Losing again

Something terrible has happened.  It's so sad that I'm finding it hard to carry on, not just with this blog entry, but with all of existence.

In a brutal second blow, it appears that my dehumidifier may be dying. I left it happily warbling to itself two days ago, but came back that evening to find the bathroom unpleasantly damp and the dehumidifier's collection bucket devoid of water.  And the same again today.

"What's up, Terence?" I asked, for I have a tendency to anthropomorphise household utilities. But Terence said nothing, for he was an inanimate object. An inanimate object, that was no longer efficiently removing moisture from the air.

What am I to do? It was bad enough to lose my beloved hat on Saturday night, but to suffer the second blow of my dehumidifer failing on me is too much to bear. Terence is irreplaceable. It's not like Hong Kong is the kind of place where you can just walk out of the door and buy a dehumidifier.

Well, ok, Hong Kong is exactly that kind of place. But I'm distraught, I'm suffering from a psychic betrayal of the worst kind - my faith in dehumidifying devices is gone, and when a man has lost his faith in dehumidying devices, what does he have left?

On Sunday, I said I couldn't think of anything worse that could ever happen to anyone than to lose a cherished item of headgear. I now realise I was wrong. I take it all back. The worst thing that can ever happen to anyone is to lose a hat and have their dehumidifier break down. What a nightmare.

I have a dream, though, a dream where a man is not judged on the contents of his dehumidifier drip tray, but on his ability to afford a three-hundred square foot apartment in the Mid-Levels with a stunning view of somebody else's laundry. Come on, who's with me?