I’ve heard it said that one’s experience of a time span is relative. I have to agree. Especially when that relative is an 18 month old, the time span is 12 hours, and the son about whom you have previously worried “is he sleeping too much” opts not to sleep at all.
Well, he slept for an hour between 11pm and 12am.
Of course, during this time I opted to watch a film, thinking that Charlie would sleep for a further six or seven hours post-film. When it finished I switched off the screen, pulled my blanket up to my chin, closed my eyes and…. Charlie woke up and cried for the remaining seven hours.
Singapore Airlines were very good, but nothing could really make up for the fact that I felt like I was being tortured.
By the way, I watched a movie called ‘District 9’ and it was very funny (although classified ‘Action’). It was about an alien craft that arrived and hovered above Johannesburg (Independence Day style). Eventually a refugee camp is made for the 1.8 million aliens (or “prawns” as they’re derogatorily referred to by the humans), which disintegrates into a slum. The Nigerians are of course exploiting the poor ‘prawns’ by selling them overpriced tins of cat food to eat. The Afrikaans are rounding them up into smaller ghettos and hollering at them at gunpoint. It all seemed a bit too close for comfort.
I looked dishevelled and slightly mad when we arrived in Singapore. My skin looked like sandpaper, and I could’ve been mistook for someone who tested shampoos in a lab by the state of my eyeballs.
Charlie was mildly delirious and the only thing that he seemed capable of doing with any verve was producing noxious smelling poo, which meant I had to wheel him in his buggy whilst juggling my suitcase, rucksack, handbag, changing bag, overcoat and additional bag of ‘extras’ the cabin crew had thoughtfully thrown at me into the loos at Changi three times to change nappies.
After reporting to the ‘Singapore Stopover’ desk, I was made to wear a little round sticker and await my transfer to the hotel. Eventually some guy who looked like he was fresh (well actually he wasn’t that fresh at all…) out of Hawaii 5-0 with his tropical print short sleeved shirt and aviators, rounded up the straggling bunch of losers of which I was one, and led us to a rather sorry looking minibus. There weren’t enough seats for all of us so we were pretty much sitting on top of one another (quite literally for Charlie of course) as we cruised through Singapore’s humid 32 degree afternoon in what should more appropriately have been a family van, with no air conditioning.
We arrived at the Peninsula Excelsior hotel just as the last strand of Charlie’s hair was glued with sweat to his over heated little head.
After what felt like the longest 24 hours of my life we finally arrived in our room, dumped the bags and collapsed onto the bed when the sound of a pneumatic drill and sledge-hammering from NEXT DOOR broke the reverie. Agghhh!
Yep, they’re renovating that part of the hotel. Luckily I was so desperate I turned into the Terminator and demanded not only a room change but a whole ‘tower’ change which set the minions a-scurry across the foyer in a desperate attempt to pacify the deranged mother who was about to pull an AK-47 out of her ‘Islington Recyling’ cotton nappy bag and open fire.
So we made it into our room. No excavation sounds – hurrah! The room is nice and has everything we need. I drew the curtains to shut out the stunning bright blue day and dove straight into bed. We slept for four hours, waking up very disconcerted and confused with the local time being 9.30pm.
Charlie and I spruced up with a bath, got dressed and prepared to head out. I called the operator to find out what was open and was surprised to learn that everything was shutting for the evening. We got out of our Singapore ‘Nite Scene’ clothes and got back into our pyjamas and ordered room service. This was enjoyed by mother and son whilst watching ‘Singapore Idol’ followed by ‘America’s Got Talent’.
One thing I thought was a bit odd: when I was on the phone to Room Service I asked them if they had bananas so I could give one to Charlie. They said “only for banana smoothies”. Hmmm. Too weak to argue.
It’s now 1.30am and Charlie has only just fallen asleep.
I swear I can smell poo. But it could be wafting up from the typically too small for purpose bin under the desk which is now home to another two feral brown nuggets. But enough of poo for now.
queenpeanutio 