I was watching winter Olympics the other day. It was not with any particular interest but just happened to be stuck on the channel after some scrupulous channel surfing. The winter Olympics is the showcase where elite athletes compete in style, grace and seamless elegance. I was therefore taken aback when there were two men on-screen prodding along boorishly like two cavemen spear-fishing in the snow. Apparently it was an Olympic event called ‘up-hill’ skiing. How and why would anyone want to ski uphill? Skiing uphill to me is like a sick joke by the organisers whom in their retired years take sadistic pleasure watching young athletes compete in a game with little idea that the element of fun has already been removed.
Somehow, this seems to be the theme of my week, if not for the rest of my year. I really enjoy what I am doing at the moment; that is research work. I love coming up with concepts and theories to explain things, like drawing boxes and lines to explain to my mom why she has such a high propensity to nag. But like Olympic skiing, someone has to come along to remove the element of fun and turned it into a sport. With my work, the days of gliding downhill has passed. I am now facing the last hurdle which promises to be as pleasurable as skiing up a very tall hill carrying two coconuts with my hands tied to my back. Nevertheless, I do look forward to the challenge, if just to purge this feeling of anxiety out of my system.
It has finally sunk in. The holiday has ended.
However, I did bring with me some very potent memories that will help give me a push along the way; getting drunk like a warrant officer in Vietnam; playing poker till the sun rises; and spending so much quality time with my best mates.
A little further, just a little further……. it won’t be long before it’ll all go downhill once again, in the nicest way of course.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Post-Holiday Trauma
I know that I will suffer from post-vacation disorder; it is a bit like watching Never Ending Story when you were five and your mom comes along to turn off the TV just when the fluffy white dragon was soaring through Fantasia. I wouldn’t say that I’m in the midst of depression and in need of a shrink to make me draw quadrants, but I do feel like a five year old kid stomping one foot on the ground yelling ‘I want my holiday back’ in a way so annoying that has ‘slap me’ written all over it.
It is amazing that after being away for a month and a half, I could still find my way to the office. Well not literally, but it is no easy ordeal to muster the mental strength to drag my ass to sit before this very computer. I have almost forgotten how the entire charade at the office works. That is; the charade of pretending to work as part of the pre-productivity ritual, before spending three hours on the Internet and then spend half-an-hour later to do enough to return home without guilt. I wouldn’t say that I’m terribly thrilled to be back, especially when today marks the start of my final year meaning that I will spend a lot of time stressing over what I was supposed to do.
First day in the office and there are already signs that this year will be anything but a smooth sailing Disney ride through midget world with little plastic munchkins singing ‘it’s a small world after all.’ I was told, or rather, the last one to be told that we will be moving offices. I got really stress and I had to quickly recite the ten commandants from Who Moved My Cheese to curb with the hyperventilation. I will so dearly miss the serenity in this office which induces sleep like a swaying cradle on an autumn’s day. I am stressed because I have no clue how the new office will be like; will I be able to prance around in my singlet and slippers? Will I be able to sleep without students disturbing me? Will I have enough power-points to charge my mobile phone, digital camera and Bluetooth headset? There are important issues at stake and surely the administrators would have considered some sort of congress for this purpose.
Then, I was told that my supervisor has recruited two more doctoral students this semester. I never knew how my sister felt when I was born, but it was probably a little like this…….. She (my supervisor) doesn’t love me anymore! I was the apple of her eye, her favourite student, her only student (literally), and now I have to share her attention. I’m not sure what it is, but maybe the reunion with my primary school mates last week has unlocked the child-like persona in me and that spoilt brat has been coming out to play rather often lately.
Welcome to 2006, day one in the office. The journey appears to be arduous one, the last hurdle may be the most challenging of them all, but one final leap, one final push will probably bring me to the finish line. As some wise old man whom I never knew and probably never existed would have said, “grit your teeth and take the leap; all you really need, is a good place to sleep.”
I wish my new office has pillows.
It is amazing that after being away for a month and a half, I could still find my way to the office. Well not literally, but it is no easy ordeal to muster the mental strength to drag my ass to sit before this very computer. I have almost forgotten how the entire charade at the office works. That is; the charade of pretending to work as part of the pre-productivity ritual, before spending three hours on the Internet and then spend half-an-hour later to do enough to return home without guilt. I wouldn’t say that I’m terribly thrilled to be back, especially when today marks the start of my final year meaning that I will spend a lot of time stressing over what I was supposed to do.
First day in the office and there are already signs that this year will be anything but a smooth sailing Disney ride through midget world with little plastic munchkins singing ‘it’s a small world after all.’ I was told, or rather, the last one to be told that we will be moving offices. I got really stress and I had to quickly recite the ten commandants from Who Moved My Cheese to curb with the hyperventilation. I will so dearly miss the serenity in this office which induces sleep like a swaying cradle on an autumn’s day. I am stressed because I have no clue how the new office will be like; will I be able to prance around in my singlet and slippers? Will I be able to sleep without students disturbing me? Will I have enough power-points to charge my mobile phone, digital camera and Bluetooth headset? There are important issues at stake and surely the administrators would have considered some sort of congress for this purpose.
Then, I was told that my supervisor has recruited two more doctoral students this semester. I never knew how my sister felt when I was born, but it was probably a little like this…….. She (my supervisor) doesn’t love me anymore! I was the apple of her eye, her favourite student, her only student (literally), and now I have to share her attention. I’m not sure what it is, but maybe the reunion with my primary school mates last week has unlocked the child-like persona in me and that spoilt brat has been coming out to play rather often lately.
Welcome to 2006, day one in the office. The journey appears to be arduous one, the last hurdle may be the most challenging of them all, but one final leap, one final push will probably bring me to the finish line. As some wise old man whom I never knew and probably never existed would have said, “grit your teeth and take the leap; all you really need, is a good place to sleep.”
I wish my new office has pillows.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
The Second Quadrant
The Johari Window, a popular fill-in-the-blanks psychological tool that over-paid shrinks use to kill time with their patients. I’m going to talk about the Johari Window today. I’m not sure why (actually I do, but for the effect of an introductory suspense knowing now that people actually read this hogwash, I’m saying ‘I’m not sure why’ for effect), but I figured that it will give this entry a different feel, instead of the typical, almost predictable sentimental outpour.
Although the Johari Window was originally designed to describe interpersonal interactions, I found it to be a very useful model for teaching my students the multi-dimensional concept of the self-image. In my interpretation, the Johari Window is made up of four quadrants. The first, describes the subjects’ open self-image that is known to both themselves and known to others. The second, describes the self-image that the subject is clueless about, although these are the same attributes that invite extensive bitching from so-called friends. The third describes the residual revelations after long sleepless nights spent starring into the void introspecting. The last which makes little sense, would have served more purpose if it was called the chocolate pudding. Therefore, for the purpose of this blog, I’m calling the last quadrant, the chocolate pudding.
If you have not figured out by now, I’m really not serious about dedicating this entry to the Johari Window. But there is some relevance here. I was on MSN earlier today catching up with a long lost friend, one that go way back to the days where you need to raise your hand to ask for permission to use the toilet. 15 years it has been and it is amazing how people remember you for the most embarrassing things you did such as confessing to be infatuated with the girl in class with shoulder-length hair. The conversation we had opened the Pandora box of repressed memories and skeletons came out to play as if it was Halloween. They were revelations about me that I have been oblivious to, and stories which I starred as the main villain in a script more commonly found in a poor soap opera. It all came in place like the second quadrant of the Johari Window gone wrong; it is like watching yourself being personified over oil on canvas by the hand of Picasso with Parkinsons.
I knew that I was a bit of an arrogant twit when I was about 8 yrs old, but little did I know that I was branded a prancing peacock with a feathery brain. I was horror-struck, dumbfounded, flabbergasted when it was revealed that I had a hand to play in getting a female classmate slapped in class. I have no recollection of this event, except a strange churning feeling in my gut which suggests that it may indeed have occurred more than a decade ago. Me appropriating violence on a member of the opposite gender? Never! Well, there was this time where I kicked Elaine in the face during a martial arts tournament, upon which she complained to my ex who later broke up with me. Okey, it didn’t happen that way in that sequence, but it would have made a good story. Anyway, me appropriating violence on a girl? Never! I only remember that I developed a certain phobia for girls by the age of ten, partially due to a childhood scar of being made to cry by a girl when I was eight and later to learn that girls are like some unfathomable entity designed by mother nature to give ten-year old boys a hard time. I left for a boy’s school straight after that.
Interestingly, tomorrow will be the first gathering with my primary school mates after more than 15 years. Initially, I was excited over the prospect of making ‘new’ friends without having to go through the charade of an ice breaker. But alas, now knowing that I will be walking into dinner with preconceptions placed over my shoulders, some which I am quite unaware of, I’m actually anxious over the ordeal. Fascinating sensation, anxiety is. I’ve not felt this way since high school prom, when I was late to pick up my Indonesian date who struggled to chain two sentences of English together. She was cute though. Anyway….. yes, tomorrow. There is an angelic persona somewhere inside me, which perhaps may be more fitting at a reunion with four lovely ladies, but that will probably take too much effort to conjure and sustain. It is probably easier to be my regular happy-go-lucky self, but that will probably further endorse the label of a prancing peacock. This is getting increasingly frustrating, it is like venturing on a blind date with nothing to wear save poker-dotted boxers.
Take a pinch of salt. It ain’t that bad. I love reunions. Despite the less than virtuous reputation I’ve maintained during my childhood, tomorrow may be an opportunity to show that I’ve changed;…. … I used to be an arrogant vertically challenged loudmouth, now I’m just an obnoxious vertically challenged loudmouth.
Although the Johari Window was originally designed to describe interpersonal interactions, I found it to be a very useful model for teaching my students the multi-dimensional concept of the self-image. In my interpretation, the Johari Window is made up of four quadrants. The first, describes the subjects’ open self-image that is known to both themselves and known to others. The second, describes the self-image that the subject is clueless about, although these are the same attributes that invite extensive bitching from so-called friends. The third describes the residual revelations after long sleepless nights spent starring into the void introspecting. The last which makes little sense, would have served more purpose if it was called the chocolate pudding. Therefore, for the purpose of this blog, I’m calling the last quadrant, the chocolate pudding.
If you have not figured out by now, I’m really not serious about dedicating this entry to the Johari Window. But there is some relevance here. I was on MSN earlier today catching up with a long lost friend, one that go way back to the days where you need to raise your hand to ask for permission to use the toilet. 15 years it has been and it is amazing how people remember you for the most embarrassing things you did such as confessing to be infatuated with the girl in class with shoulder-length hair. The conversation we had opened the Pandora box of repressed memories and skeletons came out to play as if it was Halloween. They were revelations about me that I have been oblivious to, and stories which I starred as the main villain in a script more commonly found in a poor soap opera. It all came in place like the second quadrant of the Johari Window gone wrong; it is like watching yourself being personified over oil on canvas by the hand of Picasso with Parkinsons.
I knew that I was a bit of an arrogant twit when I was about 8 yrs old, but little did I know that I was branded a prancing peacock with a feathery brain. I was horror-struck, dumbfounded, flabbergasted when it was revealed that I had a hand to play in getting a female classmate slapped in class. I have no recollection of this event, except a strange churning feeling in my gut which suggests that it may indeed have occurred more than a decade ago. Me appropriating violence on a member of the opposite gender? Never! Well, there was this time where I kicked Elaine in the face during a martial arts tournament, upon which she complained to my ex who later broke up with me. Okey, it didn’t happen that way in that sequence, but it would have made a good story. Anyway, me appropriating violence on a girl? Never! I only remember that I developed a certain phobia for girls by the age of ten, partially due to a childhood scar of being made to cry by a girl when I was eight and later to learn that girls are like some unfathomable entity designed by mother nature to give ten-year old boys a hard time. I left for a boy’s school straight after that.
Interestingly, tomorrow will be the first gathering with my primary school mates after more than 15 years. Initially, I was excited over the prospect of making ‘new’ friends without having to go through the charade of an ice breaker. But alas, now knowing that I will be walking into dinner with preconceptions placed over my shoulders, some which I am quite unaware of, I’m actually anxious over the ordeal. Fascinating sensation, anxiety is. I’ve not felt this way since high school prom, when I was late to pick up my Indonesian date who struggled to chain two sentences of English together. She was cute though. Anyway….. yes, tomorrow. There is an angelic persona somewhere inside me, which perhaps may be more fitting at a reunion with four lovely ladies, but that will probably take too much effort to conjure and sustain. It is probably easier to be my regular happy-go-lucky self, but that will probably further endorse the label of a prancing peacock. This is getting increasingly frustrating, it is like venturing on a blind date with nothing to wear save poker-dotted boxers.
Take a pinch of salt. It ain’t that bad. I love reunions. Despite the less than virtuous reputation I’ve maintained during my childhood, tomorrow may be an opportunity to show that I’ve changed;…. … I used to be an arrogant vertically challenged loudmouth, now I’m just an obnoxious vertically challenged loudmouth.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Business and Passion
What is marketing? It is the art/ science of making consumers buy what they do not need. It is profound claptrap; the educated bullshit; the intensive labeling of simplistic theories with verbose technical jargon. This romance of mixing art and science with the intention of influencing consumption behaviour seduced me many years ago, and teaching this discipline has remained my passion.
An ex-colleague of mine completed his doctoral in marketing and as a side business, and almost for interest sake, he and his wife started a business selling tea at the retail front. I visited their shop today at Millennium Walk and I felt like I took a step into marketing wonderland; where sound marketing theories manifest themselves into a sound business design. They have a business that does not sell tea. Instead, they sell an experience which begins from the moment you step into the shop front. Their outlet appears to be more of an artistic impression of a contemporary tea museum rather than a tea retailer. Colour schemes play around with classic matt black to daring yellows. The background plays a constant soothing blend of jazz and service stretches beyond a single transaction.
It is not everyday that someone can say that they are able to mix business with pleasure, or in this case, mix business with passion. Is it even possible to sink oneself into business before developing passion? Sometimes when the grass appears too green on the other side, it overwhelms the prospects at hand.
Finding contentment really is a challenge on its own.
An ex-colleague of mine completed his doctoral in marketing and as a side business, and almost for interest sake, he and his wife started a business selling tea at the retail front. I visited their shop today at Millennium Walk and I felt like I took a step into marketing wonderland; where sound marketing theories manifest themselves into a sound business design. They have a business that does not sell tea. Instead, they sell an experience which begins from the moment you step into the shop front. Their outlet appears to be more of an artistic impression of a contemporary tea museum rather than a tea retailer. Colour schemes play around with classic matt black to daring yellows. The background plays a constant soothing blend of jazz and service stretches beyond a single transaction.
It is not everyday that someone can say that they are able to mix business with pleasure, or in this case, mix business with passion. Is it even possible to sink oneself into business before developing passion? Sometimes when the grass appears too green on the other side, it overwhelms the prospects at hand.
Finding contentment really is a challenge on its own.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Nothingness
I just want to put in an entry and yet I have absolutely nothing to say. Louis is singing ‘what a wonderful world’, and in this rather optimistic mood, I don’t think I can argue very much against good’o Louis.
I have set the stage; dim lighting that typically inspires a surge of sentiments; playing in the background a freshly procured jazz compilation; and a single malt on the rocks resting beside me like a faithful friend…. …. yet, I have nothing to say.
Perhaps it is a moment I would like to capture, like the frantic snapping of a digital camera at the crushing waves, wishing that maybe after twenty shots, you may have a chance of seizing the sensation of boundlessness for future reference. I am trying to capture a moment of nothingness, a moment of tranquility and placidness. The beauty itself is like stainless linen; undisturbed and quiet.
Louis has taken a bow. Cassandra Wilson is singing Tupelo Honey. I’ve never heard this track before, but I’m glad that I’m listening to it now.
How often can you appreciate the loveliness of a whisper?
I have set the stage; dim lighting that typically inspires a surge of sentiments; playing in the background a freshly procured jazz compilation; and a single malt on the rocks resting beside me like a faithful friend…. …. yet, I have nothing to say.
Perhaps it is a moment I would like to capture, like the frantic snapping of a digital camera at the crushing waves, wishing that maybe after twenty shots, you may have a chance of seizing the sensation of boundlessness for future reference. I am trying to capture a moment of nothingness, a moment of tranquility and placidness. The beauty itself is like stainless linen; undisturbed and quiet.
Louis has taken a bow. Cassandra Wilson is singing Tupelo Honey. I’ve never heard this track before, but I’m glad that I’m listening to it now.
How often can you appreciate the loveliness of a whisper?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Nostalgia
How much is your childhood worth? What would you give to take a stroll down memory lane and relive the days of yesteryears where happiness is found in its purest form, tainted only by each grain of sand that seeps through the hour glass?
I had the most surreal and nostalgic experience playing reminiscence with two long lost friends over the Internet. It was quite amazing, how friends that I had lost touch with for 15yrs could just get together to unravel lost memories tucked behind some dusty corners of our minds. It is like finding a bag of marbles which you hid under a broken floor board a decade ago. Each glass bead will remind you of an instance and an emotion which you experienced during your otherwise forgotten childhood. This feeling is like a soothing taste of toffee, heartfelt and warm. It is a moment where you look back and whisper to yourself, ‘I remember’….. …
I remember the laughter; wholesome and innocent. I remember the friendships; untainted and honest. I remember the tears; naïve and earnest.
I really wish for an opportunity to sit down and play catch up with these long lost friends, because they are the only bridge to some very potent memories, memories that deserve to be relived just so that I may treasure them even more dearly.
I had the most surreal and nostalgic experience playing reminiscence with two long lost friends over the Internet. It was quite amazing, how friends that I had lost touch with for 15yrs could just get together to unravel lost memories tucked behind some dusty corners of our minds. It is like finding a bag of marbles which you hid under a broken floor board a decade ago. Each glass bead will remind you of an instance and an emotion which you experienced during your otherwise forgotten childhood. This feeling is like a soothing taste of toffee, heartfelt and warm. It is a moment where you look back and whisper to yourself, ‘I remember’….. …
I remember the laughter; wholesome and innocent. I remember the friendships; untainted and honest. I remember the tears; naïve and earnest.
I really wish for an opportunity to sit down and play catch up with these long lost friends, because they are the only bridge to some very potent memories, memories that deserve to be relived just so that I may treasure them even more dearly.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Over Indian Pizza
Last entry was on the 17th December 2005. Woohoo!! I must have done well, that is living a life; one that is worthwhile enough to render blog entries to be the least of my priorities along with worrying when in the world I’m going to complete my education.
It is 1:30am and while I should be in bed catching some undeserved sleep, I figured I will sit my ass down and write just one more entry. That is, despite making promises that I will not blog till I’m back in Melbourne and when I’m stuck in the office.
It is such a revelation, to discover that despite having no evidence of human traffic, I do have friends who actually read my blog! It was an eventful evening spent with a special bunch of friends over some Indian pizza. Special because they are the gang I got to know through the internet during the good’O days where a stranger with a receding hair-line did not necessarily make him a pedophile. This gang is a bunch of characters better known by their nick-names where more important details such as birthdates and surnames are often taken for granted. We would probably meet up once every other time when I visit home and strangely gatherings would include dinner arrangements of roti-prata, this time, without exception but with an Italian twist.
Anyway, the point of it all is that in the spirit of discovering you had a long lost brother, it is a revelation that there are people I know out there that actually bother to read my entries. With that, this entry is for you. You know who you are.
Cheers
It is 1:30am and while I should be in bed catching some undeserved sleep, I figured I will sit my ass down and write just one more entry. That is, despite making promises that I will not blog till I’m back in Melbourne and when I’m stuck in the office.
It is such a revelation, to discover that despite having no evidence of human traffic, I do have friends who actually read my blog! It was an eventful evening spent with a special bunch of friends over some Indian pizza. Special because they are the gang I got to know through the internet during the good’O days where a stranger with a receding hair-line did not necessarily make him a pedophile. This gang is a bunch of characters better known by their nick-names where more important details such as birthdates and surnames are often taken for granted. We would probably meet up once every other time when I visit home and strangely gatherings would include dinner arrangements of roti-prata, this time, without exception but with an Italian twist.
Anyway, the point of it all is that in the spirit of discovering you had a long lost brother, it is a revelation that there are people I know out there that actually bother to read my entries. With that, this entry is for you. You know who you are.
Cheers
Saturday, December 17, 2005
boys to air stewardess
Hey almost a month without entry in my blog. It is probably good news as it means that the past 4 weeks have been busy and eventful, so much so that writing an entry in this blog has plunged in priorities.
Back in Singapore again, and as usual, observing changes since my last trip has its way of fascinating me or pissing me off. I was on the train yesterday, when I saw a couple of army boys booking out and they were on their way home. It brought back memories – the good old days of longing for the weekend to near just so that I could have a proper bed and private toilet facilities. But a lot has changed since then. I remember lugging my Ali-BaBa duffer bag with a sling around the shoulders and the weight of it would threaten to suffocate anyone without a very fat neck. These boys, however, were wheeling a certain black luggage bag gracefully like air stewardess waltzing onto their next flight. What is the world coming to? My friend said welcome to the army of the 21st century. When once upon a time, they turn boys into men, we are turning the boys into girl scouts.
Back in Singapore again, and as usual, observing changes since my last trip has its way of fascinating me or pissing me off. I was on the train yesterday, when I saw a couple of army boys booking out and they were on their way home. It brought back memories – the good old days of longing for the weekend to near just so that I could have a proper bed and private toilet facilities. But a lot has changed since then. I remember lugging my Ali-BaBa duffer bag with a sling around the shoulders and the weight of it would threaten to suffocate anyone without a very fat neck. These boys, however, were wheeling a certain black luggage bag gracefully like air stewardess waltzing onto their next flight. What is the world coming to? My friend said welcome to the army of the 21st century. When once upon a time, they turn boys into men, we are turning the boys into girl scouts.
Monday, November 21, 2005
The boys will be coming
The boys are coming. There is a sudden surge of fear mixed with anxiety in possibly not the most welcoming nature. The boys are coming. My routine will be affected, and my status quo ripped to shreds. The boys are coming. I will lose my bed, and nights will be furnished with howls of snoring. The boys will be coming…… bring it on!
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Slumber
The sun rises too early. It is summer and despite the adjustments of daylight saving, the sun still rises too early. My bedroom is furnished with double-layered curtains of deep royal blue, yet sunlight still seeps in from the edges to provide some unwelcome illumination each morning.
Sleep is a necessity too precious to be cut short. I can’t think of many things in life that has the right over disrupting sleep; save breathing and possibly sex, which really is a preparatory rite to sleep if you think about it. That is probably why I seldom have breakfast, and mornings to me are a theoretical construct that begins at 2pm. Maybe being awake is a periphery state, almost like a side-effect to sleep with the latter being the main purpose to live. Controversial, but I’m happy with any notion that will buy me a few more hours of slumber without the exchange of guilt.
Quote worthy from our minister mentor, old-man Lee, “one of the best inventions by man is the air-conditioner.” Old Lee attributes the contraception to productivity; I accredit it to good forty winks. Next closest to air-conditioner for a noble-worthy invention is probably the sleep mask. It cheats the sunlight from day and shelters you with the same sense of sanctuary not felt since the security blanket from the nursing years. With my sleep mask and valerian in hand, slumberland party would have been a nightly affair if not for disturbance each dawn of the most bothersome nature; a bird. There is this particular bird that sings like a nightingale each morning with vocals crisp, melodious and delightful. At least, it would have been delightful if that demonic creature didn’t twitter at 5am in the bloody morning!
As such, I realise that the next to follow the air-conditioner and the sleep mask as the best inventions by mankind, is in fact, the sling shot.
Sleep is a necessity too precious to be cut short. I can’t think of many things in life that has the right over disrupting sleep; save breathing and possibly sex, which really is a preparatory rite to sleep if you think about it. That is probably why I seldom have breakfast, and mornings to me are a theoretical construct that begins at 2pm. Maybe being awake is a periphery state, almost like a side-effect to sleep with the latter being the main purpose to live. Controversial, but I’m happy with any notion that will buy me a few more hours of slumber without the exchange of guilt.
Quote worthy from our minister mentor, old-man Lee, “one of the best inventions by man is the air-conditioner.” Old Lee attributes the contraception to productivity; I accredit it to good forty winks. Next closest to air-conditioner for a noble-worthy invention is probably the sleep mask. It cheats the sunlight from day and shelters you with the same sense of sanctuary not felt since the security blanket from the nursing years. With my sleep mask and valerian in hand, slumberland party would have been a nightly affair if not for disturbance each dawn of the most bothersome nature; a bird. There is this particular bird that sings like a nightingale each morning with vocals crisp, melodious and delightful. At least, it would have been delightful if that demonic creature didn’t twitter at 5am in the bloody morning!
As such, I realise that the next to follow the air-conditioner and the sleep mask as the best inventions by mankind, is in fact, the sling shot.
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