Worn Out

Today I got up early, still feeling noxious from the pizza, and walked to the office with my prehistoric laptop. Then I spent thirteen hours bashing away at a powerpoint presentation, stopping only for meetings and phone calls with people who were all set to FULL VOLUME. Which was nice.

This meant that I haven't done anything notable today, apart from all that powerpointing, which isn't something I feel I can boast about.

Back at the hotel, fourteen and a half hours after I left, and knowing I owe the marathon schedule a run today, I'll soon be changing into my shorts and visiting the 24 hour fitness centre.

I think the 24 hour fitness centre is the crowning glory of Western civilisation. What could compare to an establishment where, at any time of day or night, if you so desire, you can run on a treadmill until you're sick over yourself? Sure, in Hong Kong there are gyms that open at 6 and stay open until 11 at night, but what about all the fitness junkies who fancy doing some weightlifting after a 3am kebab with extra hot sauce? Really, there's nothing more practical, and I include dial-a-pizza and Youtubed videos of cats climbing in boxes in that comparison.

Or at least it means I'll get back to New York having done a bit of exercise, instead of/as well as growing fat on free company soda.

Can you get fat on soda? Surely that's impossible. The bubbles must counteract the sugary goodness somehow. Maybe a scientist could confirm this for me, but it's fair to say that you never see a fat person with a can of Coke.

Oh lummee. Looks like I have lost my mind after all. And that after I'd come up with some really good slogans for the Tourism Board of Britain to encourage holidaymakers:
You'll always get a warm welcome!
British people: you'll get on with us like a house on fire!
and best of all:
Come to London - it's a riot!