Not quite what I'd planned

This morning I got up and went for a very long run. I managed about 6 kilometres.

I don't know quite what went wrong; it was cooler than last week, with even a few smudges of rain. There wasn't an army of angry grannies in the way, or an enormous snake on the trail. But I just felt horrid; one of those times where you don't feel there's anything in your legs, and yet half an hour after you stop you feel disappointed that you didn't manage to do any more.

My ipod had died, after being regularly bathed in sweat for three years. Poor thing. I had stayed up late eating a hot dog last night, after hosting Ruben Paul at TakeOut Comedy. That's not conducive to athletic endeavour. And I'd had a foot massage yesterday, including the cripplingly painful bit where they do something horrid to your thighs and you can't walk afterwards.

But apart from all that, I felt fine. What a mystery, eh? I'm now starting to get a little bit frightened at the prospect of running a full marathon in 49 days' time.

I'm deserting my wife to go travelling for a week; first to Singapore, "Asia's Hong Kong".¹ Then to Penang, which I've been told is like Malaysia's Manchester. I don't know what that means. They have two football teams? A Harvey Nicks? A battallion of fake-tanned footballers' wives? A working replica of the UMIST campus? The Malaysian equivalent of Shaun Ryder? Sometimes, the more you think about things, the more complicated they get.

Because I knew I'd miss her, we made the most of our time together today - by watching Mr Vampire, a film made in Hong Kong in 1985 about blind vampires that hop everywhere. With no English subtitles. That was a cultural experience and a half. And then I ate some soup. I hope these are precious memories that sustain us both in each others' absence this week, while she enjoys Mooncake Festival and I end up dancing with my top off and clutching some glowsticks in a Malaysian warehouse rave.

Finally, on the train they're playing an advert for Dozo Sushi in Hong Kong, and the soundtrack they chose is 'Turning Japanese' by the Vapours. I may be a prude, but I'm unconvinced that any restaurant soundtracked by an ode to self-abuse is necessarily one to seek out. Any special sauce?

¹Alright, alright. But "Hong Kong without the pollution and marginally more expensive nightlife" is not much better a tag line, is it?