I arrived at Changi for a long weekend just as Singapore was about to stage its fourth Grand Prix – the ultimate civic status symbol, and one that cost the government millions of dollars to secure. Even before I had joined the queue at the airport taxi rank I had been given a taste of the legendary efficiency of the place. The concept of an enjoyable arrival at any international airport seemed implausible to my jaded sensibilities; yet the whole process, from disembarking the plane to climbing into my taxi, took a mere 15 minutes. Even the baggage carousel had fresh orchids in the middle of it – not that I had time to savour them, for as I approached my suitcase was already lumbering out on to the conveyor belt.