All Class - Paul

Early afternoon an unusually thin crowd. Six months ago when Paul had not long opened, on a Friday lunchtime one would be forced to wait in line out front for a table. The novelty might have worn off. Finally a good seat after a half dozen visits. Full window and dead center of the room—one couldn't do better. Sharp-eyed Chinese matrons would often quickly pounce from fringe tables when this particular one became available. Slow off the mark today. And the thin crowd. Understandably chap had got a little anxious seeing a customer waiting. Possibly thought a summons and complaint was coming and got in early. Everything in order sir? Have you been served?... What did you order?... Just beginning to send a message down the line to get a hurry-up, when behind him marches in the desired on a tray, held in the old fashioned way one does not see any more, pointy elbow and the wrist cocked backward. Oh the French! Louis and Versailles. (The builder of a Condo around in Guillemard Road had hit pay-dirt trading on that dazzling name. No one in Singapore had thought of it before even for a bar or Nail place.) A picture of perfection on the off-centre saucer that more easily accommodates the spoon and sugar sachet. Just one of the little special touches that sets Paul apart from lesser places. Once or twice the error made here ordering a latte; not thinking quickly enough. Nice dye job on the trim sported by the Maitre d' / the Floor Super / the Senior or Captain who always comes over to jolly regulars. Finely judged touch of rust-red oxide toward the rear on what seemed only one side. Light at the window caught it; within the room it disappeared altogether. Still more than a little surprised at winning the prize without challenge. How many sir?/ Two. Maybe three coming. What was she going to say? Sorry, that's for people with real money. Smart straw panama only gets one so far. A fair hint, but nothing on the wrist. (Rolex billboards featuring the Swiss tennis player must have been up this time of year again with the new season. Cartiers was on ground level; Hublot and The Hourglass in the near neighbourhood. One has become rather a horological connoisseur simply reading the local newspaper here the better part of twenty months.) Three solo ladies in desolation row one behind the other saved by their Smarts. (Half the adult population back home in possession, one of the ABC on-line items reported. Here one might guess the percentage higher without knowledge of the gross inequalities…. By the way, who in the heck called the hookers on MP Craig Thompson's phone and paid for service with his union credit card?) The interior here settles any wildly beating heart. Four chandeliers in the dining area; two rustic-type over the take-out bread stand. Gold-gilt mirror on the faux wood-paneled back wall, a pair of candle-lights mounted either side. The Seine, cottage in the campagne and to confuse the picture somewhat a windmill. Couldn't be certain, but the rust-red oxide could possibly turn out company line, at least for  the males. Two of the lads close to replicas, one Chin, the other Malay or Thai. Coincidence? The old Filipino fretting over the waiting customer though carrying pure jet. Mimicry, the sort of thing you get in a work-place. Real money might not be anywhere on the floor here in fact, all pretend. Whoever the chap is with the new two-tone Roller parked in the side-street—Malay chauffer having a fag on the footpath—he almost certainly does not take his cafe au lait at Paul. Security guards, barriers, croc infested moats separate off that kind of real money. The author has been rather pleased to have been proved correct in his guess that the local Pharaoh here, founder of the nation, St. George to the regional Communist Dragon back in the day, Mr. LKY in fact certainly did employ a full-time Food-taster. One earns knowledge and insight over the years. Apparently in his palace quarters the Royal here never slept in the same bed two nights running. This years before al-Qaida got its act together. But this is off-subject again. Nice to see the Trannie serving. Let it be known, in these steamy tropics the Trans-gender attains a place in the sun like all God's creatures. They are probably not mugged or murdered in these parts. Tiny hints of cosmetic jobs across the tables. One of the prominent surgeons here up before the courts for over-charging a royal of the region, the Sultan of Brunei's brother it may have been. Filipina knows now she was dudded on entry. Hopefully the Super doesn't give her hell. Down at street-level a slow day, some kind of weekend promotion hurry-hurry. New readers will not be aware, Orchard Road, Singapore is the prime retail strip in the entire world of shopping. Forget Pall-mall, the Champs-Elysees, Times Square and the others. Top of the pops no argument.