Macau

We took the Turbojet to Macau, at apparently the same time as the entire population of southern China; there were mounds of people at the ferry terminal, and even after the groups going to Shenzhen went on their separate way, the place was packed.

A queue, to your average Chinese person, is a thing of mysterious wonder. All those people, lining up for some obscure purpose. What could it be? Why are they all looking intently at the doors to the ferry?

So amazed and bamboozled by this are they, people crowd around the queue, wandering up to stay alongside the people at the front, rather than joining the queue at the back. Who would ever want to wait for anything, after all?

Of lions, and so forth

I went for a run around Happy Valley this evening, and tried to think of some tortured similies.  I started off with "A woman is like a library ..." but the only ending I could put on that was "... because she's often full of strange bearded men, trying to research things" and while that might be true in a limited number of cases, is unlikely to have universality.

But now I'm back, and rejoicing in the power of my new dehumidifier, capable of demisting bathroom mirrors in a trice. I think I've just about stopped being gobsmacked at the profound lunacy of the liondancing competition on Sunday.