Grumping abroad

It’s a grump day – as ate three pieces of unwanted toast this became apparent. Whilst crying at HBO film it was obvious. It’s me – grump me – and I just love to be grump me when I need to be.

Singapora, all in one shot!

So a day in grump land. Begins with odd food – bread, butter and black pepper, three walnuts and four cheery tomatoes, five cups of green jasmine tea – this stuff is damn fine, 3quid a box which in UK
terms is about 15 quid given the relative price of food out here. But just look at it – tightly coiled nuts of tea leaf – darkest green through to mint white all coiled up. Then add the water (fish eye boiling – I think – this describes size of bubbles as it boils) and watch them unfurl, releasing the aroma.

Green tea dissolves fat too – this is the only possible explanation for lack of obesity in the population that consumes so much oil and fried food and meat. Finally found some brown rice today to my gut’s relief.

Any way – grump moves to bedroom for quick OCD session, organise, organise, organise. Organise the accumulated paper, receipts, guides, maps, not sure where they’re supposed to be yet cosmetics and stationary. On this occasion organising involves moving everything around a bit – into a new handbag (Jesus my life is so complicated).

Today’s goal – take back shoe that fell apart (shoes that cost six quid for the pair!!) and resulted in bare foot angry saunter round mall. I struggle making decisions ordinarily – it would seem adding in added inconvenience of having no shoe makes it no more easy, still took ages to decide on pair to buy.

OK time to faff about physical appearance now – hair, make up, outfit – all done to the tune of hey but none of this matters to me…ok so this means I’m operating on other driver at the minute…this is about hurt…I need to do some self hating for some reason…
Self-conscience unhealthy behaviour is so much fun.

Make a vague attempt at yoga - glad to see can sit and feel this stuff. But decide TV is better option. A grump day doesn’t involve much yoga – it involves TV and in this case sweet bread 9see later).

Looking mighty fine head out – marching down the road (jungle all sides, no pathway only deep storm drains) in Versace glasses and pencil skirt. Get defiant face on as cars approach – incredulous drivers gawp.

So onto the bus and to Chinatown we head. Vague plan to check yoga options and make plan for later.

Grump mood is now affecting writing and can only conclude that nothing of any interest happened for a fair amount of time. It still hasn’t stopped fucking raining since Sunday either.

My clothes are mouldy – nothing in this country ever dries. Three hours and my hair is still damp. It’s not exactly long hair either. God moaning is debilitating.

On the positive side – discovered that ham and cheese bun from Bread Talk (where you pick your baked snack with tongs and load on to cute tray) was a total waste of masticulation time. This was easily discernable from the ambiance description, appearance and concept of the thing! But like a true empiricist I needed to experiment (if you know that these guys had nothing to do with proving it side of philosophy please tell me – can’t remember back to heady days of a levels too well. I know it was a British type approach, something to do with thinking).

Grump day continued – lingering in hairdresser, store, supermarket, cinema and restaurant. Which reminds me whether having a grump day or not, at all costs avoid Broken Flowers (film) – that was a hyperbolic film crit esq comment – I’d rather you went and saw it if you fancy).

If you do go and see it please come back and tell me what you think – and don’t read this next bit yet.

OK so here’s some bitchin….

Rip off Napoleon Dynamite soundtrack and cinematography approach. Steel Lost in translation lighting, silences and lead actor (make him do his non descript BM thing). Don’t bother with a decent, interesting not done before script or story - just assume arty, empty shots of tyres, BM on sofa and highways will suffice.

It’s like they’re trying to suggest there’s a load in this in this you just can’t see it. Now in Lost in Translation there was loads in it. I was fucking in it – it evoked something. That’s the whole bloody point – it linked up to a bit of me and subtly generated a reaction. That’s what art is you dumb fuckers.

The end of a grump day…

Postscript… I recovered; I’m writing this up two days later, which has been a rather sobering experience. Well life…

Poster illustrating values and skills encouraged in local education system.