Singapore - 2:30 a.m., Friday.
I can't sleep. My body doesn't know where in the hell it is. But I'm telling you it likes being at the St. Regis Singapore. Likes it a lot.
I arrived in Singapore at 8 a.m., Thursday after one hell of a flight from London (more on that in a minute). I walked into the lobby of the St. Regis, and ran into Kelly. She was startled and said, "Mr. Murray, it's so nice to have you back."
Kelly is my girl.
Kelly has helped me through some stuff - printing top-secret scripts, tracking down guests, and just generally taking care of me while I generally take care of Big Man. That is a BIG job, and I may burst into song and serenade Kelly with Dolly's "I'll Always Love You" by the end of this trip.
I guess Wilmor is my new guy. He's my butler and although I haven't met him, he left me a note and some chocolates, and he's keeping everything tidy when I'm out of the room. Like I said, it's nice to be at the St. Regis.
Now. Oprah ends her magazine with a column "What I Know For Sure", and I'm going to end this post with what I know for sure:
Babies and Old Ladies should have to fly on their own airline.
I'm tired of it. And I'm tired of them.
Baby "In Front and To My Left" cried every hour on the hour. Screamed. And Lady "Right Behind Me" felt the need to make friends with every member of the crew and the people sitting next to her. She talked and she talked and she talked. Loudly. She was wildly entertaining - to herself.
Please, just hush.
Ok. I've had my first cup of coffee for the day. I'm heading to the airport at 4:45 to pick up Big Man.