darryl said, over a dinner of spicy seafood stew, grilled mackerel and bibambap at kaya house, i didn't know so many people from your set were responsible for those plays. notice how, i point out rather snidely, that in that list i could not remember a single buckley play. darryl admits that buckley never puts up any good plays, and mumbles about distopia, police state, arrest.

me: oh that one was buckley! yes, now i remember seeing something like that. one of those kafkaesque "the trial" type thing. what was it called?
darryl: actually, there were two of them. back to back.
oh dear, i said. every schoolboy goes through one of those phases. what were they called?
darryl: something like ten ways to kill a man.
oh, i say dismissively. that's obviously the sort of title a gep boy reading the calling of kindred comes up with.

so we turn to more interesting plays, like flight. there really wasn't very much of the modelling, even though cp goes on about how he wrote it to get people to take their clothes off. we remember the rest of it as being wonderfully nostalgic - old singapore, singlets and altars and joss paper and old radios and kalipok hair and genuine warmth. and darryl remembers the music too! so choonping my darling don't be modest. i like your play much better than the yellow house's.