So that’s the end of that post, then.

<Drums fingers>

It’s a very grey, very rainy day out today. Look for yourself:

So whereas I thought it might be a day for sunbathing and swimming, it’s actually going to be a day for writing - not just the blog, but also a piece for jazz.com, and the celebrity fashion flog (that’s a ‘fake blog’, fact - or indeed etymology - fans) I write silly weekend posts for. And possibly also a day for watching CNN while I walk very quickly for 15 minutes, ie. ‘hitting the gym’.

I’m entering my final week here now - my last gig is a week tonight - and so I’m mindful of what I’ve got planned for each day before I leave. I’m also very mindful of the life that awaits me back home; not least because the freelance job which was my main source of income before I left is no more. As Scooby-Doo’s Shaggy would say: Yikes (Scoob).

Still, I’m a firm believer not in fate, but in seeing such things as chances to go in different directions; and as such, very often a Good Thing In Disguise. Fear leads one to blitz for work, and as a result: I may end up doing some work for an old employer which would involve more writing; I’ve applied for a paid blogging job on a news site; I’ve pitched the idea of a feature about my time out here to a leading women’s magazine; and the endorsement of the editor of jazz.com, a heavyweight jazz writer and critic, has given me a boost in terms of writing about the music I make, and led me to offer my freelance services to a British jazz magazine. Well, pretty much the only British jazz magazine - but a jazz magazine nonetheless (and no sniggering at the back there, please). Oh, and I’ve fortuitously just heard from a London-based jazz band who are up to their eyeballs in function gigs, and need a dep for their female singer. (Who’s also called Andrea. And no, I still don’t believe in fate. )

I’ve realised only belatedly that being out here has actually been good in terms of earning money; and given the work situation back home, wonder whether I should have taken up T’s offer of extending my stay here for another month. But I have family and friends to get back to - and two brand new members of that group in the form of my best friend’s new baby, and my sister’s impending one - and, to be truthful, two months has felt like exactly the right length of time to be here.

Obviously before I leave I’ll write a final post about my experience out here - a conclusion, as it were. But in the meantime: as I think about leaving and returning to London, I’ve realised more than ever just how much I love my life there, how much I love my friends and family, and how grateful I am at the thought of seeing them all again.

But now, to writing about Britney’s latest fashion blunder…

Papaya. Don’t worry: I didn’t know what it was, either.

Back, I tell you!

Well, my public needed me - what can I say?

I got an email from a friend today saying “sorry to hear about your cold” - and I replied (after first thanking her for her sympathy) that it’s strange what blogs do to you. Ordinarily, a cold is nothing out of the ordinary, and I feel pathetic for even writing about it, let alone eliciting any sympathy for it. Especially when my poor sister-in-law is laid up after major back surgery (here’s a shout out to you, K!).

In the realm of daily blogging, however, a slight sniffle suddenly assumes the mantle of Headline Of The Week (or even: Weak), and people here are asking me if I’m really OK, and if I’m going to see a doctor, and how I should really see a doctor, what with Malaysian viruses being particularly strong.

But: it’s just a cold.

So I was back on the bandstand tonight - after D’s daughter did a sterling job of standing in for me over the past two nights - and lo, like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, as soon as I started singing, people started to enter the room. No, really. It was quite spooky. Though not as spooky as it would have been if it had been rats.

I felt like I was firing on two cylinders all night; and it’s really quite an interesting exercise, to sing with only 50% of your voice. Mainly because it’s not an even 50% split. It’s not like you lose half of your range; it’s more that the ‘oomph’ isn’t there, and you lose the control you normally have. So when you start a phrase, no matter how short or long, it could suddenly slip at some point. A bit like singing on black ice.

But, hey: at least I was back up there.

Next up: a fascinating report on how I’ve chipped a fingernail!

Hopefully.

Thank you everyone for your advice - as you can see, I’ve taken it all on board. Apart from the whisky and cloves bit (Rachel).

I left my room after 24 hours house arrest to go and buy all of the above; and to have lunch downstairs (baked salmon with salad, followed by fruit, since you ask). As I told someone the other day, I never, but never, lose my appetite. No matter what’s happened to me - I could have fallen sick/had my heart broken/survived a nuclear holocaust - there’s one thing that’s guaranteed. Through it all, I’ll be able to eat like a horse*.

M, the hotel manager, called me yesterday to ask how I was and to see if there was anything he could do. Bless him. I really am so lucky to work for a place which treats me so well.

M also told me that when he used to work at the Savoy, Pavarotti would sometimes come to stay (the Savoy being his London hotel of choice). Apparently, Pavarotti requested on room service five - count ‘em! - litres of freshly squeezed orange juice every day. Five litres a day! No wonder he got fat - all that fructose! M used to squeeze his oranges, too (missus) - he said they were even imported from Sicily. Fancy.

And speaking of health food - I read this story in the paper over lunch:

The young lad above just scored the highest number of top grades in his SPM exams (Malaysian ‘A’ levels). He got 1As in 21 subjects (including Higher Arabic Language and Accountancy) and told the paper that he only studied when he felt like it. Adding: “Of course, you have to consistently ‘feel like it’. I studied every day.”

And the other secret of his success (apart from an unfeasibly large brain)? “I also did a lot of hajat prayers**, watched my diet and took the advice of my headmaster to consume a lot of dates, honey and milk.”

So there you go: this post has not only brought you the cure for the common cold, but also the secrets of a diet guaranteed to win you a place on University Challenge. Hurrah for me!

Now, back to looking pitifully out of the window at the sunshine…

*ie. with a big nose bag around my face.

**Explanation of a hajat prayer - albeit in a slightly Hitchhikers’ Guide to The Galaxy form - is here.

I’m doing something which I haven’t done so far this gig, and not singing tonight. (As opposed to not singing when it’s my night off. That’s OK).

I’ve been feeling very, very tired lately - I don’t really know why - and yesterday started to feel the beginnings of a sore throat. So I pumped myself full of fruit and veg and Panadol and elephantine vitamin pills - but still awoke today to the feeling of having swallowed razor blades, and barely being able to talk.

Now, I’m pretty sure I haven’t been swallowing razor blades - although who knows, maybe it’s like sleepwalking? - and while I’m no doctor, I think we can safely say that I have what is known as a Coldus Communus, and now feel something like this:

Hence not singing tonight.

Or talking to anyone today.

Verbally, at least.

I really hate to let people down, but if being able to talk means being able to sing (or if you’re the blonde one in ABBA, able sing before you can talk. According to ‘Thank You For The Music’, at least), then I doubt very much that I can sing today, even if I wanted to. And I certainly shouldn’t sing if I want to get better quickly.

So… I’m going to post this, rest all afternoon and then get an early night. In fact, not leave my room all day. In fact, not leave my bed all day. Except for, y’know…*

Which is tedious. But I don’t ask for your sympathy, oh no. Or even your money. I realise how lucky I am; and that this must be rather like being ill in a private hospital. I have room service; and a king-sized bed; and the following men to keep me company, should I need them:

Granted, none of them are trained medics, except in the dispensary of life’s finest medicine: laughter, and election coverage. Now all I need is a fluffy bathrobe, a box of chocolates, and a pair of pink mules. Housekeeepiiing!

*Checking my emails.

A phrase I just came up with in the bar.

/ˌɪntərˈnæʃənl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[in-ter-nash-uh-nl /hɑrd/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciationhahrd/taɪm/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation tahym ]

- noun.

The period during which, when you are abroad, people question you jokingly about your personal life.

eg. “Don’t worry, we’re just running on International Hard Time”.

“Sky/So vast is the sky….”

(sorry, V)

…their cats may be teeny-tiny, but look at the size of their multi-vitamins!!

(With a nod to Will).

1. The first hour of a film told from several viewpoints, and going back in time, is a lot of fun.

2. The following 25 minutes get progressively sillier; especially the dialogue.

3. The final five minutes are embarrassing; especially the dialogue.

4. You really can’t beat a shot of a big old European building being blown up. Repeatedly.

5. *SPOILER ALERT* It’s entirely feasible that a body double would stand in for the President of the United States at a major world summit; and that nobody would notice. Including a faithful bodyguard.

6. Spanish people are so hot-blooded, that of course terrorism would be the natural next step.

7. Spanish terrorists are also very handsome and brooding. Though their motives are still slightly unclear.

8. European city streets are far more conducive to exciting car chases than American city streets, being a) narrower and b) full of pavement cafes.

9. William Hurt has now joined that elite group of actors, namely Exactly The Right Ones To Play A Fictional President Of The United States. (Other members include: Harrison Ford, Gene Hackman, Jeff Bridges, Michael Douglas, Bill Pullman and Martin Sheen.)

10. Watching The West Wing spoils you for any further film or TV show depicting the inner workings of the Presidency.

11. Malaysians take phonecalls in the cinema.

12. Malaysians leave the cinema literally as soon as the first credit appears.

13. It’s quite difficult to get out of the seventh floor of a shopping mall when all the main exits are closed.

Never let it be said that I’m not Down With The Kids. My friend V put me onto this new single by a band called Alphabeat - and now it’s my gift to you this weekend. Enjoy (and click below for the video on YouTube):

‘Fascination’ has got ‘Radio 2′ written all over it, and reminds me hugely of at least one other record (the intro is ‘Mickey’ by Toni Basil… but the rest of it? Anyone?). But it’s fab, and over far too quickly.

There’s also something so clearly Scandanavian about it/them. I didn’t have to go to Wikipedia to work out that they’re Danish. (Although actually, I would have guessed Swedish. But then when it comes to pop, it’s all the same thing, innit?) And is it just me, or does the lead singer guy remind you of the skinny kid in Superbad? Especially when he wears the cardigan, for some reason. In fact: precisely at 1:08 in the video.