I can’t tell you much about the next day either, but it too made a blurry finish in the sunrise hours of the following morning as we shut down just under half dozen bars in St. James Power Station. I vaguely recall the Gala dinner and subsequent celebration with the Koreans as virtually everyone in the bar got the symbolic “Fist To The Chestal Area,” which requires you to finish whatever tasty beverage you’d be drinking at the time. As with the Japanese, Koreans shouldn’t play drinking games. Unless someone has a video camera.
We had a video camera.
Where were we? Right. Two a.m. and the genius in the group of four decides to order 2 bottles of vodka. I’m later told that genius was me, which was confirmed yesterday as I found the receipt with what looked like a picture of Chuck Norris clubbing a baby seal for a signature.
Turns out, I have a shopping problem.
My first day off since I’ve been here and the rigors of breathing and getting fitted for a new suit find the three of us diving into the first Bear Valley Mall-like massage parlour we see for a group foot reflexology massage. Sounds shady, I know. But this time, we stayed together.
After having to take the pulse of our Japanese colleague, he finally awoke, we found our shoes, and stumbled back onto Orchard Road. It would be hours before our legs would work properly again.
In much need of an afternoon nap, we dropped off Japan back at our hotel, and my colleague and I decided the next logical step was to get manicures.
I’ve never had a manicure.
I had my first manicure.
Does that make me a pussy?
Pretty much. But I say that my cuticles look fabulous. And despite the stern lecture I received about biting my nails, she shined and buffed and I was mesmerized for hours.
We had a video camera.
Where were we? Right. Two a.m. and the genius in the group of four decides to order 2 bottles of vodka. I’m later told that genius was me, which was confirmed yesterday as I found the receipt with what looked like a picture of Chuck Norris clubbing a baby seal for a signature.
Turns out, I have a shopping problem.
My first day off since I’ve been here and the rigors of breathing and getting fitted for a new suit find the three of us diving into the first Bear Valley Mall-like massage parlour we see for a group foot reflexology massage. Sounds shady, I know. But this time, we stayed together.
After having to take the pulse of our Japanese colleague, he finally awoke, we found our shoes, and stumbled back onto Orchard Road. It would be hours before our legs would work properly again.
In much need of an afternoon nap, we dropped off Japan back at our hotel, and my colleague and I decided the next logical step was to get manicures.
I’ve never had a manicure.
I had my first manicure.
Does that make me a pussy?
Pretty much. But I say that my cuticles look fabulous. And despite the stern lecture I received about biting my nails, she shined and buffed and I was mesmerized for hours.
