Changi: Part Three

So, yeah, I think you know which one I went for. I sat and ate two slices of pepperoni pizza, read my book and drank a glass of nice red wine, and felt all the tension slip out of my shoulders. All that nervousness and anxiety that had been building up since a good few days before I actually tucked my passport into the waistband of my jeans and, taking as deep a breath as I could with my massive rucksack on my back and another bag around my neck, entered Heathrow airport.

I was just finishing my meal and looking forward to the last long sips of wine, when I heard a piano begin in the distance somewhere. Somehow you can always tell the difference between someone actually playing the piano live and a CD, so I necked the wine and took myself off to have a look.

There was a grand piano. At the grand piano was a middle-aged Singaporean (I assume) man in a white tuxedo and black horn-rimmed glasses, fingers flying, going crazy with the jazz piano. I walked past him and thought, oh. Huh. Interesting. I have another two hours to kill, I could go and... no. Please, I wanted to say, let me sing with you. I so wanted to. I walked past and stood, gazing at a departures screen, thinking about it. No, I thought. He probably isn't allowed. Or wouldn't want to. Or hates me. I turned, and started to go off to find another cafe to sit in.

The word 'although' suddenly popped into my mind, and I stopped. Turned around. Worst that could happen, I considered, was that he said fuck off and then I would have to, well, fuck off I suppose. That's not so bad.

So, to cut a medium to short story even shorter. I have just sung 'Summertime' and 'My Funny Valentine' on a little stage, with a pianist, in the middle of the best (apparently) airport in the world. I even got applause, but then I felt I wanted to leave, because actually my flight leaves quite soon and I wanted to get some water and possibly a small chocolate-based treat.

I am going now, then, to the gate, where I will get on a plane to Christchurch. At Christchurch airport Tom will be waiting for me, I hope, because my bags are really heavy. That is secretly not really why I hope he'll be there, but don't tell anyone.

I am planning to update from NZ, but I have no idea whether we'll have any good Internet access. I am not going to pretend that doesn't scare me.

A tout alors, Singapore.