Revolving airports


I watched an awful lot of rubbish on the plane on the way back to Singapore. Most of it was so rubbish that it left no trace on my memory apart from a vague sense of disappointment, and then there was Legend, which did a fairly bad job of romanticising the Krays: a nicer pair of men who had fights in pubs with hammers you couldn’t hope to meet. There was something wrong with the sound in my seat, and despite the crew rebooting my screen that didn’t make a difference – there was just a horrible burbling sound drowning out all the dialogue. When La Serpiente fell asleep (after mercifully only a couple of hours, and then fitfully dozed on either parent’s lap as the mood took her) I watched films on my screen and listened via hers, which led to all sorts of lip sync shenanigans.

Oh, I’ve just remembered. I watched Black Mass. Don’t watch Black Mass, it’s one of those Johnny Depp films where he seems to be doing his damnedest to destroy any hope of a cinematic legacy. Well, no, that’s unfair. It’s just another dull tale of dull criminal folk (in Boston, BAAAAAHHHSTAAAAHHHN) who apparently didn’t learn any lessons from watching Goodfellas. Never mind.

We got to Singapore on time, and three of our four suitcases materialised on the baggage carousel almost immediately, and then the last one took forever to show up. One drawback of A380s (apart from the entertainment system taking up your leg room, and the entertainment system not working properly) is that if you have luggage, you’re stuck with hundreds of other people who also have luggage, and great clods of humanity were standing right up against the conveyor belt, because They Were First In Line To Get Their Luggage or something equally ridiculous, and nobody understood it was probably more efficient for everyone to stand back a bit and then move up to the belt as and when their particular bag appeared. But once one person does it, everyone does it.

With a trolley stacked high, we made our way through the priority taxi line (parenthood has its privileges) and then had to take two taxis to fit all our stuff in. I ended up in a red taxi with both children while my wife took a blue taxi back. This was not good, because as anyone who’s been in Singapore for more than ten minutes knows, red taxis are driven by a bunch of brake-hating mentalists who drive at top speed while giving a constant xenophobic commentary on the world, whereas blue taxis are driven by relatively sane taxi uncles.

Oh, and red taxis only take cash, which doesn’t help when you need to get two car loads of stuff home and only have a ten dollar bill.

Both our taxi drivers were right grumps, wanting to drive off before we’d finished loading luggage or passengers into their vehicles, but then mine drove tediously slowly all the way to Tanjong Pagar, playing against the red taxi driver stereotype. I had to placate La Serpiente by giving her my phone and getting her to Skype her grandparents. This worked pretty well until we got home, and then predictably the kids both melted down and carried on caterwauling until I fled back to the airport.

Meanwhile we’ve lost my wife’s Singaporean SIM card and the internet in the flat has stopped working. (Well, it works if you turn the router on and off – and then stops working again after about a minute.) I worry I won’t get any communication with my wife at all this week, which will be terrible cold turkey after these last two weeks together. I suppose that gives me a chance to go through the 300-odd photos I’ve taken and figure out which ones look nice.

And I haven’t sorted through my new year’s resolutions yet. Looks like I’ll beat the rush by being a week late at this rate…


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