Saturday night and the living is easy

It was a friend's birthday today, and to celebrate we went to an all-you-can-eat Japanese restaurant on the outskirts of Wan Chai. This struck me as a bit of a dubious prospect: firstly, I don't think you want to choose which raw fish to eat solely on the basis of the quantity available, and, more selfishly, because I could only spend an hour there before rushing off to comedy, which meant I had to limit the ratio of expenditure to Japanese food. Still, I had the last laugh by eating two kilos of edamame and then legging it.

I feel like I can't remember the last time I hosted at the club, but it was a great crowd tonight; boozed up but not aggressive, and willing to let my slightly ramshackle approach to hosting bounce from one comedian to another. I didn't give them my finely-honed Wan Chai philosophical investigations tonight, but resurrected my old television-and-strippers material instead. It was particularly helpful that there was a gang of Brits in the second row from the front of the stage who seemed to laugh at just about everything.

The comedian who was meant to be headlining was nowhere to be seen, but unluckily Nick, who had gone on first, had mentioned how much he was looking forward to the appearance. I'm not sure if I contributed to this by mentioning his absence as his slot approached, but we found a replacement in the shape of a big German, and everyone carried on laughing, so no bones broken.

This week I've been reading My Name Is Daphne Fairfax, which includes a reference to skinheads that Arthur Smith thought were shouting 'seagull' at one of his gigs - since I had to follow a German who talks about such things, it seemed only fair to mention my confusion between Nazis and birdwatchers. One last groan from the crowd before I hopped in a taxi and sped home.

Everyone seems to be drunk in Hong Kong apart from me. When I got into my apartment building, it was with two Chinese guys carrying some big bags of ice, crisps and a load of booze. They got off at the first floor, where a large and noisy party was going on, and, given the footwear in the hallway, half the guests were either little people or children. Or there's a lot of people in Hong Kong with very small feet and a love of yellow plastic shoes.

Disturbingly, given the old Asian traditions of footbinding, plus the local love of Hello Kitty, I really can't be sure.