I have hit the wall of culture shock. Now that I actually have wheels and very nice ones they are too, I can get around and sort things out for the house to make it a little more liveable. Yesterday, I achieved miracles!
So far I have curtains, a mattress ( that was the day-of-the-disaster-mattress), a bed base, a shower curtain and paint. I have started the long task of repairing Mr. Spoldge's damage blob by blob. Apart from thinking things are cheap in Sing dollars and then realising they are in pounds and NOT cheap, there is one thing that is irking me more than you can imagine.
Don't call me Darling! I go into a shop, need assistance and every sentence is punctuated with "of course, darling", "we have them in aise 5, darling"... I am not their darling. I do not know them from Adam and I don't like the irritating habit of being addressed as such. When did people start calling perfect strangers, "darling"?
I personally reserve that moniker to special people in my life like you, Marms. I am tempted to reply. "I am not YOUR darling." I'm not. How could I be? I think a T-shirt would suffice - the words blazoned on my chest might send a clear and unambiguous message to all who work in the local Tesco store for starters.
That's it. I have got that off my chest and as always, I know what a good listener you have been. So my darling dog, hugs over the airwaves. Until I see you again to have real propper chat, thank you for lending me your ear long-distance!
Love
XXX
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