Cafe & Art

Slipped 4pm while still on the No.2 getting out for cafe. Not Geisha this afternoon where it was bursting full, a warehouse-like look out back with a new shipment of the paraphernalia that is a side-line of the business. As well as beans from North Africa, Indonesia and Malaysia, cups, flat stirrers, heavy stainless presses for the grounds, sitting in the higgledy-piggledy midst of which always turned out more congenial than all the usual décor. Not today however with a new consignment landed on the docks. Up through the crush of tourist-crammed Bugis Street unthinkingly, a gauntlet and a half dodging, weaving, lightest of brushes on the outside of pretty palms in passing just for the electric thrill, over Victoria brought up Starbucks. On God no! Impossible. All flesh and blood screamed out against it. A recent salonned blonde possible Oz Northern Beaches at the table knocked that on the head quick-smart. Bullet glance was enough. Boutique bags, arrived via Bali and off to Phuket; or the other way, full-moon party on Koh Phangan. No way, better go without, don't even think about it. The kids at Starbs counter chosen for dazzle, auditioning for bigger parts in sales down the track. Nooo. Hugging the shaded walk-way, past Bras Basah (Wet Rice) Complex, grand old Dame left. Preppy kids. Preppy kids all in a row. (Topshop, Abercrombie & Fitch, Hilfiger. Some of the YALE tops might not have been mainland Chinese sweat-shops.) Innocence. Patience. Prize-winning pavement greenery throughout. Brotzeit at the foot of Raffles tower opposite the famous old landmark stood beckoning. Faux Deutsch local bar-cafe with the feel of what would be a flag-ship McDonalds that probably exists somewhere in the American prairie heart-land (Milwaukee at a stab). Not today; not a lederhosen kind of spirit in the middle of the week. Loungers in the chairs out front were settled in for the afternoon with the air-con behind through the open doors, sausage and sauerkraut possibly at Brot., authentic as you can get. Was there a pic last time of the cathedral at Cologne? The Black Forest was notoriously difficult to get in the frame. Not today, nein, danke, another time when the alpine mood was right. Not when the good ol' Dome was 200m up the road. Skipping again across Victoria Street against the lights sends the usual tingle up the spine in Sin'pore. On the crossing on Middle Road at the National Library when a pair saw how it was done they emerged from the waiting scrum and bounded over giggling and throwing their heads about like wild brumbies on the high plains. Frolic and a half. An example provided, much can be achieved, even with the Preppiest kids. Handsome old room at Dome. Forget the behaviour at the tables, the dress and conversation. (The good table manners that spoil good food, as opined the Forward-Scout in Ipoh, Perak on the Peninsular not a month ago.) A new older gay Malay waiting might get lucky there one day, plenty opportunity. Former Jesuit pile, St. Joseph's Institution, alma mater of the current Pres. Little pint-sized Tony Tan, the Tan of the quartet of Tans who nosed the winner's tape in the race ahead of his clan competitors mid last year. Arts precinct now, the school long outgrown its quarters. ART IS CHIC bannered on a lamp-post. The little handkerchief lawn out front of SAM (Singapore Art Museum in the main admin building) usually hosts a chosen exhibit from the wealth of the chic on display inside the doors. This case a plaster-cast of Laocoon and his Sons transplanted to the tropics. A ruin of sculptural frieze—missing forearms, crumbling pediment, a nose or chin might have been scuffed. Famously world-wide, unlike anywhere else in this inner sanctum of Singapura, where, as previously disclosed, cheap foreign cleaning crews polish fronds of plants that fringe the entry-way of buildings, here in the special case of art for art's sake the crumbled rubble of the faux ruin of Laocoon and his Sons had been left to litter the lawn at the base of the statue. A sight to behold. Only lacking some bubble wrap blown among the debris and a butt or two. Clean rubble in this case, possibly vacuumed. Saving grace are the waiters at Dome, the usual fine specimens untainted at their bare-bones wage level. You need a lot of dosh to make-over in this town, to cross or pass they used to call it during segregation and apartheid. Yellow to white was a fair bit easier. Another banner for “The President's Young Talents”. Tony T.'s Arts Point-man has gathered together six of the local up-and-comers, soon-to-be best-sellers. No reason the HK and Shanghai markets can’t be overtaken by the original Asian tiger: logistics, pharmaceuticals, armaments, why not art? "Be the first to spot the next big thing here..." encouraged the weekly Art Guide, 22 - 27 January. But hurry. Ranking for the brew: Geisha was head and shoulders top of the pops on this island (Shanghai operation); followed by Brotzeit, Dome and the famed U.S. chain bringing up the rear. Almost six dollars the Jesuit cup. Geisha 4.5 in Burlington Square, opposite the new Arts College, Lasalle, in co-op with Goldsmiths London. A whole other task picturing that for a reader who doesn't know much about marketing architecture!