3 weeks and counting, Elv and Vicki convert and Lantau Beach on a Sunday

 

Morning all, I now have oficially 3 weeks left. Tax is declared billed and paid (the only way to get my final salary before I leave) all that is left is to make my solemn oath of departure and then apply for my MPF reimbursement … oh, and work for 16 ½ more excrusciating days. Bugger.

 

Many congrats to Elv and Vicki on the arrival of Naomi. I’m more than nervous of the idea that Elv has by default converted to fatherhood. On the other hand, my abject terror at the concept of Dave’s conversion last year turned out to be unfounded so what do I know. Describing the umbilical cord as looking like calamari was a particularly nice touch Elv. Thanks for the image.

 

Yesterday I was stuck in my room considering a day on the PS2 and the small voice in the back of my head quietly whispering “sitting all day in your boxers pretending you can drive a REAL car, you sad sad little man” finally broke through the reverie so I called up sweaty Mark and we went for a barbie on Lantau Beach in, wat for it, Lantau. It was a lovely day, especially after the last 2 weeks when it seems to have been constant bath time outside and the beer went down awfully well with the lamb chops (a snip at 10 HKD each from our fritendly local chippy, who may actually be a better butcher than chippy, but never mind). Topping thte afternoon off with 2 large seabreezes (a large cocktail in the China Bear meaning a pint) I was completely blur by 6 and magnificently hungover by 10, at which point I suferred a Mac-attack and went out in search of the golden Arches. Of course there must be 150 Macdonalds in the North point area but the only one I could find was f---ing shut so I had to put up with some wholly inferior “singapore style” fried beehoon served by a bloke in fishwive’s boots and with a cigarrete hanging from his mouth. A litre of water and a gramme if Neurofen and I was bright as a button this morning, so the exercise, as a whole, was a resounding success. Hurrah for getting pissed on Sunday and not paying for it Monday morning!

 

I leave you with this cautionary tale about F---ing; the moral being watch what you call your village, you humourless Austrian p--ck.

 

Bomber out