Go East, young man: if I was 25 again, this is where I’d try my luck
Hong Kong
Not four hours since the plane touched down at Chek Lap Kok and I’m howling ‘My Way’ into a Wanchai karaoke machine to the discomfort of my Chinese friends, who all sing like Charles Aznavour. I’ll give some of the credit — for my energy level, not my singing — to Virgin Atlantic’s Upper Class ‘flatbed’, which is so comfortable that Sir Richard Branson is busy claiming patent rights so he can sue competitors who copy the design. But I’ll give most of the credit to Hong Kong itself: brash, noisy, diesel-fumed, neon-lit, money-crazy, and always energising. After the pessimism and backbiting of recession-weary England, what a joy to be in a place that is unashamedly upbeat and — at least by comparison with the tensions when I used to live here — at ease with itself.
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