So, I arrived back in Singapore to much pomp and ceremony, not so much in the form of an applauding crowd, flowers, and red carpet ala Olympic heroes, but in the form of a massive to-do and things-you-missed-out-on-while-you-were-away list slapped in my face. Oh how I hate returning from holidays. Invariably, I will receive smses like Nelson's seven "Urgent. Call me now"s followed by a "Damnit whr are u?", or Jenny's "Are the basketballs with you? Need them tmr", and the depressing thought that my time is never mine overcomes me, and I have to fight the urge to pick up my backpack, hop onto the next flight, and get the hell out of here all over again. Away from the local telcom reception, away from Internet access, away from everyone I know.

Nevertheless, it's good to back, for no reason other than to be travelling on the flat, non-butt-jerking roads of Singapore. We take more things for granted than we know.

Anyway, I've just come off from watching Channel 8's 25th Anniversary thing-a-ling on television, and I must take my hats off to the old-timers. Way before the age of air-conditioned make-up studios, photo shoots, economically viable endorsements and Personal Assistants, these artistes braved sun and storm to get every scene right. As a result of the sweat and blood behind each take, the snippets of the old films in all it's off-colour and grainy glory showed no less than perfect executions of a myriad of expressions. The artistes these days with their fan clubs just don't quite cut it.

Right. I'm off to bed, and you'll be there next to me the moment I close my eyes.