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Next to the train station, or rather, running across and under it, is a large canal with surprising biodiversity; no matter that the murky water that runs sluggishly along its course toward the sea is briny and tainted with countless brands of consumer pollutants.

This is what the people jogging by crinkle their noses at - daily. But in these putrid conditions, a fragile cripple has made its home. No, it’s not one of those ‘resident invalids‘ a certain Wikitravel editor claims you will find in well nigh every hawker centre. (That was pretty funny, though. Yet, regrettably, somewhat true.) Instead, it’s a Common Greenshank, Tringa nebularia, one of the few species of wading birds that inhabit the (artifical) waterways of this island.

Our little Greenshank has had one of its feet horribly mangled - whether by birth or not, it’s hard to say for sure. It’s pointing, quite grotesquely, in the opposite direction one would assume a foot to point. Needless to say, this double-jointed ankle poses quite a problem for the little bird - it has to hobble. On its contorted ankle. The effort it makes to move looks excruciating - even more so when we consider how, as a wader, its natural function is to deftly stalk in shallow water. You wouldn’t think it could survive.

I noticed the Greenshank three weeks ago, and I saw it again today, occupying the same spot on the elevated ledge of the ditch proper, head cocked attentively and beak hovering above the slight groove that accommodates the mucky stream at its driest level. It has been a veritable rock of determination, hunting small fish with the same fervour as its more able-bodied brothers downstream, albeit with a funny gait, and generally less gesture. Just pure concentration. You can see it in its beady little eyes.

I was having a hasty and unhealthy dinner at a fast food restaurant when the lady opposite me who was there with her entourage of 7 year old daughter, inexperienced maid attaché, and baby in a stroller advised her daughter on the evils of coffee consumption (I’ve taken some liberties cutting out her Singlish, of course):

Eh, eh, don’t drink that! Get some water! Coffee isn’t for young children; coffee will give you brain damage! You have to wait ’til you’re an adult!

Well, I choked on my fry. Nevertheless, I don’t expect her daughter to grasp the true perilousness of brain damage, but kudos to the lady for possibly one less too-young caffeine addict, and also for melodramatic hyperbole.

Today, or should I say, tonight, was also the date for the Sundown Marathon. While cycling, I met this man who was not participating per se, but following his buddy, who was a participant, along the route, presumably for encouragement. This would be pretty commonplace and humdrum if not for the fact that he chose to do so in a handbike which looked somewhat like this:

Being initially ignorant, I asked him if he made it himself. (In my defense, it was an unfamiliar cool mechanical contraption, and cool mechanical contraptions are often made by eccentric individuals in a well-equipped garage. And no, this is not a residual influence of the Iron Man movie.) Seems like you can purchase these pretty easily! Though I’m sure all that tiresome hand-pedalling is way beyond my ability. Also, because his bike was configured for such a low profile that he was virtually lying straight down, its length meant that sharp corners were quite a nuisance, though he could go reasonably fast otherwise.