Love Never Dies...

...according to the revered Andrew Lloyd Webber. That night at Marina Bay Sands, the Frou and the Toe witnessed love dying a slow and painful death.

We decided that we would revel in music and culture at least once this year. Headbanging to loud music at Zouk is apparently not cultured. Neither is Yakult. So armed with our $98 tickets and the resolute to stay awake, we began 'the music of the night'.

By the time we got to MBS, we were exhausted. The drama started once we got into the car. The Frou did not put in the cashcard and we screamed as we whizzed past Gantry No. 1. After some scrambling and insertion, Gantry No. 2 loomed into sight.

Toe: ARGH!!! You only have $1.62 in your cashcard!

Frou (with a calmness I have never seen before): Don't worry. It will go through. ERP won't be more than $1.62!

The Frou released triumphant whoop as we past Gantry No. 2. I believe this is called living on the edge.

We circled the labyrinth carpark, with the Frou interjecting from time to time "That lot is mine!" For a place as fancy as MBS, the carpark is really rubbish. We emerged from the loading lift in need of a drink.

Drink No. 1 was fast and furious as we needed to rock up in the theatre. The opening song was 'Love Never Dies'. Yes, the Frou and I are not connoisseurs of music. To us, Air Supply is some really good shit. At 7:36pm that night, the Frou was digging her kitty claws into my arm, helpless with giggles. I was ready for Drink No. 2. It was as if we were watching Glee do Andrew Lloyd Webber. All the female singers were Rachel Berry - nasal voice with operatic mouth.

Maybe we are really plebeians. We did not nod appreciatively when Rachel Berry hit the high notes and flailed her arms in a dramatic fashion. We did not clap at the end of each song just because. We stifled our laughter when Rachel Berry, the protagonist of the Phantom of the Opera segment, flopped onto the floor in anguish during her song. What we did was to flop accordingly. It is no wonder that the couple next to us moved to another block during the intermission.

Drink No. 2 hit the spot. The dude pouring the drink was very generous. It was no longer the case of whether the glass is half full or half empty. Our glasses were completely full, baby! Fuelled by happiness, Part 2 seemed less painful and we even managed an occasional bob of the head and some loud clapping.

The post-mortem came in the form of Drink No. 3. We sat under the homogenous palm trees at the Sky Park and discussed what the chances are of love never dying.

Maybe all it takes is three drinks.