I have a quick job to do in Singapore. On the way to the airport a guy has been knocked off his bike and is lying in the road. The flight is efficient and immigration swift just by using my thumbprint. I don’t know how they got mine, but it worked. A reminder of Chinese (lack of) manners is prevalent, with a lot of barging in, nose snorting and general shouting throughout. Singapore is as it was – clean and efficient – although the Faber Park Hotel is little more than a series of cubicle rooms. There’s no bar or restaurant, and the bistro next door is shut, so I have to settle for a nasty pasty from a nearby garage for dinner. To bed, and to work the following morning. Flying back into KL, the clouds are darkening and by the time I am in the cab back to the hotel there are significant thunderstorms, with prolific lightning. The driver says he won’t go to his usual petrol station because it has been hit by a lightning strike.