About

I do want to bump into He who believes in mushroom toasties on Sunday arvos.

Be willing to moonlight atop bus stands (making sure that the coast’s clear from lizards and such) and able to suavely order soto without taugehs and an extra bergedil for me.

Always up for spontaneous romps on canning.

And if he sees me opening a bottle of maggi chilli sauce in great difficulty, he will (a) not do nothing (b) offer his muscles and (c) not direct me to the bottle opener.

He must believe in having marked lanes for pedestrians (a thought evoked from the Shenton Way rush).

He must look good in McGyver shades.

He will change the batteries of my remote control.

He must believe in distasteful fantasies at the parking lot and like my purple streaks.

He must believe the greatest contribution civilization has made is bread and butter pudding and warm socks.

He must believe in swimming in creeks and, and in the legalisation of the four-day weekend.

I bumped into him at Home.