stop 1: singapore changi airport

Orrightey. So 3 movies, 2 books and a magazine later and i’m at Changi airport with 3 hours to burn. Thanks to Singapore Airlines, I now want nothing more in this world but to see Kenny G and his whole sux-text of painfully shite ‘jazz’ musicians dead and buried.

So here I am in Singapore. The Switzerland of Asia without the liberalism and the activity. The Monaco without the tax exile. The city where Asia tries its hardest to be lily white and falls flat on its face every time. Frankly I hate it. And if Kenny G coming through the on flight speakers wasn’t enough, you should check the security guys at the airport.

OK so these are times of terrorism. So I was totally expecting to see guys in jackboots with some kind of Abrahms fully sick machine gun action. But they also have parangs on them. Parangs! This is a cross between a macette and mum’s Best Pocket Knife (it has a curve at the end which is just great for a bit of Brie or slashing someones throat!). That just amazes me. Clearly one of these weapons is to make white people feel safe, and the other for a short, sharp ‘good night nurse!’ before you even knew what hit you. So I guess that’s one thing keeping these faux white try hards back in old school. And in a strange kind of way it’s an interesting clash of cultures. Unlike our boys, I think they’d know what to do if those fancy guns jammed up. They probably don’t need them at all.

Anyway it’s humid and i’m tired and sweaty. But let’s not forget it’s a journey, not a destination – and hey, it’s only just begun. So if you keep readin’, i’ll keep writing. Rome here I come. I wonder what sexy Italian guns the security dudes have there?

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