Spot of Window-Shopping

It’s raining! It’s pouring! Pelting down around lunchtime, just when a chap’s tummy was a-roaring. But never fear. The 250m dash to the bus-stop from Block 2 at the back of the Haig, involving one little circuit out front of Block 9, provided EXcellent cover. Dry as a bone almost; piece of cake. Actually rather like window-shopping on nature. A kind of nature, well-ordered and contained. Neat as a pin. Theme-park site of regularly razored hedges, fringe garden-beds, the little candy-coloured playground. The Malay gardening crew behind their umbrellas under our block had grown of late, a week ago a great surprise when the figure usually snoozing hard against the wall in the corner behind her shield turned into a tall, long-haired, almost ravishing beauty. Golly gee! Ripe for a rescuing prince. Her mother possibly joined their detail now, and two or even three others bunched together. Further along Indian lads were spread-eagled on their cardboard, their yellow Wellies upright beside them. Then more Malays and Bangla for variation. Window-shopping the Third World, should you be interested; a zoo safari of cheap serfs. As usual more, than one group was taking their lunch on the brown grease-proof papers between their legs. (These people were in fact the reason for the spotless, litter-free grounds, the pasted-on perfection of gardens. Once or twice the poles and seats of the playground had been witnessed receiving determined buffing.) Not an out-and-out monsoonal drenching this one, but not bad. Especially given the price of admission.