Sore point

I woke up feeling like death today; a proper stinker of a hangover, and I didn't touch a drop of booze last night. Perhaps it's the cold weather, or my poor diet, or the dehydration caused by having the heater spurting out hot, dry air all night.

I need to have a heater on, and I live in a sub-tropical environment. This is ridiculous. I suppose I have at least adjusted to the climate of Hong Kong, but not in a helpful way. Properly adjusting would involve becoming incredibly fat for all of January to be warm, and then inventing some fantastic new form of homeostasis that didn't require sweating half my body weight into my shirt every day between May and October. Come friendly typhoons and bring some warm weather with them.

Maybe it's cold because the Chinese have been firing too much iodine into clouds to make them rain. I wonder if all adverse weather could be blamed on the People's Republic of China. Naughty Chinese people, firing things into the air! You'd never catch the Americans or the British polluting their environment for short term gain. Well, maybe you would, but we'd be more egalitarian about it, and go pollute somebody else's environment first.

I'm sore because I spent two hours practicing martial arts today after work. I shifted my lousy, pseudo-hungover self (and it didn't get better all day at the office) to Sai Wan Ho, and spent two hours yelling, kicking, punching, and then being thrown on the floor. All good fun, apart from the time I was unceremoniously put straight down and landed hard enough on my right buttock that I was winded. That's right. I hit the deck hard enough on my arse to wind myself. And now I'm sore enough that I can't even think of a pun to do with wind and buttocks. What is wrong with me?

In positive news, I found The Travellers on the internet, which I last looked for 5 years ago and couldn't find. Well stoked!

Anyway, to bed, in the hope that a good night's sleep will cure every ill. Cheerio for now!