For some reason, while watching the Merchant of Venice in Scarborough last night, I found myself thinking about the view I had at the Ritz Carlton when I was in Hong Kong. My room was on the top floor – get a pic of the skyline and I can even point out the window I’m now dreaming of looking out of – and I could look out over Hong Kong harbour, over to Nathan Street in Kowloon, the place where the Star Ferry lands, over to a big illuminated tourism advert that said ‘I Love Hong Kong’. I remember getting in the room and being totally gob-smacked by that view. And feeling that everything was alright, that life, no matter how many brick-bats smack you in the face, how much you fuck it up, how much you miss people that aren’t around as much as you want, can be great. And it is. But shit, I miss that view.
There was a gang of school girls on the front row opposite us last night. And one girl – the only one dressed in uniform – started mimicking the actors and generally laughing hysterically at everything in an uncontrollable, couldn’t give a flying fuck manner. That, my friends, is how we should all behave in the stuffy, pretentious confines of the make believe world.
A busker has just made me laugh. He really was appalling. But he was singing a tune that appeared to be called “I Can’t Sing”. And he couldn’t.
Trainer watch: M has bought an uncharacteristically (for the manufacturer) funky pair of Adidas
Overdraft status: Red alert