I only put myself through 15 hours of shopping and 15 hours of prep in the kitchen to distract myself from too much brooding on decay and death at the end of last week. The real party happened afterwards - the dwindling gaggle of 'survivors' migrating around the Gulou area: Chill, Mai, 12 Square Metres, Salud, and, finally, of course, the Pool Bar.
It was nearly dawn when I got home. Well, it was dawn when I woke up on the infamous Man-Eating Sofa.
And then Sunday was one of those wretched grey drizzly days: when I got up at noon to begin tidying up, I swear it was darker than when I'd gone to bed. After another heavy night last night (rum specials at MaoMaoChong, and making a first dent in the ridiculously generous tab The Choirboy left for me at 12SQM), I am now thoroughly jet-lagged. I fear it's going to take me at least a few days to get back in the right timezone!