The air is hot, humid, damp, moist. It smells of the sea without the salt. It smells of the rusting iron of cargo holders. The old warehouses still stand, though like one brought back from the dead, returned with twice the life but half the soul. This recycled artery of the world is now one long promenade. Chic, pompous, pointless. Beautiful, some times. Serene.

Tom said: "The way I explained it the other day was, if - right - if Aliens made contact and asked: "So, what's Earth like?" and a corporation had to explain it to them, they would have built Singapore, know what I mean? Thrown in fifty per cent Chinese, twenty per cent Indian, some fake old buildings for the atmosphere, some new ones too to look modern, all the pubs pretending to be Irish because that's what's meant to be good. The aliens would look at it and say: "It's alright, Earth. A bit boring though, innit?"