Penultimate comedy

A productive day: I got punched in the stomach at my martial arts class and folded up like a badly maintained deck chair. Then I spent the afternoon bumbling around bookshops and then went home to watch That Guy Off The Viz, one of this month's consignment of comedy DVDs. There's a terrific character Simon Donaldson does called Tommy Twyford, a glorious un-self-aware market researcher, with a clipboard full of incredibly rude questions.

Exhausted from ascending all the stairs, I eventually shambled down to the comedy club and did my turn at hosting, possibly my penultimate show at the club in Hong Kong. It was an interesting night - some inspired heckling from a teacher of forensic scientist, who when I asked if she had crabs (she was from the lobster-farming east coast of the States), said she hadn't slept with me. Yet, I pointed out. Which is an act of bravery or idiocy when your own wife is sat adjacent to her.

Still, exhausted as I was, and having to pick up prophylactic shrapnel after the evening's condom inflation act, I was glad to have got through without massively offending anyone, or falling off the stage and catching on fire. Sometimes it's nice to survive, and I'm just hoping I go out next week on a high, before I start working on material to reboot myself in Singapore.

I'm not sure how that's going to go: all I have so far is some colonialism material, which may leave me leaving the club with a back full of spears, and some observations on people in Singapore tending to call me 'boss'.

I have to leave behind the happy birthday happy ending material I hadn't really done in any depth (the tawdry tale of men being brought off to be brought off in the back room of a rub-a-tug joint in Wan Chai). Will it be that, or will it be the rabbits that I'm remembered for?