A late night


I never thought when I was younger that I would be spending Tuesday nights wrestling with compression tights at way past eleven o’clock. And that’s not a euphemism for anything, that’s just how late things are tonight when I finally got ready to go to bed, and realised that with legs still so sore from last night’s run, urgent remedial action was required.

Although speaking of euphemisms, I inadvertently invented a new one yesterday: "Hawker centre salad". I’ve no idea was sort of depravity that entails, but it’s up there with the rusty trombone and wolfbagging, mysterious and catastrophic (though most likely apocryphal) pursuits.

The thing is, I did have a salad in a hawker centre last week, and it was … not brilliant. It wasn’t utterly revolting either, but there was a lack of interesting choices and only a vague attempt at presentation. Given most stalls in the hawker centre specialise in food that’s been fried, I expect the intersection between people going to a hawker centre and people who want to eat salad is quite small, so it must be hard to drive big sales.

I went to another hawker centre today, Maxwell’s, which is over the road from where we live. Everyone at my new office seems gobsmacked that I’ve lived in Singapore for a while, and when they get over the shock of that, they ask me if I eat in Maxwell’s very much. Unfortunately, I haven’t found much that I both want to and can eat, except the fried carrot cake (which is not like what it sounds, but instead diced turnip, fried in a wok and doused in soy sauce) and frankly, a diet of fried carrot cake is not going to deliver the best of bodies.

However, I have managed to eat lunch somewhere different every day since I started my new job. It’s high time I resurrected my Year Of Eating Differently blog and recorded all of these for posterity. As I have so much copious free time.

Tonight I went to my Spanish class, racing my phone. It told me I needed forty minutes to walk there, and I did it in 27. Not really a victory in anything but the most Pyrrhic sense, as my shirt changed colour with all the sweat, but it kept my exercise level up near my target. Eating a Cadbury’s Boost for dinner probably wasn’t so clever though.

I came home, had a conference call for an hour (just after the entertainment jn the square ground to a halt) and then had five minutes with my wife, before the inevitability of bed. And so here I am, wearing tights, going to bed. Night night.


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