Scooby or Squibby?

I've been hunting for answers today.

Maybe it's a way of making myself switch off. I don't know. But what I do know is that these answers won't appear all of a sudden.

To give you a taste of the questions - just a taste, mind you....

Do you say Scooby or Squibby?

Any children's author worth their salt will know what I'm talking about.  It's the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.  Try saying that every time you want to mention the group you belong to: the group that has given you fantastic support and made sense of writers' cramp.

In London we pronounce it Scooby. It's fast, and easy to remember.  Moving to Singapore, I had to learn a new word - Squibby.  It doesn't roll off the tongue as well, it doesn't entice the taste-buds as Scooby does. Basically, it doesn't taste as nice.  Sorry, folks, I'm going with Scooby.  

No! Hang on! Remember your mantra, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans.'  I try to reach a compromise, running the two names together. Eargh! I produce a dreadful Squirbibooberly.

Oh dear, when will I know what to call it?  

Here's another one: Why do bananas grow upside-down?

Every other fruit I know of that grows on a tree, grows down from the stem. But the humble banana grows up.  I can verify this.  Nearby is a garden full of papaya and banana trees.  The papayas grow down.  The bananas grow up.  Could someone please have a word with the bananas? It's worrying.

And why does pandan leaf smell either sweet and enticing, or as smelly as fifty year old socks? 

My helper showed me how to boil pandan leaves in my kettle.  The flat smelled divine.  The tea I made with the water tasted delicately sweet and fragrant. The kettle still exudes pandan scent when I boil up for a brew. But my life-partner can only smell those abandoned socks.