should ask" - Damien Rice, Coconut Skins.
3. From the same song as above - "And you can lie between her legs, and go looking for, tell her you're searching for her soul"
4. That's not my name - Ting Tings
5. Eg. A Freemasons-dominated playlist does not augur well for potential friendship and intellectual conversations about life beyond the dancefloor (or sex. Or the difference in alcohol content between a strawberry-flavoured vodka and a Long Island Iced Tea.)
6.Yes remember that grade 3 theory exam you took twenty years ago? The one where you had to draw random notes to show you knew what a semi-quaver on the 3rd line of the treble clef meant? And had to draw a few more to show how many there were supposed to be in a bar? Maybe move them up and down a little to show you had the slightest inkling 4 Bs didn't sound that nice?

Wow (2).

Wow.

Fragrances.

I was filling in one of those surveys¹ a few days back about the fragrances you choose to wear, and was quite intrigued at the subconscious decisions we make when buying one. No not the tickling of your sensory follicles (I'm not a 'nose'), nor the associative smell theory (I'm no proponent of psychoanalysis - yet - that'd probably come next year, if it does) here, but rather the more mundane marketing tricks those nasty big corporations employ to trick us into fooling our noses.

Yes I mean the obscenely provocative² names they use, the stunningly gorgeous uniforms they make their staff wear and of course the ergonomically-shaped bottles³ you just can't handle.

And as not all men (and women) are susceptible to ladies with long legs (hey I wonder why men⁴ haven't got into the act) even the brands themselves are tools to be manipulated - 'big' names (if you aspire to be the boss) for those who follow the crowd, and 'boutique' ones for those who think they don't⁶.

More notes to take to your next fragrance-shopping, eh?





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¹Where you get points, in this case nectar points, which can be used in a supermarket chain (kinda like the ntuc link card) called Sainsburys here.
²Ha ha. Yes cheap pun I know.
³Then again, I'm glad there aren't any regulations on bottle shapes and sizes - we'd probably be subjected to perfumes with varied shocking shades of pink otherwise, wouldn't we. Which would obviously detract from the delightful perfume consultants with their pretty dresses and husky/sweet voices (depending on perfume image, evidently).
⁴And I mean muscled men with suave smiles on well-hung cheekbones⁵ and soft (yet firm) deep voices.
⁵To the anatomically-inclined reading this, I know it is a stretch to describe it in this way, so please pardon me.
⁶That's the best link I could find, unfortunately.

Scams.

I see they have progressed from scams about rich Nigerian people to scams about scams about rich Nigerian people eh.

Oh and btw, go check out how much a dollar (US somemore) is worth in Zimbabwean dollars now. (You gotta manually convert it to see it for yourself)

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Compensation for Scammed Victims‏
From:	UNITED NATION COMPESATION UNIT (unitednations.compesationunit@yahoo.com)
	You may not know this sender.
Sent:	Fri 5/09/08 8:32 PM
Reply-to:	compesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com
To:

UNITED NATIONS COMPENSATION UNIT,
IN AFFILIATION ZENITH BANK PLC.
Send a copy of your response to his
direct email: compesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com

Dear Friend,

How are you today? Hope all is well with you and family?,You may not understand why this mail came to you.

We have been having a meeting for the passed 3 months which ended 2 days ago with the former secretary to the UNITED NATIONS.

This email is to all the people that have been scammed in any part of the world, the UNITED NATIONS have agreed to compensate them with the sum of US$ 250,000,00 This includes every foriegn contractors that may have not received their contract sum, and people that have had an unfinished transaction or international businesses that failed due to Government problems etc.

We found your name in the submitted list and that is why we are contacting you, this have been agreed upon and have been signed. This we believe is to compensate your lost effort and trial which you must have suffered in the hand os those Impostors.

You are advised to contact Mr. Ori Asiko Director Compesation Unit of ZENITH BANK NIGERIA PLC, as he is our representative in Nigeria, contact him immediately for your compesation of USD$ 250,000,00 This funds are in either Bank Draft or ATM Card for security purpose ok? so he will send it to you and you can clear it in any bank of your choice.

Therefore, you should send him your full Name and telephone number/your correct mailing address where you want him to send the Draft to you.

Conatct Mr. Ori Asiko immediately for your Compesation.

Person to Contact Mr. Ori Asiko
Email: ccompesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com


Thanks and God bless you and your family.Hoping to hear from you as soon as you cash your Bank Draft.

Make sure this gesture is not disclosed to anyone for successful achievement.

Making the world a better place


Regards,

Ban KI-Moon
Secretary Genaral (UNITED NATIONS

M.

I have a feeling I'll miss the long drives back from Cambridge next year. The poignant music I like to play; the alternating darkness (some parts of the M6 are unlit) and bright lights of cities in the distance; the sense that parting is not mere sweet sorrow, for the sorrow is but transient, to be dissolved, dismissed, dissipated the next time we meet.

I know, the hairs on your back are standing up already, so I shall not torment you any further. Reason for this post - I'm currently listening to Morcheeba, Goldfrapp (latest ones) and Portishead (first one) and they somehow give me the funny feeling you probably get when you've had a few shots and feel totally in love with the person trying to stand next to you.

Yeah I'm drunk on music.

Smoking/Apathetic.

So here we go
In different directions one way the other
Masking the scent of sweet smoke yet defined
By our heart and mind

We laugh, we sing, we dance in air
We wait, till none you care

The lust lingers as we speak
Its armoury, its cache, its whole crew.

Where's your moral compass?
Where's it lead you to?



It's understandable, isn't it, how, when you're not in regular contact with broken lungs and hearts, it's so easy to be apathetic about your friends smoking their lives away - yes I'm oversimplifying here, but perhaps we should commend those who try, day after day, to help others stop smoking.

Earning Some Spare Cash.

As you might have noticed, I've added a link on the right, which leads you to ipoints, one of those websites where you earn points for shopping, gambling and doing other assorted evil deeds which contribute to global warming, bad karma and holes in pockets.

It's free to join, and I get 80p apparently for each person that joins using the link, so I'd appreciate if you can sacrifice a little of your karma for my monetary gain.

But seriously, I'm a not-so-proud member of the site and I've got 100 quid worth of amazon vouchers from my usual profligate spending and betting¹ (it's always the betting and gambling websites which offer the most points, money being the ultimate evil as we all know) and clicking through to websites offering instant riches (which you don't have to sign up to, a bonus in itself), so it's not so bad, really.

And seriously, I'm really very curious as to how much money I can actually get out of posting a link on my website, so I'll update you if and when I get any spare income from it. I promise you a treat (chocolate bar, unfortunately that's all I'd be able to afford from your clicking) when I get the good news, if I do.

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¹ No I'm not a problem gambler, for those of you who might be aghast to know that I indulge in a little bit of karma-flipping once in a while. And if you really must know, I haven't lost any money playing on those websites, though I must admit it takes a lot of discipline to stop while you're ahead². Please don't try if you're not one to gamble, though.
² It's like that succulent stick of satay you see walking past the hawker centre every day - do you succumb to the temptation and order 20, knowing that every bite increases your risk of getting colon cancer, or do you enjoy it once in a while with lots of cucumber (ask for more lah, it's free anyway) and hope for the best?

On Formal Wear.

So LM was asking me the other day, why do guys spend so much on shirts/jackets etc when they all look quite similar. My answer: it's the details that count, since black-tie literally means black dinner jacket + bow-tie. And so we got into this quasi-argument about whether men have it better - just buy a suit and heck-care it - or, conversely, have no way of expressing their individuality with bold strokes of the brush, paint or otherwise.

No I do not wish to veer into sensitive territory here, what with the size zero models (focus has shifted to malnourished young males now) and all, but the question remains - how do us young restless guys with no distinguishable achievements express our vitality and individuality at a black-tie function¹?



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¹ I attended a dinner recently as the official photographer of my dad (he was appointed president of some marine engineering society) and the attire was 'dinner jacket with decorations' - and I indeed saw many decorations. I was sat next to this ex-head of the Royal Submarine Service, ie medal around neck + smaller ones on jacket - CBE I think, and around the table were assorted CBEs and OBEs [for those in Singapore, knights in shining jackets] etc etc. Obviously I felt out of place, being the youngest by at least 30 years and suffering from an acute medallessophobia, but they were quite nice, really. Conversation was easy, with their witty anecdotes, and what not, and me just sitting there listening in awe. You know like the 听爷爷讲故事 syndrome, and with a very interesting 爷爷?