Is that the time?

Tonight we went to the Red Fruit Tree, a cafe in Tin Hau with an enormous clock on the wall. An enormous clock that always reads ten-fifteen, which first threw me into pangs of despair at how fast the evening had gone, then lulled me into a false sense of security about how the waitress wasn't dilly-dallying and delaying bringing us our change.

I don't think that's the worst decor ever chosen for a restaurant, but it does strike me as a bit odd. Are they trying to suggest that you'll be so entranced by the food that you won't notice the passage of time? That sounds like a fairly rubbish idea, but then I'm not a fancy-mancy restauranteur.

The Red Fruit Tree isn't, at least in Hong Kong. But perhaps if it was in South London, a menu of tofu on a sizzling iron plate, accompanied with Coke with ginger in it and a pomelo salad would sound a bit over the top.

What am I saying? That sounds perfectly fine. I'm just aggrieved because my wife was eating particularly large cockroachesprawns in front of me, and although I've never felt this before, I looked at those little things on their skewers, and felt suddenly nauseated. Have I suddenly become a militant vegetarian, ready to picket a butcher's shop?

Or maybe it's the sleep deprivation: up until 1am this morning editting my rabbit film, which now looks luscious. Really, almost good enough to eat. It's a shame the soundtrack needs to be redone, but that just means another chance to perfect things.