They won’t let me forget Singapore. I miss Clarke Quay – the Turkish ice-cream man’s tricks, the huge swings that sent people screaming for dear life as they went high up into the air and gave the queasy, grounded people sprained necks, Haagen-Dazs ice-cream (rum-raisin: heavenly), the pub that wasn’t a hospital, the quaint buildings with quainter windows, the fountains, the honeymooners, the smoke, the noise, the psychedelic colours – doesn’t really matter that we were the only people drinking Sprite there. You didn’t have to be a heady party-goer to enjoy Clarke Quay.

What wouldn’t I give for just one more week in Singapore!


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