I don’t give a Gansevoort.

We stayed at the Gansevoort South for about 90 minutes. I know I’d sung its praises and all. But frankly it’s just shit. Totally unready to open, a building site on the beach, ceiling panels missing, hit a wrong floor on the elevator and you walk out into a building site. Bad service, lousy views and the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard – a refusal to cancel the bill for two stone cold forgotten grilled sandwiches (not forgotten by US) that was ‘I can’t do that as we sub-contract all the catering and you’ll have to speak to the bar that served you’. Funny given that the check I signed was in the name of the hotel. Not ready, not impressive and not clever.

The Tides, on Ocean Drive, on the other hand is a COMPLETELY different story. No just because in a moment that will shock and awe friends (Ben actually found the hotel and rate) but also because I simply couldn’t complain for the whole 5 days we were there. Impeccable rooms, outstanding service, and great cocktails. You couldn’t make it up really.

Ben’s always said that he never unpacks until I do. And in this instance we were both unpacked in moments and down on South Beach.  I’m not one to complain, but I was upset that they had removed all valet parking charges ‘just because’ and continually gave us Voss water (which costs the GDP of a G8 nation in Soho House New York).

Thanks Tides, I think we’ll be back for my birthday. Yes Richard, not ONE complaint.

If I was any more excited I’d make a mess.

It’s true. 5 days in Miami beckon, in the brand spanking ‘not-quite-open’ Gansevoort South hotel on South Beach. For clarity, I would rather stick a red hot poker in my eye than stay in the Meat-packing variety, but for the 700 square foot room with a balcon, I’ll permit my standards to slip.

 

This hotel is SO new it’s got less than 10 reviews on TripAdvisor (the Oracle of travel). It’s so new that apparently Lance Bass had his 29th birthday party there (we’ll gloss over that bit). It’s so new, I’m hoping, that the Miami Shiterrati won’t have landed.

 

So much so that I pushed myself so hard in the gym today I had to have a cup of tea and a nice lay down.

 

As will Ben when he sees this car waiting for him to drive us at the airport:

 

So long Singapore.

Here I am, firmly ensconced in the brand spanking new Terminal 3 and Changi airport. It’s really something. More like a hotel lobby than a departure terminal (can you have a departure terminal? Isn’t that a contradiction?)

It is good apart from the carpet. I know, I’m not one to complain, but everytime you look down you feel like you’ve been sectioned and are taking a Rorschach test. So, as they all say, always look up. That’s what I’ve been doing.

The retail is tempting but I haven’t committed. That might have a lot to do with the two beers and a gin and tonic with Ms Davis this evening as we celebrated her impending first day in her new WPP owned job. So I’ve been feeling slightly tired and frankly my brain is to exhausted to compile some weak-willed rationale to spend 800 SGD on the white Asus eee PC – which is calling to me now as I write this.

Singapore is great. But this time the combination of some pretty hard work and some big flights meant the time here was mostly to recouperate. Time to chill and recharge before the madness of London. Apart from last night. Ann and I spent yesterday by the pool in that ‘no one actually has to speak’ silence of friendship, stopping only to cynically scoff at any other poolside prey that peaked our interest.

She’d asked me to go with her to the Hacienda, a small bar a few miles from Orchard Road, that she assured me was cool. So cool in turned out, that it took us half an hour to find the way in. Drinks were served and new friends were met, all beside a floor-standing fan that could probably power a British Airways 777.

Within one cocktail I was hit by jetlag – on a gargantuan scale. It was like being bitten by that spider you talked about at school – where you were slowly paralysed and couldn’t speak but were aware that you were being frozen with venom. Well that and the irritating bald ex-pat sitting opposite me (who I later discovered claimed to be an interior designer. Given that he couldn’t understand why I was wearing a tie begs the question; would you trust this man with your house?) I decided it was time to retire.

And retire I did up until this morning when sunshine flooded into my room. I’d forgetton to shut the drapes and once more I was awoken by the sound of freshly squeezed children shreaking into the pool – God bless resort hotels.

Cut to now, and I’m awaiting boarding for SQ322 which just happens to be the new airbus A380 – so that should be fun, as long as I can keep my eyes open that is. Toodle pip!