My final view of Penang:

I am soooo tired. But I have to shower, pack (I didn’t really get much further than this yesterday), grab some lunch - and then head to the street market in Penang, where I’ll perform with R and his two kids. And then the long drive with T and C back to Ipoh; before spending the night there, and going to KL for the following day and night.

In a way it would have felt right to have ended this blog with last night’s post, of course - but there are still a couple of days of adventures left (including a final night in a hotel which really is just like the one in Lost In Translation, apparently ). So bear with me while I finish this over the next few days. Hopefully I’ll have some good photos to post. And hopefully some vaguely interesting thoughts. Although the former is probably more guaranteed than the latter.

Fresh fish and vegetables, cooked to perfection. I have effectively dined out for every meal, every day, for two months. Next thing you know, I’ll be saying that I don’t do stairs.

*sigh*

Well, it is king-size, you know.

No, not the camera. Or the bathroom. Or me. The bathrobe.

Just to prove it is me, though (and can you tell I’ve been cutting my own fringe?):

Right, I’m off to bed now. I’ve got an early start - a morning flight to Singapore! So watch this space for a post headline which will undoubtedly involve some pun on ‘Singapore Sling’. Unless I break my arm. In which case it won’t so much be a ‘pun’, as ‘literal’. But here’s hoping that won’t happen. Night lah!

(Unless something back home has changed.)

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.

I love the way the view from my window changes.

This is how it looked earlier today:

And here it is this evening:

And, erm, that’s it for today. It being a lazy Sunday, an’ all. Unless I have anything interesting to say about Vantage Point, that is - which I’m going to see tonight, at the cinema next door.

1. Swifts swoop over your head and skim the water as you’re swimming.

2. When working outdoors, the keys on your black laptop get so hot that you can only bear to touch them lightly, your fingers moving like feet over hot tarmac.

3. You get a dodgy tummy from eating spicy food two days in a row.

Actually, I guess the latter does happen in England. Just not to me.

It hit me on Saturday night what the jazz club reminds me of:

Look at that big column in the middle. It’s the T.A.R.D.I.S!

It does look smaller on the outside, too.

Come to think of it: I realise that I haven’t blogged yet about the actual venue that I’m playing in every night. Very remiss of me. So here you go…

It’s a decent-sized, but not huge, room. Which means it’s pretty much the perfect size; because even when it’s a quiet night, it doesn’t feel too empty. I would guess that, at full capacity, it holds about 100 people.

The stage is directly ahead of you as you walk in; and the bar runs along the left-hand side wall (ie. it’s the view in the photograph above). There are a couple of cosy, circular areas (one of which is curtained off with one of those ’70s-style, string curtains), and a couple of high-seated tables, which is where the groups tend to congregate.

The stage is perfect - not too high - the sound system is excellent and sight-lines are good. Unless you’re sitting at the high-seated table directly behind the central T.A.R.D.I.S. control column (or whatever Doctor Who afficianados would call it).

In short, it’s a great little venue:

As you can see from that last photo, too, they have three large, framed black and white prints of Miles, Dizzy and Bird on one of the walls. Which is a nice touch.

In fact, I suggested to M today that they start to fill the other large wall, at the back of the room, with framed photographs of the people who play at the club - like they do at many jazz, and comedy, venues. Such as the 55 Bar in New York, a fabulous former speakeasy in Greenwich Village, where I took this photo (of this photo) of Anita O’Day:

I may not be Anita O’Day hanging on a wall in New York, but I may yet be Andrea Mann hanging on a wall in Malaysia. That’s Asian Jazz Famous for you.