Early bird

The attentive reader will have noticed that back in January, I made a resolution to start getting out of bed before 10am. This has mainly manifested itself in me waking up, checking the time, feeling pleased that I've woken up at 7.30am, then turning over and going back to sleep.

Tomorrow, however, us Honkers are celebrating the Tuen Ng festival. Some celebrate this by racing dragon boats. Others, by sitting around on the beach, watching the dragon boaters whilst drinking beer. As I am more inclined towards the beer drinking (plus I'm convinced that my bum is really too big to fit into a dragon boat), I will doing so only from a junk boat, on a safe distance from the sweating and racing.

The boat leaves at 08.45. So it seems I'll be dragging myself out of bed before 8am at least once this year.

Result!

I'm ill!

I've been struck by what is commonly referred to as a Marie-cough. It tends to happen every two years or so and sticks with me for months. It sounds terrible, it hurts terribly and it gives my voice a very "Louis Armstrong with a bad cold"-esque zing to it.

In these times of H1N1 hysteria, I have been asked if I have a pig cold, trotteritis, porkmonia, bacon flu, and S suggested getting some oink-ment.
Oh, the fun never ends!

Lunchbox

I have finally found a place in Mong Kok that sells Fish Head Bento boxes. Yummy!

Mother and the black man

Mother has been to a fortune teller. I know something is up when Mother calls and in one single breath says:

- How are you, good, yes, Stinky & Smelly are ok and the weather is hot, right, what are you doing, do you want to hear something?

She then summarises the why and how she met with this fortune teller, followed by a run-down of predictions for various family members.

- Do you want to know what she said about you?
- Do I have a choice?
- Well, if you don't want to know...
- ...you'll tell me anyway!
- You're going to have babies!
- Ok. That's reasonable.
- With a black man.
- ...there are very few of them in Hong Kong.
- But isn't it fantastic?
- Well, this black man, is he nice, intelligent...a good father?
- Oh, what does that matter - BABIES!

Ever since she has been obsessing over this black man who will father my children.

- What have you done this weekend?
- I went to a party on Friday.
- Was the black man there?
- No. I went on a date on Saturday.
- With the black man?
- No.

She's insane.

Plain speaking Part 2

This morning I received the following comment to the entry below.

The blog post "Plain Speaking" is transmogrifying, albeit partiallyfrasmotic. After a diraspoculate period of pericombobulation, I willtest run the maristostriculations, probably intrafrastically.

I understood very little of it, and could find few of the words when resorting to google. I did however find frasmotic, which for now is my new favourite word. Accoriding to the Urban Dictionary it means:

To be woefully incapable of expressing your sincere apologies for worrying you to the point you are furious enough to rip the testicles off a wild bull, with your body wrapped entirely in red satin.

This is so useful I don't see how I've lived this long without knowing it.

Plain speaking

Next time you're having an argument with your partner, try saying:

You know, your attitud of floccinaucinihilipilification towards me is really unfair. I am nothing but honorificabilitudinitatibus.

(S)c(r)atching on

On the MTR (the tube, the metro, the subway) yesterday I saw a man scratch his nose. This immediately made my nose itch. As soon as I had started scratching mine, the woman opposite joined in (scratching her own nose, not mine), and her movement was imitated by the man sitting next to me.

Reading this entry will be your biggest waste of time today. So now things can only get better!