So we made it to Singapore. And then had to rush around trying to see everything we wanted to see in only 24 hours.
We checked into the hotel (which was a challenge - they wouldn't take debit cards, we didn't have any local currency on us and the ATM at the airport didn't work) and set out immediately for Raffles. Paul felt that a Singapore Sling at the Long Bar at Raffles was the appropriate thing. I felt that if it was so bloody appropriate he should drink one of the vile things.
How did such a putrid beverage achieve such fame? I could sort of understand if people treated drinking them as a challenge, like snake blood wine, but no such connotation of bravery attaches to the Singapore Sling. I mean really - gin, cherry brandy, Cointreau, Benedictine, Grenadine, pineapple juice and angostura bitters. Are they serious? That isn't a cocktail, it's a martini-drinker's nightmare.
And as it happens, I have a particular loathing of pineapple juice ever since a flight from Singapore to Frankfurt as a teenager. There was no drinking water on the plane, I'd eaten something dodgy and all they could give me was pineapple juice. And let me tell you, it tastes the same in both directions. Think of that, next time someone suggests a Singapore Sling.
However, by filling my mouth with the complimentary peanuts (shells dutifully thrown on the floor) I managed to get through the drink. And then Paul let me have a gin & tonic.