A night out in Hong Kong

Tonight I went to see Ruben Paul at the comedy club; tomorrow I'm hosting so I thought it would be good to see him perform. It was a bit odd to be back in the club after so long away: I think the last time I was there must have been two months ago.

The show was good, but I think a problem with having performed so much with the same people is that you start to feel disassociated from the audience: you begin to wish all the jokes could be as fresh for you as they are for the crowd. But now you're jaded and grumpy and sober. Ah well.

I feel glad I'd stowed my wife at Makumba, as part of the show consisted of a Canadian heckler being put in his place, and her proud Canuck heritage might have left her feeling riled. What's all that aboot, anyway?

I took a taxi home: I should have taken the MTR but I was feeling flush / I'd just been charged $50 for a ginger ale so a taxi ride wasn't going to make a difference. We got as far as the end of Caine Road and then we were hailed by another taxi driver, asking my driver to intercede. In the back of his cab was a very aged European couple: the wife kept nodding her head like one of those car ornaments that were popular ten years ago.¹

My driver got out and went over to say something, then shouted at the other driver, came back and we began veering through traffic again as normal. I wonder what the conversation involved. Was my driver the designated interpreter for Hong Kong this evening? Why did that woman keep bobbing her head up and down? $50 for a lousy ginger ale, when they didn't even pour out the whole can?

Maybe it's an omen. Maybe I should move to a different country, or something.

¹ It always feels like they were popular ten years ago, regardless of the actual date. Was there ever a time when they actually were in vogue?