Your children will trample on your dreams. Literally.
Don’t expect a hipster hairdresser to be on time, or anything to do with time at all.Because I look like this, my wife demanded I do something about the increasing invisibility of my mouth behind a hedge of facial hair.
Desperate to get this sorted out, she booked me in for a beard trim at the local hipster hair doctors. What neither of us realised though was that if you make a booking for eleven a.m. on a Sunday, what you’ll actually get is whatever time the barber drags himself out of bed after a hard night and recovers from his hangover/”finishes running errands”. Still, after waiting an hour in the haze, I figured I’d request a haircut too, not realising that this would take 75 minutes (these hipster types are nothing if not painstaking). My wife called me at 1:15, frantic to know when I would be home to assist with naptime. I, having lain in the barber’s chair for the last hour, was calm and relaxed. And probably half asleep.
Take it where you can get it. This morning La Serpiente woke me at 5. I checked the air pollution index and it was relatively healthy, but it was 5 in the morning, so I set my alarm for six and went to sleep in the living room for an hour, after switching off the air purifiers and opening all the windows. Then I dragged myself out for a hard hour’s run, up and down Mount Faber and down a few trails, arriving home soaked in sweat just as everyone woke up. If I hadn’t had the carpe-diem spirit instilled by not being able to run for weeks because of the haze, I’d probably still be complaining about the kids now and not about my sore legs. I feel quite glad I extracted something positive from this.
Even the mere mention of Love You Forever is enough to provoke me to tears.
The life of an Uber driver is hard. I took a Uber to the airport instead of a taxi, because it was cheaper and I could pay by credit card. On the way, I chatted to the driver (who I was unable to convince that I was flying to Tokyo, not Turkey, so after ten minutes I gave up trying to disabuse him of that notion). It seems the drivers get the short end of the stick; Uber guesses what road roll they’ll pay for particular journeys (and usually underestimates it). The driver has a 30% commission to pay to Uber, and can’t pick and choose like a regular taxi driver does (which is great for passengers, less so for drivers who feel they should choose their passengers’ destination for them). And even if you work a seven day week, you’ll probably only get $700 before petrol and the wear and tear on your car, your body and your mind. I decided not to add to his woes by mentioning rumours about the government banning Uber, but at least he was prompt, safe and quick. I’m really unsure, given the incredibly high cost of car ownership in Singapore, where all the Uber drivers come from. If you can afford a car, why are you working as an Uber driver?
I read an illustrated history of MotoGP from the library, and now think I understand how the phenomenon of highsiding your bike works. Also, I was standing up, screaming at the television during the last two laps. I think that was the first properly exciting race from start to finish this season.
I don’t think I learned anything between Monday and Friday this week. That is a learning in itself. Time to get out more?