I saw this week, or maybe last, that Bob Holness has died. A fine man, who will forever be remembered for the word game Blockbusters in which teenagers had to pick letters to form words and invariably delighted in asking “Can I have a ‘P’ please, Bob?” How we roared. And Bob, to his credit, never tired of the joke. Here we are, first paragraph and I am off at a tangent already.
My countdown of course is to the Lunar New Year (LNY). However I do want to thank all of my visitors. A short while ago I said I would be content to have had 2,000 visits by the LNY. Well we have sailed through 2,300 so there must be a lot of bored people out there with nothing better to do than trawl the blogosphere. Or perhaps you like learning about Sai Kung. And if you do, then by golly you’ve come to the right place as off I go again. I feel this blog veers erratically between the puerile and the erudite. Sadly the bias is very much towards the style of Music Hall but who knows, one day we may progress to 3D Cinema. I grew up in the days of 1066 And All That, How To Be Topp and Biggles Flies Undone. You can take it or leave it. Maybe I’ll do a political piece soon about why the mainland chinese are calling the people of Hong Kong “dogs” on government TV. Maybe not. Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom.
The LNY weather forecast is not particularly good. Grey, cloudy, cold, a few rain patches and, as Bob Holness might have said, winter drawers on.
This was the scene as we went to town for some last minute shopping.
Every festival feast demands something special and as I passed the market I saw that once again it was not a good day to be a pig. Crackling indeed. I think one of them might be called Rosie. And the other Neil. Think about it.
After buying your pork you certainly pine for some veg. And so off we went to the veggie stall.
My wife is in the scrum somewhere. Probably front row. She was buying the wonderfully named ‘hairy cucumber’.
And after veg then you have to have fruit. And of course oranges are not the only fruit.
Fruit ticked off then we have to check out the flower shop just in case we need another bowl of narcissi.
Fortunately we skipped the daffs and were on track for a return home. Sai Kung is nothing if not congenial and if Mrs. H and I were topers, which we are not, we could have dropped in for a pint of bitter or a snowball but alas it was closed anyway. The perils of shopping early.
I have never been inside Poets, or indeed any other drinking establishment in Sai Kung, so I can’t comment on how salubrious it might be. There are many downsides to enforced teetotalism. Not to be confused with enforced totalitarianism. And the spell checker tells me I can’t get that right, sober or not. There was a wonderful piece on CricInfo yesterday about how the great Gary Sobers played one of his finest innings with a thumping hangover, having forgotten to go to bed the night before. He turned up at the match, probably screaming out for a box of Panadol and/or the hair of the dog and proceeded to play sublime cricket until he had to leave the field of play due to a ‘stomach upset’.
And that’s about it. We are now safely home in the warm. The kitchen is busy hence my decision to retire to the study to blog a little. The ‘children’ will arrive later, the dog will run around like a mad thing, barking with alternately joy and despair and ultimately bad temper, depending on how many biscuits she has been plied with. The meal will be enjoyed by one and all except the pig. And tomorrow it will all start again.
Standby for the Year of the Dragon.
Kung Hei Fat Choi to you all.