Little Minx. Poppity Goblet. Sausage. Boo-boo. Pussycat.

Here Comes Trouble

2009-04-17T06:41:00.003+08:00

11 May 2007 Roadtesting her new scooter and helmet in the house, Saffron decides the best way to keep me from going to the office is by attempting to hide my shoes.

My Little Sleeping Beauty

2009-04-17T06:29:00.003+08:00

9 May 2007 Knocked out by 13 hours on the flight back to London. There's something magically calming about Saffron when she's asleep. It's not just that it's the only time she isn't chatting away, it's how she goes back to looking like a baby. I love watching her sleep even now, but always have trouble resisting the urge to kiss her awake or irritate her with her very own 'Wakey, wakey, it's the alarm'. Though she has recently come up with a new morning wake-up tune which she composed on her own. A few Sundays ago, as I was refusing her repeated attempts to lure me out of bed, she started singing a wake up song. Clearly impressed by her own creation, she then set out to write down the lyrics. About seven times over, as I realised when I finally roused several hours later and found myself covered in little notelets with lyrics. I have since used it back on her and I have to say she wasn't quite as thrilled when she was on the receiving end of the morning warbling.
This is how it goes (as written on the notelets):
Lazy head, get out of bed, la la la
Lazy head, get out of bed orels I'll call you lazy head
Lazy head, la la la.
Ring us if you need the tune.

Tattoos and Soft Boiled Eggs

2009-04-17T05:54:00.003+08:00

4 February 2007 My little Heartlander enjoying her favourite local breakfast in Singapore - soft boiled eggs with light soya sauce and lashings of ground white pepper.

10 February 2007 A few weeks away from parental supervision and it's back to bedlam and tattoos.

Singapura oh Singapura

2009-04-17T05:46:00.003+08:00

29 December 2006 Having triumphantly conquered the Selfridges Boxing Day sale in London, we returned to Singapore with Aunty Val for a short holiday. Here the weary travellers are snapped upon arrival by unrelenting relatives at Changi Airport, jet-lagged but still beautiful.

This is what happens when you're the first and only grandchild in the family. Everyone plays Dress Up Dolly with you.

From Sloane Square to Raffles Place.

More Tea, Vicar?

2009-04-17T05:42:00.003+08:00

20 December 2006 Christmas tea with Nana at 22 Western Road. See for yourself the effect Cadbury Mini Rolls have on Aunty Val.

Dorothy Shoes

2009-04-17T05:37:00.003+08:00

11 December 2006 Saffron living out her Wizard of Oz fantasy. (Don't mean to sound defensive but that really isn't me lurking in the background).

Sudden-Leigh-on-Sea

2009-04-17T05:29:00.003+08:00

2 December 2006 One of our last few visits to Leigh. Snapshots of Irma's pizza and Nana's carpet courtesy of Saffron.

Poppy Appeal

2009-04-17T05:23:00.004+08:00

11 November 2006 That was the year it began. Ever since then, every November during the Poppy Appeal, Saffron asks for a poppy to wear on her lapel. One of those things that's everywhere when you don't want one but can't find any for love or money when you actually do.

Going Underground

2009-04-17T05:17:00.003+08:00

11 November 2006 All routes start from Sloane Square. Gallivanting around London with Aunty Val on the Tube.

Smells Like Soya Sauce

2009-04-17T05:04:00.003+08:00

4 November 2006 Snapped here on her way to her weekly Chinese lessons, our little Confucius scholar happily looked forward to every Saturday morning. Though I soon found out that it was because she liked the biscuits they gave out during tea break. Worked out cheaper to buy her a packet of Custard Creams from Marks & Sparks than to hand over fistfuls of cash to the language teacher. Which explains why two years on, Saffron's Mandarin vocabulary hasn't moved on from 'Hu Die' (Butterfly).

Fragile - Handle with Care

2009-04-17T04:58:00.003+08:00

29 October 2006

The Coolest Manny in Chelsea

2009-04-17T04:43:00.003+08:00

29 October 2006 It's been such a long time since Uncle Tim was living with us at 55. The only thing that sticks in my mind is Saffron stealing into his room occasionally to rouse him from sweet slumber with a 'Wakey, wakey, it's the alarm'. That and the constant recycling of everything into art. The robot made from Jaffa cake cartons (Tim's, not mine) still hangs proudly on our kitchen gallery wall. It was a sad bad day when Uncle Tim had to pack up his bags and head back to equatorial pastures.

Here are the snaps of us having farewell lunch at Jamie Oliver's Fifteen (as in Fifteen out of a Hundred for taste, quality and service. Can you tell I've never been back?). Followed by the walk home after our last brunch together at The Chelsea Bun. As Saffron demonstrates, it was a fairly emotional day.

Yah but no but yah, innit?

2009-04-17T03:03:00.004+08:00

14 October 2006 Like a pixellated phoenix rising from the ashes, our blog shakes off the dust from a year of hibernation, coughs and sputters back into life.
We're back in business, folks.
This sudden flurry (I use the word with artistic liberty) of activity begs the question 'Why? Why now?'. I suspect it's the heady combination of me desperately looking for compelling reasons not to get on with the work I actually have to do; my missing Saffron (she's out playing with the neighbours); and the growing little scraps of paper and 'Note to Self' memos on my Blackberry on the funniest little things that Saffron's been saying or the trouble she's been getting into.

Fast forward to April 2009 and our little minx is now five and a half years old. I don't often realise how much she's grown until I look through old drawings, scribbles or photographs.

Here in this picture taken by Uncle Tim back in October 2006 (no, that's not a typo), Saffron displays her incisive ability to pick up on the Next Big Thing with her Vicky Pollard impersonation. (From Little Britain, and if you even have to ask us what that is, we can't really be friends). Not long after, Kate Moss herself jumped on the bandwagon, channelled her inner chav, and starred as Vicky Pollard's sister in a Little Britain Special.

Thankfully, Saffron no longer wears high ponytails (she wears her hair short and still believes me when I say cutting her hair short only makes it grow longer faster. Don't judge me. You'd do the same if you had a sweaty daughter), has finally stopped hassling me for earrings and rather fortuitously, it turns out Kappa doesn't make polyester bright pink trackies for under-5s. We've left the world of Vicky Pollard behind and now want to be Avril Lavigne when we grow up.

You can take the girl out of the beach...

2008-04-22T06:50:00.000+08:00

5 August 2007 On one of the nine sunny days that we had in London last year, we found ourselves in Kensington Gardens rolling in the grass, sunbathing and eating copious amounts of ice cream. Here you see Saffron leading by fine example.

Spot Saffron

2008-04-22T06:21:00.000+08:00

5 August 2007 Can you spot Saffron?

Here's a little clue.

Give up?

Boo!

Ask and you shall be given

2008-04-19T05:29:00.000+08:00

12 April 2008 Here you go, Aunty Val. (Surely this must be worth at least 6 pairs of black skinny OGEs?). Snapped at Harlem between Powerplates and brunch, Saffron busies herself while awaiting her Pancakes-with-Pecans-and-too-much-syrup fix.

Gallery Minx reopens, minutes from the National Portrait Gallery

2008-04-17T23:47:00.000+08:00

7 April 2008 Part of the polyptych of female heroines created by The Artist. Here you see Princess Fiona (from Shrek) flanked by the Powerpuff Girls, Minnie Mouse and Mrs Incredible. Viewed in its entirety, the other panels include Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel and Princess Jasmine. Quite possibly one of the most complete contemplations of female heroism (albeit Disney/Pixar ones) in modern times.

I once read that having pets around in an office creates a relaxing and therefore more conducive and productive work environment. In an attempt to mitigate the stress levels in my office, I thought it would be nice to bring Saffron in for a day. As it turns out, it did have a positive and chill-out effect on the rest of the office. Which unfortunately had a directly inverse relation to my sanity and composure.

When she wasn't playing hide and seek with the secretaries in the corridors and meeting rooms, Saffron was either sneaking downstairs to overfeed the mutant koi fish in our indoor pond, with crumbs of stale bread supplied by her co-conspirators, their illicit stash smuggled past the guards in innocent looking envelopes; or offering to draw brutally honest portraits of my colleagues.

I finally lured her into my room with the promise of reams of recycled paper and coloured markers and shut the door firmly behind us. These drawings are the result of Saffron's incarceration. She even went to the trouble of cleaning out our entire stock of Blutack and on her own initiative, put up all her drawings on my wall. (On the back of this drawing alone, I found 19 little balls of blutack). The result of which is this inspiring, completely gender-biased, study of cartoon heroines. All displayed at waist-level of course.

Visitors in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square are most welcome to view the polyptych. By appointment only. Some squatting and kneeling may be required.

Banksy meets Jamie Oliver

2008-04-03T06:09:00.000+08:00

30 March 2008 Here's what I found on the back of my work diary as I was flipping through the pages on Monday morning, not quite the happiest camper, pencilling in work engagements for the next few months. It made me giggle to see the little drawing that Saffron had left me and I got to wondering what the Princess was dreaming about. My guess was that it must be a juicy burger from Lucky Seven (our all-time favourite burger joint in Notting Hill). Turns out I was way off the mark, as a quick check with the Artist clarified that the Princess is - in fact - dreaming of a sandwich. A "foie gras, honey, butter, salami, salmon and tuna" sandwich. All of her favourite things at once. Sounds good to me. Be sure to look out for it at your nearest EAT/Pret...

22 Western Road

2008-03-30T09:14:00.000+08:00

20 December 2006 Aunty Val and Saffron having Christmas tea with Nana on our last visit to 22 Western Road, Leigh-on-Sea. It's been awhile but I can still taste Nana's tea in my mouth, hear the sound of the boiler, feel the velvet of the sofa armrests on my elbows, and sense the sometimes almost-tropical heat on my neck. But most of all, I can still smell the house - a familiar mix of frying fat, lavender, soft vegetables, English air and notes of whatever she had just made for tea.

What we'll do for cake and some chantilly cream

2008-03-30T08:59:00.000+08:00

10 December 2006 Little Minx trying to sneak a peek at the various options of pastries at the Harvey Nics Fifth Floor patisserie (since replaced by a very agreeable Daylesford Organic cafe).

Signs of the times

2008-03-30T08:50:00.000+08:00

3 December 2006 Snap of Saffron in a second-hand sign shop in Saffron Walden, Essex. And no, before you ask, she wasn't named after the town, even if it is a very pretty and worthy town. Dotted with lots of antique shops and quaint restaurants. We came away that visit with more treasures than we should have and only stopped because there wasn't enough room in the car. It was between more antique golliwogs and old Enid Blyton books or Aunty Val. Tough call.

Our Little Prima Donna

2008-03-30T08:35:00.000+08:00

30 November 2006 Open Day at the Royal Academy of Dance (almost a year and a half ago!), where Saffron used to attend ballet class every Thursday. Now she does ballet with Mme Blandine on Thursday afternoons in school.

The Luckiest Girl in the World

2008-03-20T07:39:00.003+08:00

11 July 2007 On the ferris wheel in the Jardin des Tuileries, Paris.

Hello stranger.
It's been awhile.
What've we been up to in the last three and a half months?
You'll be pleased to learn that we've not had any further visits from the headlice. Saffron's also been twice to Singapore, once to Bali, visited Aunty Val (and her cardboard bed) in Hong Kong, missed two flights, consumed at least a hundred litres of organic milk, learnt to read, overcame her fear of cycling, watched 120 hours of CBeeBies, listened to Kaiser Chiefs and Pink far more than she should have, eaten about 5 sprigs of spinach leaves, cried when Same Difference didn't win X-Factor, and developed a habit of going through my magazines with a pen circling anything that takes her fancy (she has a penchant for mascara wands, stilettos, bright dresses and, rather worryingly, off-shoulder tops. Thankfully, she studiously steers clear of pictures of Gordon Brown and Ken Livingstone).*

Her feet have grown bigger (she's now a 27/28) and she's grown taller. Her new favourite ensemble is a grey Belgian polo-neck dress worn with grey leggings and brown boots.(She's been known to come home from school and change immediately into this outfit, just to sit in front of the telly to watch In the Night Garden on CBeeBies.)

She still chats non-stop from the moment she wakes till she falls asleep, takes Michael to bed with her everynight, reaches faithfully for her coe woe the moment she's tired, rummages through my bathroom drawers to help herself to my toiletries, and continues to put up with my nightly ritual/banter of "I love you", "Me too", "You love yourself?" "No, I love you."

Her favourite colour is still pink, she still subscribes to gender stereotypes ("Boys like Spiderman, Girls like Barbie") despite my best attempts to debunk them. She still loves eggwhites, chicken macaroni soup, wholemeal toast sans crust, yorkshire puds and vanilla ice cream (though not always necessarily at the same time). And she still wants to be "a Singapore airlines girl" when she grows up.

Sadly, she's outgrown her 'copydays' when she used to insist on dressing up exactly as I do (thank god for Comptoir des Cottoniers). She's also forgotten Alissa her imaginary baby who was in her tummy for the longest time and whom she used to pretend-feed and show to anyone by lifting up her blouse (those were slightly difficult times).

I get overly sentimental when I notice that she's starting to lose a habit because it reminds me how quickly she's growing. Thankfully some important things don't change. She still wants to sleep in my bed with me despite my half-arsed attempts to tempt her with her very own four-poster princess bed (I even suggested the possibility of pink sheets... such is the power of a mother's love). When she perspires in her sleep, I'm still the one to wipe her sweaty brows. Her nose is still very cute. And she still thinks my scrambled eggs are the best, bar none.

I guess you win some, you lose some. So she may no longer want to dress like me these days (wait - is that more a reflection of me or of her?), but conversely, she's now gotten into the habit of making cards and leaving notes for me almost everyday. They all invariably say 'Dear Mummy, I love you. From Saffron. +++++' (she can't do crosses the other way), but it's still pretty amazing to be on the receiving end of such constant validation, and even more awesome to think that my baby can now write and express herself in words.

Finally, one of my favourite new habit of hers is her insistence on leaving voice messages on my mobile phone. Ordinarily I loathe voicemail, but I make a point of saving Saffron's short little messages. And of re-saving them when they're about to be auto-deleted. So I can play them back when I'm away or travelling, just to hear her sweet little voice. Each time it reminds me of how terribly lucky I am. There, I've said it. Not nearly as embarrassing as I thought it was going to be.

*Surely you didn't think I only read fluffly, girly, airbrushed magazines?

Sugar and spice (and a little headlice)

2007-12-05T06:56:00.000+08:00

29 November 2007 Christmas Fair

When Saffron was a wee one, I used to get slightly unnerved if I didn't hear her moving or breathing in the middle of the night. Or day, for that matter. (I have been known to be quite demanding, even of week-old infants). And even when I did hear her, I would sometimes think, maybe it wasn't her, maybe it was something else. So often we would get out of bed, trudge over to her cot to take a peep, place our hand on her for a good few seconds and at the detection of her little body moving with each breath she drew, we would drag ourselves groggily (but happily) back into bed with a palpable sense of relief. I have to confess that sometimes we would even nudge or rouse her, just to be sure.

I realise it's a little macabre, but it's a real fear that parents live with everyday. At least I do. But these days I no longer wake up in the middle of the night to put my hand on Saffron to feel for her breath. Not because I have outgrown my morbid fear (highly unlikely), and not because I am less enamoured of my firstborn (highly improbable). But rather because she's a heavy breather (ok, some might say a light snorer. Depends if you're a half-cup-full or half-cup-empty sort of person), and a right little Kungfu Kicker, so I always know she's there, next to me, alive and kicking. Literally.

So you can imagine it was rather worrying when I received a phonecall on my mobile late morning last Thursday, from school. Not long after I had dropped her off that same morning and waved her goodbye as I left the Assembly Hall. I have to say I held my breath as her teacher explained to me why she had rung. Turned out there had been a headlice outbreak in her class and Saffron had been one of the Chosen Five. So I had to rush over to take her out of school before it continued to spread. Of course my sense of relief that it wasn't anything more serious was rapidly replaced by slightly less selfless thoughts relating to the potential infestation of my own hair (don't judge me, just love me).

After I put the phone down with Mrs Lamont, this is what I did:
1. Ran through mental checklist of when I could possibly have caught the headlice from Saffron. Unlikely. I had only just returned very late the previous night from France, she had already been sound asleep. Wait a minute, didn't I cuddle her and sniff her hair that morning?
2. Panicked a little. You look at Mothers and they seem to have the perfect answer and remedy to Every Crisis Situation. So you almost assume that when it comes to your turn, Motherhood will come with the Answersheet. That somehow the overnight stretchmarks also come with some wisdom to compensate. But it doesn't work like that. You don't suddenly know how to deal with headlice, how to dress a wound or how to get fingerpaints off cashmere just because you're a mother.
3. Googled 'Headlice'. What did our parents do before the internet age? You have to admire them for coping nevertheless. Though my google search completely debunked my long-held belief - no doubt in part instilled by my own very well-meaning and highly effective mother - that headlice can fly (they don't have wings, silly) and jump (no hind legs for jumping either, get with the programme). No wonder witches were burnt at the stake.
4. Read aloud the instructions line by line to Aunty Myrna (our supernanny) who promptly set off with almost militariy precision to change and wash all bedlinen and clothes that might have had any contact with our Head(lice) Girl.
5. Took a deep breath.
6. Started to feel my own head itch. Like mad.
7. Drove to school in under 4 minutes. Quite a feat considering I was navigating traffic whilst looking for any evidence of headlice in the car.

Saffron's excitement and delight (I say delight because she was really beaming from ear to ear when I arrived to pick her up) at the unusual turn the morning had taken was quickly replaced by anxiety when I explained to her why I was taking her out of school. Her shortlived protest in the school corridor wasn't because of the headlice - she was rather excited by the drama of it all, being fussed over, medicated, combed several times over, having her little head searched for any evidence of the Mother Louse, and being able to sit at home in her smalls watching CBBies in the middle of the school day - but rather because she was aghast at the idea that she might not be able to return to school permanently. When I assured her that she would be coming back, she calmly took my hand and happily walked out of the school with me.

As luck would have it, Thursday evening was also the school's Christmas Fair, for which we had bought all our tickets and game tokens and to which we had been looking forward for several weeks. So the plan was to get Saffron home, douse her in the strongest medication we could find for love or money, for as many hours as we could, only then would she be allowed to rejoin her friends at the Fair that evening. Which is exactly what we did.

By the time we got home via a detour to the pharmacist (to pick up medication and a bright pink headlice comb) and drycleaners (to drop off Saffron's woolly hat and school blazer), the situation at home had been brought under control, any further possible contamination had been contained. And yes, there was a little bit more of googling on my part, but all in all I think we handled it well, all things considered.

We made it to the Christmas Fair that evening, where Saffron kept her hair hidden under a woolly hat whilst she tried her hand at velcro darts (hasn't really got my knack, as you can tell from these pictures), throwing beanbags (pretty good), guessed the number of sweets in the jar (thankfully she lost), studiously avoided the dubious looking Father Christmas (how do you explain to a child WHICH Father Christmas is the real one?), scoffed cheese and crackers (me, not Saffy), tried to suck up M&Ms with a straw (she won a consolation lollipop), decorated Christmas biscuits with too much icing and sprinkles (these have ended up lovingly hung on Aunty Divya's Christmas tree), made Christmas cards (for herself!), flirted with little Spanish boys (Aunty Debbi, not me), and spent all our pennies on Redcliffe merchandise (you all know what you're getting for Christmas). All in a day's work!

Save the cheerleader, save the world

2007-11-15T05:11:00.000+08:00

August 2007
Most Wednesday evenings at 9pm, there's only one place to find us. Huddled on our sofa, pulses racing, me sipping my mug of ah-por tea, Saffy furtively licking her coe-woe, both of us utterly transfixed by Peter Petrelli, Hiro, Isaac, Clare et al. We always watch Heroes together. Even when I was in Amsterdam several weeks ago, we watched Heroes together over the phone. She described every scene as it unfolded, making sure that we were watching the same episode. (Vodafone had the last laugh of course, but in my defence, there are worse ways to spend Saffron's inheiritance.)

So today being Wednesday, I find myself on the sofa, but regrettably without my fellow Heroes groupie, whose after-school playground antics have exhausted her earlier than usual this evening. Somehow it's not quite as fun watching the show without her, without having her little hand to clasp and warm bottom to tuck my legendarily-ice-cold feet under. Which is why I am Spontaneously Blogging (could this be my calling?), and which explains the incongruity of the photographs which accompany this entry. These are the only new pictures I have on my laptop, of our summer holiday on Ile de Re. Enjoy!

(After weeks of deliberation, we've just about established what Saffron's power is; she emanates a force-field which draws and compels those in her vicinity to kiss or squeeze her. Okay, so it's not quite Spontaneous Regeneration or Painting the Future, but still she seems quite happy with her lot in life. At least now I have sound scientific reason for my behaviour.)

Here's what I found

2007-08-31T08:15:00.000+08:00

July 2007 Here's what I stumbled across in the office one day as I was flipping through my notebook trying to retrieve some facts and figures. Sandwiched between my hurriedly scribbled notes on preferential tax regimes and French automotive outsourcing, I found Saffron's drawing of someone with a dog on a leash. How or when she got her hands on my notebook I can't honestly recall, but coming across the lovely little picture most unexpectedly was surely one of the sweetest moments I've ever had. Reminded me, right in the midst of all the frenzy and fancy-pants emails and meetings, of the reason why I do anything at all. And of what matters most. Of course, had the drawing been discovered on my notes rather then between my notes, I might have had an entirely different epiphany altogether. Quite possibly something involving the naughty step, a long talk and the breaking of pencils.

Majulah Singapura

2007-08-21T07:29:00.000+08:00

18 August 2007 Loyal patriots that we are, we jumped at the chance to while away a lovely Saturday afternoon celebrating Singapore's 42nd birthday. What better way than to spend it in the company of a hundred other fellow Singaporeans, herded onto a boat, all wearing red and/or white, sipping wine and scoffing curry puffs, cruising our way up and down the Thames, to the strains of a live jazz band amidst a smattering of Singlish all around?

Having stolen the show at last year's National Day funfair in London by singing solo in front ot hundreds of guests, Saffron had set for herself a tough act to follow. With some forward planning, I thought that I could teach her the national anthem in the event that she would be called upon to sing. However, my attempts were rejected with a dismissive "I will sing Rule Britannia, Mummy."

Armed with our door gifts of the actual goody bags given out at this year's National Day parade at Marina, we ensconced ourselves comfortably at the table nearest the buffet table. (We were celebrating the spirit of being Singaporean, after all!) Saffron promptly raided the bags with Aunty Debbi, set up the Singapore flags at our table, and proceeded to plaster herself and everyone else around her with 'Made in Singapore' tattoos. I, meanwhile, was getting ever so slightly stressed out by the amount of battery-operated, flashing, plastic tat that was potentially going to follow us home.

Halfway through the lunch, there was a Singapore quiz during which our decision on where to sit was vindicated. The MC asked questions relating to Singapore and anyone who knew the answer had to run up to him. Handy then that he was standing right in front of us, and even handier that 80 percent of the other passengers were all separated from us by a treacherous staircase. It was our lucky day. Aunty Debbi won a prize early on for shouting out "New Asia Bar" to "Where in Singapore is the highest point where you can have a drink in a bar?". We had to do all we could to restrain her from running up with the answers to the other questions that followed.

Saffron's moment of glory came when there was a question for 'under-12s' (the cruise was only officially opened to children above 5. It pays to work in the same office as party organisers, that's all I can say...).

"Name 3 places in Singapore where you can find animals."

Dragging me along with her to the colourfully-vested host, Saffron offered this answer into the microphone, "My por-por's house, the farm and the zoo."

It's a pity no one really got to hear the "farm and the zoo" bit of her answer, for as soon as she had said "My por-por's house...", the entire boat went "Awww...". She could have ended with "a vegetarian restaurant and Parliament House" and it wouldn't have made any damn difference. I don't think that was the answer my Singapore Tourism Board colleagues had in mind, but needless to say, she walked away proudly with the prize. You see her here eagerly opening her well-deserved gift.

All in all, we had a nice time on the cruise. Of course it would have been better had I won the first prize of a return ticket to Singapore courtesy of Singapore Airlines, but hey, at least I made away with some KFC Moist Towelettes, a hand-held fan complete with batteries and a book of vouchers for VivoCity. Woo hoo.

Eat my dirt, Pablo

2007-08-18T06:11:00.000+08:00

5 August 2007 Saffron's illustration of a mermaid (which if you think bears passing resemblance to a molar with hair, you're not alone there), but which I rather like anyway and has pride of place on my desk at work.

My colleague

2007-08-14T07:52:00.000+08:00

13 August 2007 No, you didn't read the date wrong. These pictures were indeed taken a few hours ago. Some luckier aunties have already had a sneak preview. (I'm not naming names.)

Aunty Myrna took ill quite unexpectedly over the weekend and wasn't quite ready to leave her room this morning, and therefore was in no state to look after Saffron earlier today. The result of which was my being housebound, having to work from home, and my reluctant re-acquaintance with the ancient art form of housework. I exaggerate; it was more along the lines of microwaving milk and mixing weetabix with strawberries for Saffron's breakfast. But there were still quite a few dishes to wash because even though I briefly flirted with the idea of eating off leftover disposable partyware, my inner snob wouldn't let me and I was forced to remember how much I really hate drying dishes (not nearly as much as I really hate the sight of dishes drying).

When I wasn't bent over at the kitchen sink scrubbing (dried weetabix is a right pain, along with dried pasta sauce and dried egg yolk), and dreaming of throwing it all in and being a Slummy Mummy, I was working at the dining table, occasionally distracted by my 'colleague', pictured here in her leotard.

Saffron was kept fully occupied by a most fascinating and clever activity book, like a colouring book, only each page has different instructions to, for example, draw in missing teeth to unfinished illustrations, or to fill a field with flowers. With each page completed, Saffron would ask me to read her the instructions for the next. I tried to sneak in a 'Kiss your mother 27 times' between 'Draw them some clothes' and 'Fill their teeth with cavities', but she was too sharp to fall for it. She may not be able to read yet, but she's got pretty good intuition and seems to be able to sniff out tricks and tales*.

Anyway, the reason my 'colleague' is in a leotard, is because the moment she hears Madonna's 'Sorry', she always feels compelled to change into her leotard a la Madonna, and do her dance. In fact, there's a bootleg video of Saffron dancing like Madonna in the 'Sorry' video lurking somewhere in someone's camera. So today, when it came on, she leapt out of her seat and dashed madly up the stairs only to reappear shaking and spinning in her little 'donald' (as in 'Madonnald') outfit.

This second picture here is of a page where she was supposed to draw people looking out the windows. When I pointed out to her that usually, you can only partially see a person's body through the window, whereas her little figure was of the entire body, floating in the window, without so much as batting an eyelid, she clarified, "That's because it's a baby, jumping in the air because he's on a trampoline." You can't really argue with logic like that, can you? After which she promptly proceeded to draw the baby's mother looking out the bottom window.

There was also another page where there were two sulking cartoon figures on opposite ends of the spread, separated by a sea, the instructions to which was to draw a bridge. When I took a look at what she'd done, there was no bridge in sight. Instead, there was a floating red figure of a girl hovering horizontally above the sea, which I was promptly told was Super Saffron (can you tell we've been watching Heroes rather religiously in this household?), who was going to bring them together. Upon my closer inspection, I also saw that she had taken a red marker to the sulks on the cartoons' faces and turned them back into smiles. Awww...

*Not all of them, though. My favourite ruse - and it still works for now - is when she agrees to exchange a set number of kisses, say 10, in return for something, and I am the appointed Kiss Counter. 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10. That always works. Or maybe she's just humouring me.

Lazy summer days

2007-08-13T04:54:00.000+08:00

21 September 2006 All in a day's work.

Recycling

2007-08-12T07:08:00.000+08:00

21 September 2006 Grinning after off-loading all our stale bread and overripe raspberries to the ducks in the Serpentine.

The Last Supper

2007-08-12T06:34:00.000+08:00

12 August 2006 With only moments to go before we have to board our flight back to Old Blighty, Saffron manages to squeeze in a quick visit to the Prata place near Botanic Gardens.

I'm a celebrity, get me out of here

2007-08-12T06:19:00.000+08:00

6 August 2006 Don't tell anyone, but we succumbed and ate at the Takashimaya food court. I know it's incredulous on two levels; that we even managed to get a seat in the first place (between the botoxed Indonesian aunties and LV-toting tai tais), and secondly, everyone knows no real Singaporean eats at the Takashimaya foodcourt. But before you revoke my citizenship and delete my SingPass account, in mitigation, we would like to plead that (1) Crystal Jade was closed for renovations; (2) we are semi-tourists after all; and (3) you try ticking off 47 different local dishes over the span of 7 days ( or 21 mealtimes). Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Chip off the not-so-old block

2007-08-12T06:11:00.000+08:00

5 August 2006 Having completed her Grand Tour of the wet market, Saffron strikes a pose with her Por Por.

11 August 2006

2007-08-12T05:55:00.000+08:00

The very last of our Bali pictures. We'd love to post more but most of our photographs from that holiday seem to have gone on a walkabout. We've turned the house upside down and inside out. Twice over. But we still can't find them. A handsome reward awaits anyone who solves the Mystery of the Missing Pictures.

11 August 2006

2007-08-11T09:05:00.000+08:00

Backpacker Hell

2007-08-11T08:52:00.000+08:00

10 August 2006 Having decided to try a new beach each day, we finally found ourselves at Kuta, surrounded by Australian backpackers, fleeced by a wrinkled old granny whose gummy smile charmed me into parting with a handsome sum for a juicy mango (let's just say it would have been cheaper at Waitrose), and more Hard Rock Cafe Bali souvenirs than we care to remember.

Making a splash

2007-08-11T08:47:00.000+08:00

2007-08-11T08:40:00.000+08:00

Entourage

2007-08-11T08:22:00.000+08:00

Impressed by how long Saffron was able to sit still for, and how co-operative she was, we made a mental note to add 'Hairbraiding' to our growing catalogue of parenting techniques.

Spot the yellow beads. Some of you may remember that Saffron was going through her 'Yellow is my favourite colour' phase then.

Voila! I know it looks like we were there all day, but really in the end we drew the line at four braids...

Proud (and well fed) mother

It takes a village

2007-08-11T07:17:00.000+08:00

9 August 2006 We were happily minding our own business, getting some coconuts for our parched throats, when we were ambushed by what must have been the entire female population of the town, purveying manicures, pedicures, massages and whatnots. Shrewd business entrepreneurs that they were, when they realised that they were not about to get any business out of myself (only Nail Studio for me when I'm in Asia, thank you very much) or James (they didn't have the right shade of rouge noir), they suggested, "Hair braiding, m'am, for your daughter?" To which my nonchalant reply was, "No, thank you, she won't be able to sit still for long enough." At which point Saffron made her presence felt and exclaimed, "But I can!" And before you could say 'Su-har-to' (or 'Yudhoyono', depending on your political inclinations), my daughter was whisked quickly away by a gaggle of excited aunties feeling up her hair. As we watched nervously from the sidelines (somewhat distracted by our freshly grilled corn-on-the-cob), Saffron's initial anxiety was quickly replaced by a sense of importance as she basked in the attention of her entourage. So this is what it feels like to be J-Lo...

9 August 2006

2007-08-08T06:56:00.000+08:00

Clearly not the occasion for a Knock, Knock joke.

Saffron happily negotiating the treacherous walk into our villa.

Lost in their own world, father and daughter wage hydro warfare against unsuspecting trespassing insects.

Showgirl

2007-08-08T06:46:00.000+08:00

9 August 2006 Stopping between bites of her breakfast croissant, our intrepid performer takes to the stage for an impromptu rendition of 'Castle on a Cloud', picked up in snatches on long car rides between Balinese beaches.

It was an itsybitsyteenyweeny navy polkadot bikini

2007-08-08T06:37:00.000+08:00

8 August 2006 Testing the waters

Retail therapy

2007-08-07T05:13:00.000+08:00

8 August 2006 Saffron's Pavlovian response as she intuitively recognises the enormous retail opportunities that await her: dilated eyes, quickened heartbeat, and coy smile in the direction of a wallet-bearing parent.

Dr Jekyll & Miss Hyde

2007-08-07T05:01:00.000+08:00

8 August 2006 These pictures, snapped literally a minute apart, first shows a weeping Saffron having misbehaved and suffered the wrath of Mummy's Hand, then immediately turning to grin cheekily at the camera.

Bali High

2007-08-07T03:08:00.000+08:00

7 August 2006 Ubud; our summer holiday in Bali exactly a year ago.

Since we're in the mood for reminiscing

2007-08-07T02:45:00.000+08:00

12 June 2003 The first ever photograph of Saffron, minutes old.

Breaking the time and space continuum...

2007-08-07T02:14:00.000+08:00

16 January 2004 My two favourite sleepyheads

Daylight Robbery

2007-06-01T06:56:00.000+08:00

4 August 2006 On the MRT train, somewhere between City Hall and Bugis Junction, our little fare evader giggles conspiratorially. It's totally objectionable to make three year olds pay full fare on the MRT. Perfectly good enough reason to boycott public transport, on grounds of principle. Why else did you think we only take taxis?

Far East Kid

2007-06-01T06:20:00.000+08:00

30 July 2006 Hands up those of you who immediately knew that I wasn't alluding to Saffron's half-Singaporean roots with my entry title. Let me guess. You probably had several body piercings growing up in the late 80s/early 90s (ok, you at least had multiple earholes, most of which would have closed up by now); made friendship bracelets for all your friends; wore either a Guns n Roses or Metallica T-shirt at some point (or NKOTB, for some of you); used liquid paper (white-out, as they say in England) to publicly declare your allegiances on your schoolbags and textbooks; and whenever you weren't at Far East, you could be found at Scotts Picnic. Eating beef noodles and Yami Yogurt.

Anyway. Saffron is snapped here with Aunty Jamie, who has a nice shop at Far East Plaza selling nice clothes for nice (albeit skinny) girls. That's her little pooch, Buddy. Just as I was about to take this picture, Saffron instructed me to wait and, having noticed that Jamie's blouse was off-shouldered, promptly adjusted her own blouse to achieve the same Grecian look. It's only amusing now because she's all of 3 years old. If she was 16, it would be a different story. In fact, if she was 16, she wouldn't be anywhere near Far East Plaza. She'd be at home having intellectually stimulating discussions on religion and politics with Mummy and Daddy, after helping with the chores and setting up her web forum on Third World Debt Cancellation.

30 July 2006

2007-06-01T06:08:00.000+08:00

Loitering at the hotel lobby awaiting the arrival of our cab to take us somewhere, quite possibly for a meal.

Saffron continues the tradition of feet pictures.

Water break

2007-06-01T06:06:00.000+08:00

Saffron playing with the fountain at the Raffles. Quite possibly snapped whilst we were making our way from Dim Sum at Empire Cafe to Roomali Roti at Shahi Maharani.

Fried Rice Paradise

2007-06-01T05:33:00.000+08:00

Late July, early August 2006 No prizes for guessing how we spent most of our time in Singapore. One of our first stops was Sakae Sushi where Saffron fell back into her routine of popping Edamame beans into the laps and hair of neighbouring diners while vying with Mummy for the much-coveted role of Pickled Ginger Purveyor.

Caught here gleefully tucking in to her staple Kaya Toast and Soft-boiled eggs. With lots of ground white pepper and light soy sauce.

There are many good things about living abroad, but chief among them surely has to be coming home. Especially if it's coming home to a big, no holds-barred, cook-out by Por Por Cindy, to her now-signature Peranakan-Hainanese spread of delicacies. (If you're ever lucky enough to be invited to join us at one of these, don't bother with the Buah Keluak. Nasty black bitter gooey stuff, that. I wouldn't touch it if I were you.)

Available at all hours, hot and varied, often consumed amidst colourful company, and never properly priced (and therefore always overpriced); what's not to like about Teochew porridge?

Prove that we don't just slum it when we're back in Singapore: a snapshot of the obligatory sit-down, slap-up meal at a respectable Chinese restaurant. Ahem.

A Rose by Any Other Name

2007-05-31T17:18:00.000+08:00

Most nights, as we are both settling in to bed for the night, Saffron, licking her coe-woe, lapses into her thoughful trance. With her eyes still wide open, she's physically there, snuggled up next to me, but her thoughts are miles away. Very often the most obscure memories are recalled and sometimes if I'm lucky enough, she shares them with me.

Last night, she broke the pensive (her), drowsy (me; on flu medication) silence with a "Mummy? Why did you name me Saffron and not Cinderella?". Even in my drugged-out stupor, I could tell she was dead serious. So I muttered something about Saffron being easier to call out, being 2 syllables shorter than Cinderella; how she looks more like a Saffron than a Cinderella (I don't think she took very well to this point); Daddy and I don't really like the name Cinderella, we far prefer Sleeping Beauty, as a matter of fact; and most important of all, now that she's about to start Reception Year in September, Saffron is much easier to spell and write than Cinderella.

Just as I was about to fall smugly back into my pillow, thinking I had fielded the question quite well, all things considered, Saffron declared, "I am going to change my name to Saffron Cinderella. Call me Saffron Cinderella, Mummy."

This is what happens to naughty girls

2007-05-31T16:13:00.000+08:00

Most of you will know by now that we subscribe to the Naughty Step Principle and Chocolate Forcefeeding Method when it comes to keeping Saffron in check. Another lesser known trick we have up our sleeve is to point out to her signs which imply that misbehaviour may well lead to her transformation into confectionery. Yet another unexpected advantage in naming your child after a flower/food ingredient. Even if she - quite possibly - has to put up with being nicknamed 'Spice Girl' for the rest of her school-going life.

Since we're on the subject of names...we had picked out Saffron's name well before she was born, but the moment we laid eyes on her, we realised that she looked more like a Lucy (her second name). Still, we had gotten so used to calling her Saffron that it seemed a little odd to change. That and the small niggling detail that her birth announcement cards had already been printed. Four years on and I still think she looks like 'a Lucy' but can't imagine her by any other name than Saffron.

Time and Tide (and Fishballs) Wait for No Man

2007-05-30T07:19:00.000+08:00

27 July 2006 With not a moment to lose, Saffron gets down to business at Newton Hawker Centre within an hour of arriving.

Reunited with her beloved Fishball Noodles (and loving family of course), she gives the thumbs up. All is well with the world.

Platters of delicious local cuisine nonchalantly scattered around the tables to deflect from the fact that it's actually all for Mummy.

Beef, Chicken or Armadillo?

2007-05-30T07:02:00.000+08:00

26 July 2006 Flying back to Singapore for a summer break, Saffron braved the 13 hour flight with much aplomb, aside from a couple of episodes involving airsick bags. To this day she still recalls how she was ill on the flight and has an aversion to plane food (so who doesn't).

Saffron's farewell party at Heathrow

In response to the flight attendant's robotic "Beef or Vermicelli?" when supper was served, Saffron, without missing a beat, replied "Armadillo". At which point we both turned to each other and burst out laughing, she having realised her confusion, me having realised her genius. Not only was the very funny joke lost on the purple-eyeshadowed trolley dolly, they weren't even able to fulfil Saffron's request. What does a girl need to do to get some armadillo these days?

Summer of '06

2007-05-30T06:37:00.000+08:00

24 July 2006 Spending a nice summer's day at Kew Gardens with her posse.

Sweeping Staircase

2007-05-25T05:29:00.000+08:00

11 July 2006 Saffron in yet another one of her incarnations as a Princess Bride

Playing ball

2007-05-25T05:20:00.000+08:00

1 July 2006 Evening picnic followed by football at St James Park

Rebel with a cause

2007-05-25T05:09:00.000+08:00

Still 25 June 2006 Saffron's little protest.

Almost there...

Reporting for work.

Mission accomplished; exhausted from the trek.

Stopping to smell the flowers on the way home.

Saffron's Big Day Out

2007-05-25T04:57:00.000+08:00

25 June 2006 Saffron braving the tube to accompany Mummy to the office (on a Sunday, no less) to pick up some work and the laptop cable.

Saffron's close-up of the tube floor...

...her dress...

...the itchy upholstery...

...and her commendable attempt at Feet Photography.

Now that Kate Middleton's out of the picture...

2007-05-19T06:08:00.000+08:00

29 June 2006 Saffron even has the coy, submissive princess look down pat. Buckingham Palace here we come!

Pilates Enthusiast

2007-05-19T06:04:00.000+08:00

10 June 2006 Gatecrashing Mummy's Pilates class, Saffron reminds us what it's like to be young and flexible...

Menagerie

2007-05-19T05:58:00.000+08:00

19 March 2006

Top Picture

2007-05-19T05:51:00.000+08:00

If I had to pick my all-time favourite picture of Saffron, I couldn't. But if I had to pick my all-time top 500 favourite pictures of Saffron, this would definitely figure somewhere on the list.

No change there

2007-05-19T05:46:00.000+08:00

Still on the birthday

2007-05-19T05:37:00.000+08:00

More Birthday Pictures

2007-05-19T05:13:00.000+08:00

Saffron must be the most photographed child around. For someone who's father isn't a celebrity footballer or an over-excitable Scientologist, and considering she wasn't publicly rescued from third world squalor by Oscar-nominated adoptive parents.

There must have been at least six cameras at her birthday picnic. Which explains why I'm having to backtrack a little, having unearthed a few more snapshots of our happy day in the park. Enjoy!

Just what I've always wanted

2007-05-17T18:06:00.000+08:00

12 June 2006 The Birthday Girl opening her presents on her actual birthday...

The truth is I always find it a little stressful when Saffron has to open her presents in front of others; I find myself worrying that one day she'll just look up at the kind gift-giver, furrow her brows and say "What were you thinking?". Or maybe that's just me projecting my negativity onto my sweet innocent three-year old.

Thankfully for now, Saffron is more inclined to gasp in delight, open her eyes really wide and exclaim "I like it! I'm so happy!", topping it off with a huge smile that makes you feel really pleased with yourself. Perhaps that explains why she keeps receiving presents even when it's not anywhere near her birthday. Relatives, friends, friends of friends, friends of relatives, relatives of friends (you get the picture) all seem compelled to shower her with an endless stream of gifts. Occasionally Saffron will, after saying her thank yous, offer what she thinks is constructive feedback: "But my mummy won't like it; she only likes grey colour."

Before you think I'm inflexible and controlling, I'd like to set the record straight: mustard, leaf green, aubergine and deep red are also acceptable.

Saffron's Third Birthday

2007-05-17T17:57:00.000+08:00

The exhausted birthday girl being carried home by her equally exhausted entourage.

Never say never

2007-05-15T06:58:00.000+08:00

Aunty Celine helping to stop the Little Minx from peeping at the surprise cake.

The delectable Barbie which had to be collected from Homemade Bakery all the way in Leigh-on-Sea, gingerly carried back to London on the train and for want of standing room in the refrigerator, left hidden and stored in the cold limestone bathroom overnight.

If anybody had told me a couple of years ago that I'd have anything to do with a Barbie birthday cake and an offspring clothed in lurid pink polyester trotting around Hyde Park, I'd have put them in their place. Hell, if anybody were to tell me that now, I'd still put them in their place. Which only goes to show that a mother's love knows no bounds.

Three going on 33

2007-05-15T06:03:00.000+08:00

11 June 2006, Hyde Park, London

Here comes the Birthday Girl

For the life of me now I can't quite remember why it was that we had the Birthday picnic on the day before Saffron's real birthday. Anyone remembers?

These days Saffron's standard reply to any question on her age is a straight-faced, matter-of-factly "33". It never fails to take people by surprise. Of course she's perfectly aware that she is in fact not really 33 years old, but what's endearing is that she actually believes she makes a convincing 33 year old. It doesn't occur to her that the coewoe she's clutching and licking addictively as she announces her 'age' is a bit of a give away...

Group Hug

2007-05-15T05:41:00.000+08:00

10 June 2006 House party at Slaidburn Street.

From L-R: Aunty Charie, Saffy, Aunty Val, Por Por, Aunty Fiffy.
Absent from picture: Mummy Natalie who very cunningly escaped the madness and daily Baked Beans Price Comparison Update Bulletin by going in to the office.

Twas when the Inner Circle of welovesaffron descended upon Chelsea in a loving blur of Pandan chiffon cake, Kueh Lapis, suitcases of condiments and ingredients for many great homecooked meals, rolls of pink fairy-printed wrapping paper and Owl instant coffee. All that effort and airmiles just to celebrate Saffron's 3rd birthday with her. With 12 persons under our roof at one point, it was a crazy, brilliant time.

Age is but a number

2007-05-13T04:26:00.000+08:00

27 March 2006 & 20 April 2006 Celebrating Aunty Val's and Aunty Charie's Birthdays

Mothering Sunday 2006

2007-05-12T04:15:00.000+08:00

Wedding Belles

2007-05-11T06:27:00.000+08:00

25 March 2006 Nick & Jeanne's lovely Spring wedding, Oundle.

Every girl dreams of being a bride. Saffron thinks she is a bride. As seen here, she promptly took control of the bouquet, veil, wrangled a lift in the bridal car and even stood herself firmly in the line-up to welcome guests to the wedding reception.

You'd think the obsession would have abated with time, but when Aunty Carlene recently and very kindly asked Saffron to be a flower girl at her wedding, Saffron paused to consider the proposition for a brief moment before graciously declining with a very non-negotiable "No, I want to be the bride."

So as any tough-loving mother seeking to rid her child of delusions of grandeur and to teach her that she can't always be the centre of attention would do, I've decided on a Wedding Theme for Saffron's 4th birthday party this year. She's going to be the real bride amidst a sea of confetti and white tulle. The idea is that it will be like a real wedding party, only without a groom, drunken speeches or distant relatives. In other words, a perfect wedding. Everyone's welcome, so long as you wear the veils provided.

Spinning

2007-05-11T06:03:00.000+08:00

20 March 2006 I don't know about you, but when I was two and a half, I was probably eating mud and testing the elasticity of my nasal cavities through experiments involving fingers, pressure, whatever odds and ends I was tall enough to lay my hands on, and the inevitable tears.* Or actually maybe I was flouncing around announcing to all and sundry that I was "my daddy's champion sperm". (Don't ask). Whichever the case, I was certainly not listening to an iPod nor using the click wheel to override my mother's choice of music.

*I tell a lie. My memory is in fact of Aunty Val. Age 11.

Picking up from where we left off

2007-05-11T05:37:00.000+08:00

20 March 2006 Saffron Pollard striking a pose in front of the Banksy car and chilling out at Brick Lane

For those of you who have faithfully kept watch, been steadfast in keeping this as your default homepage, unwavering in your interest in Saffron's life and welfare (and sartorial evolution), and gentle in your reminders to update the blog, this one's for you. Here continues the photodiary of what Saffron has been up to in the past year, picking up from where we left off in March 2006 and (hopefully) quickly bringing you up to speed with the shenanigans she's getting up to these days.

Time warp

2007-03-26T07:37:00.000+08:00

A day out at Kew Gardens, Summer 2006

God I miss Saffron. It's just not the same without the Little Minx around. Even if the house is (marginally) tidier, even if I'm not having to stock the fridge with 728 pints of organic full fat milk at any one time, even if I don't have to live my life to the melodic strains (no pun intended) of the Balamory jingle. So what's a pining mother to do on a late Sunday evening, under the influence (of a mug of Builder's tea), except to throw all caution to the wind, stick two fingers to her strict House Rule of Chronology and scan through her archives of photographs and post them for posterity.

Saffron rice

2007-01-15T21:19:00.000+08:00

Saffron was picked up from Thomson Grove relatively early today, just as one of her new 'favourite' programmes was starting - which prompted a mini-tantrum ("I want to watch my Chinese serial!") that was only placated by an offer to take her off to a playground for horseplay ("Okay. So can I bring my bucket and spade?")

As we got in the taxi, the appeal of hanging out at dusk in a mosquito-infested playground began to wane for me, and so I began to cast around for alternatives. MRT ride; carousel; watching fish in an aquarium; shopping; eating sushi; early bedtime; bubble bath; watch a DVD - all were flatly rejected in favour of the climbing frame and malaria. Until the mention of the magic word - poppadom.

And lo and behold 20 minutes later (we were heading downtown on the CTE in the opposite direction to the rush-hour traffic) she was leading me in to Shahi Maharani, the greatest tandoori restaurant east of Chalkwell.

The waiters, none of whom she recognised, were as pleased to see her, as she was to see a plate piled high with poppadoms greet her arrival to the table. Her fascination in a passing hotplate of sizzling curried lamb then prompted her to say (surely with echoes of Little Britain) "I want that one!", and before you could mutter 'A Passage to India' she was happily making saffron rice ("My rice, right?") sandwiches with her roomali roti.

After an enjoyable but futile attempt to finish all the food we'd ordered, we waved the white flag, swiped the plastic, and bounced our way to the nearest taxi rank, before heading for home - whereupon Saffron was as pleased as punch to find that the lift lobby of our apartment block had been decorated right out of Dream of the Red Chamber: "Just like my Chinese serial!" she squealed.

K2

2007-01-14T18:11:00.000+08:00

Our little intrepid climber rose early this morning, despite my best attempts to exhaust her yesterday. After a quick rub-a-dub-dub and tickle-fight, we assembled our supplies, packed our rucksacks, and made last minute checks to our equipment (the buggy) before heading off for base camp at Tanglin.

Saffron insisted on a hearty brunch of "fish and chips" prior to tackling her climb, and although aghast that the chips were substituted by potato wedges ("Chinese chips, Daddy?") our meticulous planning paid off when the aunty at Paddy's Fish said they had no brown sauce. The fact that we had packed our own was celebrated with high fives all round.

And then all that remained was the tricky ascent of the North Face of Tanglin, at Gymboree. Although the initial ascent was tentative, with periodic cries to her accompanying sherpa of "Help! Help! I'm very scared!" - Saffy quickly grew in confidence, if not in technique. By the end she was clambering Tarzan-like over every barrier, and it was me who was 'very scared' as she tottered precariously above it all.

Balls

2007-01-13T20:23:00.000+08:00

Breakfast was intended to be a civilized affair of hot coffee, croissant and orange juice, accompanied by the morning papers and perhaps a little bit of doodling with marker pens. I failed to appreciate the appeal of the nearby 'Old Chang Kee' stall, peddling coronaries on sticks - and within minutes of reading the football pages, Saffron was tugging at my pocket trying to get my attention. Or so I thought. Actually she was trying to coax my wallet from my pocket, in order for her to go and place her order for deep fried starch on her own. It's called pick-pocketing, and in earlier times they'd have carted the little artful dodger off to Australia for something like that. But a pretty girl can be forgiven for most things, so instead she was rewarded with two sticks of fishballs.

After she'd eaten, but before I'd managed to finish reading about the Gooners, she started rifling through the pages of the 'Life!' section of Strait Laced ... for a horrible moment I thought she was reading one of Sumiko Tan's vacuous columns, and was therefore relieved to see Saffy poring over the cinema pages. We ended up compromising on 'Night in the Museum' (PG), after she'd initially been drawn to some naff Jap horror show ('Death Note 2', certificate 18) on the basis that one of the characters looked like a skeleton (Saffron has a thing about skeletons. The most optimistic spin on this is that she wants to be a doctor. However the more negative amongst us worry that she's going to be a goth chick by the age of eight).

Happily there is a fossilised dinosaur in Night in the Museum, which seeing as Saffy likes skeletons and dinosaurs (preferably gummy sweet ones), managed to swing it for Ben Stiller and friends. And so we wandered over to Cineleisure where she was introduced to the joys of popcorn (salted), as well as 'love seats' at the back of a half-empty cinema. As the final credits rolled, Saffron indignantly asked why the film had ended ... and the lights came up to reveal the budding film critic becalmed in a sea of crushed popcorn.

A few errands and a snooze later, and she was raring for more action - which was just as well as we had agreed to meet with Uncle Tim to watch the Lions take on mighty Vietnam at the National Stadium that night. Dressed in our finest red Arsenal livery, Saffron and I were disappointed to see that Singapore was actually playing in blue, and that it was the Viet supporters who were decked out in red. Still, she did her best to revive the 'Kallang Roar' during the game, even if she was more interested in the linesmen (they have flags). Following a thrilling 0-0 draw, maybe she had a point.

Child labour

2007-01-12T22:47:00.000+08:00

Desperate times call for desperate measures. With Singapore's tight labour market, declining birth rate, and unseemly scramble for graduate talent, Saffron was head-hunted for the day by an ambitious SME looking for a few good three-year olds.

The cleaning lady will be in for a shock come Monday morning, and Saffron seems to have persuaded everyone to dig deep and buy her gummy sweets in the absence of close parental supervision when I was out on sales calls, but she seemed to amuse herself with (almost) more whiteboards than she could shake a marker pen at, and all the stationery an aspiring artist could wish for.

Still, after eight hours of terrified screams (my colleagues) and whoops of delight (the puppet mistress), I can see why child labour has been phased out of all advanced economies...

The new look

2007-01-07T20:31:00.000+08:00

What a little beauty ... today she managed to cram drawing on the windows in the bedroom (relax: in water soluble market pens); speeding up to Christ the King for several sprinkles of holy water and singing hymns (not always the right ones) with Tiffany, Por Por & Kong Kong, followed up by lunch; before racing back to Novena for a quick ride on an elephant, and then reading lessons with her new teacher, Mrs Komala; and on to the above haircut; and then a spot of shopping on behalf of Mummy; before making it back home in time to kiss Daddy goodnight and fall asleep.

Here's the little artist pretty much at the crack of dawn ...

I used all my powers of persuasion on Tiffany to persuade her to ride shotgun with Saffy on the elephant ride ... though in truth I suspect the Tiffster was more disappointed than Saffy when the five minutes atop Nelly the Elly was up (see below).

But the highlight for me, Saffy and I suspect you ... is the new hairdo. Fortunately the hairdresser ignored my instructions about the length to cut Saffy's locks (admittedly not my forte) ... and the results speak for themselves (see first photo, and her in the middle of getting her barnet cropped below).

A little and a lot

2007-01-06T23:59:00.000+08:00

Having failed to follow through on vague plans to kidnap Natalie's passport, and thereby extend Mummy's stay in Singapore, Saffron spent her day cleaning, packing, shopping and singing - further demonstration (as if any were needed) that she is very much Natalie's daughter.

As Mummy disappeared into a very blue sky, Saffron strode off to the MRT, bosom thrust forward, lefthand tugging along imaginary luggage, and hips swivelling a-la SQ stewardess, along with Aunties Val and Tiffany, and Daddy.

The train ride into town was enlivened by a rendition of 'Castle in the Clouds' (Les Miserables), along with several encores. After which we got off at City Hall to be fleeced blind over a new camera, so that you lot can see what Saffy gets up to here in Singapore.

We made a beeline for sushi, with Saffron insisting that her tummy was very noisy having had little to eat since a dodgy tummy the previous day.
Saffron: "I want so much sushi, Daddy. And then after that I want fishballs too. And orange juice."
Daddy: "That all?"
Saffron: "And fizzy water."

This has been Saffy's third Sakae Sushi this week. She's going to smell of fish by the time CNY comes along...

Saffron was so impressed by the natty uniforms of the Cisco auxiliary police as we went from Sakae Sushi to Bras Basah Complex for art card, pens and pencils, that she announced (loudly enough for passers by to stop and gawk) that she wanted to be a soldier. Why? "Because I want to shoot the bad men."

She's pictured above saluting whilst shooting someone (presumably her superior officer?) with her gun.

A rather pleased Saffron contemplates all the creative activities she's going to get up to with her new box of rainbow-coloured Faber-Castell pencils. There's a lot of blank white walls in the apartment afterall, surely too many for her liking.

After opening up the pencils, but before putting them to creative use, Saffron started yawning and suggested we all (me, her, all her cuddly toys...) go and chat in bed.
Daddy (hopefully): "You're a little tired?"
Saffron: "I'm a little bit tired. But I'm a lot awake."

Fast forward two minutes, and it's good night from Saffron for today ...

Twas the night before Christmas...

2006-12-28T08:54:00.000+08:00

... and against the backdrop of a wilting Christmas tree purchased a little too early, a little too enthusiastically, the elves at 55 Slaidburn Street were buried under metres of tinsel and shiny paper, frantically wrapping presents whilst strategising their plan of action for the imminent Boxing Day sale.

Meanwhile, our little diligent Mistletoe Manager (Jobscope: Make sure everyone under the mistletoe gets a prompt peck on the cheek)laid out the carrots (organic) and mince pies (hand-made) by the fireplace for Father Christmas and his reindeer. (Nothing but the best for our guests, you understand. Especially if they come bearing gifts). While she scampered upstairs to await his slightly tardy arrival, Father 'Mummy' Christmas and Rudolph 'Auntie Val' the Reindeer (are you still with us?) set the scene. While I nonchalantly laid out the presents from Father Christmas - all wrapped in a paper with a jolly Father Christmas repeat pattern which we went to great lengths to ensure she didn't see beforehand, distinctly different from the other monochromed parcels tied with grosgrain ribbons just in case our little sharp cookie noticed that they were all wrapped in the same fashion... nothing escapes her notice these days - Auntie Val busied herself munching through the carrots and mince pies (what can we say, she is a devoted aunt) to leave sufficient compelling evidence (read: bite marks) of a visit from the bearded one.

Upon her return to the lounge afterwards, it was difficult to say whether Saffron was more apprehensive about what Father Christmas had brought her or if we were more nervous about having the entire charade unravelled by a toddler. Having written to Father Christmas to ask for two pairs of high heels, one for going to work and one for going out; a toy fridge and toy soap, Saffron was thrilled to tear open the first parcel to find a pair of very WAG marabou-feathered high heels which she promptly strutted around in. Amidst excited exclamations of I like it, I like it! I'm so happy!, her eyes lit up when she found the toy fridge, complete with light and noisy ventilation fan (note to self: remove batteries when Saffron's not looking). Even the bar of yellow soap she found in her stocking got a I'm so happy I have my own soap! Moving on to the final parcel, Saffron's guess that it was a piece of luggage was quickly superseded by a squeal when she saw that it was a toy cash register complete with scanner, credit card machine and microphone to announce blue light specials. Remembering that she hadn't actually asked for it in her letter to Father Christmas, she exclaimed He was watching! Father Christmas was watching! For months she has been playing pretend cashier using all sorts of receptacles and a lot of imagination to make up cash registers.

In this final (albeit bumper) instalment of shecanroar, we've picked out a selection of photographs* that best depict the mischief our little minx has been getting up to. From air-conducting Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker suite to browsing the Horror section at the local library, spending the day in Leigh-on-Sea having Christmas tea with Nana and visiting little Elise. Saffron also had lunch with her Nanny and enjoyed a game of pretend restaurant. Which is a good game if you like eating pretend food and having your scripted lines fed to you by a precocious three and a half year old. (I am the waitress, you are the customer. Say please can I have the bill.)

Since we're on a roll, it's probably also timely to update everyone on Saffron's interests these days. To get into her good books, mention Little Britain (better still, enact the skits, she knows all the catchphrases); skeletons and monsters; sing punk rock, Lily Allen, KT Tunstall, or Razorlight; show her pictures of blood and gore; offer her some fishballs or fishroe-laden sushi; steer clear of chocolate; or screen The Nutcracker or Coppelia. Or better yet, you could just be the acquiescent co-actor (no room for improv, only scripted lines please) in whichever pretend game she is playing for the day. You could be a colleague in her office, the Santa Claus to her elf, the waiter to her chef, the passenger to her Singapore Airlines girl, the nutcracker to her Clara, the applauding audience to her Lily Allen show, the scarecrow/tinman/lion to her Dorothy, the patient to her overzealous surgeon, the student to her pilates instructor or most endearing of all, the husband to her bride. The options are endless.

On this note, a very happy Christmas to everyone from the Mistletoe Manager and all of us at 55!

x

*Contrary to what the pictures will have you believe, we do not live in Selfridges, Harrods or Harvey Nics.

Don't get too excited just yet

2006-11-19T11:17:00.000+08:00

Spitalfields Market

2006-05-01T08:02:00.000+08:00

Walking off our sausages and mash...

Sunday, 19 March 2006

2006-05-01T07:55:00.000+08:00

Sausage & Mash Part II

Employee of the Month

2006-05-01T07:46:00.000+08:00

Krispy Kreme, anybody?

Saturday, 18 March 2006

2006-05-01T07:38:00.000+08:00

Happily strolling along Sloane Street (together with Saffron)

The Artist at Work

2006-05-01T07:18:00.000+08:00

The Silver Room, V&A; Saffron was more interested in running up and down the gallery fetching bits of sequin and sellotape from the craft cart and left me seated amongst the other toddlers to finish our project, a paper mask of a silver leopard.

Culture vulture

2006-05-01T06:47:00.000+08:00

An afternoon at the V&A; Saffron stops for a tipple while admiring the Chihuly in the foyer.

Unarmed and dangerous

2006-05-01T06:40:00.000+08:00

No Global knives or Sabatiers here, Mummy...

Local Shop for Local People

2006-05-01T06:34:00.000+08:00

Where Saffron gets her occasional fix of greasy chips.

Sunday, 5 March 2006

2006-05-01T06:33:00.000+08:00

Little blue-stocking

Saturday, 4 March 2006

2006-05-01T06:19:00.000+08:00

Saturday, 4 March 2006

2006-05-01T05:54:00.000+08:00

St Luke's Church playground on a windy Saturday afternoon. Where Saffron unsuccessfully tried to elbow her way into a game of football being played by a group of little boys (who will no doubt kick themselves in years to come). She instead settled on a game of Let's Pretend to Be...a London Underground train driver. Complete with a 30-hour work week, 54 days of annual leave and monthly strikes.