| Tavita |
IT MAKES you feel very old. Singapore Girl is still around and she offers pretty good services. But the original one is now forty two and few can match the ones she offered
Before her arrival, you staggered on to an airplane. You hauled your bag down the aisle and heaved it up in the luggage rack. You collapsed exhausted into your seat.
A bossy, functional employee bossed you around very functionally.
You ducked to avoid her clipboard. You longed for the wretched journey to end.
“Haven’t you finished your cabbages yet? Get your seat up straight, right now! We’re about to land and kick you off!”
Then came a sudden and magical birth. A wondrous creation. An adopted child in a sarong kebaya , batik in red, blue, purple and green .
And Singapore Girl appeared down the aisle…..
“The epitome of Asian Grace and Hospitality,” as her guardians cooed. “Timeless elegance.”
“Welcome aboard, Mr ……
She paused to check your name on the exquisitely-held notesheet balanced between delicately dazzling fingernails.
“Can I I show you to your seat….?”
Her ravishingly painted lips gave a ravishing welcoming smile.
“Can I help you with your seat belt, Mr…….?”
She paused again to see if she’d still got your name correct. She made you believe she was the closest of friends whose purpose in life for hours ahead was to assist you with your personal belt.
“Can I get you something to drink,” she breathed. “May I display my shimmering ivory teeth and help you ease your seat back into a suitable position for you to fall gently asleep and dream about me and that precious moment when I gently come to wake you up?”
Aaaaaaah! The longer the flight the better!
And, even if you never flew anywhere on the planet, she was there on the sofatime adverts.
“Don’t go away,” the announcer instructed. “We’ll be back in just moment!”
“Idiot!” we chuckled. “Do you really think we’d be going away when Singapore Girl might coming up next, offering some lost, world-weary soul, trudging dismally to work for another dismal, trudging day, a glimpse of paradise for the cost of a ticket to SQ heaven.
No way, mate! And don’t bother to be back in a moment. Stay where you are for as long as you want and keep the camera on Singapore Girl.
Sadly, though, she’s no longer on the TV ads. Some, I’ve heard, call her out-of-date. Politically incorrect, they whisper.
“Not to worry,” I’m pleased to announce. “They whisper wrong!”
She’s back next week in a slightly shorter sarong but with exactly the same attraction. And I’ll be watching them.
I won’t be floating on aeroplanes, though. I’ll be floating on air. I’ll adjust my own seat voluntarily. I’ll arrange my very own dinner tray and I won’t even bother with a seat belt.
I’ll be tuning in to her cousins, a whole new 21st century version.
Just as brilliant, just as wonderful and equally skilled at their chosen art.
The 2014 BNP Parisbas WTA Finals officially began last night at the Singapore Indoor Stadium. Eight singles. Eight doubles pairs. Tennis legends. Tennis Rising Stars.
The local media may still be into cleavages, to judge by the pre-publicity, but never mind the media, sports watchers.
This is not about feminine curves. Nor is it about Gussie Moran’s panties in the
1940’s or Althea Gibson’s skin colour in the 1950’s.
It is riveting proof of the remarkable progress of women in the game since the Her Ladyship Victoria Battersley-Cholmondely and her maid used to flutter their racquets around on His Lordship’s lawn while they adjusted their teatime corsets and waited for the butler to announce that the scones were ready to serve.
Instead, it’s all about the best in the world.
It’s as good as you can get, especially the singles where the sport’s eight top players have been selected, based on all the ranking points they have earned during the current WTA Tour season.
The Best There Is vs. The Best There Is. With millions of bucks to play for.
In the spirit, and almost the words, of the ancient SQ ads:
“The epitome of World Class Talent and Skill. Timeless brilliance.”
I’ll be flying high on the sofa, on a weeklong flight to Excellence. First Class. Free soya bean juice and sauteé’d noodles.
And why not? They’re as dazzling as their sarong kebaya-clad airborne predecessors.
In fact, amazing as it may seem, they’re even better than Singapore Girl. They’re Singapore Woman.
And all I ask is one small thing…..
Singapore Girl didn’t screech, I recall!