Over the weekend, I managed to bust my knee after 15 minutes on the Zouk dance floor while Technasia was spinning some hard techno so much so that I had to lean on my friend for support to get out to the main road to get a cab home.

I was a little frustrated by that setback as I had been rather good to my knee during the week, wearing low-heeled shoes so that I wouldn't put undue stress on my knee (and still sometimes aching back). Zouk didn't even feature in my plans for the weekend; all I had planned for Saturday night was to catch a friend play solo at a pub, watch part of the Merseyside derby and go see a friend spin indie pop at Cafe Cosmo - all in the span of two hours. I managed to achieve all of that, fortunately, and even managed to have a good time doing all three. A little surprising when you consider that I'm most definitely not a hardcore indie pop fan. I mean, I like listening to it and all but I'm not a die-hard fan and I really don't connect with Singapore's indie pop crowd all that well.

Anyway, the friend who sent me home from Zouk subsequently sent me a text message which said, "duck I lost my keys." I was a little tired and almost responded, "I'm so sorry to hear that, lovey," before realising it was a classic case of a incorrectly predicted text. Coincidentally, this also happened to be the subject of a friend's weekend blog post.

I got some sleep and my knee was better in the morning but was still hurting. So after some gentle coercion, I went to a "proper" doctor who told me that she couldn't see what was wrong with my knee but there was obviously something wrong from my description of the pain so she's referring me to an orthopaedic consult. The price for that piece of advice was S$3.15. The price for seeing the specialist? S$80.

And people wonder why I was more willing to pay a guy to stick needles in me for S$14.