Flattened

Yesterday we went all the way to Fanling and back for a birthday party, so today we were a bit sluggish. We bumbled around the house catching up on paperwork and reviewing wedding photos, and then walked over to Causeway Bay to do some shopping.

Apparently it's been quite hot in Hong Kong while I've been away. I didn't want to miss out on all the fun, so I wore a pair of long black trousers and a black t-shirt, and lost a pint of water somewhere between the flat and the shopping centre. I'd forgotten what crowds of people were like too, so today was an enjoyable reintroduction to shoving.

After that I needed to cool off, so I'm now the proud owner of several new pairs of shorts and some shirts. Optimistic to the end, I tried on some shorts with a 32" waist, which fit me perfectly. When I was ten years younger, or if I suck my breath in as hard as I can all the time. Rather than using this as a means to lose weight, I relented and chose the larger size. This is how middle age spread begins. You spend one minute failing to deny reality and the next thing you know ... All your clothes fit you.

Which would be fine, but sooner or later all your clothes fit you because all your clothes are for a fat man.

To cheer myself up for my gradual swelling, I had a malt milkshake, which I should have taken more than ten seconds to inhale, and then we went home to conk out on the sofa. Later I went for a run, and then watched Soylent Green (of which more tomorrow) and then, utterly broken (despite eating a Muscle Milk bar, which sounds obscene but possibly imbued with Extra Manliness), it was time to retire to bed.

Ah, bed.