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TCHS 4O 2000 [4o's nonsense] alvinny [2] - csq - edchong jenming - joseph - law meepok - mingqi - pea pengkian - qwergopot - woof xinghao - zhengyu HCJC 01S60 [understated sixzero] andy - edwin - jack jiaqi - peter - rex serena SAF 21SA khenghui - jiaming - jinrui [2] ritchie - vicknesh - zhenhao Others Lwei [2] - shaowei - website links - Alien Loves Predator BloggerSG Cute Overload! Cyanide and Happiness Daily Bunny Hattrick Magic: The Gathering The Onion The Order of the Stick Perry Bible Fellowship PvP Online Soccernet Sluggy Freelance The Students' Sketchpad Talk Rock Talking Cock.com Tom the Dancing Bug Wikipedia Wulffmorgenthaler       |
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- tagcloud - academics [50] art [7] changelog [33] current events [20] cute stuff [12] gaming [7] music [8] outings [15] philosophy [10] poetry [4] programming [14] rants [2] reviews [2] sport [26] travel [14] work [3] miscellaneous [48] |
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- category tags - academics art changelog current events cute stuff gaming miscellaneous music outings philosophy poetry programming rants reviews sport travel work tags in total: 275 |
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 Mr. Ham: "Hmph. You are forgiven." More or less wasted a week, which can't go on much longer. Got acquainted with Civ 4 again, this time with slightly more appreciation for the World Wonders. Slacked about, then collected my graduation dress ASAP on Monday morning. Met a couple of old acquaintances, introduced kkok to Minimizer: Dang Dang Dang! after that. Came to appreciate the relative lack of pickpockets, and lack of cars coming at you on the pavement, in Singapore. Tuesday: Borrowed a couple of books from the library, then got down to Anchorpoint for leather shoes after the usual web research. The requisite parameters: Decently cheap, decently good - pointed to that or Far East Plaza, and given that Anchorpoint is right by Queensway, my (not-so) usual shoe haunt, I decided to give it a go. Picked up a pair of black Oxfords (a little too pointy actually, but with great NS-style polish potential) on discount from the Pedro factory outlet store there, and since it was much less than I budgeted for, I added a couple of neckties in the colours of my graduation hoods. G2000 originally had them at S$49 individually (now slashed to two for S$19), which only goes to show that it isn't what a good is worth, it's what the consumer can be persuaded to part with. Reading up on formal wear made me shudder a bit, though - Oxfords? Balmorals? Derbies/Blüchers? Brogues? Wingtips? Pointed or blunt? Heeled or flat? Toecapped? The same went for ties - Material? Colour? Patterns? Width? Matching shirt? I admit to never having much interest in necktie knots, mostly because I didn't even like neckties, but it was fascinating to discover that there are only 85 possible knots. The knot that my grandma teaches is the multipurpose half-Windsor (non self-releasing version), by the way; I feel it does look better than the simple (and asymmetric) four-in-hand, but in the end I would rather have the sort of unbounded self-confidence such that clothes don't even matter (though if it goes to that level, it's probably misplaced). Exchanged photos with the rest at Suntec on Thursday, where I rather wasted the buffet treat by csq. On the subject of food, I finally kept my promise to Mr. Ham by burying him in it (see top photo for proof). Mr. Ham showed no special urgency in emerging, and resisted being ejected since his cheeks hadn't yet exploded. He must have felt like Scrooge McDuck swimming in money... Otherwise, the week has been marked by a tale of two Michaels (other than Real Madrid's outlandish spending on Ronaldo, Kaka and Benzema - where do they get all that cash?). Firstly, Jackson, a black boy grown into a white woman, passed on. This is actually a compliment - few artistes have even been able to transcend boundaries as thoroughly as MJ, who despite his eccentricity (and derisive nicknames stemming from such) must be one of the premier entertainers of our time. And how does he do a moonwalk like that? RIP. The second Michael is Owen, yes, the ex-Liverpool, Real Madrid and Newcastle striker. Signed for United. Stranger things have come to pass, but being a free transfer, I feel it's a good punt. For the price of his wages, United get a willing third striker who won't throw too many fits at warming the bench, and still has the wherewithal to impact a game with goals. At least, that's what his marketing brochure says, but don't knock it - it worked on Sir Alex Ferguson.
- travel - Before I forget too much... 22 June  Naples. The day would be devoted to the Amalfi Coast, and after a train ride down to Sorrento, we took a bus along the coast (make that cliff) to Amalfi. It's about the equivalent of hiking in Cinque Terre, without going on foot. Can't knock the scenery [1], whatever else may be said. Dallied a bit in the coast's namesake town, where I mulled over buying seashells inscribed with astrological signs, but couldn't find the right one. Too bad, since the stores had nice doormats [2]. Passed by the local cathedral [3] (with striped theme), ate a pastry and pizza [4] for lunch, shared a cup of thick melted chocolate [5], and encountered a daring fountain [6]. Hugging the coastline by road didn't give a proper view of the coast, thus a boat ride was called for on the return trip. Passage was ten Euros, and the slow-moving ship [7] took an hour and fifty minutes to cover the distance. There were deckchairs on the top deck, but I took one of the white plastic chairs at the bow, all the better to adjust one's seat to face the coast. My sunglasses looked a better and better investment as the sun gradually came out, and some of the other passengers tried for a tan.  Sky, land, sea Glimpsed Capri and got used to the rolling motion of the ship eventually, but the ride was over all too soon. Stopped by a supermarket where I found comfy-looking pairs of translucent slip-on shoes, but they didn't come in my size. Too bad for both the store and me. Considered buying proper Bermudas too, but price was the factor this time round. Being our last night in the home of pizza, it was now or never to sample some from where pizza was born - we didn't count on there being not one, not two, but three shops bearing the same Sorbillo name and proudly displaying a magazine article to that effect [8] on the same street, however. On the other hand, there was only one with a queue outside their front door. There were dozens of choices, and I settled on the pizza with our newfound acquaintance's name - Gaetano [9]. The defining feature was gorgonzola cheese if I remember rightly. The wifi at the hostel was still out, and though their wired terminals still had a connection, there was no way to transfer any data onto them as the CPU was locked up. 23 June  Rome. Left La Controra, which was certainly one of the comfier hostels I've been in [1, see wooden bunk beds] [2, the room lights]. Self-service breakfast of cornflakes and juice at the bar area [3], and lunch after the train back to Termini was probably McDonalds. No need for further photos of hamburgers, right? Checked in back at Overseas B&B, where we had been nearly a month ago. Split into a 5-man [4] and 2-man room, with occ and alvin taking the latter while the rest of us went to Room 001, opposite our original room and where a group of Barca fans had stayed. There was no time to waste as we rushed to get our combo tickets for the Colosseum, Roman Forum and Palatine Hill, just as well since it was somehow early closing day (4 pm). Entered the Colosseum first, perused the exhibits (with abundant explanations in English) within, appreciated the warning signs on the steps, and stepped out to what must have been a magnificent sight [5] (if not for the condemned, or forced gladiators); think Madison Square Garden, with far higher stakes. The wooden arena floor has long since disappeared, allowing one to contemplate the foundations and underground passages at one's leisure. All in all, it was pretty well preserved for something nearly 2000 years old. If only the designers had made it large enough to contain a regulation football pitch (arena floor just over 87m at its longest, to a minimum of 90m needed) Nipped over to the Roman Forum, which was some standing structures [6] and a ton of ruins [7]. Swung by the Arch of Titus, and pondered once again at the enigmatic acronym SPQR (which turns out to refer to the Senate and People of Rome) *clears throat* One's first impression upon entry is the terrible symmetry - the temple is capped by a dome, not particularly large or high, but with its diameter exactly the same as the distance from the floor to its top; which, it must be stated, is open. The oculus [9] is dramatic in the sun and probably problematic in rain, which is resolved by the presence of discreet drainage holes. On all sides, the coffers run down, making the dome neither plain as unadorned ones, nor gaudy as painted ones, but strong both in function and form. Collected the yellow tickets for a general audience with his holiness the Pope tomorrow at the Church of Santa Susanna. We then took to the streets in search of dinner, but after not finding a suitable place (re: both cheap and good) for pasta, we reverted to 华侨饭店, where I had the same fried rice. Hey, it's fine for the price, if not completely filling. 24 June  Vatican City. Witnessed the aftermath of a pickpocketing attempt on the underground on the way to the tiny city-state. The would-be victim, a middle-aged lady, made quite a ruckus, while the accused denied before slipping out at the next stop. No wonder pickpocketing is rife, if the act is so low-risk and high-return. alvin, occ and I faced quite a queue to get into St. Peter's Square (more a circle), and we got a Swiss Guard into trouble by asking for a photo, which I believe they are not supposed to consent to. This particular guard, less rigid than his peers, nodded for a quick one. Those standing behind the barriers at the guard's back then passed us their cameras for their photos to be taken too, however, and there was now no hiding of his complicity. One of his suited superiors walked over to wag a finger and tut-tut him, making us guiltily realise that he might have gotten extra duties on our part.  Most militaries don't have this much dress sense (photo credit: occ) Still, that moment of human kindness was the apex of my visit to one of Christendom's (or Catholicism's, for the pedantic) holiest sites, followed by the sight of Pope Benedict XVI scooting by on his uncovered Popemobile. I certainly didn't expect him to do a second lap, but judging from the reactions of the crowd, it was a welcome encore. Got handed an anti-abortion pamphlet by an old lady showing line drawings of a foetus being torn apart in the process. On this particular topic, I do for once agree with the Church's stand - abortions of foetuses are extremely distasteful to me, despite the possible societal gains, and I feel that the "choice" in pro-choice should extend only to that of copulation and contraception (which the Catholic Church somehow still opposes), with adoption taking up the slack. The sacredness of human life should be self-evidently universal. Sat through the Pope's speech with the faithful (and at least a couple of the less-faithful), much of which I couldn't understand, being not in English. The heat and sunlight was problematic for the audience, not a few whom appeared drowsy (a common experience back in NS), and once again my sunglasses saved the day. Quite a large chunk of the time was taken up by acknowledgements of the various groups which had travelled all this way, which was often followed by clapping, cheers, hat-waving or even a song by the group mentioned. Quite an uplifting atmosphere, if not quite Champions League final standard. Spent some time finding each other after getting separated in the rush of bodies after the end of the audience, and walked some distance to find food at a decent price - even then, a palm-sized slice of pizza [2] cost two Euros. Next was the Vatican museum, where we headed to the Post Office for what must be some of the rarest everyday stamps on Earth. Came across the others (who had skipped the audience), who had completed the Vatican Museums. Well, it was now our turn. We were to see lots of statues before we were done, but the king of them all must be Michelangelo's Pietà [3]. The one in the photo is just a copy of the actual masterpiece in St. Peter's Basilica, though, as was Raphael's Transfiguration that I saw at the Prado in Madrid, and remembered when confronted with the original in the Pinacoteca Vaticana (there would be another mosiac copy in the Basilica). Note: Try Peter Watson's Crusade for a novel that weaves the Pietà seamlessly into a plot that involves an American Pope. It would make a good movie. I would likely not be able to tell the difference between them (nothing to be particularly ashamed of, since even art experts commissioned to evaluate paintings are sometimes taken in by fakes), but this led me to wonder - what is the essential nature of great art, given that the technical expertise to copy it is hardly rare? Raphael was feted as an equal to Nature, with Michelangelo not his lesser. In music the likes of Beethoven and Mozart still stand at the apex of regard after centuries, as does Shakespeare in literature. In all these long years, has there really been no one in their class? Frankly, I doubt it. Let me take football as an example. The teams of the past are often praised, especially the Brazil side of 1970, but also the Dutch Total Football team, the Magical Magyars and the the pre-World War II Italians, among others. Dare I suggest, however, that if transported in a time machine, none of those would be serious contenders for the coming World Cup? Ditto individual players - all respect to Pele, but if he were playing in a major European league today, at the same standard as he did in the Sixties, would he be a standout? I think not. If nothing else, the sustained breakneck pace that teams have to be prepared to cope with on defence, if not replicate in attack, contrasts with the slowness of the game historically, even taking into account heavier balls, etc. All the skill in the world isn't going to help if one is simply run ragged by opponents, and that's before suggesting that - gasp - players today may have technique equal to or better than the oldies. Once, players could drink before a match and expect to cut it at the top level. No longer. Of course, the legends of old may have adapted to modern training and dietary techniques, and there is no time machine to carry out my hypothesis. It may also be argued that they are legends precisely due to their achievements relative to their time. I can respect that. Objectively, though, in the sense of a better football team being the one that wins, I stick to my assertion that modern sides are, for all the complaints about cynicism and simulation, simply superior. This is even more apparent in sports without subjective elements. Take sprinting, which must be one of the purest expressions of sport, for instance. Imagine an old man who watched, say, Reggie Walker take the gold in the 1908 Olympics' century sprint by clocking 10.8 seconds. If the clock had not been invented, he might well have seen Usain Bolt blow the competition away a century on in 9.69, then nod sagely and remark that Walker would have given him a run for his money. In reality, however, Walker would have trailed the last-placed finisher by more than twice the distance that that guy trailed Bolt! Art cannot be measured as such, perhaps, but as I said to occ after he asked me for my impression on Raphael's The School of Athens, the Gallery of Maps [4] and the Sistine Chapel (we got hustled out for not realising photography was disallowed here in particular, but went right back in when it became apparent that no-one was following the rule anyway), I was both impressed and not impressed at all, the same as if I had gazed upon the first wheel made by prehistoric man. The art was good, but I have every confidence that it will be bettered, if it has not already been (see for instance a modern take on the all-star cast). I consider it a fault of the ancients that they considered Man's golden age to lie in the past, that Eden has been forever lost (yes, religion doesn't help). Is it not obvious that we will, we must, go faster, stronger and higher? I can only smile at those who accept an image of God cast in the image of all-too-human pettiness, who begrudges Man even his speck of glory in His supposed infinity. St. Peter's Basilica [5] was indeed vast, as it takes pains to demonstrate with star-shaped markers [6] along the nave to show where the next largest churches would be, if they were placed in the Basilica. It may, however, be only the second largest in the world, after the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace of Yamoussoukro in the Ivory Coast, which at least had the decency not to exceed St. Peter's in length, sidestepping the uncomfortable question of whether another marker need be placed outside St. Peter's to keep the collection complete. This is another example of the folly of worshiping the past too much - the far greater promises of the future cannot be properly realised. Once, cathedrals, pyramids and other religious buildings were giants of construction, but now they have been so overwhelmingly overtaken by the cathedrals of Man, that few ever think to dwell on the fact; If men were awed by cathedrals to God, which never stood much above 150m, what can they think of the Burj Dubai, over five times the height? I await a working space elevator in my lifetime. Wouldn't it be a hoot if its builders named it Babel? If some men agree that their conception of God saw fit to crush a tower a mere few kilometres tall, I want to see their faces when one of some 35000km goes up; but one may not blame ancient men - we cannot expect them to be blessed with enough imagination to invent stories of the sort that would stand up today. I mean, how could they have even guessed that men would one day soar above the heavens with impunity? I surely wouldn't have, had I lived then. Left the Basilica slightly early [7, view of the platform where the Pope sat earlier] to await the others in the middle of the square at six. For our last dinner in Europe, we sought out pasta [8], and despite it being tasty, I'm in no hurry to pay around S$15 for a plate of mushroom noodles again anytime soon. There was then a last walk about Rome, to the Spanish steps (where rose-selling entrepreneurs found little joy with courting couples) and the Trevi fountain [9], which takes in an astonishing 3000 Euros in coins each day, and even Italy's biggest McDonalds (got an ice-cream).  The heretic yet stands The crowning moment of the day was none of the above, though, but my sighting of Giodarno Bruno's statue (see previous tribute) at the Campo dei Fiori (Field of Flowers). Raised in the city of the successor to Saint Peter, at the spot where he was burnt for his beliefs. Unlike Raphael, he supplied his own epitaph, to men whom were somehow convinced they could speak for God: (Translation: "Perhaps you pronounce this sentence against me with greater fear than I receive it") Why this dislike, you may ask; what has this God done to you? Let me try a little parable:
That is the key reason, and the fundamental problem of the Abrahamic religions. Couched behind all the exhortations to virtue, which are recognized by almost all religions, and the non-religious alike, is the defining attribute: We practise the only true faith. Join or suffer the consequences. Some practitioners may try to downplay the significance of this declaration, but like the fine print in contracts, it is there, and it is official. While it exists and is believed in, the suffering it encourages, the ostracization or self-important pity towards decent people who happen not to have the same imaginary friend, can only continue. 25/26 June Flew from Rome to Hong Kong, then Singapore. The first flight was movie time, and now it's review time: 1. Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li Edmund Chen Zhicai making it as Chun Li's father lifted my eyebrows, but otherwise it was disappointing. Street Fighter is the arcade platform fighter franchise, and frankly speaking none of the magic rubbed off on the film. Reintepretation is okay, but when none of the main characters' backstories bear resemblance to the Capcom canon, the movie can't help but feel like a shoddy B-grade action flick with a crowd-pulling name tacked on - which, come to think of it, is exactly what The Legend of Chun-Li is. Where are all the signature moves, and why's Vega so laughably useless? One of the original babes of gaming (Chun Li, not Vega) deserves far more than this. Save your money and stream College Humor's Street Fighter: The Later Years series instead. It's far more entertaining, and probably has better production values. My rating: 2/5 2. There's Something About Mary Watched this mostly for the Cameron Diaz of 1998, but of course SilkAir had to censor all the interesting bits, which were the whole point of the movie. Lame. My rating: 2.5/5 (censored version) 3. Watchmen The best of the lot that I've watched in the air. Style, smarts and character come together in this comic-book world, with an opening sequence that rewards history buffs - spot the references to the famous V-J day in Times Square photograph and The Last Supper, among others. Watchmen, like many superhero-themed stories, has to confront the problem of having one of the heroes that much more super than the rest. In this case, the heroes are all at "peak human" physical ability, except Dr. Manhattan, who can control subatomic particles, is effectively invulnerable, can teleport through space, split into multiple copies and even see the future. It's almost as if the storywriter gave him all the team's powers to distribute, but he forgot to do so. The traditional answer is a manufactured canned weakness (e.g. Kryptonite for Superman), but in Dr. Manhattan's case, it is emotional: his affection for Silk Spectre. Not that he overshadows the others - The Comedian is a cynical jerk who still manages to come off as likeable, Rorschach is a morally absolute near-psychopath, and Veidt is a disdainful mastermind who does get the part about revealing one's secret plans only after they take effect, right. The "world's smartest man" seemingly can't choose a password that isn't an actual word closely related to himself, however. Nite Owl and Silk Spectre are the two more well-adjusted ones, and it isn't too unbelievable that they get together. Slick, dark, visually arresting - perhaps the director could turn his attention to Street Fighter next time. My rating: 4.5/5 4. Austin Powers in Goldmember Okay, I didn't realise that Myers was not only Austin Powers, but Dr. Evil, Goldmember and Fat Bastard before I read the Wikipedia entry. So sue me. I also quite like juvenile humour. So sue me again. Unless you're actually a lawyer, in which case I was just joking. Really. My rating: 4/5 5. Look for a Star (游龙戏凤) An Andy Lau and Shu Qi romantic comedy. Adequate, laced with a few touching moments. My rating: 3/5 6. Way of the Dragon (猛龍過江) Rome is revisited in this Bruce Lee classic. One can't help but notice how little the city has changed, with the beginning of the movie almost like a tour to the major attractions. Too bad the plane would land before the first real fight could get started. My rating: 3.5/5 (from memory)
 Dear Person-who-feeds-me (but who has not done so for nearly a month): I am not pleased with your service attitude. Where have you been all these weeks? I hear you have actually chosen to travel around Europe, instead of stuffing my cheeks with food. My word! I nearly starved to death! I need a tummy rub, pronto. You seek to buy me off with a crummy postcard. You seek to bribe me, and with a lousy pun at that! My uncle Al isn't even a crossdresser! I might consider it if the postcard were edible, but it is not. Well, I guess I could eat it if I really wanted, but it is tasteless! This is shocking! This is an outrage! But, I like the promises you have made in the inedible postcard, which would otherwise be totally useless. Rest assured that I will hold you to them.  In any case, there's nothing that great about Europe. I have visited instead the fabled Yellow Topped Cup, supposedly filled with food. As you can see, I have even climbed the Cup. And what have you done? Everest? K2? I laugh, sir, in your face, at your pathetic exploits. I have also touched the legendary Black Wheeled Five-Legged Tower with my very nose; Slept in mortal danger at the base of the Unending Jutting Cliffs Above Marble. What, pray, have you come across in Europe that can best that? And what is that I hear about you praising some dog you came across in Naples? More adoring than me? Cuter than me? Please. My dear sir, I think you are holding me to unreasonably high standards of behaviour. I have already refrained from biting you when you feed me. Is that not enough? What does a poor hamster have to do to be appreciated? Yours truly, Mr. Ham G. Bacon P.S. Send food.
- travel - Not having had Internet access for a period, some details may already have been forgotten, and as such the following recollections may have become even briefer. A summary of the places visited - Venice on the 16th, then Florence, two days in the Cinque Terre (sleeping in Riomaggiore), and then a stopover at Pisa en route to Naples. 16 June  The toga party last night (which we obviously didn't participate in) mercifully ended sometime about midnight, and I managed to get going after an early morning bath and an egg sandwich [1]. Stocked up at the local co-op supermarket, and with a full day ahead of us we got a 12-hour pass for unlimited travel on the water taxis [2] for 16 Euros. Think of them as Venice's buses, just buses that have to be hauled in by rope at every stop. Our first destination would be St. Mark's Basilica [3], which stands next to the Doge's palace, and might just be the definition of a tourist trap - other than the masses thronging the Sant Marco Plaza, the line to enter the Basilica stretched as far as the eye could see. This was where our guidebook proved its worth, as we crept about the corner [4] to deposit our bags for an hour and get a number tag - which enabled us to skip past the uninformed baking in the midday sun, right into the Basilica itself. Its interior was, well, fairly golden (no photography allowed).  Working glass-on-a-stick (photo credit: alvin) (photography possibly not allowed, but what the heck) A burger with ham [5] for lunch and an ice-cream [6] for the heat, then it was out to the surrounding islands for a more leisurely peek into Venetian life. Having been forewarned that the glass-blowing factory at Murano would close by four, we still barely made it, but in any case we could only watch from a distance [7, see little speck of light] as a few men thrust misshapen globules into an oven. It seems as if their glass products are quite famous, though Chinese imitations have cut into their market too. More island-hopping to Burano (known for its lace, with framed embroidery examples prevalent) and Torcella [8] with its brightly-painted houses, among other places. The oppressive heat kept up, and caused all of us to fall asleep on the water taxi, requiring a wake-up call by the conductor. Went looking for dinner back in Venice, and came across a Chinese restaurant where we ordered lemon chicken and tofu, while I chose some seafood (prawn) fried rice [9] to go along with it. The food was palatable, but the size of the portions less so, and the price was disappointing - 20 Euros together. That's what one gets for dining in a restaurant. 17 June  Baked our clothes in the dryer before we left our cabin, and caught a bus to Venice's train station, where we had time to pick up breakfast (chocolate buns [1] for me) at the co-op. A train ride, and we were in Florence (having given up on Siena due to the difficulty of finding accomodations). Having one's lodgings described as a "Three-man tent", and a price of just 12 Euros each, conjured up images of rolling about a canvas sheet spread on bumpy ground, but in reality the beige tent [2] that they drove us to in a golf buggy was huge enough to comfortably contain the newest double-decker bed [3] that I have encountered thus far. We were never going to have much time in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Town (think Michelangelo and Leonardo especially), and it appeared prudent to skip right to its most famous attraction, the Duomo [4, reminds me of the opening screen for Civilization IV: Beyond the Sword] (or Santa Maria del Fiore). I have more or less taken my fill of cathedrals, and the Duomo isn't particularly large or ornate compared to the others I've seen, but its stolid simplicity made for a refreshing change. The dome [5] (the first one of the Renaissance age) is lavish in contrast, gorgeously (and neck-achingly) depicting the Last Judgment. Got an SMS from the other four and joined them at the top of the nearby La Rinascente shopping centre for a cup of coffee [6]. Since it cost money just to take a seat, they apparently decided to make the most of it by playing cards; this may be an opportune time to introduce their new game of choice - Minimizer Dang Dang Dang!.
 The New sat before the Old (photo credit: alvin) After kopi and gelato [7] (Florence's the best in Italy, supposedly), we wandered about [8] (sighted a copy of Michelangelo's David), got dinner, and visited the four-man gang's hostel [9], where we booked our accommodations for the last few destinations through the Web. To their dismay, the champion snorer who had taken up residence in their eight-man bunk had not moved out, and another night of irregular (probably worse than the regular type, since one can't get used to the rhythm), mega-loud snorts, punctuated by the hapless Japanese guy in the bed below the snorer banging his head in agony, awaited them. Not that I didn't have issues of my own, such as finding the right tent (11) in darkness. If I were ever to run a campsite, remind me to a) add more lights and signs b) never reuse numbers in the same area c) give out cards, if not keys, with guests' tent numbers on them. I can have no complaints about the bed, though - it was inviting enough for me to sleep with my shirt off, even if I had to once again wake up freezing in a few hours. 18 June  A McDonald's cheeseburger [1] for breakfast on the train to the Cinque Terre (literally Five Villages) via Pisa, as I was finally forced into wearing my uncomfortable jeans once more as my khaki long pants were still damp with sweat. I would soon suffer for that. The journey (via Pisa, which we would revisit later) was enjoyable as the groups finally combined permanently, and we found the reception area of Mar Mar Rooms (with creative cacti arrangement [2]) easily. We had a 4-3 room split, and I ended up with twc and csq in the three-man room [3] (which did however have the fridge). There was even a kitchen and toilet en suite, and a good table, but sadly no Wifi, not even encrypted networks. Boo. We had sped through all the five villages from La Spezia to Riomaggiore by train, and gotten sneak previews between dark tunnels, but the hiking between villages would have to wait as the trails between them are part of a National Marine Park, meaning that it costs five Euros for tourists just to walk from one village to another. Who said going on foot was cheap? Ironically, as we had used one of our flexi-days on our railpass for the trip here, catching a train between villages was free of charge.  Like little Lego bricks A pizza lunch [4] was followed by an exploration of Riomaggiore, where I eventually got accustomed to the astounding architecture of the villages - think houses of every colour piled haphazardly atop one another, with no indication of how they are to be accessed, and you'll have some idea of the place. Clambered down to the rocky beach [5, a very rocky boat landing], before breaking for cheap 0.70 Euro coke lolly [6]. Village two, Manarola, was next, with the same superbly scenic views [7, overlooking the small cemetery, where even their dead lie in layers], and precious little else. Saw the modest "swimming hole" and peeked into the mostly-empty San Lorenzo church, heard the buried stream, got close to some grapevines... and that was about it, really. Ended the day in village five (Monterosso), the only one with a proper beach [8] (if created with imported sand), but the best was yet to come. Irritated by my jeans throughout the day, I shelled out 13 Euros for a pair of shorts that were nice, if a little too short, in preparation for the next day. For once, we were prepared to spend big (okay, medium) on dinner, and sat down at the Ristorante Belvedere by the seaside. This is one meal [9] that probably deserves a photoessay of its own.  There was the usual debate about ordering separately or together, with the main attraction being the amfora belverde, a 45 Euro stew that our guidebook says "can easily be shared by up to four" and their waiter suggested maybe feeds three. There was talk of sharing two of those, but in the end we ordered just the one, supplemented by three pasta dishes while we waited for the amfora belverde to be ready. The pasta was decent, but our meticulous division of the individual bits only served to highlight how meagre servings are when split seven ways. We gave up on accuracy when it came to the spaghetti (somehow black on one half and pale on the other), and having eaten our initial allotment of complimentary bread, could only hope that the main course would be more filling. It was. The waiter first places a large bowl, close to qualifying as a tub, in front of us. He leaves and soon gingerly walks over again, his oven glove-encased hands holding an amphora (a huge vase with handles). It is clearly an effort. Slowly and very carefully, he tips it into the bowl. An abundance of mussels falls out, then large chunks of anonymous fish. Big prawns. A bigger crab. And, with one last shake, a whole baby octopus, all bathed in a deep, thick, red stew.  (photo credit: alvin) It is, quite simply, huge - even given the appetite of some of us. It was not just the seafood, however, as the waiter plied us with garlic bread throughout the meal, and the bread dipped in the extremely rich stew was heavenly. We just about managed to eat the lot, which leads me to marvel at the groups of three or four, whom it seems routinely consume the lot. I can see where food crises may be coming from. Very satisfied, we caught the 10-plus train back to Riomaggiore, where we found the time for a game of Citadels (twm brought it) before sleeping. 19 June  Hiking day. One of the things to do in Cinque Terre is to walk from one of its ends to the other (approximately 11km), and having paid our five Euros each for the privilege, that was exactly what we did. Five villages means four stretches between them, and the first between Riomaggiore and Manarola [1] was high, but scenic [2, attempted emo pic] and simple. So far, so good. We passed through tunnels liberally decked with graffiti, and also some lovers' throne [3], the railings beside it weighed down with hundreds of locks left by dreamy couples. Having already explored Manarola the previous day, we didn't stop for long, and continued towards Corniglia, the third village. It was still decent going, until the last stretch, which was a 365-step (or 382-step, depending on who you believe) climb [4]. We counted only 200-plus, but either way it is probably enough of an achievement that some small congratulations [5] are in order. A rest was declared, and we collectively demolished another kilogram of gelato [6, 500g box]. I ate a slab of pizza, and with not all that much in this tiny village (pop. 200+) either, we went on our merry way. There is rumoured to be a nude beach hidden somewhere close by [7, hinted at on a red-and-white trail marker], but we found no trace of it. I had far bigger problems on my mind in any case. I have never liked heights much, but the previous trails, while mostly cut into mountainsides maybe a hundred metres up, were at least well-paved and protected with railings. We may have taken the wrong (and longer) trail to Vernazza, and it was littered with stretches where the trail is a dirt path barely a metre across, with a craggy wall of stone on one side, and a sheer drop off the other. Not my idea of fun. But it can get worse - imagine now that instead of a path, you have steps that are none too even. Yes, it would probably be nothing much at ground level, but halfway up a cliff is another matter. Let's just say that I didn't enjoy it, and spent much of the time slowly crab-walking, pressed against whatever solid objects I could find. The thought that a single loose stone or misstep could well be Game Over weighed heavily on my mind. We did meet a Singaporean Indian family along the way, though.  occ and I (photo credit: alvin) It was a great relief when we arrived at Vernazza in mid-afternoon, where we had more ice-cream and refilled our bottles from the communal tap [8, spring water direct from the source]. It seemed as good a time to take a dip as any, and while Vernazza's beach (right by its harbour) isn't much compared to Monterosso, four of us headed for the delightfully cool water. alvin and twc stayed only awhile, while I lingered with occ somewhat longer. Note: swimming trunks make great underpants. Worked on a tan floating in the saltwater, and swam about a bit, though we didn't venture much further out after I saw that the seabed was already a few stories below us. Having goggles (which, surprisingly, few of the other bathers or swimmers appeared to have) was priceless in the clear water, as I watched small schools of fish swim right by, even in shallow water. Spent the last twenty minutes or so lounging on a bench with my sunglasses, as my T-shirt dried rapidly under the sun. The final stretch was from Vernazza to Monterosso, and unfortunately it was like the last section of trail. Rough and narrow, the guidebook warns, and so it is. It began with a seemingly unending climb up through multiple steps hewn into the rock, but thankfully at the end of a sapping hour or so the stairs down were proper stairs, and a gentle, sweeping path down into sensible Monterosso - where the people actually build on flat land. Felt hungry enough to down a whole ham & mushroom pizza [9] at the Bar Birreria Il Brigantino , and it was back to Riomaggiore by train, a bottle of cold Coke in the fridge, and another game of Citadels before sleep. 20 June  We had a long trip down Italy to Naples on the agenda, but first we had to brave the rain [1, twc and alvin]. csq's huge laundry bag served me well here. A breakdown in communications led to us making our way to Pisa in two batches, but we made it there and continued snacking on the biscuits [2] we had for breakfast. The key attraction of Pisa [3] is, of course, its Leaning Tower [4], which might well be the motto of software engineers everywhere: "It's not a bug, it's a feature." Just think, if the builders had bothered to do proper soil surveys and laid the right foundations, Pisa would have a charming little ten-storey tower, to which no-one would have given a second look. Instead, they messed up and got a squat base that listed sideways. They could have corrected it, or maybe taken it down and started over. Instead, they had the bright idea of patching the error by building the pillars on the sinking side a bit taller, so the top of the next floor would be level with the ground; unsurprisingly, that slanted too after awhile. And on it went as the top of the next floor, and the next, was built to cover existing mistakes, until one day they must have thrown their hands up and admitted that the tower was irrevocably leaning, and no amount of fixes built on top could correct it. This corresponds to the point in the life cycle of a software application where the programmers realise none of them really knows what the heck is going on any longer, and they (or better, a convenient scrapegoat) will have to explain to their managers that the project has to be scrapped. Except that there sometimes is a happy ending, as someone in Sales realises that he can push the flawed product onto users with a heavy dose of marketing. And thus it was that a badly-built shambles of a tower was touted to be cool, people decided that it actually was since it was such a big cock-up (given extra meaning by Deuce Bigalow) that it wrapped around the threshold of Epic Fail into Win, with the result that it is world-famous and probably pulls millions of dollars a year into Pisa today. Somewhere out there, the ghosts of dozens of respectable and conscientious Italian architects are banging their heads in despair. This didn't bother the masses of tourists, who posed themselves pushing, pulling, leaning on, supporting, kicking [5] (difficult move) and swallowing [6] the Leaning Tower, perhaps unaware that they could obtain the same effect with any Properly Straight Tower by rotating their camera a bit. We couldn't very well be spoilsports, could we? The antics of the tourists may [7] in fact be the true draw of the attraction, come to think of it. Took a late lunch was a hamburger, a cheeseburger and iced tea from McDonald's, then settled in for the long trip to Naples via Rome. There was some drama as occ got bumped at the crowded train platform, and immediately felt his wallet missing. occ accosted the young woman who had collided with him quickly enough, but the wallet was nowhere to be found. He made one last-ditch attempt as our train threatened to leave, after the woman linked up with her probable-accomplice, who was cradling a baby (a good hiding place for stolen valuables). No luck. At least there wasn't that much cash in the wallet, and the credit cards were cancelled in a hurry. We had to split up as the six-seater carriages were mostly filled, and I ended up back with alvin and sel. The carriage cleared after a few stops, and we began playing Minimizer Dang Dang Dang!. Our programme appeared to be set - until an Italian guy got on and began trying to converse with us in Italiano - an endeavour doomed to failure. A lot of shoulder-shrugging, hand-twisting at the ear and bemused smiles later, he likely got the drift, and sat down watching us play for a bit before leaving for more entertaining companions. A while later, the next guy, who had been sitting quietly, tried to talk, and very importantly, he knew a smattering of English. But alas no, we didn't play Texas Hold'em. occ (who had taken some classes in Italian) was called in, and it transpired that our new friend was a 22 year-old (though I would have guessed he was closer 30) sailor in the Italian Navy, returning home on break from his base in La Spezia. We made painfully slow conversation, with him using his handphone's translate function, and us occ's English-to-Italian dictionary. He traced with his finger on a map of Italy; occ showed a bowl of laksa on his handphone. Eventually, alvin traded Facebook emails with him, we supplied him with a Chinese version of his name, and we said our ciaos.  An Italian thumbs-up (photo credit: occ) Stopped safely in Naples, where the local Mafia has held gunfights as recently as 2005. We were always far more at risk from the horn-happy local drivers, though, as they regard traffic lights more as inconvenient suggestions than orders. After having our money eaten by the ticket machine at the Metro, and with no human staff in attendance, we felt we had little alternative but to adopt the Neapolitan spirit of arrangiarsi (getting by), and ride the metro ticketless. Stood next to a policeman with a holstered gun on the way, which made us feel rather secure. Climbed many flights of stairs to get to the exit of the metro station, where a uniformed man somehow guessed that we were headed to the La Controra Flashpackers Hostel, and gave us directions there. Slightly concerned that it was a set-up, the instructions seemed legit, and we made it to the hostel only to find that Hostelworld had taken liberties with our bookings. We had seven places for the first and third nights, but only three for the second. The staff (whom have been pretty great) eventually found enough spots (split up, unfortunately) for the second night, and even cleared our dorm for the first night of its original inhabitants. Ran the gauntlet of Neapolitan traffic to get dinner, and we settled on their special offer of two large pizzas, two spring chickens [8], two containers of fries and an assortment of various fried pasta balls for a total of 26 Euros. The pizza was thick-crusted, as the region is famed for, but the chicken stole the show by being wonderfully salty. At just over three Euros per person, it was superb value for money. What made the meal even more special was the presence of a lovable female dog with an interesting name, who supposedly just had puppies. The staff rather unkindly told us to kick her and tell her to f**k off [sic], but we couldn't quite bring ourselves to do that. What's a few scraps of chicken, right? Too bad Mr. Ham isn't quite as adoring. 21 June Itinerary for the day is Mount Vesuvius (an active volcano, mind, and overdue for an eruption from historical patterns). Scrambling along uneven mountainside ledges is one thing, but I drew the line at adding lava to the mix, and camped in the hostel room for the day. No point forking out good money (16 Euros just for the strongly-suggested guide service) on an experience I'm quite sure I wouldn't even enjoy. It's quite nice actually to simply be alone for a day, with just my trusty netbook for company. Too bad the storm last night appears to have knocked out the hostel's Internet connection temporarily, but one can't have everything. Ate a huge Quattro Stagioni pizza at night (good value for six Euros), while watching Brazil thump Italy 3-0 by half-time on the telly.
- travel - 13 June  Woke up freezing in the wee hours, when it had been too warm to get under the covers just hours ago. Designated laundry morning soon arrived, and sel and I plonked three pounds (not including washing powder) to wash our clothes in the laundrette next door. Spin dry [1] (30 pence for three minutes) was a new experience for me, and I can full well understand why cats and dogs might be fascinated by the sight. That took us the morning up till eleven-plus, and by the time we arrived in central London, our original breakfast had all but deserted us; what else could we do but order a Full English Breakfast [2] as lunch? It was sure filling, I'll give them that. After a couple of distractions, including being handed a brochure from the International Church of Christ by a young Asian adult (which I added to my collection), and buying a new Urban Sport daypack to put my old bursting-at-the-seams daypack in (the most logical response to running out of storage space) for 12 pounds, we arrived at the world-famous British Museum at about two. The museum was just too huge to cover in detail, and we settled for going through the Chinese, Indian, South Asian and South East Asian collection [3] slowly, going through a hall dedicated to life and death. Poring at statues and figurines of various materials and in various states of degradation after going through jade, ceramics, and coins among other objects soon lost its attraction, and we hooked back up with alvin at the entrance at four. It's amazing how many of London's major attractions can be covered in an evening on foot, and we saw Trafalgar Square (with a performer doing the limbo rock beneath a pole at knee level), 10 Downing Street (admittedly at a distance) [4], Big Ben [5], Westminster Abbey (with a horrible entrance fee of over 20 pounds!) [6], the London Eye [7] and the National Portrait Gallery, among others. Nothing life-changing, just some hard walking. Searched for a cheap dinner in Chinatown [8] by Leicester Square, and located an All-You-Can-Eat buffet for below five pounds, at an establishment named Mr Wu - not a great selection of dishes, but it was as good as could be expected. Sated my craving for carbohydrates (especially rice, but also noodles), but their sweet-and-sour pork, chicken wings and fries [9] weren't half bad either. Ate just over three plates of food and drank three bowls of soup, after which I restrained myself remembering the 八分饱 rule of thumb. The inn was hosting some event, probably a wedding, when we dragged ourselves back. Judging from the drunken guys raising their voices menacingly even a couple of hours after midnight, as I struggled to put together the previous blog entry, the party was a resounding success. Cheers. 14 June  Lugged my ever-increasing assortment of luggage (inching towards the 15kg mark) onto the train and metro to the Liverpool Street station in the morning, where for eight pounds the Excess Baggage Company scanned its contents, demanded that I extract my netbook for a second scan, and agreed to hold my check-in bag for a day. Temporarily freed from our burdens, sel and I went down to the tkts official half-price theatre tickets outlet to scope out the day's offerings, and with sel's first choice Mamma Mia! unavailable, we set our sights on Stomp (not the Straits Times online version). Following guidebook advice, we went down to the Ambassador Theatre (right by the St. Martin's, where Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap has been ongoing for 57 years [1]). Since alvin said that he would be walking the streets with his local friends, we got two good tickets for 20 pounds each [2]. With time to burn before the 3 p.m. start, we went on a stroll through the immediate area, taking in Cleopatra's Needle [4], before we had to return, popping into a manga store (where I got to know a new song [video]) to pass the final ten minutes or so. Our seats were right in the middle of the first row of the Circle (top tier), and gave a quite magnificent view in the modestly-sized theatre. As an added bonus, it meant that the water and sand sprayed by the performers couldn't reach us. Let it be known that Stomp is a very high-energy show, and might be more closely related to carnivals than regular theatre. It was worth the money, if only to discover what music could be produced by items such as brooms, trash can lids, trash cans themselves, rubber tubes, chairs, and above all the unaccompanied human body.  Won't see this in Singapore The show ended after an hour and a half, and we continued our walk only to be greeted by a seemingly never-ending line of marching protesters, flanked by a small number of marshals. They appeared to be concerned with the plight of Tamils in Sri Lanka (where the Tamil Tigers have finally been routed), and despite their numbers were quite orderly. We had seen a small contingent yesterday, as well as a separate group distributing anti-Chinese communism material, which was probably the most eye-opening experience I had in England. We have the towering skyscrapers, the traffic, even a sprinkling of monuments, but heaven forbid somebody wear a T-shirt with a political message in Orchard Road. Swept past St. Paul's Cathedral [5] , and passed by the outside of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre [6] as we continued on our merry way. Ate another burger, this time a fish filet, for dinner [7] (yes, it may not be the healthiest diet, but we do have a budget). Crisscrossed the River Thames, encountering the moored HMS Belfast [8], and walked both the Millenium Bridge (far less grand than I had imagined) and the Tower Bridge [9]. London Bridge paled in comparism, and it's no wonder generations of kids have been calling for its collapse. Rounded the Tower of London (with no obvious towering structure in sight), then made for the distinctive missile-shaped building in the eerily-deserted business district as dusk approached. The streets were so empty that it almost felt like being in some post-apocalyptic film. Buckingham Palace was the only key attraction that I wanted to see but left out on this visit - next time, perhaps. Arrived back at Liverpool Street, claimed our left luggage, bought a milk chocolate bar from Marks & Spencer for the long night ahead, rode the Stansted Express back to the airport, didn't manage to get free Wifi despite a tip by a Hong Konger, and staked out a good piece of floor to doze off on with the assurance born of experience. My new daypack made a much better pillow than the old one. As this is the last entry on England, it seems proper to mention some errata, concerning our arrival in London - we parted ways at King's Cross and St. Pancreas, not Seven Sisters. Credit alvin for the discovery. That was hardly the only discovery he made in his stay here, as we took care to sample a different newspaper each day whenever possible, given England's rich journalistic tradition. Here's the rundown:
* Not, in fact, bought ** It might be described as a paper full of interesting Page Threes 15 June  Woke up in the airport feeling slightly miserable, after a few hours of poor sleep on the hard floor. Thankfully it was the last time I would have to do so on this trip, but the lack of breakfast didn't help. A two-hour Ryanair flight took us from Stansted to Treviso airport, where we brunched on a slab of pizza [1] and a bottle of Coke after a bus into town. A long wait for Bus 15 was followed by disappointment as we realised that we could not buy tickets from the driver, causing us to return to the restaurant where we took brunch for the tickets. It was smooth sailing after that, and four stops after the Marco Polo airport, we found ourselves at Camping Alba D'Oro [2], our home for the next two nights. There would be more waiting before we got to the head of the queue at reception, and we were assigned the Number 7 bunk [3], which happened to be just behind the reception building. The insides weren't that back, consisting with a red double-decker of the type we have become accustomed to, and a single. No free Wifi either, sadly, and I was forced to purchase an hour of access for three Euros [4] (concentrates one's mind wonderfully though). That done, we took a short walk into the campsite (which had two outdoor table tennis tables and a beach soccer court) before catching the 3 p.m. bus (four Euros return, nothing's free here) into Venice itself. Venice was canals [5], as fits its popular image, but not as many as I had thought. It was crowded with tourists, and without much time remaining we decided to have more food (more pizza [6] from a supermarket at a low two Euros, with mineral water at 39 cents for 1.5 litres) by canalside before just walking about. I verified alvin's friend's warning about the lack of reasonably-priced toilets, as I broke my 30p record in Manchester and London, paying 0.80 Euros at the train station; determined to make the best of it, I lingered rather longer than necessary in the loo, which was nothing exceptional. Window shopping, observing the rising tide levels [7] and a tub of ice-cream [8] later, we were about ready to call it a day when who else would we meet by sheer chance but the other three Europe-trippers, plus occ!  Heroes meeting at Ruga Vecchia S. Giovanni What could be do but swop tales and have dinner (pasta with ketchup and cheese [9] for me) together? twm, pnut, csq and occ very nicely showed us their hotel room in Venice, as well as their new penchant for speaking in Chinese only (many conversations unprintable). Watched the sunset as a big group, then hurried back to the Piazza Roma to catch the 10:30 p.m. bus back to the campsite. We'll be coming together permanently finally in a couple of days, so stay tuned.
- travel - - as seen on PvPOnline, and explained later 10 June  Left Astley House in York after yet more bread and cornflakes for breakfast, sent my postcards (62p each to Singapore) and planned to visit Cambridge en route to Bath. Unfortunately, the purveyor of so much O and A-Level heartache was blanketed by rain, so we had few regrets about taking a few meaningless photos [1] and continuing our journey. Lunch: freshbite sandwiches [2] and crisps, washed down with fanta. Played yet more cards [3] to pass time on the train, then got greeted by a Had dinner at the bar to justify our seats, and I had sausages and mash(ed potatoes) [5], which began to have me doubting the dubious reputation of English food. sel had the job of dragging out our tenure by eating slowly, and he even ordered a Singapore Sling (or cough syrup, depending on who you believe), as England's millionaires made short work of the Andorran part-timers (6-0) [6]. Hooray. Walked the streets of Bath after ten in an attempt to restock our supply of bottled water, but apparently 24-hour stores aren't the custom here. Two nice young Asian ladies offered their help, but to no avail, and we went to our rest (but not before watching the first couple of episodes of Friends in the TV room, as we couldn't get the DVD player to work for American Pie) slightly thirsty. In Bath. 11 June  The top bunk [1] of Roome 8 was comfortable enough (we were told to take beds C, D and H, but were unable to find any labels), though the presence of other occupants meant that I was reluctant to unpack more than the bare minimum. Wifi from the neighbouring Podium shopping centre was available, but the environment was not conducive to typing. More of the same for breakfast [2], and we headed down to the Roman Baths, which are, as the name suggests, an excavation of a natural hot spring bath built up by the Romans [3]. We got the tickets that were bundled with admission to the Fashion Museum, a must-see in the guidebook. Having an audioguide made a great difference in our understanding, and perhaps the most memorable part of the tour was on the curses made by ancient Romans. Lost your cloak? Easy, scratch out a list of whomever you suspect has taken it on a bit of pewter, imploring a goddess to make their blood run as water. Enjoyed the uncommon but easy-listening music produced by a street performer [4] for a bit after sipping a complimentary glass of Bath water (not very good), then munched a ham sandwich [5] (with pigeons and seagulls [!} ready to pick up any scraps) before we availed ourselves of a free two-hour Bath walking tour, led by Mayor of Bath honorary guides [6], in our case an elderly white-haired but still sprightly lady. We learnt quite a bit more on the town (which was to be expected, as we knew next to zilch previously), much of which related to Richard Nash, who appointed himself Master of Ceremonies in 1735 and for the rest of his life shaped much of society in Bath. We wouldn't have guessed that the arrangement of houses in The Circus wasn't symmetrical either (10-11-12 instead of 11-11-11), not noticed the overhanging additions to houses that were actually Hanging Toilets, when residents started demanding the convenience of loos by bedrooms. No rare sightings of Falling Toilets, though. And we couldn't have guessed that the head of the statue on the left (sinister side, remember?) of Bath Abbey is smaller due to being used for archery practice by Cromwell's troops, could we?  Windows errors came before Microsoft But the craziest discovery of them all was the window tax, levied starting 1696, that encouraged homeowners to reduce their tax liabilities by either removing windows, or rebuilding them close to each other to be counted as a single window. The tour ended at four sharp, and we popped over to the Fashion Museum. Let's just say that we wouldn't have rated it a must-see, but I guess it hinges on your tastes. Being able to try out corsets wasn't our idea of having a good time. There was a drawing contest where visitors could win a year's free entry, and from the looks of it [7] the organizers are going to have a hard time finding a winner. Microwaved Ham & Mushroom Tagliatelle [8] for dinner (alvin's Faggots & Mash even got a photo request) while watching The Simpsons on tape and talking with a Malaysian in the TV room, as we waited till 8 p.m. for the highly-touted Bizarre Bath walk [9]. We were not to be disappointed. Unfortunately, describing it too deeply might spoil the show for those who might participate in the future, so let me just affirm that it's probably the best five pounds I have spent in England thus far. I'll also say that it mentions very little history (as they make clear from the beginning), isn't much of a walk either, and isn't even about Bath much; it is, however, a bunch of laughs (and as our guide/comedian said on hearing that a member of the audience was German, "This is a comedy walk!"). His ad-lib abilities were quite astonishing, and it's a skill I really wish to master someday. Even he can't get them all, though, and laughing at oneself a bit seems to help a lot during awkward moments of silence. Let's face it, people would rather see a chained bunny tossed into a river than nearly two thousand years of history - have I said too much? 12 June  Packed (easy to do as I had hardly taken anything out) and left for Salisbury, a historic town in its own right, but just a stopover on the way to Stonehenge for us. Heard that Real's 80 million pound bid for C. Ronaldo had been accepted - shock, horror, where do the underachieving buggers get their money from? We did pick up another ham sandwich [1] for lunch there, not before depositing our baggage at the Cat Tavern (which ironically had several dogs but no cats) and boarding a bus for Amesbury, which we had read was a half-hour's walk from the big pile of old rocks. But hey, they give a free monument in all your cities in Civilization 4, so it must be something. A friendly local pointed us in the right direction, and we were well pleased to spot a Stonehenge - 2 miles sign after awhile. We then came across a fork and another sign claiming two-and-a-half miles to the site, and we decided to take the nice farm route. It seemed a great idea at first, as we entered an idyllic landscape of green fields and hills as far as the eye could see, something which is quite impossible in Singapore. After more marching and sporadic singing of army songs, we had the stones in our sights [4], but there the path abruptly ended. Disbelieving, we branched out and backtracked, but found nothing, and quite indignant at being misled, we felt justified in cutting across the final cereal field as a last resort. We did try to follow the tractor tracks whenever possible to minimize damage, and moreover the thigh-high grasses would provide good cover in case a shotgun-wielding farmer suddenly sprang out of nowhere. This would have been the first time my military training has found direct practical usage. We got through without incident, but were confronted by a final obstacle - a barbed wire fence. Jumper alvin was confident enough to bet his nuts on vaulting it with hand support, but the rest of us decided that discretion was the better part of possible castration, and put our leopard-crawling skills to good use.  I rocks Got charged over five pounds for the privilege of rounding the rocks with an audioguide, and we made the most of it with a lot of photos. To be honest, it was slightly smaller and less impressive than I had imagined, ditto with most of the landmarks (cathedrals, stadiums, etc) we had visited thus far, therefore the admonition on never meeting one's heroes. One may be disappointed. Enquired about taking a bus back, but as that proved impossible, we got smart and took the route along the major road back to town. Train to London followed, where we once more split up with alvin, who had another lobang. Sel and I then bought sandwiches from Marks & Spencer for dinner [5] and redirected ourselves to St. Mary's Cray, where an old lady proved incredibly helpful with directions, such that we found the Mary Rose Hotel (or rather, Inn) without too much trouble. Room 34 [6] was tucked away in a cosy corner, and was quite adequate, expect for the lack of Wifi. There weren't even any other sources I could expect to piggyback on. No worries, there's Wifi in the lounge. But no power. Argh. In the end, I just took a bath (bathtub only, no shower) and slept. Will be camping at Stansted tomorrow night, so don't expect another update so soon...
- travel - You tell them Welbeck and Macheda are doing really well." - One United poster in Old Trafford 9 June  Breakfast at eight keeping to one type of flakes this time, then filled out two postcards [1] to two lucky recepients (to be revealed). Couldn't manage to find sufficient time to locate the Post Office as sel and I rushed to catch the 11:28 to Piccadilly, Manchester, so their sending will have to wait. Arrived just before one, waited for alvin to rendezvous after he slept around for a couple of nights, and polished off a communal 10-piece chicken bucket with four servings of fries [2] from KFC for ten pounds - can't go far wrong with that. Throughout human history, men have held many places as sacred, and expended much time and effort into visiting those grounds; spots where guys were said to rise bodily into heaven (or perform other equivalent miracles), big black boxes, stone circles and remote mountain tops are just some common choices. While a man's faith is a private thing, I feel compelled to say that for me, there are few holier areas on this planet than Old Trafford [3]. The employee at the tour counter suggested a student discount to us though we had not known it existed, proving that my faith in the club was not misplaced. We were adorned with a lanyard holding our hard-won tickets (seven-odd pounds a head), and joined the 3 p.m. tour group. Our guide Ian, a manager of match stewarts on matchdays, then revealed to us the mythical pitch. There was no need to avert our eyes lest we be blinded, though, as the ground was being returfed [4]. Snapped our photos with the stands as a backdrop (while being part of the background on MUTV, so said Ian), and walked through the Munich Tunnel memorial with a squalling infant practising his cheers early. The guide was likely an old hand with such cases, and tamed the baby with a rattling of his keys. Pity the parents didn't pick up on the idea.  The High Seat (photo credit: selwyn) The Players' Lounge and dressing room were up next, and they were a bit less luxurious and a fair bit smaller than I had imagined. The order of the players' seats was, by the way, roughly from defence to attack in a clockwise direction, but the far corner had Ronaldo - Rooney - (Corner) - Giggs - Scholes - Tevez, and was easily the most popular for photographs. To my surprise, Scholes seemed more in demand than Ronaldo! This batch of worshippers do know their stuff. Incredibly, the dressing room was once even smaller, back when Cantona demanded (and got) his own private warm-up space.  This was once a one penny coin The Players' Tunnel, and the top tiers were out of bounds due to renovations, so we skipped to the Museum (again a bit smaller than expected). It closed at five p.m. and we were forced to leave, but not before availing ourselves of a machine that, for the donation of a single pound, flattened a penny into a cool souvenir on the turning of a wheel. The Megastore was open till six, but I didn't nearly need quite that much time as I went on my biggest spending spree of my holidays so far. A Man Utd necktie, anyone? I even kept one of the United clothes hangars that was offered - that's apparently the practice when purchasing clothes in England...  Best, Law, Charlton - Three are One and One is Three Left after a last photo with the United Trinity, taking the bus back to Piccadilly where another of alvin's friends (studying at the University of Manchester) awaited us. She took us on a short tour through the surrounding area, which was chockful of shopping malls such as the Arndale [5, with the Wheel of Manchester in the background], and later into the Manchester Chinatown [6]. The city (at least the part we walked in) is modern, and the overall feel resembles Singapore more than about any other place we have visited thus far. No suitable buffet opportunities presented themselves, so we took another bus ride on our daily pass to the Rusholme Curry Mile. We were soon persuaded by a free snack-and-beverages-and-15%-student-discount offer by the Shahenshah Restaurant [7 (with [8] being alvin taking the photo in [7])], and I ordered Kastari [9, no relation to Mas Selamat, it's sweet and sour chicken with orange flavouring]. alvin bravely asked for, and got, more free tea - given the thickness of his epidermis, it's a wonder that he seems to dislike the cold most (just joking, lah). Free Chupa Chups on settling the bill. Bid farewell to alvin's pal at nine-plus, and rode in a bus crowded with young organized pub crawlers (wearing T-shirts with checkboxes to record visits), and played Big Two on the 10:48 back to York, reaching our hostel just after midnight. Will have to share the bed with alvin (AHHHHHHHHHHHH).
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