one last drink

And I promised myself I wouldn’t fly home with a hangover…

There’s been no adverse reaction to the previous night’s scorpion and seahorse supper, so it’s a day spent wandering round the Summer Palace and Lama Temple, before meeting with some fellow travellers for Singapore slings at the Red Moon Bar in Beijing’s Grand Hyatt hotel. After a couple of rounds, we head out to locate some Peking duck, returning to the hotel after gorging ourselves on the succulent, fatty meat. Several glasses of Grand Havana rum later I find myself glassy-eyed and on stage, sharing the mic with a stunning Indonesian cabaret singer, the backing band made up of equally blessed Chinese musicians who look like they’ve walked straight off the set of a Robert Palmer video, wheezing my way through Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ to an audience of expensively attired, stoney-faced Chinese businessmen. I think it’s probably time to leave, so we drink up and stumble into the night to hail cabs.

That’s it. I’m off to the airport. My head hurts.


  1. Now that’s what I call a send off!

    No point having a nice easy last day of relaxation and sleep, getting absolutely cattled and leaving with a quite literal bang is the only option.

    Good work fella!

  2. I’ve eaten scorpian. It doesn’t taste of much does it? Not had a seahorse though. Hmmmm. Might have to try that.


  3. ahh…to see you tread the boards withban odd sidekick again!

  4. You were lucky to find Abba. In my experience, the majority of songs in English on Chinese Karaokes are ‘hits’ from The Sound of Music. Do a Deer, anyone?