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Which in turn implies I'd reach the top of the world's Tallest Building (2008 vintage) about three-quarters of an hour after an intrepid 94-year old Taiwanese man, which doesn't really seem that impressive.
To make up for this, we went to Mr Taco Truck, a Mexican restaurant in Quarry Bay, that does excellent burritos. As in, they have flavour, rather than just being handy containers for carbohydrates like the ones you can get in a food court in Central. My veggie burrito was hot enough for me to pay attention to it, yet not so ludicrously spicy that I was on my hands and knees weeping with pain.
The only flaws with Mr Taco Truck are that it isn't actually a truck, it's a restaurant (but then the first rule of healthy eating is not to purchase food from anything on wheels, because it may not be around when you need to make a complaint), and that it's in Quarry Bay, which rather precludes me popping out for a lunchtime burrito unless I can spare half an hour strap-hanging on the MTR.
Or I could always take the tram there and back, and return from my lunch at around 3pm, my clothes translucent from all the perspiration I will have produced. But then I could eat all I wanted and probably lose a few more pounds into the bargain.
I had big plans today to sort my life out, think about what I should achieve for the rest of the year, and write some letters to remind people back home that I still exist. Unfortunately, I went to Wan Chai to look at computers instead, wasted an hour umming and ahing over possible new lenses for my Canon, and then came home to watch the motorcycling from Sachsenring. So didn't really achieve much there.
The filthiness of I'm Like An Egg on Twitter continues to intensify. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea for several different people to have the password; I look at it and think, "what disgusting person could have come up with an innuendo like that?" and then in one out of three cases, realise it was me. Perhaps we'll all be struck down with salmonella as a just punishment.
