Dear all,

A trip to Singapore for a “train the trainer” event. Owing to the time zones, I had to fly out on the Saturday- the evening flight arrives at 17.15 on Sunday when you add the time difference.

This will probably mean nothing to many readers , but the day I flew was the final of the world rugby championships. England had defied all expectations by reaching the finals, and the final was that Saturday evening. My flight was scheduled to take off at 9.30 pm, so would board at half time. I was thus in the very rare position of hoping that my flight would be delayed so I could see the second half. I arrived very early at the airport, to ensure I could find a seat near the TV in the lounge. Heathrow Terminal 4 is very empty at that time on Saturday night and I checked in , through security, changed money and in the lounge in only 20 minutes. At check-in a very unpleasant guy was berating a BA employee because he could only have one piece of hand luggage. He was really abusive, as though she had invented the rule herself. He refused to countenance the explanation that it’s an airport authority rule and applies to anyone who flies from Heathrow.

Anyway , into the lounge and Hallelujah, pole position in front of the telly. Caught up on some emails and read some of the more lengthy ones (I hate emails that occupy more than one screen, unless they are written for leisure purposes).

Finally up to date so applied myself to crosswords in the three main dailies, finishing just in time for the rugby. By this stage the lounge had a really lop-sided feel with half of it empty, and a massive crowd gathered around the TV.

The match was very tense and nerve-racking to watch, and worse still the flight was showing on time. England went into half time slightly behind.

The second half had just begun when the flight was called. Reluctantly I left my piece of prime real estate and headed for the gate. I was just leaving the lounge when a roar told me that England had scored. A quick enquiry told me that they had scored a try (a bit like a touchdown in American football). This would put them slightly ahead. Impatiently stood in line to board- in my seat- usual chirpy captain’s announcement- safety briefing- etc. but NO NEWS ON THE SCORE.

Begged the cabin crew attendant who said he would try and find out. Take off- level off- cabin service and NO NEWS ON THE SCORE. I’m begging now, not interested in the food or wine- JUST TELL ME THE SCORE.

Finally I was put out of my misery. Turned out the score as I left the lounge had been disallowed and that England had lost. Renewed interest in the wine at this point.

Landed on time in 32 degrees and sunshine (wasn’t quite the same in London). Into the spotless terminal and my first introduction to another famous aspect of Singapore- its rules. Stood in line in immigration, and the immigration officer took objection to the documents of the person in front of me. Left our line stranded and disappeared for 30 minutes (with all the guy’s documents). Returned unsmiling and reluctantly let the guy in.

He took my papers without acknowledgement, or apology for the hold up, and impassibly and without a word, read my documents, stamped them and I was in. Arrived at the baggage reclaim to see my case on the carousel. Straight out and met by my driver, a cheerful Singaporean of Chinese ethnicity. The sun beat down and the humidity was high. Into the air conditioned cab.

As we drove in I was given a lecture by the driver about Singapore- size of the island- population- percentage breakdown of Chinese, Malays, Indians, and others. I was given more statistics about the number of tons handled by the container port, and had several of the key sights pointed out to me.

Eventually we crossed the bridge to Sentosa Island, the getaway destination for the city. The island is full of tourist attractions, and a huge building site where a huge casino resort is under construction. I can’t think of anywhere that needs a new casino, but that’s just me.

Arrived at the hotel exactly one hour after the plane touched down. The humidity was intense. Checked in and up to my room. My shirt was already very wet, and as I unpacked I counted my shirts, as I envisaged getting through more than usual that week.

I hate being trapped in hotels, so took a walk along the beach, finding a series of cafes, bars and restaurants. Found a place where I could eat later.

Back to the hotel and called my co-facilitator for the event. She agreed to my proposed eatery, and we walked back along the beach, ordered and chatted about our game plan for the next few days.

It was great to sit there on a warm evening feet in the sand with the sound of the sea and the evening lights. This is the great side of travel. The score didn’t matter anymore.

Up next morning, and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace overlooking the beach. It’s interesting to see man’s impact on nature, at our table we were beset by peahens (female peacocks), who clearly see the hotel as a source for food and come begging at the tables. My colleague threw them some fruit. They turned their noses (beaks?) up at the fruit but when others threw them cheese, meats and sausages they ate happily. Not sure what is the standard diet for a peacock but I am pretty confident that sausages are not normal.

A ride to the office in a cab. Cabs are very cheap and the drivers very helpful and cheerful. I wonder whether there is a government course for cab drivers because again I was given an extended lecture/ advertisement for Singapore once again. Pulled up at the office and up to the 22nd floor, and fantastic views over the Marina and harbour.

A good series of meetings and a cab back to the hotel with my colleagues. Because I was travelling with locals I was spared the Singapore lecture this time.

Our delegates arrived and we did the initial briefing and set off to the hotel seafood restaurant. Great to laugh and joke with old friends from India and China. I was unlucky with my order, which arrived almost an hour after everyone else.

Day 2 and we started the TTT proper. I could tell I was coming down with a cold. I rarely get ill but every three years or so I get a major bout of cold or flu and I could feel this one coming.

The next two days were hugely miserable as I struggled though with the bug. One night I was hugely feverish. My room had twin beds. At 3am I went to the bathroom and came back to bed. Getting back into bed I decided this bed was too wet so climbed in to the other. I am sure they had to change both next day. Somehow I got through most of the days and the TTT sessions.

I began to recover on Thursday afternoon. On Thursday evening we all went to a seafood restaurant on the east side going out to the airport. This was a great meal. There’s something wonderful about eating messy food and using your hands. As we sat down we ordered a set of dishes recommended by a local colleague (lots of seafood). The waiting staff came and tied paper bibs around our necks, a sign of what was to come, and then arrived with trays of chili crab, other crab, shrimp (unshelled), etc., and we had a whale of a time cracking shells and claws.

Friday completed the TTT, and attended a reception on the beach after the management excellence class which was running in parallel. Another warm evening on the beach, like being in a sauna, and after an hour I again needed to shower and change my shirt in the humidity.

I had determined to go into the city that evening, and asked the concierge if he could recommend a place to go to that would not be too crowded. The look he gave me indicated that this was similar to asking for directions to a mountain in central Amsterdam. In the end he recommended a place called Clarke Quay- apparently a trendy place.

Caught a cab there- receiving the statutory lecture. The place was absolutely packed. The place was a series of bars and restaurants, very glitzy and upmarket. There were several unusual places, including a bar called Highlander specializing in Scotch whisky. I’m afraid that locals in kilts didn’t really work for me. There was a fantastic range of interesting places, the only sour note for me was a large branch of an American theme bar called “Hooters”, whose main selling point seems to be scantily clad female serving staff. The bar had a large open air annexe, and I was a little depressed to see how well patronised the place was inside and out. I’m not sure that the Hooters “uniform” really suits Singaporean female physiognomy. Anyway I walked on feeling very self-righteous and tried an Indian restaurant. A cab back to the hotel and another lecture en route. I think I am ready for the Singapore exam now.

I stayed over until Saturday- Friday night flights had been full and the fare £600 more, so Saturday, having checked out I was back to the city for some concentrated tourism.

I started in Chinatown. The city was originally divided into various areas by Sir Stamford Raffles, after whom the hotel is named, (told you I’d pass the exam). This was an interesting warren of stores and streets. I’m the kind of person who is naturally drawn to get off the main streets so immediately dived down the side street. On the positive side, I was rewarded by some very quaint buildings and stores. The downside was that I was completely pestered by the proprietors of every shop and stall. The local sales technique seems to be that no prices are ever displayed, and the task is to inveigle you into the shop and see how well you can haggle. I absolutely hate this kind of process and was soon feigning deafness and avoiding eye contact.

Walking down the street I heard a sound a little like a jazz band, so followed the sound. Around the corner I came to a mound of sandals and flip flops, outside a Hindu temple, and now able to hear more clearly, realized the jazz was in fact music being played in the temple. 100 yards down the street was another pile of sandals and the sound of the muezzin as prayers were starting in the mosque.

I headed back to the main street, heading back up to the Singapore river and Clarke Quay once more, much quieter in mid- morning.

Taking photos of the Quay from the bridge over the river, I was interrupted by a Sikh guy who wanted to convince me he was a fortune teller. He told me that just by looking at me that I would have health, a long life and many wives (not sure what Janice would make of point 3). He then tried a mathematical trick, the point being that he wrote down the answer before we started, and started the “think of a number” trick. The trick works because whatever number you take, the operations you then perform means you inevitably end up with the same result. Being very mathematical I spotted where he was going.

Having presented his miraculous answer he tried to persuade me to invest in a more exhaustive (and expensive) prediction of my future. I wanted to debunk his trick, but decided I had not planned to spend my one tourism day arguing about algebra, so politely declined and walked off very quickly. I soon passed the Carlton hotel and Chijmes, a former convent school converted into a retail complex.

After this walking ( and the acceleration) I was again very hot, so called in at a café for a cold drink and a seat next to air conditioning. Stayed there a full hour until I felt cool again, and back on the road to Bugis Street (see later).

On the way I passed a Catholic Church with the sign “Fatima comes to Singapore”, a reference to a procession service they have regularly in the church.

I soon arrived at Bugis Street, an amazing jumble of stalls and small shops. If you like souks, markets, crowds, noise and haggling then this is the place for you. I looked at a few stalls but couldn’t bring myself to haggle. Had a brush with an individual who I am convinced was hoping to pick my pocket.

Continuing north I was soon in the Muslim quarter. The entry to this is marked by two gateposts with golden minarets. It was like moving into an oasis of calm, with hijab- clad women shopping unhurriedly in the streets around an area dominated by the gold minaret of the Sultan mosque. The street names showed the relics of English colonialism, Arab Street, Hindoo Street, Haji Lane, Sultan Gate.

A left turn into “Little India” (Sir Stamford strikes again). Again this is dominated by a mosque (the Abdul Gaffoor mosque). This was very ornate and decorated and a beauty to look at. A worshipper leaving the mosque gate scowled at me as I took some photos.

By this stage I was hot, another drenched shirt and very thirsty. By this stage I really fancied a beer but was not hopeful so close to a mosque with many halal shops nearby. It was also time for some food. I noted a Russian restaurant (not sure what that’s doing in Little India), and then I saw the oasis.

The Prince of Wales Bar and Backpacker hostel is a tiny business nestled in among the sari shops. Stepping inside you would want to call it “Little Melbourne” as it’s an Australian (Melbourne) enclave in little India. I ordered a beer in the very dim bar, and the ice cold liquid was hugely welcome. A sign over the bar showed the prices. Draft beer was Singapore $8 a pint, with a sign saying “Jam jars (i.e. half measures) $5”- with the additional note “GIRLS ONLY”- so much for equality. They didn’t serve food, but did have an arrangement with local takeaways so very soon my lunch problem was solved as lunch was delivered.

Part of the entertainment was the succession of backpackers dropping in to book accommodation for that evening. I wonder if the parents know that their teenage daughters have nothing booked at 3pm to have a roof over their heads that evening.

Anyway if you are willing to share a dormitory with five other people you can have a bed for S$15 (about $8US), with discounts if you pay for three nights in advance. Not exactly the Marriott.

Out into the blazing mid afternoon heat, and a short walk to Sim Lim Square. I passed a tower block development called Rochor point. So far all the architecture I had seen had been tasteful, but this collection of apartment blocks was painted in a cringeworthy series of gaudy colours. I don’t know what is the opposite of a pastel colour but these were anti-pastels.

Sim Lim Square is heaven if you are a geek. 5 floors of nothing but computer and electronics shops. The place was packed (mainly with males it must be said). Again with a Caucasian face I was subjected to the “Mister, Mister” cries from people promising me a great deal. Again there were no prices on display so I soon fled the building. Exit pursued by salesmen.

A hot and sweaty walk to Orchard Road, and a succession of malls. Finally made some purchases in a CD store. The secret of their success? They didn’t pounce on me the moment I came within 50 metres of the store, but simply displayed their prices and gave me time to decide. Stopped at a row of Chinese food vendors and tried some dim sum, just for the fun of it. There’s something about food served on the street- they were delicious.

Walking down Orchard Road I noted that Singapore too has that vital cultural oasis, an Irish pub. Walking past the “Dubliner” I heard that they were playing the music of the well known Irishman, Bob Marley.

I had planned to go to Raffles hotel for a cocktail, but decided that my third shirt of the day was too sweaty and disreputable so instead took a cab back to my hotel -“Sir, let me tell you some facts about Singapore”- and a last meal on the beach in the sunset before heading for the airport. The restaurant was very full and I was approached by a trio of Austrians who asked if they could share my table, and we had a pleasant conversation as they deliberated over cocktails.

A final cab ride to the airport, complete with the statutory lecture, and checked in for my flight, discovering I had been upgraded to first class.

You’ll probably think I am ungrateful, a poser, or both, but I am not sure I really like first class. I have been upgraded twice and not particularly enjoyed either. BA always put extremely “posh” staff to serve in that cabin and they can be rather haughty. The first time I was upgraded was on a flight back from Seattle, where I was rather taken aback by the attendant who trying to be conversational, commented on the book I was reading (a Frederick Forsyth novel), saying it wasn’t really a first class traveller’s book. I’ll read any book I want to thank you very much.

Anyway the big fuss this time was that they wanted to “make my bed”. I just wanted to the lay the thing flat and cover myself with a blanket, but oh no, the attendant was going to do the full job with sheets and everything. I had to stand around for 15 minutes like a spare part, before I was allowed to sleep.

The beauty of a Singapore flight is that there is exactly enough time to get 8 hours sleep in between dinner and breakfast. Woke refreshed and watched the plane descend in darkness over London.

From 32C and sunny, humid weather, I landed at 5am on Sunday in Heathrow, 5 degrees and cloudy. It’s nice to be home.