Singapore: Home is the 49th Floor

I have been talking about Greece every day brekky, lunch and dinner. The Husband is non committal so I've taken to threatening to go over on my own. He says my wings are clipped (who is he kidding??!) but we all know that I do what I like. How is a girl like me supposed to settle down and get a proper job anyway? It's cold and miserable at home in Sydney, I'm told, and nothing puts a girl in a worse mood than having to wear too many layers of clothes.

Perhaps to get me off the scent of another potential European tripette within a mere month of returning home, the Husband suggested I put my talents to good use and write this blog.  I was going to write one anyway but I'll let him think it was his idea.  Call it The Glam Backpacker or some such thing, he proposed.  In his nice, quiet, indulgent way he also said he'd like me to quickly create a global phenonenom in the manner of facebook or the internet or Google which I'm quite happy to do but just not overly sure how long that will all take? I need to also check that some foul imposter hasn't stolen the name.  Or doesn't try to steal it once I've made it famous of course.  I've had enough things stolen from me in my time.

The suite at the Marina Bay Sands is fabulous. So fabulous that I have taken to calling it 'home' and have pretty much moved in.  Well, everything from my Backpack is unpacked and hanging in the dressing room.  To put it mildly, I am most upset to have to head home tomorrow night. My mother has sent me a text telling me the weather is feral (although she says it in a much nicer way naturally). How am I meant to show off my newly aquired tan if I have to cover it up with winter clothes?

The Husband has burnt his face nicely, peeled along his forehead and now has brown and red splotches everywhere. You'd never guess he lives by the beach and claims to be seasoned at gaining (and losing so it seems) a tan.


The Husband relaxing by the pool.
Marina Bay Sands, Singapore



To the pool. I have decided it is completely altogether possible to live up on these top few floors and never ever leave.  In fact, we have met someone who actually does live up here.  A chatty American woman originally from Brooklyn. Her toiling husband works in property or something for the Marina Bay Sands project and they have moved here from Miami and have been living in the Marina Bay Sands for the past six weeks.  She has the darkest tan I've ever seen on a white woman.  She has, in fact, out-tanned cousin Marilyn.  Cousin Marilyn will not be pleased.





Infinity pool.
Marina Bay Sands, Singapore

Because we are so happily ensconced in our Home at the Marina Bay Sands, so far we have been out to dinner a big fat once - to Ku De Ta which was a huge, overpriced, non-tasty disappointment. The rest of the time we lob up to the Club Lounge and freeload like wildfire (we are, after all, guests in a suite) and heartily enjoy the included wine buffet during the 5-7pm drinks hour. I can thoroughly recommend paying the extra for access to the Club Lounge. Last night I finished the evening off with a Penfolds Private Reserve (which we were told by the loud, large, confident Western Australian sitting at the table beside us was $90 a bottle back home so drink up), went Home, shaved my legs in the enormous bathtub, lay in the nuddie on the floor at the base of my floor-to-ceiling glass wall oggling my 49th floor view over Singapore and then scrambled under the covers of the floaty, cloud-like douna and - yes, hold on to your hat - fell asleep all before 9pm. What a cracker of a date I am. The Husband ordered himself a $32 room service hamburger (which I understand was very nice) and now we are having deja vu by lying by the pool all day again.

Oh, the life of it.