F1 diary: Singapore grand prix September 18: Tony is already ensconced in the Emirates lounge when I reach Gatwick - and is tearing through a bottle of Veuve Cliquot at a spectacular rate (although he eventually eases up and switches instead to Chardonnay). For now, I stick with coffee and water. It's about five weeks since I touched alcohol of any sort, but a glass of white finally breaks my resistance during the flight to Dubai. It tastes unusually horrible, but then I probably wouldn't have bothered had I read the label first: in terms of palatability, I usually rank Riesling alongside hydrochloric acid. September 19: Meet Mark in Dubai and the three of us board the same, Singapore-bound Airbus A380. The flight takes about 90 minutes longer than it should, because we have to divert around some bellicose aerial activities in the region, but it's still just about light when we land. Tony has played a blinder on the accommodation front, finding a double twin-bedded apartment with lounge, kitchen, dining area, two bathrooms and a limitless supply of wireless internet. Tom Clarkson, another freelance, joins us to make the trio a quartet and we'll be paying about £60 per head per night for this year's best solution so far. Sadly, a notice on the fridge door announces that the building - less than 25 years old - will be torn down for redevelopment just a couple of days after our departure. As ever at this event, I switch to the Singaporean clock while the others remain on European time. Their strategy works pretty well, with most track action in the evening, but I prefer to wander around during hours of light to soak up everyday Singapore and take a few snaps. Mark knocks up a chicken curry to christen the kitchen and I turn in soon afterwards. My colleagues need to stay awake until 5am and wander outside to find something else to do. This mostly seems to involve eating. September 20: Rise about two hours after the others have gone to bed, feast on scrambled eggs and croissants, sub-edit a forthcoming chapter of Honest John and then stroll out into the oppressive heat. I pause awhile outside a parade featuring several camera shops (and the House of Condom, which doesn't sell photographic apparatus). Most have hawkers loitering outside, to lure passing tourists. "Pentax," says one, spying the strap over my shoulder. Come inside and have a look. The shop interior is a veritable trove of photo kit and I know of at least two things that might temporarily sate my lens-buying addiction, so I enquire about prices. "I'm afraid we don't have that in a Pentax fit, sir," the salesman says as a modern-day version of Monty Python's cheese-shop sketch unfurls. When I finally ask whether, in fact, they have any Pentax lenses at all, the salesman shakes his head apologetically. I eventually locate a couple of stockists. but prices are higher than those in the UK and, besides, I'll struggle to fit extra equipment into my carry-on luggage. Resistance wins and I continue past the rest of the Orchard Road shopping magnet en route to the underground network and thence the circuit. For a city with a generally obedient population, Singapore operates a particularly rigorous bag-check system - both at the track and elsewhere. It's worth the hassle, though, because the media room remains the world's best, with ample space, complimentary internet and a fantastic café dispensing vast amounts of free food. Vegetable dhal wraps it will be, then, for much of the next four days. Lewis Hamilton declines to discuss his future as he scowls his way through another media briefing. McLaren insiders say he's happy in his work, but sometimes struggles to look that way when bombarded by repetitive press questions: perfectly understandable, but the problem is partly of his management's making. His agents are known to have spoken to teams other than McLaren and details have been disclosed, off the record, around the paddock. Hamilton is unquestionably an asset... but possibly not at the kind of price his representatives seek. As things stand his options seem limited to a renewed McLaren deal or a fresh start with Mercedes. Wisdom or supplementary wealth? One likes to think he'll do what's right from a sporting perspective, but this isn't always a logical business. September 21: A fierce storm abates shortly before the GP2 field heads out to practise amid some spectacular puddles. GP2 does not always enjoy a reputation for strong discipline, but in the circumstances most drivers are a paragon of fluid control. The Ferrari Challenge session is abandoned before any timed laps are recorded, after one driver crashes heavily at the Turn 10 chicane. His approach speed suggests he thinks he's somewhere else on the circuit entirely and the car is very heavily damaged. Organisers later issue an official timing bulletin, even though there's no information to convey. It's just a list of names next to blank white spaces where fastest laps would ordinarily be listed. A decidedly poor use of tree-based resources, that. It's dry by the time the F1 cars appear and both sessions pass without notable incident. I visit several corners towards the tail end of the lap and the cars' body language is as fascinating as always. The McLarens seem blessed with huge corner entry speed and tend not to vault across the kerbs in the manner of most rivals: competitive pace meets economy of style, a potent cocktail. At the evening press conference, Caterham F1 team owner Tony Fernandes is asked whether he'd like to retain current drivers Heikki Kovalainen and Vitaly Petrov in 2012. "I'd very much like to keep Heikki," he says, in one of the season's least thinly disguised answers. September 22: Depart the circuit shortly after midnight and leave my colleagues to seek their customary, early-morning feast. I'm up before 8am and have settled into a routine of working until the media centre opens, then heading for more vegetable dhal wraps. They've added spicy chicken pies and microwavable pasta meals to the menu, too. The weekend's first GP2 event opens proceedings and Italian Davide Valsecchi finishes fifth to seal the title with one race remaining. An engagingly feisty character with an interesting take on most things in life, Valsecchi's smile stretches most of the way to Jakarta as he celebrates his achievement with commensurate zest. Lewis Hamilton is a rather surly contrast: he dominates the most important 10 minutes of F1 qualifying and secures pole position by a distance, but looks as though he'd rather be anywhere else than discussing his superiority. September 23: The underground remains operational until 1am and I do my usual early flit, leaving my fellow residents to their own devices. We see each other for about eight hours at a time in the press room, but hardly at all elsewhere. I'm up again by 8am for more scrambled eggs, then settle to write whatever I can as the morning stretches out. By midday I'm as well prepared as I can possibly be, with opinion columns and other bits written, so I set off for the track and arrive a full working day before the grand prix starts, but yet more curry wraps and a pot of Haagen-Dazs help to pass the time. The GP2 campaign concludes relatively quietly and the Ferrari Challenge drivers manage most of a race. Ferrari F1 reserve Marc Gené is making a guest appearance and is several months faster than anyone else, but is thrown to the back of the grid for an alleged technical infringement. We expect him to win anyway, but a safety car interrupts his progress and the race finishes under caution. One driver crashes quite hard and marshals spend several laps making the damage even worse by banging the car against the retaining wall. The grand prix begins in the slipstream of a touching, one-minute silence in honour of former Formula One doctor Sid Watkins, who died several days before the race. Sebastian Vettel wins for Red Bull, but Lewis Hamilton dominates until his gearbox melts. Afterwards, the Englishman sounds more upbeat than he has at almost any other stage of the weekend. It's hard to know which is the more complex - driver or car - but when he talks about winning the final six races you really wouldn't want to bet against him. Fernando Alonso continues to lead the championship, a couple of safety car periods enabling him to survive with two tyre stops rather than the anticipated three: the Ferrari remains probably the third-fastest car. Seldom has any driver consistently extracted so much from so little. Michael Schumacher causes one of the safety car interludes when he fails to anticipate that his brakes will be cool (and tyre pressures reduced) following a recent neutralisation... or that the cars ahead might brake earlier on their old rubber than he can on new. Jean-Eric Vergne is the victim this time and the German lands a 10-position grid penalty for Japan, two races ruined for the sake of a moment's inattention. He might want to continue next year, but the Mercedes board surely can't be thinking the same? September 24: Tony, Tom and I take a cab from the press room at 3.15am, but Mark presses on. I turn in as soon as I get back, because we're seven hours ahead of the UK so there's scope for a short kip. When I rise again four hours later, the apartment is quiet. I assume Tom and Tony have left for the airport - the former for the sensible option of home, the latter for the nearer but slightly perplexing alternative of Kuala Lumpur - and that Mark must be sleeping soundly, so I try to be discreet. Just after 9am, however, Mark strolls in - he wasn't quite the last to leave the press room, apparently - and opens his bedroom door to find Tony asleep within. The slumbering Geordie awakens with a start, realises he should at the very least be en route to the airport and bumbles about for a few minutes before hastening from the room and then turning the wrong way down the corridor. A few hastily retraced steps are the last things we hear from him, so we can but assume he's safely ensconced in KL. Mark and I fill the balance of the day with prose, food and rest before heading to the airport several hours before the flight leaves. Fortunately, there are several earlier Emirates departures so we're able to check in and use the lounge. About half the paddock seems to be there and conversation switches from Lewis Hamilton's best options and suitable lens prescriptions for Michael Schumacher to the futility of Ferrari retaining Felipe Massa, should that happen, and the random logic that persuaded Tony to spend the forthcoming week in Malaysia. I rarely sleep properly on aeroplanes, but am so thoroughly pooped this time that I'm borderline unconscious before we take off. The seven hours to Dubai pass in what seem to be as many minutes, the only downside being that I doze with my left hand trapped against the seat and thus partially cut off my own circulation. Airlines don't warn you about that when they're explaining how to fasten seatbelts.