So, I was standing on stage tonight, and during a piano solo took in the scene in front of me.

In the bar, from left to right, as I looked around I saw: the blogger who had blogged about me (and subsequently tonight, brought me a drink, albeit inconspicuously… like the Wine Fairy); my friend S who took me to play tennis; a group of Spanish people dancing to the music; my friend V propping up the bar with a lovely English guy we’d met, P; B, one of the Ohio guys who, like a trouper, turns up to see me every night; and the brilliant jazz club staff.

And as I surveyed this scene, these people, I thought: it’s like a group of people from a sitcom.

Someone really should set a sitcom in a bar.

I’m in the Executive Lounge doing some work, and have asked them to change the CD that’s playing over the sound system, because I swear to God, if I hear ‘I Believe I Can Fly’ played on saxophone just one more time I may strangle someone.

They laughed a lot when I said that - fortunately - and duly obliged.

And guess who they’ve put on?

That’s riiiight!

At least, I think it’s him. I can’t be sure. All  I know is that it isn’t Frank Sinatra singing ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.

STOP PRESS: Horrific realisation. It took the presence of ‘Uptown Girl’ to do it - but I’ve just realised that the offenders in question are Westlife. I never thought I’d say this, but Michael Buble: I take it all back.

The other night, I filled a big grey plastic bag with clothes to be washed - and not only were they were delivered back to me the next morning, but when I opened the bag, my washing looked like this:

After being a) amazed, b) amused and c) delighted by my packaged underwear - they never even looked this good when I first bought them - I then realised that all my other washing was missing.

Until I looked at the wardrobe:

Every single item neatly ironed and hung on its own hanger, even my ‘I’m Blogging This’ T-shirt, which, fabulous as it is, really doesn’t warrant such executive treatment.

How on earth will I be able to return to normal life?

So, I’m channel-surfing in my room, and guess what appears?

That photograph doesn’t do justice to the fact that I got to Channel 9, and there was my mug, in all its Technicolor glory. Just before the still about the cigar shop on the ground floor, I think.

Whenever I hear the word ‘executive’ used as an adjective, I can’t help but think of two characters created by the brilliant Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie.

“Busy senior executives” Gordon and Stuart made their first appearance in this sketch, from the pilot episode of A Bit Of Fry And Laurie. They dine in the executive breakfast lounge and use executive trouser presses and order executive room service because they’re executive businessmen. Or as Stu/Hugh puts it in a later sketch, ‘Gordon And Stuart Eat Greek’: “What am I, a peasant or a busy executive?”.

And the reason I mention it? Well, I’m typing this on an executive computer while sipping on a bottle of executive water in the environs of the hotel’s ’Executive Lounge’. M, the hotel manager - who is an absolute sweetheart and can’t do enough for me - learned of my Macbook plight and said I could use this place on the 15th floor because the atmosphere is much nicer and, well, more executive than the ‘business centre’ on the ground floor, which is clearly meant for peasants.

It has an executive view:

And executive furniture:

And pipes executive music through the executive sound system (mainly ‘I Believe I Can Fly’ on saxophone). There’s also executive tea and coffee (various sorts), executive cookies (at least two jars), executive papers (the Wall Street Journal and the International Herald Tribune) and executive fruit (mangoes). It’s all very fabulous. And executive. Thank you, M.

But now I must away to the pool, to sunbathe and swim and write an executive setlist for tonight. Ta-ta!

That was me in the pool earlier, yes siree. I was doing the whole ‘look at me, I’m walking upright through water!’ trick and everything.

I’m not sure why, but I was happy as Larry, or indeed Flipper, in the water today. Perhaps it was the absence of kids. Perhaps it was the absence of builders working on the construction site - this being a national holiday - which made the place much quieter than usual, despite the Chinese pop tinkling away through the tannoy system.

Whatever it was, I was leaping about and jumping through hoops and balancing beach balls on my nose; and trying to swim as far as I could underwater because I once read that Frank Sinatra used to do this to improve his breathing.

(At least one of these is true).

Goodness knows how I’m going to adjust to Dulwich Public Swimming Baths when I get back.

I’m sitting here on the terrace of the Eastern & Oriental Hotel in Penang, their trademark drink the E&O Sling in hand, and this is the view:

It’s my night off tonight (hence the E&O Sling) and I’ve come into Georgetown to explore a little, and take some photos. My first stop being the very grand, very colonial E&O Hotel - built in 1884 by the Sarkie brothers, who went on to found the Raffles hotel in Singapore. Apparently Rudyard Kipling, Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham all stayed here; and I doubt it’s changed very much since those times. A cursory glance at the guests who have just dived into the pool seems to show as much: white hair and moustaches are the order of the day (and as for the men… boom boom!). A group of Brits has also just arrived. Looks like we’re still trying to run the joint.

But to last night’s gig - because it really was an utter delight.

The first surprise of the evening came when I went downstairs to the lobby, only to be faced with this:

Caramba!

Unfortunately - or fortunately - the photo doesn’t give you a sense of scale (and I refused to hand over my camera to someone to take a photo of me alongside it) - but this poster is, believe me, taller than me (B: you’ll be pleased to know that your photo looks great blown up this big). I love the way it commands people to LISTEN to me - don’t just HEAR me, goddamit! - and the way I’m “internationally acclaimed”. Hopefully after being in Malaysia, this will be a truer (ac)claim.

The second delight of the evening was meeting the owner of the hotel. Yes, *gulp*, the owner. I had completely forgotten that he was coming to see us - he apparently very rarely makes any trips down here, as he’s based in Singapore/London/New York (as multi-millionaire building magnates often are) - but sure enough, he turned up and introduced himself, and we had really nice chats in the breaks. He took my details, and told me that if I ever wanted to go to Singapore or Bali(!) while I was here, that he would “arrange things” (in the way that only multi-millionaire building magnates can). So yes, true to Lost In Translation form, I have propped up a bar with a rich, older man:

I wasn’t smoking, though.

The third delight was the band, and how it feels like we’re coming together. We’d tried out a few new tunes in the soundcheck/warm-up - I want to use that time every night to do one or two new songs with them - and last night, everything went fine. In a way, they sounded even loungeier and cheesier than ever before in their instrumental numbers; but hey, as long as it’s not like that when I sing with them, that’s absolutely fine by me. What was also hugely lovely to hear was the drummer, L, with a big beam on his face, telling me how much he loves playing the jazz numbers we’re doing, and hearing him tell the hotel owner how much he was enjoying working with me. Bless.

But the final, and truly most wonderful, delight was the audience.

When I suggested in yesterday’s post that I’d felt like a wedding singer - possibly, yes, The Wedding Singer - I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that what happened last night in the bar was a phenomenon which normally happens at weddings. People danced. And oh, how they danced.

A large group of Penangites in their 20s upwards - who had already requested a couple of songs, which we’d performed for them - got up and danced their hearts out, in a completely unabashed way. I told them that British people only do this at weddings, and I couldn’t stop beaming as I watched them. They were applauding us and blowing me kisses and shouting out “We’re your fan club!” - and when I stepped off stage at the end, was accosted by one of them saying: “Please come and join us for a drink!”. Next thing I know, a glass of whiskey has been shoved in my hand, and people are shouting “Cheers to Andrea!” and “Welcome to Penang!”. I’d heard about the legendary friendliness of the Malaysians, but this was really something. And much as I love my countrymen, I could never imagine a group of Brits being so immediately warm. By the end of the night, we’d arranged for them to take me on a trip up Penang Hill (no, that’s not a euphemism) next Sunday. So sweet.

And that, folks, was my second night.

Mind you, it probably helped that it was a Saturday.

PS. I’ve just finished writing, and the view now looks like this (I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘CS’):

I think I can honestly say that my camera has never misted up outdoors before:

Incidentally, lovely as the hotel pool is, it is just next door to a construction site. Although the crane, and the site, lit up at night are still pretty great to look at, in their own majestic, man-made, Bladerunner / Bob The Builder sort of way:

Ooh, those look like the sort of photos disgruntled British holidaymakers used to send in to That’s Life, don’t they?

(I’ll be posting all pics from the trip over on Flickr, btw).

…I think this hotel has quite the most stunning lobby I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen at least, ooh, three posh hotel lobbies in my lifetime:

It could all have gone so horribly wrong… And yet the space, the lighting, the furniture, the design… it’s all wonderful:

(Yes, the bar comes in multiple colours.)

(Those three red flags are up for Chinese New Year.)

And the restaurant isn’t too shabby, either:

And as for the rooftop swimming pool, which I went to take a look at tonight… Well, put it this way: I don’t say “wow” out loud very often. In fact the last time I did so, I do believe it was when I first met The Love Of My Life. Clearly, the second love of my life is a swimming pool. Here’s an arty, ie. blurred, picture of it. I wasn’t about to fall in; it’s just that my camera can’t compensate for the lack of light:

And true to this post’s form, I didn’t take any photos. I figure I’ve got two months to do that ;-).

What I did do, however, is walk around the block - which included taking in the food hawkers’ market place, and exploring every single floor of the six-tiered shopping mall next door. Because much as I hate shopping malls at home, when you’re Abroad, they’re quite fascinating (at least for the first time you go).

I learned that there’s a supermarket on the lower ground floor (handy), a cinema on the top floor (equally handy) and a Crocs shop (not handy at all).

I also bought myself a cute LBD for singing in; and some trainers, as mine were too large and heavy to carry when every kilogram my suitcase was overweight was a potential £36 charge from Malaysia Airlines. And a sports bra, because I forgot mine - and because I plan to hit the gym A LOT in this hotel. Even though I avoid gyms as much as I avoid shopping malls at home. But suddenly they’re both attractive propositions, given that it’s VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY HUMID INDEED out there. Even more so than the Sun Centre in Rhyl, my only previous experience of a tropical climate.

So now I’m going to hop to said gym, before dressing for dinner and then photographing the lobby like a nut (you’ll see why later). In the meantime, let’s hope the hotel residents won’t be too freaked out by my gymwear (thanks, Melissa):