30 April: It’s Hell When the Irish Get Sick

Another hard day in the Hong Kong Hilton.

Ha ha. That doesn’t really work at all, since there may have been a time when Thailand had no posh hotels on the level of the Hilton when the marque “Hilton” meant quality, so, “Bangkok Hilton” is vaguely funny when you realize the drug boner you just made might land you into the clink; whereas Hong Kong since time out of mind has had hotels at or beyond the Hilton chain’s level of poshness.

Congee (watery but with nice chunks), again, a banana. Finished Timon of Athens, that incomplete but intriguing muddle co-authored with Middleton circa 1607.

Porridge every morning! I need to add fruit and chocolate to such a dull diet but sprinkling sugar on congee sounds repellent. But right now, I could go for Cath’s British Breakfast: ham, eggs, toast, butter and bigod a rasher of bacon too. Her mushrooms and toast is to die for as well. Her bar and restaurant, which I only know as Cath’s, is just past the intersection of the Yung Shue Wan High “Street” and the beach pathway on the HIgh Street.

Midmorning workout: 20 minutes rackety row, then able to do six miniature laps of our walking course with no need for post-workout oxygen, although these walking exercises are tough, leaving me as breathless as my pre-debacle running sessions did, chasing the rainbows over el Camino Real, “tranced under trees in the eldritch light of sundown”, in C. Day Lewis’ poem about the phoenix hour.

A magnificent spring (fruhlingzeit) day ushers out April and prepares for May.


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