Wherein I cannot even take a dump in my toilet

Remember a couple of months back when I posted about my inability to take a proper shit in my own home? (If you are easily offended by talk of shit I suggest you leave now! Go! Lest the demons of Toilette Hell flood your delicate tissue-paper ears with foul expulsions!)

Since the days of la toilette portable, I have been blessed with a smooth toilet experience (constipation aside). However, a new menace has raised its ugly posterior in recent days and the shit's hit the fan (oh the puns! slay me!).

Because of my work schedule (slave hours), I generally get home pretty late, whereupon I usually take some time sitting around in front of my computer looking at my friends' weblogs and grousing at their lack of posts before attending to my toilet in a slow and leisurely fashion. Whilst I understand some people prefer to get in and out as soon as possible, I tend to take my time, making sure that all the business at hand is taken care of before I leave. Unfortunately, my neighbours have seen fit to ruin this single joy in my miserable slave-to-society lifestyle.

For you see, my neighbours are Indians (for the clarification of any American readers, I live in Singapore and our Indians are the real things from India). And they are not merely any Indians, but they are Indians who cook. Errrm. As opposed to Indians who don't cook.

I believe my neighbours run some kind of food outlet, which requires them to prepare their inventory at night in anticipation of the day's business. As such, the delicious smells of meat roasting and curried spices fill the air at night. Despite my general lack of ability to handle much spice, I love the smell of it and many a time at night I have found myself dreaming of food, food that is spicy and pleasing to the nose.

On the flip side, it is most difficult to take a dump when the air is saturated with the fragrances of tandoori chicken.

My body usually reports confusion as to which orifice should be doing what.

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Am posting these here so I can watch them at leisure when I want. I love Annie Lennox. I remember in the days when we were still using cassette tapes I used to have Walking on Broken Glass the entire length of one side. Ahhh, innocence, when you thought a woman dressed up as a man dressed up as a woman was ironic.

Alors, enjoy!

I'd never seen this one before - Annie performing at The Top of The Pops, lip-synching her own song in a cute Minnie Mouse cap. I think she has to be the only singer I know of with a legitimate right to lip-synch - after all she parodies drag queens enough.