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Since apartments in Hong Kong are colder on the inside, I've started the nine-month stretch of arriving at the office clammy with sweat, because the heavyweight jacket I appeared to need when I was standing in my bedroom turned out to be utterly unnecessary. Though perhaps it's not the clothes. Maybe it's the strain of having to haul my luggage onto the MTR.
That's right, I've become that which I despise. I've joined the ranks of Hong Kongers who get in the way of everyone else on the train, because I felt the need to bring along a suitcase with me in rush hour.
At least I'm not toting a black plastic refuse sack.
Whether this was necessary or not I don't know; I checked in this evening, but that was only convenient as it meant I didn't need to haul my luggage home again. It might well have been more restful to just cart my bag down the MTR tomorrow, when the carriages are devoid of grumpy salarymen who refuse to move back from the doors.
There's a thesis to develop there, that Marshall Petain was from our Special Administrative Region (sent back in time a hundred years, of course) and all that 'Ils ne passeront pas' was nothing to do with Verdun and everything about not giving up one inch of already-compromised-body-space on a mass transit system. But we won't be dealing with that today.
Instead, I'm taking things easy: a friend is in town for the weekend, so we're having our feet massaged at a foot massage joint that actually supplies annotated rubber feet, to give you some idea of which parts of the body are notionally being fixed by having your metatarsals forcibly separated from your tarsals. Or was it your carpals?
Fingers, toes, hands, feet - what's the difference anyhow? We are having to get our feet done at a different place to normal, because our usual foot massage spot is overbooked - is that the true signifier of global economic recovery?
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