A stop-over in Singapore in a dreamy state of exhaustion - no desire to shop and all out of tourist energy, glad just to saunter and sleep and eat in this well-ordered city before tomorrow's flight home. Mid saunter, we took refuge from the humidity in an air-conditioned cafe; we sat in the corner where two banks of windows met and gazed out at the neat, neat street. The whole city felt ironed like it was ready for a club lunch with lime and tonic. We silently watched the many kinds of people... and a gathering greyness and a sudden wind. Clothes flapping, skirts held down, umbrellas inside out as the fat raindrops splashed down. That wonderful smell of steaming concrete oozed into my consciousness. I sipped my coffee, my skin goose pimpled, and grin stupidly. Tropical rainstorms are as nostalgic to me as my grandma's lemon cordial.