Basket.

Every day I can but look on as the callously inconsiderate perform their daily routine. Just today on the bus, two old men occupied two seats - and their bags, another two. Later, on the MRT, a squat Indian fellow barged his way into the train while yakking incomprehensibly on his handphone at an unnecessarily loud volume. As usual, the middle of the carriage was deserted and no one let commuters alight in peace at the station.

This, of course, is nothing compared to my absolutely infuriating encounter last Sunday. I had got out of a crowded lift to let two people in; the lift door then refused to close, probably overcrowded. After a short while someone had the temerity to tell me that he thought I was blocking the sensor. I knew, knowing Singaporeans, that if I didn't get off we would probably all be there until Judgement Day, so I shot a backwards glance of utter contempt and stepped out without a word. Jason followed, calling the lot still obstinately in the lift "barbarians", a richly-deserved title. Especially, of course, the two beneficiaries of my kindness, who in the truly gracious society our government has been hoping for for years would undoubtedly have offered to get off instead.

What is the use of having shining First World buildings and hosting shining First World events when our social attitudes are in the fucking gutter? It's just yet another bloody illusion. As if this island didn't have enough already.

The afternoon more than compensated for such unfortunate encounters, however. A relaxed, languid lunch with Winston at Sizzler's was followed by me chasing him around various shops as he looked for, inevitably, a friend's birthday present. I can't help but think how all my metrosexual friends are so alike. Shopping at the same places, picking out the same clothes, saying all the same things. It's amusing and cute at the same time.

It's been a good start to the weekend, and if this is a foretaste of things to come, I might just get myself a better view of life for a change.