The Four

I read several books this weekend, one of them The Four by Scott Galloway. Scott Galloway is a professor at NYU Stern Business School, and also makes entertaining videos on Youtube where he explains the world of Silicon Valley through the medium of wearing a wig and miming to Adele. No, really. That’s how I first came to know of him, prompted to look at a dissection of Apple/Google/Amazon/Facebook by a colleague.
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Waiting for the typhoon

A T8 typhoon was declared this morning, but there was nothing but spotty rain until ten minutes before we needed to get a taxi to the station, at which point it began sheeting it down and apparently all the taxis dissolved. We jumped my suitcase down the hill to Queens Road, where my wife narrowly avoided being run down by a charging taxi appearing out of the mist like an mythical creature, before stopping a second one who drove us with great ferocity and precision to the station in Central, where we could check in for our flight and then narrowly misses being able to get a burger in the shopping centre above us.
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Another weakened weekend in Hong Kong

We got in late on Friday and had a couple of beers, and so on Saturday I revelled in the fact that I could sleep in past 9am, uninterrupted by children clambering into bed to demand cuddles/poke me in the eye with their diminutive fists. Hong Kong had been in the grip of a heatwave (33° temperatures) but that broke earlier this week and now it was overcast and rainy.

Of course, nobody adjusts their air con settings in light of this, so the dim sum joint we went to in Wan Chai was absolutely baltic, and no matter how much tea you drink you’re still shivering. I ate deep fried tofu, rice, and not much else, and after a few hours stumbled back out to the street.

The street in question, Hennessy Road, has a strange combination of bathroom furniture shops, 7-11s, upmarket restaurants, down-market restaurants, offices, bars full of hookers and bars for men to get alcoholically lubricated in before they hit the hooker bars. Oh, and some coffee shops.
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Well that didn’t start well

This afternoon we fly to Hong Kong, so I left the office at 1, waited for my wife to arrive in a taxi, then hightailed it to the airport. I was super stressed (nothing but a surfeit or emails, but even so my head wasn’t in a holiday mode) and then checking in seemed to be the most incompetently Kafkaesque manoeuvre I’ve ever known. There’s a document check where they don’t check your documents, there’s a demand that you don’t print out both your boarding passes on one sheet of paper (because security hates trees, I guess) and then when we got to the gate, a highly advanced scanning device checked our boarding passes and then made an angry noise because they hadn’t been rubber stamped. Continue reading “Well that didn’t start well”


When I was young, maybe six or seven, I would go to my parents’ bedroom and try to sleep there, and when they eventually retired to bed, my father would have to carry me up to the dizzying heights of the loft extension where my bed was, and I’d get to cling to him on the way up the stairs.

Which was nice for me but I imagine inconvenient for my father.
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Getting bent into shape

This evening I went for another appointment at the physio. That was 45 minutes of somebody palpating the muscles in my neck, which is another way of saying I lay there in abject agony while I got stretched and adjusted, and then I walked home, groggy and dazed, my head slightly more mobile and my neck more sore than when we started. Continue reading “Getting bent into shape”