Chinese Takeaway

by Peter Dorney

Synopsis

After two years teaching English in the Australian
Outback Perth-born Simon Skeer signs with the
Antipodean Academy in Singapore for two years.

He and six other new teachers from Australia arrive
in the tropics at the same time on the same day.

Of the four girls three are called Sheila (loads of
sheilas in Australia) while the other two are Geography teacher
Bruce (there's always a Bruce in a good Aussie-themed story)
and Tyrone the Athletics coach – a pole-vaulter going up
in the world, so he claims.

The fourth lady teacher is surfer-chick Cazza from Cairns,
the new Librarian who brings new meaning to the request
‘Shhhh...!'

The little group end up living in an old house in suburban Singapore and set out to come to grips (always slippery) with life in the tropics.

Add a lady Head of School with a steely exterior and a soft
centre (much like a tasty Easter Egg) and her Internet-linked
deputy to the mix and you have a base for unusual academic activities to keep everyone on their toes.

Bring in an eccentric Pommie Art Master who when he's not
chasing Thai boys for ‘still life' work spends much time ‘rinsing out his brushes' with various volunteer assistants.

Simon falls for a Singapore girl he meets in a bookshop
while Cazza falls (literally - it's the wobbly ten inch cork heels)
for a trendy Singaporean lad whose hair changes colour almost
as often as he changes his socks.

Events such Chinese New Year – a Thai Long Weekend – an
Indonesian Internet romance – a Typical Chinese Wedding –
Feng Shui for Beginners – Fortune Telling for Travellers –
Melbourne Cup Day in Singapore, and many more...come
and go with chaotic results.

It's laugh a line literature as the madcap happenings leap off
the pages double wrapped in laughter lines.

Get yourself an MBA in Fun right here...let ‘Chinese Takeaway'
take you to a world of tropical academic wonder never before revealed.

Note:This book covers the first year of the teachers' adventures.

Their second year of more chaos and confusion- same same : but different – is detailed in the novel ‘Spicy Takeaway.'


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Release date: January 2, 2011

Publisher: Pennine

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter 1 

Welcome to Singapore’s Changi International Airport.’

 the mechanical sounding voice announced over the  aircraft intercom ‘Please remain in your seats until  the aircraft has come to a complete stop and the seat-belt sign has  been switched of.’ 

Tis was it then, a new experience awaited outside the window  as for the next two years a certain Simon Skeer would be a Teacher  in Residence, at the Antipodean Academy of Learning in Singa pore. Looking back, it hadn’t taken all that long to arrange.  

Having spent the previous two years teaching English in the  town of Tom Price, in the far north of his native Western Australia,  an advertisement on the Internet for school teachers in South-East  Asia triggered his growing desire to strike out from the Outback  and see more of the world. It would be quite a change from the  dust and barren emptiness of the Pilbara region and the thought  of spending time in exotic Asia was rather appealing. Tree months  later and the deed was done, signed and sealed, and Simon was  preparing to be delivered to tropical climes come the approaching  New Year. 

Te family had been at the airport to see him of. Complete with  farewell gifts which included a furry dingo and a cork-dangling  Aussie bushman’s hat. Why do Australians abroad always have to  advertise where they come from so emphatically, he wondered.  

He said his farewells to a tearful mother, deep-breathing father,  a grinning ffteen year old brother relishing the thought of a bigger  


bedroom at long last, and snifng seventeen year old twin sisters  who had adored him since birth. Why do people insist on seeing  you of at airports he wondered. It’s always the same, tears and  terror as the Final Call time draws closer. It never gets easier and  he’d much rather have said his farewells at home, hopped in a taxi  and had a tranquil departure. But it doesn’t happen, ever. Such is  life. 

‘Weez gonna come an’ see yewz soon, ’his father threatened as  he walked away from the group and into the Security area, waving  the grinning dingo and hat. He nodded, smiled, and fed the  animal into the security scanner. 

Te dingo bleeped. ‘What’s this?’ the bored checker asked pick ing up the offending mutt.  

‘It’s a dog,’ he answered… wanting to add ‘What do you think  it is!’ but didn’t.  

‘Gotta name?’  

‘Arthur,’ he responded, giving the first name he thought of.  ‘Tat’s my name.’  

‘Well there you are then, you are famous in the Outback world,’  he responded with a smile as Arthur Two passed the furry animal  back to him, growled quietly, and sent him on his way.  

As he turned into the aircraft cabin he saw with certain alarm  that half the passengers were wearing bushman’s corked hats. Te  scene before him resembled a hat-makers convention of which  Simon was now a recent, and rather reluctant, member. How  embarrassing, he thought, and uttered a silent prayer to the God  of Hat Travellers please don’t sit me amongst the hat-band. He was  thankful to end up quite a few rows forward of the main party of  milliners and stufed the hat deep into his hand baggage as quickly  as possible.  

Te rather robotic crew ofered him a choice of juice, beer or  wine with smiles that had no doubt supported their bubbling  options a few hundred times. He sat back with a glass of orange  juice and started to fddle with the in-fight entertainment gadgets 


which would help pass the next few hours. After the last minute  rush before leaving he was quite tired and slept most of the way,  missing the flm he rather fancied seeing. Another time. 

It was dark as they taxied towards Singapore airport terminals,  though the blinking lights of aircraft making their way into and  out of parking bays together with the bright lights of the building,  presented an almost Christmas tree efect. Seeing that it was just  into a new year the display seemed rather appropriate.  

Immigration procedures were swift and a few moments later  he loaded his suitcase onto a trolley and made his way out of the  Customs area.  

A tall man stood outside the glass doors holding a sign read ing ‘Antipodean Academy Teachers’ and Simon duly reported his  presence to the ‘Meeter & Greeter’ as his badge read. 

‘Wait over there, please,’ he was directed towards a clutch of  three girls in their mid-twenties. Each of them wore her Aussie  identity rather loudly, one had a furry koala on her left shoulder,  another a kangaroo painted on her sleeve and the third a duck 

billed platypus across her t-shirt front. He groaned on the inside  thinking It’s Te Animal Kingdom Goes Walkabout but grinned on  the outside as he walked over. 

‘G’day Bruce,’ said koala shoulder ‘I’m Sheila.’ You would be,  he thought.  

‘And I’m Sheila too,’ added kangaroo lady.  

‘And so am I,’ concluded the last of the patriotic Sheilas.  All three shook hands enthusiastically, two were brunette one  a red head. 

‘Is that t-w-o or t-o-o?’ he asked of the second Sheila who  showed more teeth than a Melbourne Cup winner as she giggled  ‘Could be.’  

‘And my name is Simon, not Bruce,’ he clarifed to all three.  ‘Good for yew, Blue,’ said Sheila Two ‘where have you arrived  from?’ 

‘Perth,’ he answered as two more male newcomers joined the group.  

‘G’day. I’m Bruce from Brizzie – Geography. And this here is  Tyrone from Tasmania – Phiz-Ed and Athletics,’ the former was  in jeans and t-shirt, the latter in a tracksuit of green and gold, his  country’s national colours. With ‘G’days,’ all round plus smiles  and handshakes of great emphasis the merry band of academic  arrivals came together. 

‘Is that it then?’ someone asked their Meeter as he ticked them  of his list having steered his way through the dense waiting crowd  in the wake of Bruce and Tyrone.  

‘One more,’ he advised as a loud ‘Cooooeeeee…’ announced  the arrival of the fnal member of the party. 

Mouths dropped, eyes opened wide as a wobbling kaleidoscope  on stilts came towards them pushing a luggage trolley as well stacked as she was.  

‘Sorry to keep yewz. I was just getting some duty-free things  to keep me going,’ the young lady smiled at each of them. Stick thin and wearing dark red tights above high cork-heeled  shoes, her multi-coloured top was both sleeveless and skimpy to say  the least. Te tanned surfer’s face was topped by a thatch of shiny  blonde hair which stood upright on the top of the head before it  cascaded down her slim back. 

Looking at her bulging bags of cocktails and wine, giggling and  tottering somewhat on rather perilous heels, she smiled at them  demurely. 

‘And they didn’t charge you any duty on that lot?’ Bruce asked  taking in the mini bottle shop displayed before them.  ‘Oh no, his eyes were on other things I was carrying,’ she giggled  as she shook her upper body and rather ample assets, one pineap ple the other orange from the way the colours slashed across her  tight tropical top. 

‘Anyway, I’m Cazza from Cairns. I’m the Librarian,’ she  announced, bending her knees slightly in a body-shaking giggle.  Te dip was much appreciated by the three male members of the 

party as it aforded a top-down view of Cazza’s major attributes. ‘And you’re the Librarian?’ the Tasmanian checked her academic  position ‘Bet you’ll have no trouble getting the kids to return the  books early just to have a look at what’s on the top shelf.’  ‘Oooohhhhh, cheeky,’ came the giggling response ‘and I’ll soon  be stamping your library card Expired if you’re not careful.’ Te  youngest member of the party admonished him with a smile. ‘Seven,’ announced the still-ticking Meeter ‘correct. Follow me  please,’ the party wheeled their luggage trolleys after him along  the brightly lit concourse towards the distant Exit signs.  Te three Sheilas led the way followed by Bruce who was soon  chatting up Number Tree rather emphatically. Tyrone in his  tracksuit of Australian colours jogged along next to Cazza while  Simon made up the rear.  

Looking at them from the back it occurred to him that they  could only be from Oz and was thankful that he’d hidden his own  Outback farm stock deep in his hand baggage. Not that he didn’t  love being a genuine ‘dinky di’ Aussie but banner broadcasts of  the fact were not his style. 

Te automatic Exit doors opened as they approached and the  outside heat smacked each of them full in the face, providing the  usual extremely warm welcome to Singapore.  

‘Wow,’ they exclaimed as each stepped outside the building.  ‘Like is this hotter than the plate on me uncle Ernie’s barbie or  what!’ announced Bruce. Te others agreed, starting to perspire  and slowly drip onto the pavement in a rather quaint combined  mini-waterfall efect. 

Before leaving Australia they had each received a Newcomers  Orientation Pack from the Academy. Amongst many points of  interest the prevailing weather was described as either hot and dry with occasional showers or hot and wet with occasional sun. All bases  had been nicely covered it seemed. No snow though.  

Teir own humid welcome consisted of the evening leftovers  of one of the forecasts between which there was little diference  

anyway, just the order of delivery. 

Teir Meeter whistled, waved to a minibus parked across the  road and within seconds it had pulled up in front of them. Suit cases were loaded in the back, hand-baggage on and around seats  and they were soon underway.  

Te air-conditioned vehicle was comfortable and cool as they  headed towards the city along a fast moving highway with the sea  on the left. All seven were captivated by the endless rows of ships  lights that looked rather like bright necklaces on a rich black base  which was in fact water. Te realisation that they were now in Asia  began to sink in. 

Te school had arranged for them to be accommodated in a  small downtown hotel for a few days, after which they were on  their own. During this time they were to attend a Welcoming  Staf Meeting in the school hall, familiarise themselves with the  city and arrange their own accommodation. Te new term would  start almost one week hence, time then was of the essence. 

Te ‘Double Happiness Inn’ was set on a narrow street not far  from the centre of the city. It ofered a small gravel-covered curved  drive between sheltering frangipani trees to welcome its guests. The archway of the Inn was a faded lime green, the entrance door the  same rather tired colour. Te once white, now grey, outside walls  kept up the faky-pastry efect as did the peeling brown wooden  shutters protecting aged windows. Te minibus stopped in the  beam of the dim porch-light and the band of travelling teachers  collected their suitcases and hand baggage and trooped into the  Reception area.  

A somewhat sleepy fellow with half a dozen long whiskers  dangling out of a mole on his chin sat behind the desk. He was  wearing a rather limp vest and black baggy pants, no shoes, and  a rather tired look of disinterest. A television set on the corner of  the counter blared out its message in Chinese. 

‘Passport,’ he requested and seven Kangaroo & Emu covered  booklets were handed over. Nothing was said as fourteen eyes were drawn to the screaming television, each trying to make out what  was happening on the small screen as robed fgures few threw the  air chased by pursuing explosions. 

‘You stay fve night. Breakfast at seven morning time. And no  smoking in rooms.’  

Te instructions were passed on by those at the front to they  in the rear who couldn’t quite hear what was being said due to the  Battles of Old Beijing Show currently blasting their way via the  telly. 

‘Ridgie didge,’ declared Sheila One to the fellow ‘she’ll be  apples. And the party’s in my room kids, bring your own nuts,’ she  announced, turning to the remaining travellers. ‘Shower, shave,  shampoo and whatever …and I’ll be entertaining in half an hour.  It’s called a Getting To Know Yewz Session’.  

All agreed on the rendezvous and shufed of up the staircase  of the four-storey hotel. Each avidly sought out their temporary  home leaving the fellow on Reception wondering exactly where  the apples were that Sheila One had just mentioned. 

Simon’s room was cramped but clean. You couldn’t swing the  proverbial dingo around in it though so he left Arthur in his hand  baggage, not wishing to test the adage fully.  

He switched the air-con on and opened the door to the rather  functional bathroom which had just a loo, shower and sink, no  bath, which was fne. Te humid musty smell of Asia was now  with him and would remain so for the rest of the year. 

Twenty minutes later he was showered and refreshed. Pull ing on a pair of shorts and t-shirt he tugged a few cans of West  Aussie beer out of his hand baggage and made his way down two  foors to Room 12 – Sheila One’s temporary abode. Te door was  open and pop music was coming out of a radio providing a sound  target for arrivals. Songs they knew played and as Simon arrived  the compere gave out the weather forecast – hot and humid with  showers in the afternoon, temperature range between twenty six  and thirty two. What his new listeners didn’t realise was that the weather forecast was basically the same every day. All the girls were there, including Cazza in a clinging white t shirt top two sizes too small that read I did it on the Barrier Reef in  shell-like lettering across the front. I bet you did, Simon thought  to himself as he squeezed into the room. Bruce and Tyrone arrived  just after him, both with wet hair, wearing just shorts, no shirts. Cazza was sipping on a long pink drink and proclaiming  ‘Ooooh, it’s gorgeous.’  

‘What is?’ asked Tyrone in patriotic green and gold satin shorts.  ‘Tis is a Singapore Sling…very exotic. Nice and pink just like your  muscles,’ she added for good measure, reaching out and squeezing  his upper right arm.  

Simon wondered what efort she put into making the request  ‘Shhhhhh...’ come to life in a library, an experience they would all  be exposed to very soon no doubt. Te place could easily become  more popular than the tuck-shop this coming school year, he  reckoned. 

Te three Sheilas all came from New South Wales, though from  diferent towns. Tey had never met before the fight but had all sat  together, shared a few ‘tinnies’ of beer, as good old Aussie sheilas  do, and were now as inseparable as a bunch of grapes ripening on  the vine under the hot Australian sun. 

Somehow or other Cazza had managed to get supplies of the  most appropriate drink for the occasion – the Singapore Sling –  which she willingly shared amongst her new colleagues, pouting  and posing as she did the pouring. Te three Sheilas tried it and  thought it delicious, the boys each had one sip, declared it rather  sweet and went back to the more familiar, and preferable, taste of  beer. 

Half an hour later and one would have thought they had known  each other for years, had trekked waterless across the Nullabor Plain  together and would die for a just cause as one. Camaraderie, with  a background of instant noodles and laughter, had set in.  

Te noise in Room 12 soon matched that of the downstairs telly. One by one they bonded in the best Aussie style - over a drink - as  they realised they could each trace their own family lineage back to  Ned Kelly. Well almost, sort of, kinda. Tey’d all read the Booker  prizewinning ‘True History of the Kelly Gang’  

anyway so that was OK. 

Come midnight and a close to the festivities was called by Sheila  One as the next morning they were to be collected just after nine  and taken to the Academy for a Welcoming Assembly of Staf.  Simon had enjoyed both the company and the laughs shared with  new-found friends but, like all of them, was ready for bed after a  long day. 

Sleep came easily and the next morning the troop gradually  appeared in the sunny dining room with its high ceiling and fans  lazily moving the warm air about. Te room was painted the same  faded green as the entrance.  

Tey probably got a bulk discount on paint at the time thought  Simon as their Singapore adventure began in earnest, as well as  daylight. 

Te same minibus they had travelled in the previous evening  appeared just after nine and they climbed aboard. Tyrone was in  yet another version of his Australian tracksuit wardrobe, this one  involving a green and black top with gold ‘trackie’ bottoms – in  recognition of his position. One didn’t need to guess what subject  he taught, Simon thought, the others though were somewhat less  obvious. Te three Sheilas were classed under maths, chemistry and  history – in ascending order. Bruce carried a small geography book  on Asia which gave his area of activity away and Simon had some  English publications under his arm – another dead giveaway.  

As for Cazza well she carried nothing but her two main points  of interest and a purse before her. She wore another skimpy white  top above a wraparound navy blue and red batik skirt which opened  at one side to show a great deal of left leg. Tis girl is going to be  amazing in this place, Simon thought, for just twenty-two she had  a certain style he had soon decided. 

Te journey to the school was short and they were passing  through the portals of learning of their new workplace by half past  nine. A Registration Desk was positioned just inside the entrance  at which two Singaporean ladies were obviously very busy.  

Each reported their arrival to the duo, were swiftly and most  efciently ticked of a list, then directed to the inner courtyard  of the square shaped four-storey building.  

Tey were told to gather in Te Hall on the fourth foor at  ten, in the meantime there was a chance to wander around the  Academy, take in the atmosphere and get the feel of the place.  

Cofee, tea and iced-water were available from a canteen to the  right of the entrance and the little group slowly made their way  across the quadrangle lawn to sample the delights on ofer. Te  place was buzzing with people as old and new teaching staf came  together, many with excited cries at catching up with old friends. 

‘And how are ya then?’  

‘G’day Blue.’ 

‘G’day mate.’  

‘Well I’ll tickle my tits till Friday – look who it is!’ ‘Great to see yewz.’  

‘So ya did come back after all, ya old bastard. Can’t bear to  leave us, can ya?’  

Down Under friendship in advanced format. 

Te Hall was large with a dark wooden ceiling, window frames  and foor. Tere was a stage at one end towards which the rows of  chairs in the centre faced. Te area was flling rapidly as the seven  newcomers entered and took their seats amongst present  

strangers, future friends. 

At ten exactly a tall, thin lady of some ffty or so years, wearing  a cool-looking pale blue suit, climbed four steps at the side of the  stage and made her way to the singular microphone at the front.  Her audience hushed.  

She was followed by a slightly younger lady in a black dress  who kept a respectful distance behind her leader and took a chair to the right of centre a few yards back from the mike. ‘My name is Matilda Wilson and I am the Headmistress of  the Antipodean Academy of Learning in Singapore,’ the speaker  announced. ‘Before we go any further let me say that though my  name is Matilda, and I am Australian, I do not dance and if I did  it would certainly not be the waltz,’ she paused before adding ‘I  am much too modern,’ at the same time keeping a straight face. Her audience laughed readily. Nice opening, thought Simon.  Bring in a little levity straight away and relax the gathering. ‘Let me welcome the twenty or so new teachers who join our  ranks today and at the same time welcome back a similar number  of old hands who return for a new year with us,’ she added a ‘well  done all of you,’ presumably in a message of general encourage ment in taking on what the year ahead would bring. ‘Te lady who has joined me on the stage is the Deputy Head,  Ms. Dorothy Comardy – or as she is known in this Internet age,  Dot Com.’ 

Her audience again reacted with the anticipated laughter and  Simon once more gave the speaker ten out of ten for preparation,  originality and overall content. 

‘One, or both, of us is always on site and is available at any time  for school or personal matters of any nature.’ She paused before  continuing ‘I address my opening remarks to the newly arrived  teachers, those who are returning have heard it before but at the  risk of repeating myself every twelve months, let me mention a  few basic facts.  

We are all guests in this country. It is not Australia or, for that  matter, New Zealand or even England…yes we do have a few  Poms amongst us,’ she smiled knowingly. 

‘We are now living in a part of Asia and the culture is in many  ways quite diferent to what we have been used to back home.  What goes there may be a no-go here.’  

Matilda looked directly at Cazza, who had taken a front row  seat to best show of her batik, boobs and legs, and continued  ‘Tere are certain behavioural standards we should recognise.  Do what you wish behind closed doors but when out in public  please remember that displays of bosoms and buttocks are mainly  seen as a No-No here, especially in a working environment.’ 

Cazza quietly marked her library card and made out to listen  intently, slowly smoothing the batik skirt to cover her left leg. Te  movement was seen as being semi-erotic by those sitting along the  front row on her left. 

Madam Speaker continued ‘Te Academy has been in business  – and education is a business these days – for fve years. Te frst  year saw around 75 students from 9 countries here. Tis year we  will have over ten times that fgure with students from over 20  countries amongst us, and what started with half a dozen or so  teachers is now close to ffty.  

Your tasks though are not easy. You are reminded that while  many of our students are Australian or New Zealanders, the ma jority are not. Each of them needs careful handling appropriate  to their own background and way of life. You are now teachers,  counsellors and academic psychologists rolled into one.  

Te experiences you have during your time at the Academy will  prove invaluable in your future work, and life, and let me say that  you will get out of this exactly what you put into it.’ 

Te speech then moved on to more pedestrian matters such as  school rules, class times, facilities, layout of the school and term  dates. Details came forth regarding the city-state of Singapore,  language - ofcially English but often not quite what you’d expect  – population, 4 million plus: ethnic split - 77% Chinese, 13%  Malay, 7% Indian… 

‘And we are found amongst the remaining 3% under the ‘Oth ers’ category,’ she paused. 

‘So you can tell your friends and relatives that you are now  ofcially categorized as an ‘Other’ and that you will soon know  how the ‘other people’ think.’  

In reference to communication mention was made of the local word Lah ‘In Singapore you will fnd that many people use the  word ‘Lah’ when speaking to each other. Te nearest equivalent  to which would be the term ‘Mate’ as used ‘down under’. Te  ‘Lahs’ that you get can be taken as a friendly additive or emphasis  to whatever has been said to you. Let me say though that in the  Music Department Miss Finn has not added an additional ‘Lah’  to her basic Do : Ray : Me : Fa : So…so far as I know. She still  maintains the one La I believe.’  

Te audience loved it. Head of School then ended her speech  and called upon Dot Com to detail the more specifc areas to be  covered. 

Te Deputy Head spoke briefy about her work and role in  school events and activities. She provided information on the  local environment such as the whereabouts of various High Com missions, Clubs, Entertainment Centres, buses, underground  MRT trains and other social facilities in and around the city.  

In summary the audience was told that various types of literature  on living in Singapore could be found in the Staf Room and if  anyone had any specifc questions then they should just ask – and  they would be given the answers, if known. 

After the speeches everyone stayed in the hall until the two lead ing ladies had positioned themselves at the Exit. As the gathering  then slowly left the area personal words of welcome were passed  between speakers and their staf. No one was missed. 

By eleven the basics were over and done with. Teachers had  been asked to gather under their own particular discipline in vari ous parts of the building and Simon made his way to the English  Group which was meeting on the frst foor. Tere were just fve  teachers in total, plus Cazza who had been attached to them as she  was the only Librarian and as such could not hold meetings with  herself very easily. And as the books on site were mostly in English  she thus qualifed as a de-facto member of the English squad.  

‘Hi,’ the last member of the unit walked into the room, warmly  greeting all as he did so ‘my name is Rupert Nelson and I am in  charge of all English activity here.’  

Te man was in his late forties and obviously an old hand in  terms of the Academy and what went on. He sat on the edge of a  desk at the front of the classroom and spoke to the seated sextet.  

‘What we need to do today is go over who is taking which  classes, where and when – and the students you have in your care.  Te appropriate syllabus for each particular class has already been  detailed in the papers which will be passed to you in a moment.’ 

Rupert was from Napier in New Zealand’s South Island and  had been with the school since the opening. He seemingly ‘loved’  Singapore he told them, adding as part of his preamble ‘Oh the  food! You have many delights in store, including expanding  waistlines if you’re not careful. I don’t recognize any faces so take  it you are all new this year?’ He posed the question and received  six nodding heads in response. Tey must have looked like a row  of twitching dogs on the back shelf of a Holden saloon car Simon  mused. 

‘Let me tell you, before anyone else does, that I am known as  ‘Lord Nelson’ around here which neither pleases or displeases me.  It is though a fact and if it helps people remember my name then  I accept it.’  

What he was doing was letting them know that he knew what  everyone called him and that it didn’t bother him. Supposedly.  He passed each of the teachers a folder containing class details,  an already planned timetable, subject list, books to be studied as  well as names of students under their care. Whilst the recipients of  the documents examined them he turned to Cazza and explained  how the library system worked in simple terms before passing her  a detailed directory of books in-house for familiarisation in her  own time. 

Rupert was fnding it difcult to keep his eyes from straying  south of the directory which Cazza had carefully positioned on  the left knee of her crossed legs. A nearby fan was blowing her  way the result of which was that much of her left thigh was on general display, the exact amount of which varied at any given  time according to the movements of the oscillating metal.  ‘I shall personally show you the library after we fnish here,’ he  whispered quietly to the lady from Cairns who responded with a  breathless ‘Tat will be beaut.’  

‘I’m sure,’ he mumbled to himself, voice foundering on the  jagged barrier reef within his excited mind. He could already see  Cazza climbing the library ladder in search of a specifc book he’d  requested and which was fled at the very top of the shelves. 

Half an hour plus a few questions and queries later and eve ryone seemed satisfed. Te English team was then taken to the  various classrooms they would be using after which Miss Exotica  Queensland was escorted to her book domain by her personalised  Kiwi mountain guide.  

Rupert introduced Cazza to her assistant, Madam Tan, who was  busy checking on new book arrivals. Te lady obviously approved  of the batik skirt but marks for the minimalist white top which  Cazza wore were perhaps somewhat limited. She hadn’t spotted  the gap in the skirt so did not realise the many provocative pos 

sibilities of her younger colleague – as yet.  

Te pair seemed to be instantly comfortable with each other  and after twenty minutes or so on the computer checking out the  various systems used Cazza declared herself ‘Ready for anything,’  I bet you are, thought Rupert before banishing such ideas to dry  Outback sand and concentrating on herding his charges towards  the canteen where lunch was to be served at one o’clock. 

On arriving the small groups split up, some went in search of  Western and others of Asian fare. At least they haven’t arranged  an Aussie bar-b-q, thought Simon, which would be been rather  obvious and inappropriate he felt. Having gathered together a plate  of various meat dishes plus a couple of veggies well endowed with  chilli, all on a bed of steamed rice, he threaded his way amongst  the tables until he found one less occupied than others. Quite  comfortable with chopsticks he sat down, popped open his can of low-calorie soft drink and set about his frst meal on Singapore  soil. 

‘Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii….’ the voice reverberated into his right ear. Simon  paused in mid chopstick movement and looked up, mouth still  open.  

‘I’m Chauncy,’ his visitor announced before adding ‘Art,’ and  asking ‘Look may I join you?’ He sat without waiting for an  answer parking himself opposite, grinning excessively. 

Te newcomer was in his mid forties, wore pink walking shorts,  which matched his footwear, and a droopy collarless white shirt  covered in green and gold blotches. His hair blended with the  shorts though was actually more red than pink, perhaps the lighter  tone will appear when the dye starts to fade Simon considered.  

Chauncy noticed Simon taking in his shirt colours and re sponded ‘I know, isn’t it DIvine. So appropriate don’t you think… Aussie colours on the frst day of school. Well, not the frst day  for the kids but it is for us teachers, you know what I mean...’ he  trailed of, fnishing with a rising ‘Mmmmmmmm……’ which  gained rapidly in pitch much like a whistle on a kettle.  

Simon gulped down his frst mouthful and asked ‘Sorry, did  you say your name was Arthur?’ 

‘No, dear bois,’ came the smiling reply ‘now pay attention, there  will be questions later. It’s Chauncy. I am the art master – hence  the Art, as in position, not name. Why, do you know many people  with the name Arthur?’  

‘My dingo’s called Arthur,’ Simon responded with a straight  face and scooped up another delicious mouthful. Chauncy’s eyes  opened wide. Simon clarifed ‘He’s a toy one actually. Airport  farewell present from the family, all that sort of stuf.’  

‘Is he? Tat’s nice, maybe I can paint him one day against a  backdrop of dry, arid desert…not that you can fnd many such  places around here,’ he proclaimed, laughing happily away to  himself before digging into his own food. 

‘Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...’ he suddenly proclaimed, twitching on each rising and falling ‘oh’ as he did so. Simon thought he had  a case of wobbling lockjaw sitting opposite and wondered where  the Medical Centre was.  

‘Are you ok?’  

‘Oh yeeeeessss,’ came the response in deepening tones ‘it’s just  that this food is just so, so, so, so, well you know...so…so…yes… that’s it…so wonderful.’ His left arm shot into the air in emphasis  and another rising kettle exclamation of ‘Mmmmmmmmm…’ fol lowed, with an added ’Wow!’ coming in fast behind as Chauncy’s  head quivered for fnal emphasis. 

Well he’s a bit of life thought Simon before asking ‘Are you  Australian?’  

His companion spluttered on a slippery piece of fsh and pro claimed with certain vigour ‘No, no, no, no, no, of course not.  I’m a Pom. Or should I say bloody Pom to you? But I’ve been to  Australia and want to go back soooooooon. Oh yes… Love it.  Just LOVE it! Oh those bronzed ANzacs, show me the beach and  a slippery surfboard and I’ll get into deep water difculties for  anyone.’  

I like the emphasis on certain syllables Simon thought to  himself as another ‘Oh yes...’ was added to the last comment. ‘Do you do nude paintings?’ he passed a tricky one across the  wooden table.  

‘Certainly. In this climate, who needs clothes? I just love stand ing before a canvas au natural. In fact I’m at my best when there’s  nothing between I and my current masterpiece except air,’ the  straight-faced response came from the chewing artist-in-residence  who couldn’t keep still.  

‘Live and let live, I say,’ Chauncy continued after clearing some  spicy spinach ‘and let your cobalts run into your aquamarines any  time the fancy takes you. Tat’s my motto anyway. 

So let the world come and ogle … I am a free palate for all to  see. Tat’s me,’ another ‘Mmmmmmmm…’ came in behind the  declaration of poster paint independence. Well he’s quick, thought Simon, and quite funny too, as he  warmed to his lunch companion.  

‘And what do you teach?’ he was asked as a piece of bright red  chilli lodged between two front teeth of his artistic colleague took  his eye. It rather matched his hair colour Simon thought before  answering. 

‘Boring old English, I’m afraid.’  

‘Don’t! Don’t! Oh don’t, puhleesseee...’ came the cry, accom panied by more twitching. 

‘Don’t you DARE say that the English language is BORING!’  the volley was fred back at him fast and low ‘It is the most BEAUti ful (heavy accent on the frst syllable again) language in the world.  Oh how I give thanks every day for being born an Englishman  and growing up with this most expressive of languages fowing  through my veins.’  

Right oh okker, Simon thought, point made ‘I was meaning that  it is probably not half as varied or spontaneous as Art, especially  with someone like you in front of the canvas.’  

‘Quite correct,’ the somewhat hufy answer came back to him  across the chilli sauce ‘I live for Originality and Imagination – who  are also my two Persian cats, by the way – as well as creativity and  spontaneity in the art-room.’  

Now it was Simon’s turn to think ‘Wow,’ though he tried not  to twitch.  

Cazza sashayed into view and headed their way, presented a  melting smile and two wobbling upper-level jellies to each of them  and asked if she could join their table.  

‘My dear,’ exclaimed Chauncy, standing and bowing extrava gantly ‘you are a vision of well-balanced colour,’ he paused to take  in the batik skirt ‘the likes of which I have not seen since my tubes  were tied and squeezed as one across the canvas of life. Sit – do,’  he insisted, guiding her to a seat as he cleared a place.  

She did as bid, glancing rather apprehensively at Simon who  raised his eyebrows in silent acceptance of the artistic exhibition they were witnessing. ‘I’m the new Librarian,’ she advised the Shirt  of Many Aussie Colours.  

‘Oh shush,’ he responded immediately in mock disbelief  before collapsing laughing across the table, slapping his bare  knees as he did so ‘and what will you fne me if I’m a day late  in returning my book ‘Painting by Numbers – Parts 1 to 10’?  Mmmmmmmm…?????’ the kettle was again steaming. 

‘It depends which of the numbers are late, as I’ve already got  your number,’ she looked up from her gastronomic delight. ‘Ooohhhhh…cheeky monkey. I love it!’ Chauncy proclaimed,  adding ‘Don’t worry, I’ll never be late for you.’ 

‘How long have you taught here?’ Simon asked the Art master,  giving Cazza a chance to start her meal. 

‘Tree years dear bois, and if you’re wondering how come a  Pom like I is here I shall reveal all. Pay attention,’ Simon wasn’t  really wondering at all, but waited for the story to unfold anyway. 

‘I just happened to turn up one day with my palate of persim mon tones and Madam White Snake up there – the Head of School  to you, Matilda to others – simply could not resist my work and  ofered me a job immediatement. And as I was between exhibitions  at the time I took it. And here I have been ever since.’ 

‘Who’s Madam White Snake?’ asked Cazza taking up on the  title.  

‘Originally she is a famous character in an ancient Chinese  opera who worked for the good of the enclave against the sur rounding forces of evil, much like Matilda upstairs does. Our very  own Madam White Snake spends much of her time keeping rival  schools at bay when they try to nick our kids.’  

‘Other schools nicking the kids - isn’t that a little queer?’  ‘Oh, where?’ Chauncy sat bolt upright quickly scanning the  horizon ‘Can’t see anyone of note my dear,’ he announced the  result of the survey as he sat back ‘but we live in hope. Keep up  the surveillance.’ A quick ‘Mmmmmmmmm….’ followed, as each  got on with their meal. Tey ate between a repartee that became increasingly potent  as the contents of their plates diminished and exchanges grew in  both double meaning and defnition.  

‘We’re of after this, aren’t we?’ Ms. Iggle-Oggle-Wiggle- Wog gle-Jelly-On-A-Plate asked neither of them in particular. ‘I’ve been of for years, dear. As anyone can see!’ Chauncy shot  back before bursting out loud yet again in rolling laughter.  ‘I’m sure,’ added Simon.  

‘Cheeky,’ came the artistic response followed by another knee  slap and a slow swaying movement. It almost ended up with him  falling amongst the student - this was a school after all - ants  below the table who sat in neat lines awaiting any scattered rice  from above.