My friend Raymond and I had the good fortune of having an early private tour of the individually crafted rooms of Hullett House last month, when its corridors were eerily unlit and the rooms were still getting their final touches from David Yeo. Love the stuffed peacock. I wouldn’t stay at that former marine police headquarters on my own though. Especially in the suite that is all white. Maybe if Korean superstar Rain would keep me company. We could hold an overnight séance there contacting past prisoners. Kidding. Sadly, their management failed to give me the key to Rain’s suite, and my idle fantasy crumbled to dust.

Anyway, I went to check out the House again at a media dinner, just to make an appearance, and aggravate members of the press who find me insufferable. And mostly because our Fierce Deputy Editor did not want to go alone. I must say, I absolutely adore the svelte grounds of the design-led venue. I even like the pretty open-air piazza now, despite the fact that I LOATHED how Cheung Kong Holdings destroyed the cute grassy knoll on which the heritage building once sat. I love their approach. “Knoll or mall? MALL! Bring in the bulldozers!” Bitch, please. Well, at least they had the decency to keep some of the trees, I mean, they only cut down around 140 of the 192 poor trees that were living there for more than a century. Everyone should love trees, because if there were no trees, what the fuck are you going to breathe?

I visited the former Marine Police Headquarters way back in the Middle Ages, 2005, when Prada did a grand party at that historically handsome property. I remember being spellbound by the rare oasis of plant life in Tsim Sha Tsui. The majestic canopy that surrounded the grand colonial edifice only added to the stately exclusivity of the address. I’ve never been with so many age-old banyans before in such close proximity to Ocean Terminal. The dryads were whispering to me that night. Or perhaps it was some other ardent spirit, like my watermelon martini.

Thank the Lord they kept the more exotic trees from around the globe—the Egyptian date, the Malaysian almond and the Australia fig. Back in the day, whoever brought saplings back from abroad could get free drinks at the sergeant’s mess (now Mariners’ Rest, their modern British pub). And I love the lawn outside Stables Grill. Hopefully, the government will let them serve midnight champagne picnics on the grass soon. I wonder why they care so much about the lawn now—they sure didn’t give a shit about the trees.
We thought 1881 Heritage would turn out to be a hot mess, but Hullett House is a quality-minded development. Thanks to you, Mr. Yeo, HH amply surpasses Singapore’s Raffles with its vaulted ceilings, spacious hallways and manicured lawns. The sweet little heritage prison cells can also accommodate aggro-drunks and angry editors before the police arrive.

The official media tour ended at the courtyard, where guests and hosts politely ignored the existence of three seemingly untrained dancers twirling around unsystematically. The unofficial media tour ended at Dragon Bar, where we were fed the deadly Dragon’s Back, which resulted in Fierce Dep Ed warning me not to write about her being drunk again in my “stupid column,” two editors from different publications snogging, and a publisher asking if we wanted to come to Portland Street in MK at one in the morning on a Tuesday. Uh, no.

Email me at jpong@asia-city.com.hk