The weather was not so kind. Plans for a late morning swim were duly aborted when it became clear that this was no ordinary rain; I just didn't expect it to be an extraordinary downpour. [A day later, I read in the papers that there were flash floods at various locations because of the sudden deluge of rainfall.]
With a good one hour to spare before lunch, I decided to brave the heavy downpour and head to a nearby cafe and read my book. I folded my berms and risked being spotted in indecently short shorts to avoid the splashing of dirty water from the ground. With a small foldable umbrella and a breath of resignation drawn, I started into the crazy rain and adjusted my umbrella with the futile aim of averting the invasive rainfall. I huddled my bag and shuffled slowly across the street and corridors, mindful of the risk of slipping and falling. Having to find my way around this unfamiliar area, I thought to myself: It could not have been a worse time to be out navigating my way through this housing estate.
When my lunch mates finally arrived an hour later (I had settled in the restaurant instead of going to another cafe), I was almost done with my cappuccino. We talked about the restaurant and the merits of a shabby-chic design for restaurants. Therein was born the quote of the day, courtesy of my discerning and comfort-embracing friend: 'Toilets cannot be shabby-chic; they have to be swanky.'
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