One. (But at the same time, Middle-Aged. It's very confusing.)

It was our first anniversary of moving here a few weeks ago – an event which passed by, not unnoticed, but unmarked, simply because the Man was away and the children were not.   Since then, in between driving the kids all over the island, random doctor’s visits, and entertaining my mum, I’ve been giving some thought to how I feel about being here.  (Better late than never, right?)  The good news is that overall, I like it, particularly the following:

The sunshine.  Yes it can get overly hot, yadayadayada, but knowing it’s going to be sunny everyday is FABULOUS. Also, when it rains, you can be fairly sure that it’s not going to last for 37 days’ straight and wash away most of the houses around you.  (But if it did, it’s be warm flooding.)

Outdoor life.  Living in a decent climate enables you to gently kill – as oppose to frantically try to murder – parenting time. These are some of the suggestions we bandy about when faced with the horror of A Full Day With The Kids:  Splash park? Beach?  Botanic gardens?  Cycling? Picnic?  Zoo?  Riverside? Jungle walk? And then having decided what we’re going to do we get up and DO IT.  (Well, eventually.)

Great roads.  I saw my first pothole last week and it was sorted by the time I’d dragged the Man out to see it, less than 24 hours later. (This might seem quite a strange, and possibly middle-aged (ahem) observation, however, if you’ve ever lived in London you will appreciate just how underrated a smooth road-surface is.)

Going for a swim in your tropical pool after school v. schlepping to Clapham Fucking Common every single day. (Aka - no more losing toes to frostbite/trench foot.)

Related to the above, your small children turning into merpeople.  (Albeit merpeople with water-born skin diseases – see below.)

Singaporeans do not, in general, tend to flock to the Arts.  And so last-minute tickets to the theatre and concerts are fairly easy to get.  (Not that we’ve necessarily done any flocking of our own, however it’s good to know that if the urge ever arose, we could do it.) 

Oh god, how haven’t I mentioned live-in-maids yet?  LIVE IN MAIDS.

And by default - because some other poor soul is wrestling the kids into the bath - a gin & tonic on the balcony at sundown.  Northern European balconies in February have nothing on their Singaporean counterparts.

Baking with yeast!  None of your 2 hours’ rising time nonsense here.

I have forgotten what a runny nose looks like on my children.  Which is fairly incredible, considering that just over a year ago I would barely have recognised them without a trail of slime on their upper lips. 

Shops selling – with a straight face - stuff like this, which always amuses me NO END:

And things I don’t love, so much

Doing anything which involves bureaucracy or someone vaguely official.  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH. Just as well I have experience dealing with recalcitrant toddlers or we would have no bank accounts, electricity, internet, or phones.

Ach, the expense.  Even coming from London, and even a year later, it still catches my breath.

The logistics involved in putting together a semi-decent grocery haul. (See also “Expense”, above, and “the Drivers” below.)

We really are very far away from anyone who isn’t also in Asia. And flying with three feral creatures just isn’t conducive to bridging the family-and-friends gap.

Singpost.   When you post things to go abroad here, you have about a 50:50 chance of them getting there.  (Mind you, you can be pleasantly surprised sometimes - I posted a birthday card to my god-daughter in London last September, which she got!  Admittedly she got it LAST WEEK, but still.)

The drivers.  For some reason when Singaporeans get into their cars, it seems that all traces of decency and consideration are wiped from them.  (Not so long ago I had to get out of my car at traffic lights and go knock on the window of the driver behind me to ask him to remove his car from where it had crashed to a halt, on top of the back of mine.  He stared straight ahead and refused to look at me. Like, you know, it was normal for his car to be essentially humping mine, and that I was the weird one.)

More often than not you have to be a total bitch to get even minor problems sorted.  (See also the example in “The drivers”, above)

Singaporean newspapers: awful awful awful.

Singaporean Radio: ditto.

Having to shout at your children Every. Single. Mealtime  to PUT SOME CLOTHES ON .

Clothes shopping.  Who knew that polyester was the fabric of choice in the Tropics?

Shoe shopping.  There’s something undignified about the way shoe-shop assistants gawp when they see my majestic European feet.

Random tropical kiddie inflictions.  “We” (the Baby)  are currently experiencing water worts.  (They’ll go away in about a year, apparently. Until then, her new nickname is Lumpalicious.) 

Frizzy unmanageable hair.  (God damn all the Singaporeans and their beautiful, humidity-proof, locks.)

And really... That’s it.  Yes I know that there are question marks over censorship here, and the justice system is somewhat... strict.  BUT.  I am old and cranky and only getting more so, and as such these things do not bother me unduly.  If I had to narrow it down, I’d say that the only thing I truly miss about London – apart from my friends, obv - is the Sunday newspapers, and Radio 4 droning on in the corner. 

OH GOD I AM SO MIDDLE AGED.