Noshment. Food. Eats. Chronicles in multi sensorial paintings reflecting the intrepid travels of the Bunny.
Fried vermicelli. Soya sauce. Grease. A few sprinkles of spring onion and crispy garlic. Nothing more. Probably the worst dinner I’ve ever had at the Singapore Changi Airport. Necessity prodded the weary of body, with painful and inflamed metatarsals, hobbling like a stubbed-web penguin across the buzzing landscape of the airport. Terminal 1 is the oldest terminal, and I could see there were ongoing upgrading works everywhere. In true Singapore-glitzy manner, even the boards blocking off the renovations were painted over with murals and slogans in a somewhat supercilious-yet-clumsy way. Welcome to Singapore. Or goodbye, safe travels! In my case, Bunny needed to make this all-important working trip back to Sydney, come rain, hail, shine or arthritic inflammation.
A smooth flight, but the corporeal frame grumbled all the way. Sitting at close proximity to a bouncy young lady massaging a pair of fleshy, malodorous bare feet, then proceeding to pick at her teeth, did not help at all to dissipate the nausea. That insidious snarling Leviathan-on-a-boogie-board riding the heaving waves revved up the screaming crescendo of impending sensory overload, while the autie Bunny leaned as far away as possible in futile attempt to escape the olfactory assault. Then came the bouncing and churning in the seat – no, not me, the foot-masseur lady – in some kind of habitual bedtime ritual. Now, who did this person remind me of? Sadly, not appropriate a moment to conjure up distant horrors of the past, but yes, definitely that someone who designated me as her “best friend” at some bizarre incident in the school playgroup, and held me captive in surreal dichotomous existence for almost three decades. Viciously shoving aside in my mind this recollection and its bilious association, I swallowed yet another pill for vertigo, and tried hard to fall asleep in that awkward position of ‘recoil’. Food was served, but the olfactory upheaval would not allow me to accept the kind offer of a soggy roll in a damp cardboard box. Some apple juice will do, thank you.
Finally, 8 gruelling hours later, I was home away from home at last. Sydney. I’ve missed you.
Bags neatly tucked away inside spacious and clean wardrobe in AirBnB bedroom, time to head back to familiar territory for lunch with good friend Rick. Where else, but our “dog cafe” (Not Just Coffee)? Time for our regular all-day breakfast set, shared, and my favourite everything-but-celery freshly pressed juice.
I missed the lively conversation. Despite my cloudy-brained throbbing senses, it was clement indeed. Thank you for noshments, Rick! ( Sadly, no Lucy.)
Some shopping at Eastgate in Bondi Junction later, I was back in my lodgings and wrestling with another nausea attack. Sleep. Need shut-eye. Thankful for the clean, crisp sheets and comforting pillows. No bad smells from occupants past over here. Phew!
Dinner was a small bowl of Greek yoghurt with fresh fruit. Very glad to continue with the grand crash afterwards.
Da capo for breakfast this morning, relishing the refreshment of mind, soul and body. All ready for the day!
After a brief meeting to discuss details of my upcoming exhibitions, this Bunny hit the supermarkets again. Tally ho! Be brave! But wait, first a quick pitstop for energy – mini sushi lunch.
Why this tsunami of exhaustion? The shopping bags were indeed heavy, but this old brain was slipping into the land of gibberish with dancing fuzzy elephants. Another hapless descent into fatigued sleep later, it was time for food again!
Leg ham, baby spinach leaves, basil pesto and aioli cream in a wrap. Well, make that two. Grapes on the side, please, tomorrow is another big day!
Trundling along in our rusty wheelbarrow, it isn’t always a rosy ride, but never a dull moment. I miss Lucy, the proximity and communion, though she travels with me anyway, inside our little porto-safe-space.