Live Like A Rock Star

On my third trip to Gardens by the Bay, I espied two birdies perched leisurely atop a roof. They were a great deal too spellbinding, to say the least of it, as well as to set the scene, and no sooner had I whipped out an iPhone to capture the instant, than those little creatures soared aloft and flapped away.

If truth be told, the impromptu visit that was paid on Sunday did not convey much cakes and ale at the get-go; I was ever such surfeited with the ostentatiously grandiose park, insomuch that it is impossible for the crevasses of my unscholarly brain to do otherwise than to duly recoil in more abhorrence than I can shake a stick at.

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Dive Into Frozen Waves

Until seven o’clock on Friday, when the stupendous refreshments of sailing the oceans and hollering, “This is exactly as it should be!” were ours, which, to the ladies and the gentlemen and me, the idea of an ephemeral vacation was by no manner of means dispensable, it was all very vexatious. But being appeased on seeing them that they were settled so quickly as to consider themselves quite fixed there within one half hour, I was too much gruntled.

The rest of the evening proceeded, therefore, sans further loss of time; how we bantered and rapped about trivial matters and how our raptures flowed abidingly long, such that as we were at dinner, before Lennard had guzzled and ingurgitated a bowl of warm red bean soup in three fleeting seconds, Adeline said to us definitively, “As long as we have this joy frequently repeated, it is all very well!” and then, after a few moments’ hilarity, addressed a passing waitress with, “Oh! You must excuse me, pray, for being quite the nuisance, but please bring us more desserts, because this madcap exposure is not to be missed!”

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgic

“How pleasant it is to receive the day in this manner,” cried my father one morning, whilst he was conveying me to work, and when the threadbare van was rattling to a jerky standstill along Hillview Avenue, as I wove five fingers through my raven, lacklustre, and intricately knotted hair, to detangle without success.

To me it emerged that there was no discording upon such a meticulous observation, one which I should have otherwise sensed naught about had my interlocutor rather mentioned something else in which I see no likelihood of partaking. For when I inhaled abundantly from the open windows, so as to prompt a whiff of bougainvilleas goodness to waft through my nostrils and windpipe and into my lungs, it promised well, of many gleeful prognostics of a fruitful Wednesday.

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In A World On Fire

Against resisting the seismic exhaustion longer, I curled up in the fetal position, when Dad’s car whizzed along the expressway towards home at nine o’clock that night, as offending rays of red, orange, and green, illuminated by the streetlights and traffic lights, danced a reel behind my closed eyelids.

“Our daughter, my dear, is most spent,” Mum noted, alongside the less than sedative rendition of Titanium which had pulsated through the stereo with more than usual intensity, as must have rendered her laconic observation faint and muffled.

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Of Cobwebbed Heart and Tangled Soul

A stride about Jalan Riang transpired swiftly on Thursday, when luncheon was merely over, in the following manner: I had hotfooted to Wimbly Lu, with more than usual ecstasy, as must have rendered the four ladies, who had at first only ambled along the pavements, in a very breathless state by the time we seated ourselves in the coffeehouse.

This brutal subjection, in which many professions of ill humour and mental anguish may well be arose, soon dissipated, however, when we had the pleasure of masticating brownies and cakes and sundries, which were delightful, though by no means capital.

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