Virtuosity

I woke up two days with ago with the epiphany that if I don't do some sort of physical exercise, I might just morph into a ball of plasticine. Thanks to extreme laziness, I have been known to rely rather heavily on personal trainers. But, given that personal trainers are as, if not more, expensive than New York, I've joined the rest of humanity at the "public" gym to worship the gods of fitness. Read thinness.

My temple of choice was Pure gym, which the-hippest-coolest-innest-gym in town. I walk into the crowded entrance. Big bowl of green apples-that-are-not-meant-for-eating-as-why-would-you-need-more-calories-to-work-off? Techno thumping and lots of white people looking flushed-yet-composed. I sign up for a free trial (no way am I paying for this without seeing if my will power can stand it) with the guy in the undersized red t-shirt behind the counter, who I could have sworn is wearing eye make-up. And there I am, ready for action. That was easy.

I traipse upstairs and find myself in what seems to be a night out with machines. The music is LOUD. And the place is PACKED. Men with huge biceps compete for space in front of the mirrors as they swing their dumbells. Girls with tiny bums hang off of bars, while others check that their cleavages are low enough in the mirror. I feel like a deer in the headlights. I wish the lights were lower. I work my way apologetically from machine to machine and end up on the mats doing some puny push ups.

Despite all odds, I managed an hour (no I wasn't counting). And left feeling rather pleased with myself. I lifted my chin up in distain as I walked past the happy-smoking-drinking-people in the bar downstairs. I had that holier-than-thou feeling and could feel my aura glowing. Went home, had a saintly salad for dinner and am going back today. Ahh those good intentions.

Maybe I can get a new gym outfit. Something to make Stella proud.

By the way, I read an article yesterday that said maybe people would go to the gym more if they had to pay each time they didn't go rather than vice versa.

Take a look if you've run out of anything interesting to read and are starting to think the job ads in the Economist are an acceptable source of entertainment: http://adage.com/cmostrategy/article?article_id=145091

Agrarian revolution

What can I say? Some people have children, some people adopt dogs and others..well, get involved with sheep. I'm clearly now in the sheep camp.

I came across the main sheep (the one with the look) at a shop called Homeless on Gough street. Gough steet happens to be my favorite street on earth ever as it's quite beautiful, with small little shops and quiet, tree lined patches to sit in and slurp noodles.

Anyway, there he was, looking at me out of the window. So I went in to rescue him, and his friend. T says his friend looks like something out of a nativity scene, and I kind of see his point. The friend has now been banished to the guest room to graze, while the Look is still standing by the coffee table, looking out and arbitrating all discussions.

I'm obviously going completely mad what with all the personification of wooden animals, but I must admit, I'm growing quite attached.

They're designed by Hanns-Peter Krafft. The world renowned sheep designer.

P.s.

Homeless

Relocation

I spotted this today and couldn't resist sharing

Source: A frat boy's view of the world

Tech advice to like-minded geniuses

If you've had your iphone "jailbroken". Don't click "yes" when itunes says,

"We recognize your phone g! Do you want to restore it to its original properties?"

That would simply be vanity.

......

They were able to jailbreak it again in Wan Chai. We're all good.

Who's counting anyway?

T's eldest brother stayed with us this weekend (I say eldest, as before T, there's Little Miss Tiny T and after T come Slightly Older T, Older T and Eldest T).

Anyway, we've always so enjoyed his visits to NY, and were delighted to have him drop by en route back to Paris. As always, T was adamant to make Eldest T re-live his youth before he goes back to his family, where he has to be a responsible citizen again.

All it takes is a Saturday night.

A vodka ice bar.

Yes, I always wear my fur at night.

Priming at Dragon I, followed by thumping house music and girlie cocktails at Drop.

And just as your feet are tired and you're feeling quite satisfied with the evening all round. You have 28 flights of stairs to climb.

Not quite part of the plan.

Three words: typhoon. flood. lift. broken. Four words.

I knew there was a downside to living in the penthouse.

After being escorted to the rear end of our building, where the entrance looks like somewhere you'd never come out alive from. We started to climb the long, winding staircase to bed.

The evening and the rest of the weekend passed before my eyes, and through my knees as I pounded those stairs to the top. Why did we have those-bloody-shots-when-I-don't-even-like vodka. What's-the-point-of-wearing-pretty-shoes-if-you-can't-hike-stairs-with-them. Why-did-I-stop-going-to-the-gym? Do-I-have-enough-milk-for-coffee-in-the-morning?

And worst of all, why has T disappeared to the top already? and why is Eldest T walking 12 times faster than me when-he's-the-one-with-the-family-and-10-years-disadvantage?

Seriously need to get into some sort of presentable shape.

Thank goodness the lift is fixed.

Top 5 myths about Hong Kong

#1. The food is "dégueulasse"

#2 It's too hot to do anything

(no, those aren't my skinny little legs - those are care of T)

#3 Congestion congestion congestion

#4 Supermarkets don't carry ...

#5 There's no "art" darling

Pictures taken of (in case anybody gives a toss):

#1 Dessert at Caprice

#2 Marriot Hotel pool where you can eat-and-dip

#3 View from Dragon's Back (I now know I loath hiking and I have a hole in my toe to prove it - why go all the way up and then have to come all the way down?)

#4 Supermarket in Repulse Bay stocks everything from Devon's Custard to Dijon Mustard (as does every other supermarket)

#5 Damien Hirst's sadism at his worst (yes, those are real wings) at the Hong Kong Art Fair

Singapore in style

Now that I have my home computer again, and I'm not fiddling away on my miniature Dell work computer, I can upload some pics!

In Singapore, I stayed at the StudioM hotel, which is the new self-proclaimed "contemporary hotel for design-conscious travelers". It draws inspiration from The Conrad and famous boutique hotels like all those delicious places along South Beach in Miami. It's designed by Piero Lissoni (no I haven't heard of him before) who also designed hotels in Venice, Monaco and all those other name-dropping-friendly spots.

The pros are it's stylish, airy, well located and the bed is more heavenly than the Western's best attempts (I stayed at the Western in Kuala Lumpur and I won't be posting anything on it. Beige. Boring. And it brought back memories of grey business trips to Chicago).

The cons are that "guest services" never pick up the phone. Ever. The shower seems to be a breeding spot for mosquitos. And wake up calls were occasionally forgotten. But for $100USD a night, I'm not complaining. No, I wasn't paying for it. Yes, times are tough and companies no longer see the point in-spoiling-their-employees-because-they're-lucky-to-have-a-job-anyway. Here are some pics:

On a fancier note. T came to visit, and so standards were raised. We went to Marina Bay Sands Casino to check out what the local fauna and flora get up to on the weekend. We "accidentally" took the private guest lift up to the top floor, and found ourselves here:

Who would have thought those neat-freak-Singaporeans had such a decadent side to them?

Lady Grace's Guide to Hosting

Home. At last. After 1 week in Kuala Lumpur and 2 weeks in Singapore, I am quite happy to be "home" in Hong Kong. It's not quite home yet, though, as all this traveling has left me a little uprooted. As usual.

Talking of home. A colleague of mine in Singapore, Nss, is the most fantastic hostess ever known to mankind. I spent last week working at her house (yes, we work from home when we have high pressure deliverables, so we can have easy access to alcohol) and she had every bell and whistle that could possibly please her guests. I'm not talking about having enough milk (which is sort of where my hostess skills begin and end). I'm talking all alcohol (4 different types of Vodka, beer, gin, rum, sake etc), 2 brimming wine fridges, a jucuzzi with waterproof speakers, stashes of boxes of truffles...the list is endless. And, most importantly, Priscila the maid, who razzles up 3 star michelin food from recipe books that her "madam" directs her to and who runs out to the supermarket, rain or shine, with scribbled lists requesting "more fresh flowers" and "more Dettol"..Nss is also a clean freak.

So, after spending a week padding around her teak floors and occasionally feeding the fish in the indoor pond. I started to write a mental list of "things I should spend more money on at home." When I say "I", I'm actually referring to "T", as he's been holding the forte while I've been traveling (aka not watering the plants and stocking up on pasta). So far, T has gone out and bought a seriously sexy Nespresso machine and milk foaming device, which is our first step to luxury living. On that note, I'm off to have my 3rd cappuccino of the day.