I am quite a bit late to this, I realise, but just in case, you can download Justice's rejected Fabric mix here. The mix was meant to be FabricLive 37 but the club label rejected it apparently because it was too short, and so, the duo released it for free as their Christmas present to their fans.

DJ Craze's promotional mix for the release of his album for Fabric, FabricLive 38, is also available for download.

Enjoy!

It seems like almost everyone I know is incredibly interested in food, both in terms of preparing and consuming it. Of course, the majority of the people I know are Singaporeans or are based in Singapore, so that might have something to do with it. Nevertheless, it is a little daunting realising just how many of my friends can and do enjoy cooking. I haven't cooked all that often, if at all, since my arrival in London, with my dishes mainly confined to pasta and stir-fries. Still, I've stocked up on some more exotic ingredients in the hopes of one day finding enough time to try out recipes such as Chez Pim's Five Spice Braised Pork Belly (Parts I and II), her healthier alternative, Five Spice Braised Chicken with Egg Noodle, and spaghetti with meatballs. Maybe, one day when I'm brave enough to bake, I'll try out Flour Power City's Apple and Almond Tart recipe and perhaps even my beloved kueh bolu. And if I ever finish up the cereal and muesli I have in my flat, then perhaps this recipe for Swiss-style muesli as well, as my friend's been enthusing about Bircher muesli for the past two weeks.

Why, yes, I do love five spice. I really miss ngoh hiang. But more importantly, I purchased a sachet of five spice powder from See Woo, not quite realising that only a pinch of spice is required in any dish I might ever want to cook, so I'll have to cook quite a bit before it gets used up!

It's not likely that I'll be doing anything too difficult in the near future though. I've officially switched to 'no life' mode for the next two months as I'll be studying (hard, I hope) for an exam.

On top of that, in spite of London's poor reputation in terms of food available here, I've found there are actually quite a number of places which serve decent food here. It can't compare to Singapore, yes, but still, I feel it's been regarded rather unfairly. And naturally, that means I have to check out some of these great restaurants and post a review on them just so I can do my bit to disabuse people of that commonly-held belief, which means that if I'm eating out, I won't be doing much cooking, will I?

I am sick with the flu (I think) and my voice intermittently comes and goes. In spite of this, I am still craving my usual caffeine fix. Reluctant to brave the cold weather, I am now nursing a cup of Tchibo Gold Selection. It's not the best coffee in the world (even going by instant coffee standards) but one simply make the best of a bad situation. Besides, it brings back memories of my backpacking days when I used to come across a Tchibo coffee shop in most of the cities in continental Europe I travelled through.

On that note, I decided to quiz the all mighty Google and check which brands of instant coffee were the most highly regarded so that I could stock up in the event something like this recurs. One of the first links which popped up was a thread on Chowhound with mostly US respondents (apparently, Nescafe targeted at the Latin American market is the best). The lone European response I saw made me laugh with comments such as "North American instants are to European instants what white vinegar is to certified modena balsamic" and "Don't try serving [the European instants] to your auntie from the farm in Iowa, she'll think you're trying to kill her". For those of you in the same quandary as I am, the poster recommends Carte Noir, Alta Rica, Cap Columbie and Kenjara (the last three being gourmet blends from Nescafe). I'll give them a try next time I find a suitably small jar to purchase and let you know in due course.

As for coffee joints, I have, amazingly enough, been to a few good ones in London, such as Caffe Vergnano (Charing Cross and Southbank Centre), The Algerian Coffee Store (Old Compton Street), Coffee@Brick Lane (both outlets on Brick Lane) and, of course, Monmouth Coffee (Borough Market, although its flagship store is on Monmouth Street which I have not yet visited). I also quite like Caffe Nero, which, according to Which? magazine, serves the best coffee out of the retail chains. On a less objective note, Caffe Nero brings back good memories for me as P. (the university boyfriend) and I spent several afternoons there, most notably the wonderfully beautiful spring day after we finally got together officially as a couple.

I feel inspired. Maybe I'll start up a whole new category devoted purely to coffee. I certainly drink quite a lot of it. It's practically the staple in my line of work. One of my senior managers even has a Nespresso machine in his office! But I'll have to get better first.

Stay tuned.

Related Links
Where's the Good Coffee? - TheKua, a writer who has contributed to the Londonist, lists the good coffee places he's come across while in London (which include a few I have not been to).
Cafe Society - Gridskipper's guide to great coffee places where you can take a break from the hustle and bustle of London. If only they had a print feature!
Time Out Eating & Drinking Awards 2007 - Best Coffee Bar - Self-explanatory.

I spent the night of Easter Sunday celebrating the beginning of spring at Loft Party at The Light, enjoying a marathon set by David Mancuso from 5 pm to 12 midnight. Although I had no one to go with, given that David is one of the pioneers of the modern clubbing scene as we know it, how could I possibly miss out? Besides, Loft Party is only held three to four times a year, and the parties always sell out. And as the icing on the cake, the organisers were also providing free food, free water and a free cloakroom. All for only £20!

I arrived at The Light at 7.30 pm. I figured that was early enough to catch the majority of The Man's set, but not so early that there wouldn't be too many people around. As it turned out, I was wrong; the cloakroom was full and the floor was filled with dancers. The room was really nicely decorated with lots and lots of balloons tied to the rafters ,and yellow flowers adorning the furniture. I felt rather shy and out of place upon my arrival, so I figured I would go down and get a drink to relax.

Along the way, I discovered where the free food was being served and partook of some incredibly wonderful vegetarian food catered by Leon Lewis, a veteran of the festival catering scene. Although I had eaten a light dinner earlier (in case the free food had run out by the time I got there), the food was so delicious that I pretty much ate a second, full dinner. Leon's fruit cake was delectably rich, and reminded me of the brandy-soaked fruit cake my grandmother used to make for us every Christmas when I was little. I really loved her fruit cake, and I haven't found anything which comes close to how hers tasted until now.

After gorging myself, I grabbed a Fruli, a strawberry flavoured beer which must be the girliest beer ever made. Nevertheless, with a 4.1% alcohol content, it did the job. Once I got back up to the dance floor, I found myself a little space near the DJ booth and started dancing while watching David DJ. I liked his set up; there was a mini table lamp by one of the turntables which David turned on and off whenever he needed to see. On top of that, he also wielded a pocket torch and wore a pair of reading glasses around his neck, which impressed me greatly because he could just have easily decided to retire from DJing once the infirmities of old age started to afflict him.

After dancing for a bit, I took a break before returning to the dance floor at about 11 pm whereupon I proceeded to dance my socks off. Along the way, more people came up to chat with me, including an incredibly stoned Greek. One of them even offered me poppers, though I politely declined. Another one of them attempted to get my attention by dancing next to me for some time, and while I smiled - I do love to see people enjoying themselves dancing - I didn't really take notice of him.

So, there I was, dancing away to David Mancuso's glorious mix of disco and house tunes, a mix which reminded me distinctly of Danny Tenaglia's marathon sets, a resemblance made even stronger when David put on Laid Back - Ride The White Horse. I have never been a big fan of disco. In fact, I'm such a non-fan that the few times I've stepped into 54 at the Ministry of Sound in Singapore, I had to drink several drinks in quick succession just so I could endure being in that room. But on this night, I realised just how far I'd come, because I absolutely loved the tunes that David was putting on. It was most definitely one of the most enjoyable musical journeys I have ever had the pleasure and privilege to take.

And to make the night even better, David played a full hour beyond his allotted time. We all thought the party would end at midnight, but he just kept on going, putting on tune after tune after tune. It was clear to all of us on the dance floor (and much to the dismay of my aching feet) that if he could, he would go on spinning for the rest of the night. Alas, at 1 am, the manager of the bar asked him to stop (for licensing reasons, I suspect) and we all made our way out of the bar wearily.

It was at this point in time when the previously mentioned guy who was dancing near me came up to cheat. We were walking in the same direction on this incredibly cold night and at one point, he grabbed my hand, saying that we shouldn't waste our body heat. I was so startled that the moment he released my hand, I stuffed it into my coat pocket. As I neared my intended destination, he asked for my number and suggested that we meet up soon and take a walk by the river. Then he kissed me on the cheek and bade me goodnight.

I mention this incident primarily because, to me, it illustrates the vast gap between what men here want, and what I'm willing to offer. I don't really see myself getting into a serious relationship with any guy here any time soon, simply because of this fundamental difference, but I sure hope I am wrong.

In any case, Loft Party was amazing and I look forward to its fifth anniversary in June. I'll definitely be going to enjoy the genius that is David Mancuso once again.

Into The Hoods is an incredibly imaginative and wonderfully choreographed hip hop adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's Into The Woods. The urban dance extravaganza is the brainchild of Katie Prince, the founder of dance agency ZooNation. Into the Hoods was first staged at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2006 and sold out every show for its two runs at the Festival.

Two kids playing truant from school take the place of the baker and his wife from the original story. The kids find themselves lost in the hood and end up in a grotty, ghetto estate called Ruff Endz. The evil landlord (instead of the witch) tells the children he will send them home if they are able to get him four items including "an ipod as white as milk". Also living on the estate are Spinderella, a beautiful, put-upon DJ, blonde MC Rap-On-Zel, hoodie-clad R&B singer Lil' Red, two-timing D-List celebrity Prince, a producer who lives in the basement called Jaxx and a drug-dealing Giant who lives in the penthouse. It is, as you may have guessed by now, an urban fairy tale.

The show was excellent overall; everything from the technical ability of the dancers to the choreography to the well-chosen soundtrack to the imaginative use of props and scenery (which in some cases, consisted of dancers) was incredible. The video wall at the back of the stage was used rather innovatively to great effect, and is best illustrated by the scene when Spinderella goes to the ball.

To me, the most memorable scenes were:

• Spinderella and Prince at the ball, breaking into a lindy hop which pleasantly surprised me (although the nitpicking part of me felt it could have been done better, but, to be fair, this is not their field of expertise, after all)
• The old folks' home just before Lil' Red arrives to visit her grandmother. Let's just say that in the course of two dance shoes, I have now seen hilariously unusual breakdance battles.
• Jaxx and the Giant duking it out. Props, choreography, comedic elements and even special effects were all used here to great effect.

While all of the dancers are greatly skilled, as evidenced by the resumes of the various cast members, I just have to praise Teneisha Bonner, who plays Spinderella, and who was outstanding. Halfway through the show, I realised Teneisha also played Nurse Ratched in Insane in the Brain, which I saw just two weeks ago. Then, I was in awe of the strength of her dancing. Her moves were sharp, controlled and powerful. It looked as if she was dancing in a rather masculine style, which tends to be quite unusual for females. In Into the Hoods, while there are some scenes which showed off her upper body strength (again, uncommon in female dancers), she also gets to showcase the sexiness and slinkiness that make female dancers so appealing to watch. Once again, Teneisha has left me in awe.

Other dancers who stood out are Rowen Hawkins, who plays Jaxx, and the little girl who plays Fairy Gee (for Godmother). The first time we see Jaxx in the show, he does some incredible dance moves on his hands for quite some time. Quite simply, mindblowingly awesome. As for Fairy Gee... some of the moves she does are fantastic, made even more so by the fact that she's just a little girl.

The show runs for about two hours, including the warm-up act by comedy rap poet Mr. Gee. There isn't an interval, but I hardly noticed time passing given how much I was enjoying myself. As with Insane in the Brain, I highly highly recommend that you go catch this while you can.

Into The Hoods runs at the Novello Theatre until May 10, 2008.

There is this boy in my office. I really shouldn't call him a boy given that he is in his mid-twenties, but as he's younger than I am - and it comes across whenever we speak - I can't help but refer to him as a boy, or, as I like to call him when speaking about him to friends, the Lad.

The Lad, as you may have guessed, is English... very much so, but not in the classic, gentlemanly sense that most people take it. He uses words like "summink", "genius" as an adjective and "good good" as a response to questions. So not so much British, but more like a Londoner.

The Lad is also very attractive. When I first met him, I thought he could have stepped straight out of a men's magazine. And while there are times - most noticeably in his photos - that he looks rather too polished and almost narcissistic, when he's in the office, and concentrating on other things, and especially when he smiles, he is absolutely gorgeous. He is vain, no doubt about that, but he's got just the right amount of cockiness to pull it off.

By now, you would be right in thinking that I have a crush on him. And you'd be right. I fancy the pants off him, pardon my French. And that's very bad. Very bad indeed.

I've had crushes on some of my colleagues before but never when they were working in the same office. Everyone knows that inter-office romances are bad. And I'm not willing to risk making a move. Ever. Especially given his proximity to me.

Besides, it would never work out. He and I are diametrically opposed when it comes to certain issues, and he has said - jokingly or not, I don't know - that he wouldn't ever be able to go out with a girl who doesn't take his side on this particular issue. On top of that, he's young, good-looking, and likes to live the good life. He just might be out of my league (although my guy best friend has told me once that no one is ever out of my league, unless I let them). And if you add the fact that he seems to go out with a lot of girls every weekend, he's most likely a player of the highest order.

In spite of all of that, I feel a twinge whenever he talks about his love life. It's a crush that's rather intense, and I fear that it will go the way of Sarah and Karl in Love Actually.

That's why I look forward to the weekends and the breaks from the office; because I get away from seeing him and maybe, just maybe, will be able to find enough to do to just forget this crazy, unfulfillable wish of mine.

This is so bloody embarrassing. It really is. Does Singapore realise that it's the butt of international jokes?

Lessons in seduction for Singaporeans
By Thomas Bell, South East Asia Correspondent
Last Updated: 1:29am GMT 24/03/2008

The Singapore government is offering students lessons in seduction in an attempt to boost the city state's flagging birth rates.

Students at two polytechnics can earn two credits towards their final degree by choosing the love elective. Activities include watching slushy films, holding hands and "love song analysis".

An 18-year-old mechanical engineering student, Isabel Seet, told the local Straits Times newspaper: "My teacher said if a guy looks into my eyes for more than five seconds, it could mean that he is attracted to me and I stand a chance.

"It's very interesting, and if I have a boyfriend in future, I'll know how to cope with any problems we may have."

Besides "love and sexuality", the curriculum also deals with the importance of family life.

The "trainers" are provided by the Social Development Unit, a government match-making agency that has married off 33,000 people since it was established in 1984.

Last week government minister Yu-Foo Yee Shoon warned young people not to put their career before establishing a family "because if you wait until then, sometimes it'll be a little too late".

But it is not so easy to put Singaporean youth in the mood for love. Another student, Kamal Prakash, said that the course has improved his relationship with his parents but he is still single.

"I think most people who take the course would find it easier to get a girlfriend," he said. "But I'm not really looking for a girlfriend now as I want to concentrate on my studies."

Seriously. How socially retarded does this make us seem? I sent this to my colleagues for some light-hearted entertainment after the long Easter break, and, man, did they find this amusing. And of course, they had to ask me how difficult it was to put "Singapore youth in the mood for love." Probably incredibly difficult now that scores of young teenage girls will start counting in their heads whenever a guy looks at them.

I also like how Ms. Seet says "if I have a boyfriend in the future," the course will, apparently, have equipped her with the skills necessary to "cope with any problems [they] may have," thereby illustrating perfectly the problem facing so many Singaporeans; they feel that in order to get through life, all that is needed is book smarts, and not street smarts, a point reflected in the closing paragraph.

It was with some enthusiasm that I went to see electro-rock band Does It Offend You, Yeah? perform at Rough Trade East yesterday evening. After all, Zouk brought them into Singapore to perform at ZoukOut and the band will be playing at a number of dance music festivals this summer.

Little did I imagine that the band's tunes would be just... noise. Like Muse but without the talent and skilful guitar playing. Just guitar distortion and fiddling with pedals and vocoders. To be fair, the band members were friendly and cheeky, but that didn't make up for the fact that they didn't really have much to offer. The only tune I liked was We Are Rockstars and perhaps that's only because I'm fairly certain I heard it being spun at Zouk once.

Perhaps the warning sign should have been when I noticed about 70% of the crowd was noticeably younger than I... and given that this is the UK after all, and Orientals tend to look younger than Caucasians, that means rather young indeed. Even DIOYY acknowledged this when they asked, "Is anyone here of voting age?" before going on to plead that those of us who could vote, should make sure that Boris Johnson does not become Mayor of London. Fair enough. I don't want him as the Mayor either.

In any case, I'm glad I went for the gig. I still enjoy small, intimate gigs far better than I enjoy large-scale concerts. Besides, it gave me the chance to discover that the band really is all hyped up, rather than my having to spend money to find that out!

The Financial Times, of all papers, has a special feature covering the closure of four of London's superclubs to date, namely, The Cross, Canvas, The Key (all at King's Cross) and Turnmills, which shut its doors early this morning after one last mega weekender, called The Last Dance.

I get the economic rationale behind the closures. After all, if you, as a landlord, will be able to get ten times what you are making now in terms of rental merely by demolishing the existing property and building a new commercial development, then it would take a much stronger person than I would to stand in the way of progress.

But I am not a landlord. I am a music and clubbing lover. And I hate that so many places with history and memories are being torn down for soulless office skyscapers. I love that the buildings in London are so low compared to Singapore. But it doesn't look like it will stay that way for long.

I went to The Light Restaurant & Bar in Shoreditch yesterday evening. The Light Bar, formerly the premises of the Great Eastern Light Company, is a historical building on Shoreditch High Street, and is currently under threat as the Hackney Council wishes to site a 51-storey hotel where the bar is located, as well as on the adjacent site.

I have never been to a club like The Light before. The restaurant and bar are located on the ground floor, with the dance floor located upstairs in what I imagine is the attic, as the wooden rafters are clearly visible. There's even a rooftop terrace where you can survey the rest of Shoreditch from. It's such a refreshing change from every other club you usually get in London. And in spite of its prime location, I found the prices rather reasonable. The prices of bottled beers ranged from £3 to £3.75 (San Miguel was £3.20 while Fruli was £3.40) while a glass of red wine was £2.25. The bar staff were quite friendly too. I can't quite comment on the music as I was there on a special night (and which will be reviewed in a later post) but suffice it to say that if a DJ of that calibre likes this bar, then truly, this bar not only has historical significance by virtue of what it used to be, but also by who has played there.

Anyway, I will end off here. I am getting tired of the increasing commercialisation of the city, a little odd if you consider that I probably am one of the contributors to it given what I do and the fact that I moved here quite recently. But, as a fellow clubber put it last night, when I said, "Well, I guess I can't complain so much... I'm practically a tourist," "Not at all. You live here. You are a Londoner!"

One of the best and most unexpected segues in musical history, I feel, is from Jacques Lu Cont's Fabriclive 09, when Richard Strauss - Also Sprach Zarathustra segues into Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This). It is a moment of pure, complete genius. Rarely has something like that ever taken my breath away.

Until now.

While shopping the other day, I heard Beach Boys - God Only Knows remixed with Michael Jackson - Billie Jean. It was brilliant. And something which could only have come from 2 Many DJs. When I checked with the cashier, it turned out I was spot on. One of the sales assistant - the one serving me, as it turned out - had brought As Heard on Radio Soulwax, Pt 1 to work. I'm not sure if it's still available for sale, as HMV didn't have it available, but if you do come across it, it is well worth a listen.

Incidentally, HMV is selling a number of Fabric CDs for £6.99, including Jacques Lu Cont, John Peel and M.A.N.D.Y. The original price for these is £10 (or £6 + P&P if you're a FabricFirst member) so it's a good deal as you get the original metal tin and artwork as well.

It's snowing! In Central London! Photos and a possible video to come.

While walking by a plethora of coffee shops, I said, "If I ever open a coffee shop, I would call it The Daily Grind."

"That's a nice name," was the response I received.

"Or," I said, breaking into giggles as I spoke, "I'd call it The Kopi Bean and Teh Leaf."

This time around, I was met with dead silence and a glare. Hee!

Although one time, a friend even cornier than I am said, "Ooooh! You could call it Kopi-O, Teh-Si!"

Of course, a certain coffee chain would have to go out of business first if I didn't want to get sued!

Ah, London... how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Today was an awesomely great day. True, it was insanely cold but it was an incredibly enjoyable day nonetheless. After a rather short Good Friday Mass, we walked to Tower Hill. In spite of the wind, the sun was out and it was just so nice to be out there under the bright blue skies. As it was a day of fasting and abstinence, we decided to grab a drink to help us get through the day. After about 15 minutes of sitting in the cafe, we noticed it had started running rather heavily, which, given the fickleness of London's weather, didn't really surprise us.

What did surprise us was that after about five minutes, I noticed that what was hitting the pavement wasn't water, it was hail... and large chunks of hail too. Excited, we dashed out just to feel what it was like. It wasn't painful and amidst all the tourists taking photos of the hail, I just stood there, arms outstretched, laughing with sheer delight.

After that, it was off to one of my favourite parts of the city: Brick Lane, a part of London which is replete with the independent shops that I love. But before going into any shops, we passed by the StolenSpace Gallery which was showcasing Lightness of Being, an exhibition of Chris Levine's works, most notably his portraits of Queen Elizabeth II, rendered in 3D and in light. Truly beautiful and well worth a look.

Following that, we popped into Rough Trade (where I bought Indiepop 01, a compilation by the label some years back, and which I feel is a great collection of indie tracks, and got my free ticket to catch Does It Offend You, Yeah?'s performance on Monday), Coffee@Brick Lane (one of my favourite independent coffee shops because of the great music and cozy atmosphere), and Close Up (a great DVD library which stocks oldies and loads of foreign films (including The Decline of the American Empire which I have been looking for for quite some time!) in addition to current offerings, and also a place where I purchased Life and Lyrics, a movie about the South London rap scene which averaged review scores of about 5.5 out of 10, but for £3, I figured it couldn't be too bad) before finally arriving at the bagel shop.

Now, Beigel Bake is a London institution. Not only is it one of the oldest bagel shops in the city, it also opens 24 hours every single day. It's also a haven for hungry clubbers, and, for that reason, there are always freshly-baked goodies being hauled out of the oven no matter the time of day. Given that it's London, you might expect the prices here to be painfully exorbitant. Not at all. You can buy a plain bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese for £1.50, half the price of the other bagel shops in the city. You can also purchase an incredibly delicious onion platzel for 25 p, an apple strudel (or a turnover) for 50 p, as well as chocolate fudge slices for 60 p. Should you be so inclined towards bulk purchases, a bagel costs a mere 20 p. I'm sure cafes and restaurants purchase from this shop and sell it on to their customers and still make a profit.

Two doors down from Beigel Bake is Britain's First & Best Beigel Shop. It's not as famous as Beigel Bake, but if you are in a hurry, or want more in your bagel other than salt beef and smoked salmon, then this is the shop to head to. The foodie in me demands it.

So after our cheap and satisfying dinner, we decided to head back. It was still early, but far too cold to continue walking in the streets. On our way to the tube, we noticed Nudge, a hip hop and soul record shop, still open, and decided to pop in. The owner was exceptionally chatty, later apologising for his strange comments as he'd been drinking. He even offered us a beer! Somewhat disturbed by the rather demonic sounding titles of the free promotional CDs by the door, we decided to make a hasty getaway and brave the chilly London weather once more.

It may sound like a rather pedestrian day (and I guess it could be for someone like me given that I love to explore the city every weekend) but it illustrates just why I love this place so much. There is so much to do in London and so little time. Truly, Samuel Johnson was spot-on: "He who tires of London, tires of life."

Somewhat related links
Londonist - London Bagel Round-Up
Save the Deli - Salt Beef in the capital
Cory Doctorow of Boing Boing lives near Brick Lane

Signs that your eyesight is going:

1. While at Borders, I noticed a book on Anne Boleyn entitled Queen of Subtleties... except that I read it as Queen of Subtitles.
2. While flipping through Time Out, I noticed the ad for The Rage (self-described as "a wine club but for music"), the same group who brought London "Gigging for Grown-Ups" last year. In this case, I read it as "Giggling for Grown-Ups" and just figured it was one of those new phrases or trends in the ever-complicated world of music which had passed me by.

Highlights from the inaugural Total Films & Sky Movies Red Carpet Preview (which, incidentally, was poorly organised, and had misleading publicity beforehand, but that's another story):

• Guillermo del Toro: "Success, to me, is f***ing up on your own terms."
• del Toro (on being asked whether The Orphanage scared him): "No, it's just like showing c***s to a gynaecologist. You get used to it. Although there are shows out there which have made me s*** my pants."
• Getting to watch trailers of The Incredible Hulk (which I am still tempted to watch even though I hated the previous instalment just because it's Edward Norton), The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, Hellboy (the monsters resemble those of Pan's Labyrinth, which I really liked) and The Dark Knight. The last was especially poignant because of Heath Ledger's untimely demise. It sure looks as if he succeeded in making the role of The Joker his own, which is no mean feat considering he would always be compared against Jack Nicholson.
• Getting to watch two clips from WALL•E (trailer), Pixar's summer offering for 2008. Andrew Stanton, in his introductory address, told the audience he hoped we would fall in love with the robot and the film. He certainly succeeded with me; in the span of two five-minute clips, not only did I fall in love with WALL•E, I marvelled at how expressive his eyes were, managing to convey sadness, distress and wonder. As usual, Pixar has done a brilliant job, and I simply cannot wait for the film to come out.
• Ralf Little, star of the upcoming Waiting Room, poking fun at Flashback of a Fool (starring Daniel Craig): "The new Bond film's really dull. I mean, cor, I always knew he had a dodgy past, but what the heck!"

The weekend's here and it turns out that I've got way too many things to blog about. First off, there's the Underworld gig at the Roundhouse which I caught just before flying back home (which was just absolutely spectacular, both visually and musically speaking), the DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist Hard Sell at the Roundhouse (March 13, 2008) and the general happiness that the weekend's finally here, even though I still have some work to catch up on.

The focus of this post, however, will be on Insane in the Brain, a street dance interpretation of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (OFOTCN) by Swedish dance group, Bounce. That's right. You read correctly.

After having gone to see Apoohcalypse Now without having watched the movie, I guess it kicked off a trend of my going to see modern interpretations of classic shows. I wasn't too sure what OFOTCN was about other than the fact that it starred Jack Nicholson and was set in a mental asylum, but I caught Bounce's first show in London back in 2001 (also at the Roundhouse) and was swept away by their talent and energy, so figured, if nothing else, it would be good entertainment.

In a word, the show was awesome. The opening sequence, where the crew dance, dressed all in black, with white masks on their heads, was both scary and mind-blowing. Their use of props and lighting suited the dance immensely, and the choreography - incredible. As they were doing the whole two-faced thing (i.e. masks on both sides of their heads), it was difficult to tell exactly when we were looking at their fronts and when we were looking at their backs. Their moves were that good.

Another dance sequence I loved was the one where we see four members of the crew, representing the four incumbent patients of the asylum, dancing on their beds. Again, the choreography was brilliant, and the use of lighting, very innovative. I loved the scene when the whole stage lit up, and we saw all four members in different poses, and realised that they were all set at different heights, to simulate a slow-motion jump. Not easy to do, given that each dancer needed to do everything on time and sharply, a quality I sorely lack every time I go to a street dance class.

And it wasn't just all stage dancing the group did; in one scene, when the gang escapes from the asylum, they end up going to a cinema (very unexpectedly and hilariously coming into the audience and taking up a row of seats and throwing popcorn at unsuspecting members of the audience), they take the opportunity to show a silent movie set in the Victorian era entitled Tramptown, which has the usual hijinks involved in every Charlie Chaplin show you'd ever see, coupled with street dance. When the proceedings get interrupted by reality - Nurse Ratched and the rest of her crew catch up to the patients in the cinema - I hardly expected the film to continue, but once the confrontation was over, and the patients herded back to the asylum, the actual audience got to watch the rest of the show. It was hilarious to watch a lady all dressed up in her Victorian finery get down and battle with the thieves in her home... street dance style! It's not a scene I'll be likely to forget for a while, and for those of you who know me, I apologise if I start getting all aggro and frontin' next time I'm in the club with you.

Another unforgettable moment... well, if you go see the show, let's just say you'll never look at Lionel Richie - Hello the same way again.

The soundtrack was varied, with songs from artists ranging from Mr. Oizo, the Gotan Project, System of a Down, the Panjabi MCs and Michael Sembello. I know it looks rather odd all typed out like that, but trust me, it's all excellent entertainment with top-notch dancing and great use of the various elements of a staged show.

A quick browse of the programme after the show revealed that Nurse Ratched, the sadistic nurse who runs the asylum, is a great lover of ballet, while break dance is used by the patients as a means of expressing their desire for freedom.

The show is currently running at the Peacock Theatre with its last show being tomorrow at 4 pm. If you don't have anything planned this weekend, I would highly recommend that you go catch this show. You most definitely will not regret it.

Reuters - Goa police may investigate past tourist deaths

At least 126 foreign nationals have died in Goa in the past two years, 40 of them British, according to Kishan Kumar, said the Inspector general of police in Goa.

Some officers, who have spoken on condition of anonymity, say that
10-12 deaths passed off as drowning since last year looked suspicious.

I went to Goa by myself less than two years back. I found the island to be pretty big and the cost of renting a taxi for a day (necessary if you want to see any part of Goa) was exorbitant at about S$120, if memory serves.

Fortunately for me, a young Goan by the name of A. approached me while I was wandering down the beach near my hotel; it turned out that he had previously worked in Singapore as a sailor and could speak English very well. On top of that, he liked the look of Singaporean women which accounted for why he came over to talk to me while I was taking photos of the skyline.

He offered to show me around the island for a cheaper rate. I agreed. Then he asked me out for the night and said he'd bring me to the nicer bars on Goa. Again, I agreed.

I'm usually an incredibly cautious girl in almost everything I do. This sometimes backfires as there are moments when I do something which could be seen as incredibly reckless and stupid because I am just so fed up with always being so cautious. During my travels, I have refused to pose for two painters who I ran into in Mallorca and Florence (and who, incidentally, turned out to be genuine artists), while on another occasion, I went out for drinks while incredibly jet-lagged and exhausted with two Marines on my first night in Berlin.

In the case of A., I can't quite explain why I agreed. It wasn't that I fancied him or anything like that. I was quite aware that there was a high possibility that he was looking for something I wasn't going to give. However, he felt safe. In a way, I guess you could say I posed that question to God and trusted that He would keep me safe. Also, A. was Catholic and while that's definitely not a guarantee of my safety, I felt there was a very low probability that something bad would happen.

And as it turns out, I was correct on all counts. He did ask me to be his girlfriend later that night, but I refused (I think I told him that while I was single, there was someone back home waiting for me) and he didn't pursue the matter. He didn't even try asking me for a hug or a kiss, and refused to take my money when I left for the airport.

Given what's been in the British press over the last few days, it's fair to suppose that not everyone is as lucky as I was. While I am not surprised that such an incident occurred - they happen too in Thailand - I am saddened; Goa is definitely a place I would like to return to with friends so that I can explore the full potential of the island. And while it's not as clean or as easy to get around as say, Bali, the whole place felt rather tranquil. The street food was quite delicious as well. It's such a shame that something like this has transpired.

It's so good to be back. For the first time in a long, long time, I feel happy. Truly, deliciously happy. And it's lasted for the last three days, in spite of my having to return to work with nary a break and a touch of jet lag, amidst the terribly powerful winds battering London at the moment.

I figure it must be because spring is coming... not just for Europe, but for me too. You see, I've been feeling quite down ever since moving over in November, although that isn't to say that there have not been moments of happiness and joy for me at all. I've been through my own autumn and winter of sadness and depression, and now, I can't wait for spring to come.

I'm footloose, flirty and just want to cavort. I feel free and ready to move on. Finally.

I'm all set to bloom.

I was having drinks with an old friend the other day when we were discussing our (lack of) love lives. Turns out that he'd been dating, but hadn't found anyone who he liked enough to get into a relationship with and that he was currently concentrating on getting promoted.

We also clarified that our definition of dating meant "going out with the same person at least three times." At times like these, I'm both amused and slightly saddened that we have to clarify the terms we are using, just in case we're operating on different wavelengths.

Then, he just said, "At least I can take comfort in the fact that I'm a guy, and that my value will appreciate over time." He didn't continue, but the rest could be inferred.

"Did you just seriously refer to me as a depreciating asset?" I asked.

"Well, an older man can get together with a younger girl, but you don't usually see the other way round," he replied with a straight face, before bursting into laughter because he just knew what my response would be (which, for the record, involved a very loud denunciation in the middle of a not-too-crowded bar with a live band performing, probably wondering what my shriek of irritation was regarding).

He does have a point though. I do sometimes wonder whether all the time and energy I have been putting into my career has been worth it, given that, back in Singapore, I've felt as if the opportunity cost for getting to where I am has been a little too high.

Not that this is anything new, but I'm beginning to not be able to tell the difference between being extremely tired and potentially still drunk when I wake up.

On an unrelated note, Green Day is extremely fun to sing in karaoke... but why couldn't they have Pulp as well?!

And... my voice is gone.

On the bright side, I have a guy bringing me breakfast today. How many single people get to enjoy that benefit?

Words of wisdom from a male friend who's been embroiled in an on-off-who-knows? relationship with someone who's not exactly the most stable person in the world for three years now, and who has cheerfully admitted that he's not "Mr. Maturity" (in his own words):

Sometimes guys do stupid things because they're afraid of the reaction they're going to get.

Being Singaporean

Me: So I was at Bellini Room last night, and saw this really sleazy, try-hard singer.
X.: Oh, yes! I've seen him too!
Me: There was a birthday celebration, and he pulled the female, and sat her down on stage and sang her a birthday song, which was okay in itself. But the second verse, he got down on his knee, and sang, well... to her chest.
X.: Eeew!
Me: And when he started singing, my male friend just said, "I think I need to go to the toilet" and left. I couldn't watch, it just feel so skeezy... kind of like how I felt when I was watching Triple Nine and watching James Lye and Wong Li-Lin get it on.
X. and Y.: Ha ha ha ha ha!
Me: I probably revealed something which has taken my coolness quotient down quite considerably.
Y.: No! I watched Triple Nine as well... and VR Man.
X.: Singapore's first superhero!
Me: They should call him out and get him to look for Mas Selamat.
Y.: That would be an awesome episode.

Speaking to a girlfriend of mine who has been in roughly the same situation as I've been over the last few years - coupled with the same New Year's resolution that she makes every year and fails to keep - we commiserated over the one main difference between males and females that we've never been able to comprehend.

"I guess, even when it's over and you both should move on, you don't quite expect them to move on so quickly," she said. "Yes," I sighed, "and to them, four months is a long time, but to us, it's... like a blink of an eye, because we gave so much of ourselves that it takes ages to get over them." To make things worse, I have a male friend who once declared it took him the sum total of a day to get over being dumped by his girlfriend of two years. And as far as I could tell, it wasn't a boast borne out of bravado, but rather, a genuine response. He just shrugged and moved on.

I lamented to an ex a few weeks back that I hated how difficult it was for me to get over people and that it was impossible for me to do flings because I just get too involved, too committed. He said he thought that wasn't quite the bad thing I made it out to be, that it was one of my endearing traits.

But I, for one, am sick of it, sick of wondering what it is that I could have done differently, of being so certain that it must be something that I've done or something that I am, because, having grown up on stupid, annoying fairy tales, romantic movies and love songs which make you believe that "love will find a way" and that "all you need is love", that as long as you're dedicated enough, surely you two will triumph?

Apparently, another trait of mine that ex liked is my ability to remain friends with ex-es after the relationship ends. "It's not as easy as it looks," I said. "It wasn't all that easy with you either, regardless of how much of our relationship you seem to have forgotten." But I do sometimes wish I had the ability to just walk away and not bother any more, even if the other party didn't do anything intrinsically wrong. Sometimes, often times, it's just easier to move on when the other person's not a presence in your life.

I'm really happy to be back home right now.

I'm even happier that I'll be able to go back to my other home.

And that epiphany, in spite of my loneliness and general performance anxiety in London, is what made me realise once and for all that I made the right choice.

There I was, chatting with an old and good friend of mine - a friend who is gentlemanly, treats me to lunch (and refuses to take my money), and will always help me out if I need help - when I thought, "Thank you for being such a decent human being, a decent man. Thank you for restoring a little bit of my faith in mankind."

If only he weren't off-limits, even if he is single. Such are the unwritten rules that surround friends' ex-es.

Speaking of ex-es, another friend spoke to me today, lamenting about the dearth of good, decent, single Singaporean men. Given where she works, her colleague suggested a certain someone who was my first boyfriend. I know she didn't mean it, as that certain someone is going out with someone else at this point in time, but she asked me how I would feel if a friend of mine did go out with him.

It's nice that she asked, as we split up quite some time ago, but these unwritten rules do limit the dating circles within Singapore quite considerably. It's a good thing I moved overseas to get around that.

And I'm guessing that the recent rediscovery of the letters he wrote to me while we were dating is the cause of my slight discomfort when she inquired about his availability. Or maybe it's the realisation that of all the guys I went out with, he's most likely the only one who loved me back.

10 Things I Hate About You (YouTube)
I hate the way you talk to me.
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots. A
nd the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it that you're not around.
And the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,
not even close,
not even a little bit,
not even at all.

I really wish I could just stop being a mature, rational, logical person - basically just being an adult - if it means having to hold back all the things you want to say, not being able to get things off your chest, not being able to just launch into a mini-assault of sorts à la WWE on someone.

I suppose I should be thankful I didn't succumb to the urge, that I managed to handle everything with my usual cavalier attitude. After all, I strongly suspect indulging in such behaviour would have resulted in a lowering of my already low self-respect when it comes to this particular person.

Maybe I should just write a letter and get everything out on a piece of paper and mail it. Or burn it. I don't know. But surely just getting it all out instead of keeping it in all the time must help... won't it?

Anyone Else But You by the Moldy Peaches is a really sweet song which fits with the mood of the awesomely quirky Juno. After seeing Michael Cera and Ellen Page perform it in the final scene of the movie, I thought the song couldn't possibly grow on me any more than it already had... and then I discovered its lyrics. How many songs could possibly incorporate the Nintendo cheat code* into their lyrics and still sound so cool?

* For those of you who didn't have the great fortune of playing Nintendo games, that's the "up up down down left right left right B A start/Just because we use cheats doesn't mean we're not smart" portion of the song.