Flower peeling mountain

To Mount Faber, 57 km. In Mandarin, the name of this hill sounds like "flower peeling mountain". But it's no mountain, just a hill. Going up at my own pace is fairly easy; what's hairy is wending around the tour buses disgorging somnambulist passengers. I go two rounds via Morse Road, two via Lower Delta Road and one loop round the top. I cycle home via pleasant Tanglin Road. The serenity is shattered by two people sitting in silence by the road, with a blown-up colour photo of a badly bruised face. A brute of a taxi driver bullies me, but this is more than made up for by many drivers who slow down instead of cutting me off at turns. A blustery wind blows. It rains leaves, twigs and branches, followed by pelting rain. Weatherman says it'll rain today, but I miscalculate; the sky looks dark, but I think it's because of my sunglasses! I pay for my folly by having to dry and oil my drive train. Bleah.