Eating out

This evening we went to an Italian restaurant, to celebrate my wife's birthday. We've been to this restaurant several times before and always enjoyed it, but I made the mistake of reading online reviews today.

Impending moment of truth

Tomorrow I've got a blood test, to see if my body is no longer 90% cholesterol or not. I'm a bit worried that my diet of pizza over the last week might throw the results a bit; then again, I did inject some variety into things by eating a hotdog yesterday, so it should all even out.

Pretzelmania

Another day passed in a daze. I've been going to bed too late, and then getting up and rushing out of the door too early, because I've had early morning phone calls with the States and we can't get the telephone in our flat to work properly. That means I don't have my full four-part breakfast, which in turn means my brain and body are devoid of energy and instead of being ready to face the day after my call is over, I'm slumped face down on my desk, unable to contemplate productive thought. Since my job consists for the most part of thinking (and then swearing at my computer) this is bothersome.  Then, after a hard day struggling, I get home, fall asleep on the sofa, and then wake an hour later only to stay up far too late, trying to achieve something in my life.  When will this cycle ever end?

On Saturday night, when I do a half marathon and then go to sleep for eighteen hours.  Ah, simplicity, you are a pair of running shoes and some disgusting energy gel.

Food in Malaysia

Last night we went to an English restaurant called Albion, where I had pumpkin gnocchi and a quinoa risotto, and wondered why I hadn't encountered these dishes while growing up. I suppose my childhood diet, while being far more exotic (ham sandwiches, pork chops, fish fingers, defrosted mini pizzas) faied to include such English staples.

Dim sum

This lunchtime we went for dim sum in Windsor Plaza, a shopping centre on the edge of Causeway Bay. I'm not keen on Chinese food, because at dim sum all there seems to eat is things made from bits of pig, and broccoli.

Breakfast in Jakarta

Today we got up and crossed the street back to Plaza Indonesia, and ate breakfast at a French bistro while we waited for the rest of the mall to open so we could get breakfast.

Avocado and doughnuts

Today we went hunting for doughnuts. Across the road from our hotel is an enormous mall, flowing over most of a city block, and somewhere within it is a branch of J.CO, an Indonesian doughnut franchise.

My Wallet Hell

I don't want to boast but I have a wallet that rivals the 'Costanza', that enormous money-containing monstrosity carried by the Seinfeld character. It currently holds three credit cards, one debit card, two airline loyalty cards, one security swipe card, one supermarket loyalty card, one combined supermarket loyalty card and credit card, two medical cards, one Hong Kong ID card, a photograph of my wife and I (that much from memory) plus two bookshop loyalty cards (one expired), my Octopus card, one gym membership card, another debit card, two plectrums and a UK driving license. And maybe twenty dollars in cash, and forty or fifty invoices, receipts and bills that I should really have removed and thrown in the bin.

Fed up and drugged up

This evening was the Christmas office party, an excuse to wear silly hats and drink and eat too much. And we were fed as much as we could possibly eat, and more. And so much more.

Anticlimactic

Monday, the day after the marathon, dawned fresh and bright, and I wheezed and groaned and gradually extricated myself from my bed. Although we have a very nice room in the hotel, with a bed, and an internet connection, and some semblance of a wardrobe, the only view from our window is of three metal-clad walls, which gave us no clue as to the weather outside. The internet, too, was a unhelpful servant, as it turns out that the BBC's view of the weather in Osaka (raining) and the Weather Channel's forecast (raining all morning, sort of sunny later) were both way off: it was a lovely, sunny day, the kind that makes you regret tooling outside in a corduroy jacket and thick jeans.

How much tofurkey is too much tofurkey?

Yesterday I found Cold Storage, the rather unappetisingly named supermarket that's spread across Singapore, and a few minutes from my office. Finally I could find something to eat that wasn't just overpriced croissants sold by a hatchet-faced harridan, or something made of meat served up by somebody cheerful. I grabbed some dried fruit and other staples and took them home, where I spent the evening planning to read Len Deighton and sleep.

The Haunted Running Machine

Yesterday's run wasn't brilliant, and today I had to do 6 miles, so I stayed late at the office and then rushed back to the hotel, where instead of preparing for a run, read Amazon's API documentation. That's right, to relax after a hard day of wrestling with data, I read about protocols for requesting XML and parsing it using perl. You can't say I don't know how to enjoy myself.

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.

Yakiniki

Tonight we went out for Japanese in Wan Chai; to Woo Tung on St Francis Street. We'd been to another Japanese restaurant round the corner on Monday, but a combination of grumpy service and a need for novelty sent us to Woo Tung instead. After we'd spent a couple of minutes struggling with a completely egregious touch-screen computer display outside, somebody ushered us inside and up to the bar on the first floor.

Homesick in Singapore

After work today I trundled over to Asia Square, another enormous development in the middle of Singapore, with an atrocious website that wasted half an hour of my life while trying to find a map. It does, however, have a Triple O's, and after three days away from my Canadian wife and my dear Hong Kong, I was missing burgers like crazy.

Bowling Ball Lullaby

Last night we slept badly; in the room above us a bowling-ball party was taking place. At least that's the only reason I can think of for the intermittent clonking noises that started at four this morning and continued, at five minute intervals, until we left the hotel after nine o'clock. The Marcel on Gramercy might be many things, but luxuriantly soundproofed it is not.

A few museums in New York

The rains that were threatened for today never materialised: instead, the skies were blue and clear. And at ground level and below, the air was thick and damp, cloying, even. I would say it isn't as polluted as Hong Kong but the fumes from all the trucks, construction sites, frozen yogurt shops, illegal DVD hawkers and dog walkers have to go somewhere.

Goo

I've got a marathon to run in a few months, partly because I wanted something really stressful to distract me while we're preparing for our wedding, and partly because I'm vain and want to reduce the flab I'm carrying around with me. Although then I remember that I'm not a twelve year old child and therefore I should weigh more than eighty pounds.

However, perversely if the aim of this is weight reduction, today I went to the shops to buy some high energy foods.

No Flies On Me

The hotel for the conference is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by beautiful mountains, a golf course, green, green grass ... And flies. Millions of flies. It was a bit disconcerting to have three days of meetings in a helicopter hangar, where every two minutes another huge black fly would buzz into your ear, or dance across the presentation screen.

A Day In The Office, In France

This morning I woke up bright and early. Well, early. I rolled off my friend's couch and crawled to get breakfast, the sun blistering in through the windows.

Because I left my bags at the hotel and stayed at my friend's place, I had a lack of useful things like fresh clothes or deodorant. Luckily, my friend's kids had a ready supply of Axe deodorant.

Which was nice. Now I smelt like a wannabe date-rapist. I hoped nobody at work would notice the stench of synthetic teenage pheromones.