Best not to be a fool about life
I’m not one for introspection, but this week has been different. When the heavens opened up on me on my way to the club, I couldn't help feeling my actions were finally starting to catch up with me.
I’m not talking about any old sin or faux pas I had committed during my banking days — although there were certainly plenty of those. No, I’m talking of something that has been on my mind all week — the debauchery I had drunkenly involved myself in during the weekend at the Sevens.
Sure, I had a pass to the corporate boxes and a half decent angle from where I could ogle Hong Kong’s finest. But after downing pints of beer and chugging at least two bottles of the free flowing Louis Roederer, my feet developed a mind of their own and took me to the South Stand.
If that wasn’t enough, I also decided to bare all for some topless photos with some foxy cheerleaders (if you were there, you know what I’m talking about) — photos that I have been told are now being circulated.
What happened next I don’t remember, but two days later, when huddling under one of Hong Kong’s bus stops to keep dry from the downpour, I still couldn’t get past the fact that I had behaved so recklessly.
There and then I vowed two things — never drink again, and to stay away from foxy ladies.
But minutes later, when the clouds cleared up, so did my mood. I shook my head and smiled. As I made my way to the club, I wished myself a Happy April Fools’ Day.