So the boys are getting older, I'm getting sadder. Will they ever love me, blah blah blah. To quote Glee (season 3, episode 8) my life is full of rich white girl problems. Time I grew a pair.
Meanwhile, Christmas is approaching with relentlessness (can you tell I'm a copywriter? Sorry folks but I have no creative writing left once I've written an introductory paragraph about a neo-classical ballet based on a Puccini opera - any guesses?) I am once again in Starbucks. While we're on the subject, why oh why does Starbies not have the truly superior hazelnut and choccy muffins that they piled high at Crimbo last year?
It's 9.30am. I've done the conversion and figured out that 9.30am in Hong Kong = about 5am in any other part of the world. Starbucks is echoingly empty, apart from a couple of elderly tai tais (who are sadly not wearing their PJs, just regular street clothes) and an office lady doing her make up. I am not complaining because it means I can work in relative peace. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Canto convo behind me is not really a distraction. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to go back to the UK and suddenly overhear a thousand conversations a day. It would feel so weird....like having had cotton wool in your ears for 3 1/2 years then taking it out and being shocked by the hullaballoo.
P.S. 9.50 am update - they've just switched the lights on, in time for the mainlander influx.
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