So I was in Shanghai last week. See below. Although pulling a 2.00am-er on the first night was a punchy start to proceedings for an old boy, after that I behaved quite well I felt. Furthermore after a long barren spell I managed to select one decent restaurant, albeit sandwiched between two moderate choices on Tuesday and Thursday. My new favourite food is Yunnan. The restaurant’s name, Lost Heaven, not to mention the size of the bill, has caused eyebrows of senior management to rise as I have submitted my expenses, but it was all above board needless to say.
I say I behaved responsibly. Perhaps I let myself down a bit on the Thursday night. I seem to recall a strange point late that evening when, embarrassingly, I didn’t quite manage to do the 40 press ups I had said I could do on the floor of some bar we found ourselves in. And wow I had a close shave the following morning sleeping through my alarm. A ray of sunshine sneaking through the blinds stirred me and then, miraculously, a phone call from reception shocked me frantically into action. The taxi driver taking me to the airport caught the mood of the moment and our drive was a considerably bigger adrenaline rush than the Maglev which a client and I had used to get into town on arrival. I wasn’t feeling 100%, but I imagine we travelling pretty much the same speed as the bullet train too. Consequently I got to the airport in fine time and even had the wherewithal of mind to photograph a dustbin in the departure lounge which I attach. The obviously literal labelling on the bin caused me to ponder a while what it was actually meant for till a dry witted client settled the issue by suggesting it would be a handy place in which to deposit IPO documentation from the locality.
And so the first weekend of normality for a while approaches with just three of us at home. Hen has gone back down to the Ardeche camping illegally on a secluded bank by the river periodically sending WhatsApp messages reassuring us she is safe and well, including in one a video she took of herself the worse for wear after two demi-carafes of rose. She is to be joined down there on Saturday by the new boyfriend I told you about the other day. Remember? He was coming to dinner. Nice boy. Even though he called me Dave. And as I write Jimmy is on a bus making her way to Amsterdam to get up to what I dare not even think about. Bob is back at school though I’m in a bit of sulk with him today truth be told. This evening he should have been at the opening ceremony of the Rugby World Cup in which I gather his school has a starring role. I had imagined him playing the part of William Webb Ellis dressed in long white trousers, a funny cap and strange socks, picking up a football and running the length of the pitch in front of 70,000 people, but could I persuade him to go back two days early for rehearsals? Not surprisingly…I could not.
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