Murder He Wrote

In less than a week, I'm supposed to make my private debut as a monstrous papa jahat.

Not what you're thinking. As far as I know, Charming Calvin hasn't managed to smuggle an abandoned chinese orphan home in his luggage. Then again time can only tell since he still has lots of unused space to be filled in his 4X4 cargo. Either that or he brings back a Tibetan lacquered cabinet - and something tells me, he'd prefer taking his chances with child kidnapping rather than lugging furniture home from the Panjiayuan market.

And no, we have no surrogate mothers in sight as yet.

So how am I gonna become a father?

It all began with Strapping Shane's idea to revolutionize our time-worn methods of throwing surprise birthday parties. Which can hardly be termed a surprise anymore since it's almost an unenviable duty by now. I can imagine the disappointed hissy fits that would be thrown if a party's not available on the said date :)

So inspired by the likes of Jessica Fletcher or the more recent lady sleuth Samantha Kinsey, Shane with his flair for theatrics has decided to throw a murder mystery weekend instead. So before you can say Murder on the Orient Express, he has already listed out characters, motives and subplots for the blood-and-gore weekend - with me landing a helpful hand to point out some plot discrepancies. And you all know how much I love a good family scandal.

That's when I'm not playing detective and sniffing out the Secret of the Old Clock. After all, who doesn't want to play Sherlock Holmes?


You should die for your sins.. but damn, I can't kill a man with those abs...
Been assigned the role of the obsessive, manipulative patriarch who pops anti-anginal pills intermittently like candy - certainly a role close to my heart. With indescribably ineffectual progeny along with a faithless wife ( appropriately enough took off to try her hand at the Beijing Opera ) and numerous back-stabbing siblings, my character certainly would have just cause for recurring heart attacks! Haven't had the opportunity to play the role in real life as yet so I've been keeping all my nasty, sarcastic barbs in check at the moment - to release at the most inopportune moments on my poor, unsuspecting children.

Who'd probably hate me collectively and conspire to shove me down the proverbial hidden staircase by the end, to be found much, much later by the astonished butler as the body in the library. I wonder whether I'll have enough time to molest the handsome vicar in the drawing room before that.

Of course, as they all say... the best laid plans? At the moment, we're finding it nigh impossible to find the perfect hidden venue to play our no-frills live-version of Cluedo. Doubt my more reticent friends would be able to leap into dramatic hysterics while ruthlessly pointing murder accusations out in the public. So we sorely need privacy.

Bet even Hercule Poirot couldn't find a solution to our problem though. Maybe a Mysterious Affair at Styles? Maybe the Bates Motel?