Singapore
I meet Matt at quarter to six in the lobby and hear all about his horrible flight. Seems that Iraq unexpectedly closed its airspace yesterday so instead of being able to fly over the country on its direct route to Singapore the plane had to pass over Syria, Jordan, Israel, Saudi Arabia and Oman instead. All of which meant it couldn't complete the flight without refuelling, hence the unscheduled stop in Dubai.
To compound matters Matt had been seated next to a Geordie gentleman who had been a bit over-fond of the complimentary drinks. In fact, he had so many drinks that he’d started loudly complaining about the delay until he had to be threatened with being thrown off the plane and stranded in Dubai unless he calmed down. All of which meant that Matt’s gruellingly long flight became an even more of an unpleasant ordeal than it needed to be.
With his body clock all over the place, he’d checked in OK but only managed an hour’s sleep so when we meet, Matt confesses to being "all over the place". He’s holding it together well, so I take him over to the band’s hotel to meet the manager, John the photographer, and any of the band who are around.
Rod soon appears and after introductions he takes us down to the fabulous pool area which we reach by taking a shortcut through the gym, only to espy an unsuspecting guitarist pedalling away on one of the exercise bikes. As first sights of major rock stars go, Matt takes it in his stride but confesses that it’s all a little surreal in his bemused and jetlagged state.
We’re joined at the pool by John and work out a revised schedule for photos and interviews over the next few days. There are looming problems with part of the trip which threatens to throw a lot of plans into disarray, but as the drinks start flowing and everyone relaxes nothing seems insurmountable.
After an hour or so, Bruce wanders down. I introduce Matt to him just as the staff announce that the pool area is closing so we retire to the grand bar upstairs where Matt and Bruce start animatedly chatting away. A few drinks later, it’s decided that we shall head over to Raffles for dinner to experience the colonial ambience of one of the most famous hotels in the world.
Originally opened in 1887 as a 10-room bungalow for weary travellers of the British Empire, it soon became a must-visit destination for voyagers to the Orient, featuring in works by writers such as Joseph Conrad and Somerset Maugham. The taking of high tea in the Tiffin Room or a Singapore Sling in the Long Bar is an essential part of any visit to the island, so it seems the ideal place for Matt to start his feature.
The five of us pile into cabs and draw up outside the hotel to be greeted by a Sikh doorman in full regalia and we are ushered up the steps into a grand lobby, with a sweeping staircase and vast ceiling high above us. We wander into the Writers Bar where a pianist is tinkling away but decide to explore the hotel further and soon come upon the Raffles Courtyard, where another band member, Steve, is having a drink with a few people. Greetings are exchanged before we all repair upstairs to the famous Long Bar, full of rattan furniture and ceiling fans shaped like banana leaves.
John orders a Singapore Sling but I have a soft drink, believing gin to be the work of the devil, and feeling tiredness creeping upon me. Rod, Bruce and Matt opt for Tiger beer to keep the Singapore theme and we find an out of the way table where we can chat in peace. Over the next couple of hours, and some unremarkable yet vastly overpriced food, the world is put to rights with talk ranging from various world wars to the nature of celebrity and media conglomerates to historical novelists.
In the middle of all this, my phone goes and I’m instantly transported into mid-afternoon London, where I have to sort out various aspects of another artist’s schedule as Corinne Bailey Rae is attending the Elle Style Awards later tonight. Hair, make up, styling and transport issues sorted thousands of miles away, I return to the table to find Bruce waxing lyrical about Middle Eastern revolutions, the Today programme, African despots and the presenters of Top Gear amongst many other things. Matt and he are getting on famously, which bodes well for the days to come and the feature that will be the end result of this trip.
Eventually we return to the courtyard so Rod and John can have a smoke. By now it’s midnight and Matt has the look of a man staying awake through sheer force of willpower alone, a feeling I’m starting to share, so we decide to return to our hotels a few blocks away. However instead of taxis, it seems a great idea to hop in one of the rickshaws touting for trade outside the front of Raffles. So all of a sudden I’m squished onto a tiny seat with a six foot journalist beside me and the lead singer of one of the most famous bands in the world sat on my lap, speeding along the streets of Singapore laughing uproariously, in a race with Rod and John on a second rickshaw.
It’s hard to say who wins as we screech to a halt outside our hotel, but farewells exchanged Matt and I watch the others disappear off into the night towards their hotel. Time for bed for us all!
