After the ABC lunch and sec. duties bill-paying &etc, a long walk was in order. In the end it turned into a respectable fifty minute circuit. Seven or eight years now there had been not a single venture into the Joo Chiat area, nothing further than the bakery a little past Masjid Khalid. Sticking close to Geylang Serai it was easy to forget that quarter. One had left Melbourne in order to escape those kinds of bars, cafes and restaurants. The prolonged sits at the eateries and the desk had done damage already; walking and the exercise regime was fight back. Down along the strip on J.C. Road to East Coast, with some ill-at-ease under the panama, the red scarf and girly black sunglasses, as Auntie Helen had called them. It was a surprise Chinese shopkeepers didn’t call out greetings to the generic John passing by. In the mid-afternoon many of the places were empty, if not closed down. Then there was Katong further on after a similar period of absence. The place with the lacquered wine barrels out front was still operating, though at that time of day no tattooed Westerners could be found nursing their long glasses of beer, dogs curled at their feet. The Katong Mall was the oldest in Singapore. Inside there were perhaps twenty maid agencies; perhaps even thirty. All like pet shops with the young girls sitting in the window. The southerly end of Haig Road had never been walked previously. Tall condo towers and handsome bungalows all along. Even the shabby examples of the latter would fetch a couple of million. (Next morning someone mentioned a bungalow there on a larger allotment reaching $8m.) Numerous Indian work gangs in the gardens and on the roads. Back in the room it was straight onto the exercise mat, the sweat evaporating slowly under the aircon. (With the love-making of the day before, the exercises had been skipped with a good conscience; a hungry gal like Ni was more than enough exertion for one day.) Neck either side, then back & forward; toe-touching and finally the gut-busting pushes. Recently the pushes were in fact proving not so arduous. The tummy-tightener had been dropped before the return to Melbourne. Being concerned about her weight, her gastric and some constipation, Auntie Helen had been recommended the tummy-tightener. Flat on the back hands behind head, heels lifted a few centimetres and holding 10-15 seconds was enough for beginners. Helen’s squats feeding her cats were some benefit, though more was needed. That evening Helen had been caught out front after her duties. As usual she was found zelna price, desirous of talk. Some local politics, neighbourhood gossip, the latest on the virus; updates on the mogs of course. Helen also had no TV. For the evening there were perhaps bible readings and the day’s verses to review. Young Wan Ling, or Maureen from further down Carpmael, might call in later, their voices ringing through the party wall. Through the night Helen’s sleep always sounded deep and contented. I want to tell you…Helen often began a conversational item she had stored. It was never difficult keeping patience with Helen. None of Helen’s ill temper or abruptness could be taken amiss. Recently there was another kidney problem among the Carpmael litter. Mr Chan, the feed merchant who lived in a condo and also kept numerous strays, got mention. There was Maureen’s uncommunicative older sister, who had recently given Wan Ling the cold shoulder on a visit—not so fond of cats that lady. The snooty Indian madam on the corner was complaining about the feeding adjacent her property. It was not always easy following developments with the mousers. ID-ing the different ones, correctly fixing gender, recalling behavioural characteristics was all tricky. At some point among the rest that evening it emerged that Helen did not like to give the tabs human names. Wan Ling was the one who gave those. Lionel for example was WL’s choice for the grey that often gave our Mooko a hard time—the grey with the pale discolouration on its lower back; not to be confused with Mooko and the other grey, the green-eyed one. Helen sometimes referred to Lionel as Wan Ling’s son, because the little boy came from a litter adopted by young WL. For some reason that fellow had been introduced into the Carpmael circle, for special attention it may have been—kidney problems again, possibly. Before this it had been assumed that Lionel had been named after the nice Chinaman with the younger Filipina wife formerly staying downstairs. Lately Wan Ling had been taking Auntie’s advice, christening a recent addition to their circle Pompom. Telling of the case it was clear Auntie H. approved. Rather chuffed she was at the inventiveness too.
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