Labels Again

 

The Box was rather better than Starbs, even the front seating at Bras Basah Starbs, where the branding was not in evidence. Both of them were better than try-hard Mellower opposite the library. The kids crowded the latter and most days seating was difficult, certainly the select seats. Lotta foreign talent there too, both white & other; tops opened wide at 50-60% of tables. Presumably the clientele identified the cute cartoon figures on the walls. There must have been a Burberry or two around the place at Mellower, if not Starbs. You had never come within cooee of a Burberry, certainly never sat within touching distance. Beggars, tramps, gutter-sweeps were your preferred; small time crims even. Indeed it might have been ads in the newspapers in Sing where the brand was first encountered, along with Hermes, Tiffany and some others. At the Box one popped up this afternoon on the chair adjacent, young lady’s purse/make-up bag/clutch bag, whatever. The manner though made all the difference here, beautifully respectful and polite; obliging, smiling, happy to make room. Oh shite! That’s right! You were gonna have some toast weren’t you, after at least a decade. The last crust had been taken almost certainly at this very place on North Bridge, with the sugared peanut butter in the early months at the library, 2011. Indoor table in the corner back then. For firming the stool it was BRAT that was recommended: banana, rice, apple & oddly, toast. Burberry informed that they didn’t have plain here at the Box, only kaya & butter. Perhaps she didn’t know the peanut butter option. Another narrow escape the other day going back to the room after the paper. Setting off along the path from the Pasar, the options were plotted out in advance: in the case of instant emergency, the disorderly Azhar cubicles just across the way would offer sanctuary; the block at the Haig further down (never tested in all these years and possibly Russian squats); and then fifty metres further, Kinex as it indeed proved, out in the back corner where the high polish palatial had been quite forgotten. Really laid on extra at Kinex, a chap could not ask for more. No Ave Maria piping through the sound system as at Takashimaya on Orchard, but otherwise almost nothing to separate the pair. Small wonder the retirees loved this place; never get caught out once you knew the lie of the land. Clean, spacious, hanging pegs more often than not; plentiful cubicles and all the paper one could desire. The country was a gem. Safety first & foremost. Tax system. Public transport. First grade malls. Add white worship. Indians and others would complain of the armchair ride given Whites. Sometimes it happened you were bona fide loaded, but in the case of a darker shade of pale the confusion with the foreign labour could crop up. Well, one might ask the gal, carefully, respectfully, how far she had been set back for that light caramel 7 x 3 1/2 inch. Explain the line of work, the profession; perhaps she would understand. It was a big ask, but not without a chance in her particular case. Fine soul beneath the make-over, classic daddy’s girl. Black almost velvet one piece, modest cut at the neck; simple chain & pendant. Watch matching, perhaps alligator, small face hidden this side. All the tables nicely modest here, some of which no doubt seating some seriously stacked real estate and assets. Coming round from Starbs earlier for some reason on this rainy afternoon, Waterloo corner produced a little stab. Wince and look away. Ordinarily it was water off a duck’s back here now. How many times had that corner been crossed? How many times had Waterloo itself been taken down to the temples and Bugis, without a moment’s thought, at least in latter years? Clive in Lt. India. Petain & Clemenceau thereabout. Princep Street had been confused for a wee bit with our man Gavrilo from the same era, an understandable spelling error it was thought at one time. Of course the Brits here would hardly have celebrated a regicide. Hardly. Come on! Duh! The Burberry gal turned out perfectly easy as expected. Picked up the piece in Milan, discounted line. Googling for the price wouldn’t help in this case. Just a minute, just a minute, she’d check for you. Won’t take a moment. She had the receipt right there somewhere. Swiping, swiping. Did she keep a proper file? Didn’t look like it. Swiping. Ah! There it was, the pic and beside it the slip. In fact rather more than her recollection. €485. Normal price had been €750 . She had saved heaps. In the property line, but not sales or condos. In fact, sustainable construction; her brief concerning schools, primary schools. Waterloo. Signal triumph. Nelson wasn’t it, Horacio? We learned it in primary school, where the head in early years, Mr Villiers, was the younger bro it might have been of either an admiral, or sailing ship’s captain. There were pics on the wall in the office. Francis Drake having a turn at bowls when the Spanish Armada was sighted off the coast of fair England, letting the fleet that would meet them tarry a while until he had completed his throw. Possibly also in the school curriculum and certainly featuring in the swashbuckling movies. The Duke of Wellington of course at Waterloo; not Nelson. And for future reference, kaya was coconut jam, the toast traditionally served alongside coffee & soft boiled eggs, just as the nice Burberry lass had taken for a late lunch.