Thursday, November 18, 2010


Today I didn't manage to get much writing done, but after the streak of typing in the last couple of days, that wasn't so much of a problem; I'm still 800 words ahead of where I need to be, and I'm about to choreograph a punch-up in the toilets at Happy Valley Racecourse (this isn't a spoiler for the plot of my book, unless you assumed the plot was boy meets girl, boy takes girl to see the horses, punch-up in the toilets ensues).

In fact, it might not even be anything to do with my book. It should be fairly plausible to those of you that know me well to think that I might actually be organising a fist-fight in the lavatories at the jockey club. After all:
  • they're clean
  • they're well-lit
  • there's a confined space, well designed to keep the fighters in close proximity
  • and there's ample opportunity for betting.
OK, that last point is irrelevant as you can only gamble on the horses in Hong Kong, but who knows? There might be long odds on Get In There My Son or a trifecta with Get Stuck In and Have A Bit Of That.  If it went well, it could be another entry in my less-than-prolific So You Want To Be A Killing Machine? series.

Still don't believe me?  Oh well.  Go have a look at if you don't.

I was feeling stressed out today, and tired, and ill, so after work we toddled off to Happy Valley, not for the horses, but for a neck massage, which was twenty minutes of a woman gently rubbing my shoulders and neck, and then five minutes of JAMMING HER ELBOW INTO MY SPINE OH GOD OH GOD MAKE IT STOP.  Which was surprisingly beneficial after she finished.  Or at least I don't feel stressed out any more.  I don't feel my fingers any more either, but beggars can't be choosers.

Working on my positive, upbeat Hong Kong material while being rubbed.  You know, I love the weather of Hong Kong - it's got so much variety.  Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's humid, sometimes it's hot and humid.  Oh, and sometimes it's hot, humid and there's a typhoon.  Once a man is tired of Hong Kong weather, ... he should go to bed.

The extremes of temperature are a bit much though.  That range from bloodboilingly hot - to the arctic cold once you step inside any airconditioned building - can be hard to bear.

The other thing I love about Hong Kong is how I never feel homesick, surrounded as I am by fellow British people.  Well, they might say they're Hong Kongers, or from Singapore, or Australia, or India, or New Zealand, or Canada, or the United States, or Tanzania, but all I can say is that they've got no sense of heritage.  They all got to be a bit British once.

Although come to think of it, they weren't happy about that way back then, even after we'd sold them tea/opium/their own natural resources or delivered them a bunch of convicts/a not-particularly-well-thought-out train system/some other junk I should have been educated about while I was at school.  Maybe that's why they're not so accepting of the British status I confer on them now.  Still, it's worth me trying.  Maybe some of them will change their minds.

No?  Alright then...


Minnie Bus said...

Ms. Bus doesn't say this often but, great post! I actually lolled (I know, shocker) at the bit where you talked about the toilet trifecta tyrst.

And thanks for once again reopening those bitter wounds of my un-heritage . Nobody thinks I'm from where they are. Singaporeans, Indians and (most people) ask me where I'm *really* from (should I tell them truth - this is a pseudonym and Minnie Bus is not really a person).

Also, it makes it hard to sing along to songs by American artists that insist on using words like 'dance' or 'pass' where I want to pronounce it the way Lady Bu$ or whoever does, but I immediately start picturing the stern face of Mrs Loke at my primary 1 english class and end up sounding like the queen (if she was Indian-Singaporean).

Thanks for the weirdo semi-british accent, colonialism! And all the baggage.

Mr Cushtie said...

Thank you! I was incredibly tired when I wrote that (and just as tired now I read what you wrote) so I spent several minutes trying to recall what I could possibly have said about toilets. (Do you think Toilet Trifecta Tryst is a suitable name for a rock band?)

I'll sleep now, and dream of Indian-Singaporean royalty. Is that who Prince William should have proposed to?

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