We stepped out for a few beers at the Globe, a little expat pub in Hong Kong’s Soho district. The place was packed with suits playing darts..a game which I have always considered a blood sport when practised in crowded, smokey and drunken conditions. Then it was down to Gunga Dinh‘s for a few curries. The pommy architect, we were with, kept calling the Indian head waiter “Gunga”. I don’t think our pommy friend knew his colonial literature all that well. The waiter did. He just smiled with his gold teeth and overcharged us. Walking down the hill afterwards, we saw a Chinese man dressed as Elvis. I said,” There you are. We thought he was dead. But he’s been in Hong Kong all the time!”. We ended up at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club where they have late night jazz on Fridays in the basement bar. The band was as they say, “smoking”. The Filipino bass player looked like Bo Diddley. Maybe he’s here, staying with Elvis.
We caught a A$5.00 cab ride home through the damp back streets, glittering with pink, yellow, red and purple neon.