Up listening to Debbie Gibson instead of sleeping. It’s just like the good old days.

Spent the night in tonight, after a spate of three a.m. returns home. What’s the deal with Singapore nightlife, that everything keeps shutting down early on me, sending me packing to the godawful cappuccinos at the Shangri-La’s twenty-four-hour café? Midnight Sunday, after the wedding festivities, we were hanging out at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel, having just ordered some madly overpriced drinks, when the house band got done playing “Hotel California” and “I’ve Never Been to Me,” the lights came on, and the servers came round with the bill. Then at a shameful eleven-thirty last night, we were alerted to last call at whatever Robertson Walk pub it was we were at. In response to Amit’s plaintive, “I thought you close at one,” our waiter cheerfully offered, “Not tonight!”

Hence: night in, leftover turkey, strawberry jellies, gossiping about relatives, laughing at Mowmy’s trying to decipher the accents in “Waking Ned Devine.” Also good.