My Private Junkyard

Did the usual pre Lunar New Year routine (read: a colossal cleaning up of the house). Well, colossal by my standards anyway, since I'm no fan of disinfectants and mops and all that.

It was like a mini treasure hunt, actually, since a corner of my room was chockablock with shopping bags stashed in an untidy heap. Much of it was shopping which I never had the time to unwrap from the crisp crepe paper. Unearthed some items which I had bought some time back (or which were given to me as pressies) - a yellow dress, a pair of green embroidered shoes, a blue handbag, six tubes and bottles of Marks and Spencers daily spa butter cream (!!!), a furry miniature pig figurine, a jar of sugar cane body lotion and loads of receipts to boot.

On the table, chaos ruled. Files, papers, bank statements, unread letters and money were strewn helter skelter whilst some clean laundry hung lazily from my desk chair. Four unfinished books sat atop one another - 1421 by Gavin Menzies, Soul Survivor by Philip Yancey, Hitler by Ian Kershaw, and This We Believe, which is a collection of essays by Christian writers such as Ravi Zacharias and Lee Strobel.

I opened my wardrobe and was greeted by an avalanche of clothes, photo albums, handbags, scarves, shawls, CDs, files and other bric-a-brac. This was a real booby trap and a private junkyard.

It was quite laborious work clamouring atop chairs to hang my curtains, chucking out an assemblage of unwanted stuff and prancing around the house armed with a roaring vacuum cleaner, assailing dusty corners like a kamikaze pilot.

Though it may be a trifle disorderly, the very untidiness of it is kinda like my signature. Quite like my handwriting - which is a slovenly scrawl (especially when I am copying notes fast and furious), but nobody else produces this trademark squiggly penmanship. Though I must say that my office desk is pretty neat and impeccable by contrast.

Anyway, here's the spruced-up aftermath. =)

My cosy little nook.



Chose red walls cos red is the colour of... you've guessed it... Manchester Uniteeeeed. ;)



My motley picture board.

Sautee Thine Eyeballs

This morning as I was in the car along the Ayer Rajah Expressway, I chanced upon a sight which is, in my very humble opinion, indisputably the ugliest car I have ever laid eyes on.

So the dubious honour goes to... drumroll... the Toyota Sienta. An absolute shocker.

I was blissfully listening to the morning radio when this light blue monstrosity zipped past. It was an instant head-turner. You know that something looks seriously bad when you couldn't stop staring at it with your mouth agape and you feel this queasy desire to bolt to the nearest toilet to puke out yesterday's dinner. To put it in the elegant words of Shakespeare in Hamlet:

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine

Essentially, that's a posh, high-falutin' way of saying that the Toyota Sienta is so ugly that it positively sautees your eyeballs. I must 'fess up that I know as much about cars as Paris Hilton does about calculus (sorry, things like engine power, fuel efficiency and transmission type would put me to sleep in a heartbeat). To me, a car is a car is a car.

By the way, my favourite car is the BMW, because it has the prettiest logo. Yes, that's how much I know about automobiles. Nuff said.

But back to the Toyota Sienta. Aesthetically, it is utterly dreadful. The shape is all wrong. You know the lovely contours which some car bodies have that give them an elegant, seamless, streamlined look? Well the Toyota Sienta has an appalling shape - it is stiffly rectangular and lumpish, giving it an ungainly, oafish and ponderous appearance. And the car I saw had the worst shade of blue imaginable. Add to that two pimply red lights stashed at its elephantine rear end and an unsightly black frame that circumscribes the glass panels, and you have one stupendously ugly car.

In fact, methinks it looks like a giant lump of mouldy sushi sprayed with emulsion paint cruising on the highway.

If you happen to be owner to one of these, no need to get all upset and shirty about this post. It's just my own tongue-in-cheek views on the Sienta. After all, as Desperate Housewives actress Nichollette Sheridan, who has just been voted the Worst Dressed Celebrity, so succintly puts it:

"I'd rather be first on the Worst Dressed list, than come in second on the Best Dressed list."

Love such self-deprecatory humour.

God's Classroom - Care Group

Something I shared during care group last week.

In my early days as a Christian, my church leader would ask me if I would like to join care group every Friday evening, and my terse reply then was, "No thanks, Friday nights are my nights of fun." When another leader asked me if I wanted to join worship practice on Saturday, I replied likewise. Essentially, I did see any value in gathering for fellowship with the rest of the folks in church. And I really didn't like Christian music at that time, cos I deemed it too bland and contemporary for my taste.

On the contrary, weekends in London are a riot. There is a veritable extravaganza of to-dos, all brimming with excitement, novelty and fun. The spectacle of musicals in the glitzy theatres of the London West End. The langourous, mellow appeal of the jazz bars lining Soho. The resplendent grandeur of age-old castles and cathedrals. Restaurants dishing up a dizzying array of mouth-watering fare. Seemingly endless rows of shops in the Oxford Street and Bond Street area (making the phrase retail therapy a gross misnomer - it's more like retail intensive care). Exhibitions featuring world-famous artists or photographers. Football matches to catch, and tonnes of charmingly quaint pubs to hang out in. An eclectic menu of clubbing haunts. Late night drinking binges. University parties. The list goes on.

And asking me to relinquish all these fun to attend care group with a bunch of people I hardly know, singing songs I dislike, and to study some obsolete tome called the Bible? It was like giving up a multi-colour world to settle for drab monochrome.

I was 19 then. Life was an unexplored treasure trove. And I was in London, one of the most exciting cities in the world. The novelty of being abroad, the liberty that comes with living away from one's parents, as well as the almost irresistable lure of London all made it madness to devote time to attend care group. Isn't church something for geriatrics who have nothing better to do other than to walk their dogs?

So what made me change my mind? It was my shepherd then, Doreen. During my birthday (and I had hardly acquainted with her at that time, having met her perhaps twice), she baked an apple pie and got a church brother to brave the wintry night to send it to my doorstep. I was speechless when he handed me the tray, covered with aluminium foil, and told me that Doreen had made the pie herself. And when I fell sick subsequently, she cooked porridge for me. When I stayed overnight at her place, she insisted I take the bed while she slept on the floor.

To say I was profoundly touched by her gestures of love and kindness would be putting it very, very mildly. But aside from feelings of gratitude, it also prompted me to ask why on earth would anyone do so much for a stranger? There is no monetary reward; in fact it is a drain on one's resources and time. I'm just an ordinary person, not some celebrity who demands prima donna treatment. And then, I concluded, that there must be something, some significance, which Doreen saw in doing these things. There must be some values she was trying to impart.

I grew curious regarding the authenticity of God. If this God can inspire people to live such sacrificial, loving lives, surely He can't be a bogus being? And so I became more receptive to Doreen's overtures to get me to join care group more often.

Looking back, I am deeply humbled by the changes God has made in me. I remember Pastor Jeff once said that care group is a great platform to "do life together." Not simply to enjoy each other's companionship, engage in some fun activities and kill time - but to "do life".

Wow. That is such a refreshing and yet profound way to view care group, which unfortunately, has oftentimes degenerated into a minor inconvenience we put up with every week (just like waking up every Sunday morning, eh?). Something so ingrained in our Christian minds that we do it as an activity borne out of unthinking, perfunctory adherence to structures and traditions rather than out of a desire to really sharpen and shape each other's lives. We do it, simply it is already hardwired in us.

Well, it is quite true that two or three hours every week is hardly suffice to "do life together." By that I don't mean sharing the same toothbrush or toilet seat, literally. But from my own experience, I am refreshed whenever I hear encouraging testimonies during care group. I also appreciate the chance to share some of life's woes in a candid manner with the brothers and sisters in the care group, and listen to the advice they dispense (since I am the youngest haha!). Or simply to bask in the love and warmth of our fellowship, not to mention the fun and jokes.

But most of all, care group is unique in that unlike our normal circle of friends where we can, essentially, select who we want to be with and choose our clique, we often don't have the luxury of choice in a care group. But that has turned out to be a boon for me, because through interacting with people of all sorts, my character is strengthened. I learn to be more patient with people, to be more accepting of their foibles, to learn I have no right to judge anyone, to be more appreciative of others, to learn that gems are buried within the unlikeliest of persons if we bother to find them, and made more aware of my own shortcomings.

In fact, I think care group is one of God's best classrooms from which we glean the lessons He wants us to learn. And it is a great tragedy, to be sitting right there in the classroom, and yet miss the lesson from the best tutor there is.

Big Fish

I recall a scene in The Others by Nicole Kidman. In it Kidman punishes her child by making her read the Bible alone in a room for a few hours. After which Kidman asks what she has learnt, and the girl replies that she believes that Jesus can heal people (or something, I can't really remember) but she does not believe that Jonah was swallowed by the fish, cos that is really stretching her imagination.

A Zero-Sum Proposition

I have observed that many people approach Christianity in this manner. Some believe in the birth of Jesus, but when you ask them if they believe that the Moses really parted the Red Sea, they will go "Nah... that is really stretching it. C'mon, we're living in the twenty-first century, who believes in such hocus pocus?"

To me that highlights a fundamental flaw. Cos the Bible proclaims an omnipotent, omnipresent God who is sinless. He cannot lie. So if the Bible is His text to mankind, written by men not through men's wisdom but by divine inspiration, then it has to be true in its entirety. One little blemish, one little untruth in any part of the Bible, and the whole thing is void. We can't be selective, picking and choosing the parts of the Bible which are palatable and only believing in those parts.

This post is not postulating that the Bible is definitely true (that will be another entry to be written in Entish), but I do want to accentuate this point: the Bible is either 100% true, or 100% false. Either we believe Christianity in its entirety, or the whole thing is a sham. It is a zero-sum proposition. There is no halfway-house, because if it contains any untruths then it cannot be inspired by a perfect God.

Religious Loons and Hopeless Infidels

This is the crucial bifurcation between believers of a particular faith, be it Christianity or Islam, and the non-believers. There are basically two types of truths. The philosophical or empirical truth, which is proven on empirical grounds and bears relation to reality. And then there is the religious truth, which is absolute, incontrovertible, and whose veracity is only contingent upon one thing: it's source. If it's from the Koran (or the Bible, for that matter), then it must be true. End of story.

It is the reason why for ages and ages those who are the non-believers think of the believers as religious loons, and why the latter think of the former as hopeless infidels. Because religious beliefs cannot be tested on empirical grounds, they must be somewhat assumed a priori. And that, we know, is unthinkable to the scientifically-inclined.

I prefer to see it as both camps operating in different modes of rationality, and that getting into their psyche is key to understanding how they rantionalise within a framework that seems so illogical to the rest of us, or to quote Hamlet, to see the "method in their madness".

Unfortunately, many simply conclude that the other is crazy and irrational. To me that hints of some sort of cognitive short-cuts - where cognitive consistency (or wilfulness) causes them to be especially receptive to nuggets of information that confirm pre-existing beliefs and to ignore or downplay information that contradicts those beliefs, basically believing only what they want to hear. It makes a reconciliation of the two prisms by which they view the "truth" impossible.

As a believer in Jesus, I personally think it is important for us to lend a patient ear to people who may have their own reservations about God, instead of shoving some hardline preachy conclusions down their throat. After all, as I mentioned in an earlier post, we may sow seedlings of faith, but it is ultimately God who makes them grow.

Loss of Innocence

Today I made a trip to the market near my old house in Clementi to get dinner after work. As I was meandering through the hawker centre, a familiar sight loomed into view - essentially, of the block of flats leading to a community centre behind. And out of nowhere - like a dusty, long-forgotten image which has been stashed away in the back of my mind - I remembered that I had once picked up a coin on the same path years ago. Not a substantial amount by any measure, but I guess when you're a kid, even chancing upon an odd shaped pebble would inspire much inquisitiveness and rapturous delight.

I used to find money on the streets with a fair degree of regularity when I was a kid. No princely sum, that's for sure, but more of coins. Even though the amount is paltry, it was still an exciting discovery for children. You spot something glistening under a strip of dirty grass, in goes a grubby little hand and viola! - you've fished out a bright, shiny coin, and it brings a beatific smile to your face.

Nonetheless, that occurrence has ceased since I reached adolesence, and I seriously cannot recall stumbling upon stray coins in the past few years. It makes me wonder if my luck has run out, or whether I have become so busy, so occupied with the demands of everyday life that I have simply grown oblivious to little treasures around me. Methinks it is the latter, and it is a neat metaphor of how one misses out on simple pleasures when one broaches the threshhold of adulthood.

Unassuming, simple delights suddenly have to make way for lofty, grandiose pursuits. Past pleasures have become trifling, frivolous and infantile even. A handphone, a palm-top and other newly-fangled gadgets become the order of the day. Gone is the notion of play, and with it the carefree effervescence that used to bubble from within us. It's a bit like clouds obscuring the sunshine, if you ask me.

If ever there is comfort to draw from this loss of innocence, it is that someday, when we are reduced to bent, tottering frames ambling in the wind, with wrinkled hands resting unsteadily on a walking stick, we would perhaps find time to enjoy the treasure trove of life's simple pleasures once again.

Reminds me of a phrase, "That they get bored of being children, are in a rush to grow up, and then long to be children again. "

How true.

Through the Looking Glass

No, this is not a post on Lewis Carroll's famous sequel to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Though the purport is somewhat similar.

Have you ever known someone who reminds you of yourself? Not in terms of physical appearance or disposition, but something deeper. People whose character and perspectives are so similar to yours that they invariably strike a chord within you, touching the recesses of your being. By that I don't mean this person and you are entirely homogenous, but there is something terribly cognate about you both.

There are many types of friends one can have. There are those with whom you meet occasionally to have a cuppa and catch up. There are those whom you absolutely have no qualms calling in the middle of the night and ask, "Hey help me with this dratted Calculus problem will ya?". There are friends who turn up two hours late for an appointment while you get unceremoniously pooed on by birds but yet you quell the urge to empty the shotgun in his direction when he finally turns up. There are chums whom you bully, albeit all in the good spirit of friendly raillery, and who can totally understand your bad puns and toilet humour. And then there are character twins.

Of course, they need not be mutually exclusive persons.

And you don't have to expend any effort to look for character twins. You simply know when you meet one. It triggers off some primordial instinct within; it pushes certain buttons in you and that kindred feeling is unmistakable. The cognisance of familiarity, of camaraderie and most of all, of identity and sentience, is surreal. It's like when you peep into a looking glass - you don't need to search for your own reflection - it's just there, and you know it. Except that this is not a mere reflection, but a walking, breathing carbon copy of yourself - personality-wise, that is.

I have found three persons so far in my life whom I consider such character twins. Two guys and a girl. Well, I think in life one can have many acquaintances, or even good friends, but it is not often that you meet someone who reminds you of yourself. It's a real gem of a feeling, if you get what I mean.

Initially I wondered if this is just my snobbish streak raising its head - after all I do enjoy conversing, and hanging out generally, with people who have the same tastes in music, books, and the same political views as myself. But after more mulling I've come to the conclusion that this is not about being cliquish or exclusionary - it is a perfectly natural thing for one to grativate towards people with him he or she feels an affinity with. Hey, but that doesn't quite explain why I have so many friends who are Gooners supporting that joke of a football team, but that's another matter for another day.

In all, I am grateful for having met these character twins. Some are significantly older than me, but that's not surprising, given that I did a personality test and my mental age is 30 years old haha! All of them have been through similar experiences as myself, having lived in different countries - and I daresay all of us feel like we are anomalies in the society we reside in. There is some restless disquiet within us, a little tempest if you like, and we are all grappling to find our own feet amidst all this. We have a quirky sense of humour. And finally, we all have a certain snobbish streak haha! It's nothing very negative though in my view, just that we can be very opinionated when it comes to certain issues, and we certainly won't shut up! But then, we are generally well-balanced people, I hope.

And these character twins of mine help me stay sane at times. To quote a little frivolous example, when you feel like you are mired amongst a bunch of folks who think Hello Kitty is the best thing since sliced bread, you can fully rest assured that your character twin will be thinking, "I won't touch that hideous cat with a disinfected ten-foot barge pole." The best thing about character twins is that, simply, they understand.

Like my female character twin (who is also a very good friend) once said, "Peishan, I'll marry you if I were a guy." I'll have to say that I have absolutely zilch urge to marry my male personality counterparts (in fact, I feel really queasy now), but I get what she means.

I'm genuinely grateful for having met these friends in my life, if the word "friends" can ever connote how much I value them. =)

Chivalry is Dead

Is chivalry dead... and well and truly buried? Recently I've been reading C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, and one of the more salient themes which stuck in my mind is the gallantry and courtesy with which the male characters regard their womenfolk, almost to the point of being obsequious. The males are the ones drawing their swords, always ready to defend the honour of the ladies and jump to the rescue of the damsels in distress. I can't help but decipher the undertones implicit herein.

I can imagine die-hard feminists foaming at the mouth and bursting a vessel over this, but I'm not one of them. Neither am I going to label Lewis a misogynist, because the book does not seem to suggest so. The females in the story are given adquate characterisation. They are not one dimensional cardboard cut-outs (Arwen, anyone?), but do parallel, if not outshine, their male counterparts in patience, wit and good sense.

Rather, I find the chivalry of the male characters amusing, partly because they seem so aberrant in today's society which generally places a premium on advocating gender equality.

So what is chivalry? I once saw a cartoon which seems to epitomise chivalrous behaviour, albeit in a satirical manner. But there's nothing I love more than a good parody.

The cartoon depicted an Englishman, who, upon seeing a lady walking on a street with a puddle of water in her way, promptly walks towards her and takes off his coat and places it over the puddle so that the lady can walk on it without wetting her shoes (Gucci, I'm sure).

I laughed, but its meaning was not lost on me. Is chivlary an outmoded concept? It's akin to some pompous, high-falutin' courtly behaviour, but which is woefully archaic in today's society. Back when women were encumbered by ponderous and unwieldy dresses and generally waddled around like penguins topped with three-feet-high hairdos - yes chivalry was needed but hey, times have changed.

Some folks interpret chivalry as being offensive to the ladies, whether well-intentioned or no. What, you're offering to carry my bag? Are you implying I am weak? I can carry my own bag, thank you very much, and probably trounce you in an arm-wrestling contest. Now buzz off.

It's not easy being male, and if you have ever encountered such rude behaviour, my commiserations. But traditional gender roles are converging. After all, David Beckham wears sarongs and goes around in a voice more high-pitched than most girls trapped in a room of mice. There are newly-fangled terms to help men get in touch with their more feminine side - Sensitive New Age Guy, Meterosexual, and then there's Queer Eye for a Straight Guy. Women are getting more educated, and smarter than men. Well, that ain't too difficult, given that the current American President is male.

Then there are those who want the best of both worlds. I demand equality, dignity and courtesy, and while you're at it, you can carry my shopping bag / open the car door / let me have your seat on the bus. Respect me, and worship me. Extol me like a goddess. Bow regularly, and venerate.

In my opinion, girls can't expect to have it both ways. If you want equality, you can't have preferential treatment.

In any case, I used to tell my male friends, "I don't believe in gender equality, I believe in female superiority."

Ahem. Ok, jokes aside, I think gender equality is fundamentally erroneous construct - men and women can achieve equality in certain cases, but are inherently unequal in other cases like physical strength. Bottomline - "equality" (a misnomer in this context) is not about treating women as if they were men, but about treating women the right way, as women. We want to be respected, we want the right to vote, we chafe at gender discrimination in school or at work, but we would still appreciate some help with moving heavy boxes or changing the car tyres. And please, no woman in the right frame of mind would want to do something as boring as fix a computer. That is the exclusive preserve of men, as are heavy trucks, trigonometry, and taking out the rubbish.

I'm being tongue-in-cheek here, whilst being equally serious. Ditch gender equality. Treat me like a woman ought to be treated, please. If not, who's gonna do the dirty work?

Tags: gender equality, sexual equality, chivalry, women

Of Birthdays and Weddings

It's celebration mania this week. ;)

First off, my division kick-started the hullabaloo on Friday with a birthday bash for two colleagues. The birthday boy even gamely downed some piping hot Japanese sake.

Birthday boy Bryan giving Bugs Bunny a good run for his money.



The lovely folks from Division One!



This is how office scandals begin. Kidding haha!



Rushed to City Hall after work to meet Steve, Gelene and Elaine to discuss the couple's wedding, and then made my way to Inter-Continental Hotel to attend Sha'en and Vincent's wedding. They are two friends whom I've gotten to know in London, and it was great meeting so many ex-schoolmates. In good ol' UCL style, we trooped off for some nocturnal activity thereafter. Found an Arabic smoking joint and settled there for drinks. Apparently the article is called a Sheesha, and comprised an ornate cylinder (about the size of a fire extinguisher) with an attendant pipe from which you puffed. Lassitudinous stuff it seems. Chatted until 3am and headed home, absolutely knackered.

Sunday evening I went shopping for a dress for Darren and Hongyuan's wedding. I only had two hours so I focused like a laser beam on getting one, though I would have dearly loved to check out the miscellany of clothes, bags and shoes on sale as well. Eventually I managed to cinch a vintage red number, literally minutes before the shopping mall closed.

Then took a cab to Amara Hotel where we met and discussed the grand to-dos of the following morning. Everything, from handphone numbers of the planners to the hotel check-in details, were hastily scribbled down. Myself and Vicky, the two emcees for the event, stayed back to work out the dialogue, and we were laughing so hard reminiscing about the fond memories we had of our university days in London.

It was a jaw-dropping moment when we learnt that we had to host certain segments in Mandarin as well heheh! So, after all these years of having my Mandarin languishing in the deeper recesses of my mind, it was finally put to good use! Though admittedly I had to make an emergency call to Malaysia to get How Joo to work out certain difficult phrases such as how to say wedding solemnisation ceremony in Mandarin (don't ask me how on earth he knows that one hmmm). Eventually we finished the script sometime past midnight and I must say it was a job well done, given the time constraints and our rusty Mandarin.

Just to share a little something on this lovely couple. Vicky, myself, Darren and Hongyuan used to be housemates in London (122 Southampton Row, Russell Square Mansions - that was our beloved abode), and now the latter two are getting married.

Below is part of the introduction that Vicky and myself crafted for the wedding day, plus some photos of our time overseas, pilfered from Darren's online album eons ago.

Oxford, 2001.



Darren and the lads.



Dinner at Bayswater's Four Seasons restaurant, of the absolutely yummylicious roast duck fame.



Hongyuan's dog which followed her on her travels. This one is taken in Cornwall, 2002.



Darren was the only person in our household who could cook at that time, and that's living amongst three girls. He used to gripe that our kitchen was too hot; hence he would cook topless, save for an apron which only he used. And given his culinary forte and erm... scanty clothing, we aptly named him The Naked Chef (after Jamie Oliver) haha! He's also our resident "auntie", ever on the lookout for bargain basement prices and cheap deals in the supermarket. And I'm sure those who know him well enough can attest to his predilection for a curious belly-rubbing routine after a satisfying meal.

Sha'en, me, Hongyuan and Deirdre.



Mantlepiece above the fireplace in Hongyuan and my room.



Darren's room.



Exam time. Note the difference.



Hongyuan and Vicky mugging away in the wee hours of the night.



As for Hongyuan, well she's the sweetest and most helpful housemate one can hope to have. Of course, she being the only one who ever cleaned our kitchen floor heheh! In fact, she is affectionately known as Maria. ;) She does have her quirks, such as a pathological fear of saliva. Those who have shared a tub of ice-cream with her will know - she'll dig a cavity to mark an exclusive portion of the ice-cream, which nobody else can touch, not even with a disinfected ten-foot barge pole haha!

Not to mention her many... erm... botched-up attempts at housework. When she first cooked rice, she didn't know there was a switch on the cooker which has to be turned on, and all the while we were wondering why the rice took so long to cook! When we opened the lid only to find rice grains swirling about in a watery morass, she 'fessed up to her blunder and there you have it - three famished housemates in utter hysterics!

Our kitchen, including the sight of our beloved trash can overflowing with rubbish.



Maria at work hahaha!



Chinese New Year celebration at our place, 2002.



Bubble mania!



The Incredible Hulk and a blow-fish all rolled into one.



Well, memories aside, as someone who has known the couple since our university days (which was not too long ago hey!), it is very sweet and heart-warming to see them make the transition from being just friends, to chummy housemates, then a couple, and finally - as husband and wife. Must admit I almost teared when I was onstage watching the marriage solemnisation ceremony. It is like watching a creaky reel of old film which brings back a sweet deluge of fond recollections, and looking back at the milestones which they have shared and relished, and finally witnessing them making it to the altar. Darren and Hongyuan, wishing ya two all the very best for the life ahead. =)

Wa-hey! It's the newly-weds!



Hongyuan looking resplendent in her gown.



Messing around in the bridal suite.



Love my retro beehive 'do. Though when I undid my hair later in the day I found a whoppin' 20 hairpins inside!



The emcees - myself and Vicky.



Myself and Best Man, Jinghua.



Me with the Not-So-Naked Chef heheh... ok so today he's clad in a dashing navy ensemble.



Shot of the ballroom after our morning rehearsal.



London Calling... to the faraway towns...



The gals - Ade, myself, Deirdre and Vicky.



Myself and Matthew.



With the bride and groom.



Wishing all the best, ya two! =)

British Woman Marries Dolphin

Since this week has been a whole week of wedding activity, thought it'd be germane to post this here.

And what better way to herald in the new year than with some barmy news fodder.
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Brit Jew marries dolphin

Unusual wedding - British woman marries her beloved dolphin in Eilat ceremony

An unusual wedding ceremony was held in the southern resort town of Eilat on Wednesday, as Sharon Tendler, a 41-years-old Jewish millionaire from London married her beloved Cindy, a 35-years-old dolphin, Israel's leading newspaper Yedioth Ahronoth reported Thursday.

The groom, a resident of the Eilat dolphin reef, met Tendler 15 years ago, when she first visited the resort. The British rock concert producer took a liking to the dolphin and has made a habit of traveling to Eilat two or three times a year and spending time with her underwater sweetheart.

"The peace and tranquility underwater, and his love, would calm me down," the excited bride said after the wedding.

After a years-long romance, Tendler decided to embark on the highly unusual path of tying the knot with her beloved dolphin. Last week, she approached Cindy's trainer Maya Zilber with the extraordinary request.

Zilber accepted the challenge and "talked the idea over with the fellow," who apparently consented.

And so on Wednesday afternoon, the thrilled bride, wearing a white dress, walked down the dock before hundreds of astounded visitors and kneeled down before her groom, who was waiting in the water.

Cindy, escorted by his fellow best-men dolphins, swam over to Tendler and she hugged him, whispered sweet nothings in his ear, and kissed him in front of the cheering crowd.

After the ceremony was sealed with some mackerels, Tendler was tossed into the water by her friends so that she could swim with her new husband.

"I'm the happiest girl on earth," the bride said as she chocked back tears of emotion. "I made a dream come true, and I am not a pervert," she stressed.

Tendler said she and her newly wed husband will probably spend their wedding night bowling.

"But what kind of children would they have?" one of the children in the crowd asked his father.

View the article.
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Cor blimey. Seriously, this takes the cake. Get off Flipper ya wacko!