Scribbles from the Same Island Read online

  What the media said about Neil Humphreys’ first book,

  Notes from an even Smaller Island.

  “He pokes fun at Singaporeans... but rather than bristle at his observations, you are likely to twitch with mirth. The ribbing is always cushioned by good-natured quips often sprinkled with hilarious anecdotes.”

  — The Sunday Times

  “The book presents a warts-and-all view of the city-state and celebrates many of the things most often criticised.”

  — BBC World

  “A candid look at the idiosyncrasies of Singapore and Singaporeans.”

  — TODAY

  “It’s a great insider’s look at Singapore from an outsider’s point of view.”

  — Malaysia’s Sunday Mail

  “Humphreys’ laugh-a-minute self-deprecating manner makes this book very entertaining... No punches pulled. Bravo!”

  — Malaysia’s Sunday Star

  “Humphreys’ humourous take on Singapore is an entertaining read... It is hard not to smile while reading this book.”

  — Woman’s World

  “Blatant prejudices are chewed on, digested and spat out with an equal measure of candour and tongue-in-cheek.”

  — Singapore Seventeen

  “A thoroughly enjoyable read on the virtues (or hazards) of living in Singapore through the eyes of a 6-foot-4-inch Briton whose style is so disarmingly honest, you will laugh at the things you once considered the bane of your existence... Decidedly Singaporean, distinctly British.”

  — Singapore FHM

  Cover picture by Cedric Lim

  © 2006 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited Reprinted 2004, 2006

  Published by Marshall Cavendish Editions

  An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International

  1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Request for permission should be addressed to the Publisher, Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited, 1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196. Tel: (65) 6213 9300, fax: (65) 6285 4871. E-mail: [email protected]

  The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents of this book, and specifically disclaims any implied warranties or merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose, and shall in no events be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

  Other Marshall Cavendish Offices:

  Marshall Cavendish Ltd. 119 Wardour Street, London W1F 0UW, UK • Marshall Cavendish Corporation. 99 White Plains Road, Tarrytown NY 10591-9001, USA • Marshall Cavendish International (Thailand) Co Ltd. 253 Asoke, 12th Flr, Sukhumvit 21 Road, Klongtoey Nua, Wattana, Bangkok 10110, Thailand • Marshall Cavendish (Malaysia) Sdn Bhd, Times Subang, Lot 46, Subang Hi-Tech Industrial Park, Batu Tiga, 40000 Shah Alam, Selangor Darul Ehsan, Malaysia

  Marshall Cavendish is a trademark of Times Publishing Limited

  National Library Board Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Humphreys, Neil.

  Scribbles from the same island / Neil Humphreys. – Singapore : Marshall

  Cavendish Editions, c2006.

  p. cm.

  eISBN-13 : 978-981-439-895-4

  ISBN-10 : 981-261-344-7

  1. Singapore – Anecdotes. I. Title.

  DS609 SLS2006031425

  959.57 — dc22

  Printed in Singapore by Utopia Press Pte Ltd

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  The SPG

  The Replies

  The Doctor

  The Crocodile

  The Graduation

  The Break-Dancing

  The Geek

  The Toilet

  The Games

  The Dance

  The Trip

  The Drive

  The Snip

  The Phantom

  The Farecard

  The Skin

  The Ban

  The Sex

  The Wheel

  The Freak

  The Tourist

  The Casino

  The War

  The Americans

  The Spy

  The English

  The Campaign

  The Romance

  The Pyjamas

  The Hookers

  The Acronyms

  The Thief

  The Cyclists

  The Family

  The Lovers

  The Hunchback

  The Protectors

  The Characters

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THERE are many kind people I’d like to blame for forcing me to write a second book. P N Balji, my big boss at TODAY, was convinced that the newspaper’s readers would be interested in my meandering drivel. I must thank him and everyone at TODAY who said: “Produce a witty column every Saturday or you’re sacked.”

  The persistence of Times Media, my publisher, should also be acknowledged. After the unexpected success of my first book, there was a polite enquiry about a sequel. Within six months, this had given way to: “Give us another book, you lazy bastard.”

  I’m grateful, too, for my family’s generosity. I’ve nicked just about every funny story they’ve ever told me and I’ve yet to be sued by either my inspirational mother, my sister, Jodie, or any of the Garys that I know.

  As always, the missus is on hand to say: “I don’t know why you bother, your writing’s still crap.” Thanks, Tracy, for tolerating all that late-night typing.

  But the nights were spent in the incomparable world of Toa Payoh, where the residents are funny, warm, honest and occasionally insane. It’s the greatest community I’ve ever known. Thank you, Toa Payoh, for putting up with this ang moh.

  INTRODUCTION

  I CAN’T stand expatriate columns in Asian newspapers. They are, invariably, full of condescending crap. You either get the ‘10 Best Pubs in Singapore’ rubbish or the paternalistic CEO who is down with local culture because he eats chicken rice and has visited a hawker centre twice.

  So when my bosses at TODAY toyed with the idea of me writing a weekly ‘expat column’, I lied and said I was keen. But I really wasn’t interested. Who would I be writing for? What would I say? I don’t know many of the white community in Singapore. We have little in common. So I kept stalling.

  Of course, I could see P N Balji’s frustration. My big boss was launching WEEKEND TODAY, a new edition of the paper for weekend readers, and wanted the content to be a little off the beaten track. At the same time, my first book on Singapore — Notes from an even Smaller Island — had sold remarkably well and was still on the best-seller list when WEEKEND TODAY was launched.

  But I sincerely believed that I’d said all I had to say about Singapore in my first book. As much as I’d like to, I can’t forever stress the need for landladies to walk around with their boobs out. Being the eternal pessimist, I wasn’t even sure my style was suitable for a national newspaper.

  Then, a magazine asked me to write a one-off piece and it all went a bit bloody crazy. The deal was, the book would get a plug in return for an article on Sarong Party Girls. You know, those Singaporean women who supposedly go for white men with big wallets. Here we go again, I thought. There’s me fighting to avoid writing a weekly column full of Western stereotypes and they’re asking me to comment upon possibly the biggest. So I reached a compromise. I would on
ly do it, if I could move away from the SPG thing and talk more about inter-racial relationships in Singapore. They agreed.

  And my bosses at TODAY hit the roof. I wasn’t in the meetings, but I think the gist of the discussion was: “This ang moh prima donna won’t write for us, but the bastard does for everybody else! Get this article in WEEKEND TODAY.”

  When I explained that this wasn’t an expat column, just me rambling on about both the British and Singaporean cultures, S Murali, the WEEKEND TODAY editor, replied: “That’s all we want. Just write in the same way you wrote your book, whenever you have an issue. And make sure it’s bloody funny.”

  Two weeks later, the article was being discussed everywhere. In offices, coffee shops and on national radio. I was being praised by around 80 per cent of the emails I received and threatened by social, and literal, castration by the other 20. I even received email requests from troubled readers who wanted ‘agony aunt’ advice about their inter-racial relationships. It was an astonishing public reaction. Subsequently, “whenever you have an issue” became “Every bloody week and we don’t care if you’re trapped in freezing conditions in the Arctic and have lost the use of your hands.” So when the publisher asked me to get off my arse and write a second book on Singapore, I thought of the columns in WEEKEND TODAY.

  Wait, don’t put this book back on the shelf. I haven’t just lazily thrown together a dozen columns and said ‘buy this’. There are completely new topics in here that just couldn’t be discussed in a family newspaper. Moreover, I often spend more time cutting my columns than I actually do writing them. So I liked the possibility of expanding and updating them and, of course, using more colourful language. It’s not me, you understand, but I must be accurate when putting words in my mother’s mouth. She criticised the first book for it’s lack of authenticity. She never swore enough.

  So here is the second book on Singapore that I never intended to write. If you bought the first book and/or read my columns in WEEKEND TODAY, then it’s all your bloody fault.

  Neil Humphreys

  May 2003

  THE SPG

  FOR some reason, I am an endless source of fascination for taxi drivers in Singapore. After being told I’m from London, they always ask: “So, your wife Singaporean?’’

  “No, I’m not married. Sorry.’’ (First shock)

  “Oh, you stay here? Trellis Towers?’’

  “No, the HDB block opposite, in Toa Payoh.’’ (Second shock)

  “Oh, your girlfriend Singaporean?’’

  “No, she’s British too.’’ (Third shock).

  Yes, I’m sorry to disappoint, but my long-time girlfriend, Tracy, is of the English working-class variety and I was with her before I came to Singapura, that sunny island in the sea.

  “What, girlfriend ang moh ah? Then why you come to Singapore, ah?’’

  Let’s face it, you can hardly blame the average taxi driver. We all know what he’s talking about. I come from London — that fab and groovy place with democracy, a two-party political system and pornography. Why else would a single white male leave all that for Singapore, if not for the chance to pocket a fat enough paycheck so he can live in a nice condo, invite tanned, bikini-clad Singaporean girls over for pool parties, and sample the local flavours, so to speak?

  To quote my eloquent Singaporean colleague on the Sports Desk: “Don’t bluff ah. You bastards come over here, take our money, bang our women, and then leave.’’

  He’s only joking of course, but the sad truth is: If there weren’t expats over here doing that, then his joke would have no meaning and it wouldn’t be funny.

  It hasn’t happened to me though God knows I’ve tried. I haven’t really. I’m quite happy with my missus — besides she’d cut the old balls off if I did, and deservedly so. I’ve heard of stories where Westerners have come over with their wives but have still felt compelled to have a taste of the local cuisine.

  Though the ang mohs are wankers for cheating on their wives, they shouldn’t be apportioned all the blame. Despite the recession, the predators are certainly out there, sniffing for good looks, fat wallets and condos (I have none of them so I’m pretty safe).

  In fact, living in an HDB flat, I’ve certainly caught the attention of the ladies around Toa Payoh. But they’ve caught me first thing in the morning, unshaved and wearing unwashed clothes, sleepily buying bread at the mini-mart. Hardly Brad Pitt, more like a gravel pit.

  But I have seen the ang moh hunters in action, with my very own eyes, dozens of times in my seven years here. I’ve seen so many Singaporean women approaching white guys at a bar to start a conversation. It’s even happened to me once at Zouk.

  Because I’m an ugly bugger and it was dark, the two young ladies said they found me funny. Unfortunately, I wasn’t cracking any jokes at that time, but merely trying to dance to garage music.

  In my first job here as a teacher, I had a Canadian colleague who deliberately went looking for young, Caucasian-favouring Singaporean ladies mostly at Papa Joe’s — that old ang moh haven along Orchard Road — a place he described as having “an impressive strike rate’’.

  I remember one of his Chinese girlfriends, in her mid-20s, who told me she had only ever dated white men. Slightly stunned, I asked her why, and she said that Singaporean men were “so boring, childish and predictable” (her words, not mine).

  Personally, I feel that her judgement is a little unfair — tedious arseholes are a universal phenomenon. Men who really find a new handphone and all its ringtones exciting, think it’s super cool to work 14 hours a day, and find talk of property prices, stocks and shares and Tiger Woods riveting, exist from here to Zaire. Though I must confess I’ve stumbled into more than my fair share of these boring sods in Singapore. But if I’m being honest here, you only have to look beyond their wallets and their company cars and there are plenty of ang mohs in the boring category too.

  Yet, despite that, I have noticed what I’ll call the “Western-educated Asian’’ phenomenon. Singaporean women who went to universities in the West, particularly Britain, tend to gravitate more to Western men when they return.

  After all, they now “get” Ali G’s jokes, follow the trials and tribulations of Cherie Blair and know what Damon Albarn in Blur is singing about in his ditties about suburban life in Britain.

  You don’t see it the other way round very often, do you? A gang of Chinese blokes, educated in, say, Manchester or Sheffield, hanging out at Boat Quay with a group of blonde bombshells who have big fat purses is a sight I’ve yet to see.

  To be honest, I’d happily give up a week’s salary to watch that. But, I’m deeply disappointed to admit that I’ve often been a major letdown to the Western wannabe. While some of them think they’ve got lots in common with me, I must admit, the feeling isn’t that mutual.

  Firstly, Westerners are just so much better at being Western — and that’s one of the reasons I left in the first place. If I wanted to get pissed in pubs, fall over and then vomit on the road, I could have stayed in London. The beer is cheaper, more plentiful and tastes better. I didn’t come halfway round the world to do that down at Emerald Hill. Secondly, my England, if you like, is vastly different from the England of the average Singaporean overseas student.

  On a couple of occasions, I’ve nodded politely when a beautiful young Singaporean girl waxes lyrical about Yorkminster or the Roman relics of Bath. And she has usually dragged me to a Delifrance or some other overpriced Eurocentric café to do it, too.

  Ms. Delifrance often feels she cannot find the same “intellectual” or “soulful” connection with some poor sod who grew up in the HDB heartlands. This is a double irony, of course, because not only is there a statistically high chance that she actually grew up in an HDB block herself, but I also grew up in the London equivalent of a three-room flat.

  So what I really want to say is: “Look, I grew up in a working-class council housing estate in Dagenham, which is just outside of East London. I never had the money to go
to Yorkminster or Bath, and I had never even been in a pretentious Delifrance until 20 minutes ago, when you invited me. Now, are you going to eat the rest of that overpriced curry puff, or not?’’

  But a Sarong Party Girl, who supposedly favours all things white and rich, is different. I usually meet them through that aforementioned Canadian colleague of mine, and for those girls (at least, the ones I managed to have conversations with; some were one-night stands I never got to meet), it was a case of money, casual sex, a brief fling or, occasionally, a bit of all three.

  The best part was, the Canadian cad never actually had any money and often relied on his British credit card (me). But I believe — and I know I’m going to get a custard pie in my face for this one — money is the ultimate goal. Can we just be honest here for a minute? Whenever we’ve walked down Orchard Road and observed inter-racial relationships where one of the partners is Caucasian, how many toilet cleaners or garbage collectors make up the numbers?

  Do you ever hear a beautiful young Singaporean say: “Have you met Graham? He’s from England. We first met when he was flushing out the u-bend of the toilets at my apartment. He just has a wonderful smell about him, don’t you think?”

  It just doesn’t happen like that. Aside from money, there is undoubtedly an element of social climbing involved. Having watched a couple of Singaporean girl-Western man relationships, I’ve noticed that the girls from the HDB heartlands often begin to act like they were educated at Eton. And where the hell did that accent come from?

  A former colleague of my girlfriend was an avowed SPG. She was pleasant company until she met up with Mr. Prat (not his real name). He is one of those upper middle-class Brits, who’s always very pleased with himself and is convinced that every utterance he makes is jaw-droppingly funny (a complete prick, in other words.) For some reason, Singapore has had to endure more than its fair share of these boring Brits, especially around the Padang area at City Hall.