Something was clearly afoot. From the moment the cop rocked up on his cycle and assumed his position opposite, the heads began to turn. Motioning at first to a car that had stopped, it looked like he might cross over in order to deal with an infarction of some kind. Instead, the fellow planted himself in the middle of the junction of Tan Quee Lan directly opposite the Box, bestriding the tarmac like Mussolini in the newsreels. First the gloved right hand was thrust at the car behind, before it turned to a couple vehicles which had emerged from the underground. A little guy puffed up in his leathers like a frog. Thirteen, fourteen, could have been a full dozen & half motorised colleagues coming by in the 8 - 9 minutes. Couple of the guys gave a nod to their man, one rider dropping his arm going past. Sure enough, one of the others stopped at the next junction and commanded that post in turn. None here may pass! None may enter from the side street onto the main thoroughfare of North Bridge Road. Both the men kept their helmets on, boots & jackets under the afternoon torch. The PSI was a bit lighter that day, some way short of the dangerous level. As well as the fires in Sumatra & Kalimantan, Anak Krakatau, Krakatoa Junior had send up ash the day before, with some kinda wind tunnel effect keeping the Republic fairly well preserved from anything too bad. KL & Jakarta were blanketed in smoke & dust, hundreds of flights cancelled and health warnings issued. Ten - twelve minutes the cops were required to hang tough. Had there been some serious disturbance in the neighbourhood? No shots or alarms had been heard. The government was always warning of dangers. A number of radicalised youngsters had been apprehended last few months, plotting attacks of various kinds, usually stemming from Gaza. In fact, the twenty-five year anniversary of 9/11 was just two days off. On the Equator the event had understandably receded from memory. There was no apparent edginess in the cop opposite, only some impatience, perhaps. As usual, the afternoon stoking. Immediately the show was over, the lads would need a long, cool shower. The man kept looking up toward Rochor Road, nodding now and again for messages received through his phones. Patrons at the tables gave no indication of anything, nor any of the passersby. Only one small group with suitcases stopped on the corner to look. As the minutes slowly ticked by, positively dragging for the guy opposite, it became apparent what was afoot. Rather than anything else, North Bridge was being cleared for a VVIP of some kind—maybe three VVVs were involved. In this case one who was dragging his feet a wee bit. It could be nothing else. We just needed to be patient and wait with the cop. Who might it be? The local Pres…? The de facto PM (who had recently passed the symbolic baton, while retaining the real power)? Possibly the visiting Luxembourgian leader, who had been pictured in the newspaper. Jared was in Moscow and his father-in-law at home after his new hair colouring. The next dozen intersections at least on North B. would be closed. The VVV would have a clear run to the parliament building, or else over to the Istana, the President’s formal residence, where heads of State & dignitaries like the Luxembou were received. Finally, eventually, belatedly, here was the motorcade arriving! Disappointingly, only 3 - 4 vehicles in total, travelling in the right lane at a very slow clip. The long limo nothing special; surprisingly modest. On the bonnet the little fluttering flag couldn’t be caught. Behind the wheel sat an ordinary, nondescript Joe. (Some leaders required a more handsome, buffed & busty chauffeur.) Had the passenger been the tall, gangly, slightly pop-eyed current Pres. (former DPM and Minister of various portfolios), the man could not have slipped by. That chap’s was an unmistakable dial (mother’s love itself needing corroboration). In this case, incidentally, with a bewitching, counterintuitive Oxbridge delivery. (On YT some aspiring technocrats had cheered a stellar BBC take-down of a pesky interviewer.) Altogether quite blurred. Anti-climactic. Hardly worth any candle, especially after the prep. This was nothing whatever like the roaring, rocketing example on the narrow road from the military town of Cilacap, 6-7 years before. Run for your lives you citz! that had been.
Singapore 2011-26
