I realise I am quite a sad hostess. I cannot cook. I am the led, not the leader. I am the plan-follower not the plan-maker. I have no sense of direction. I cannot make a decision.

Thus, on Friday night, I enthusiastically led V’s cousin (A) and her friend up to (world’s longest) escalator to Soho, only to be unable to pick a restaurant and then, when we did, to be told we would have to wait 40 minutes. We landed up eating pizza and a fried food platter.

Also, people seem to pick the worst possible time to visit me. Always mid-month when I am super-busy and scrambling to put the mag out. And I inevitably feel the need to ineptly entertain them. Or make some attempt to.

V does not help but feigning understanding and then passive-aggressively insisting I come along. Thus, on Saturday, instead of staying home and working as my better judgement and my tired body told me I should, I ended up on junk trip organized by one of V’s friends. Somehow, when I stepped on the boat, my tiredness seeped away. It was white with a shiny board deck. And as we sailed away from the city, and into calm green waters flanked by mountains it was so so beautiful.

We anchored near Clear Water Bay and everyone jumped in for a dip. Even me. Though the water was icy cold. I love to swim – even if it means just holding on to a float. And though I had resolved not to drink, I had some red in a plastic cup. And we ate yummy biryani, which a more considerate soul had brought along, with our fingers and cheesy bread and crisps. And swam some more.

And got home tired but somehow refreshed.

Now, though, I have the flu.