Marina Bay Sands, Singapore.
We enter at the ground floor and press 57. We are up in no time. I know we’re rocketing because deceleration starts at about floor 40. I’ve sold lifts for a decade but therraint many like this in Yorkshire, like.
We are on a cruise-liner that has been mounted on the top of three huge skyscrapers. We step out of the lift. To the South, you look out past the marvellous Gardens By The Bay and the many cargo ships passing the Singapore Straits. To the North, the city. And what a dramatic moment. I get freaked out. My knees go all Grobbelaar.
I interrupt Aussie-grans, Sheila and Andrea, as I sweat and heave like a mid-burglary-paraplegic across the decking to the glass rail of the Marina Bay Sands Sky Bar. I’m like Hunter S. Thompson during an ether binge. I am literally bent and in tatters. Jelly.
Downtown, we’d stood at the base of the ANZ and DBS towers. They give you vertigo from the bottom. Now, on this monster, I see all of Singapore and it’s a toy. The old-time-hoons offer me support by telling me stories of helicopter rides and other near-death incidents at height. This isn’t working.
In situations like this, there’s only one thing to do. Drink Stella until your legs don’t wobbly-wobbly anymore. This is going to be a fun afternoon.
“There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge.”
HUNTER S. THOMPSON