Trail of Ants

Beijing is to China, what a fried egg is to an English breakfast. I simply couldn’t leave it unconsumed at the side of my plate so I’ve returned to burst it’s yolk, all over my chin. The chef needs a medal, it’s almost cooked to perfection. It’s said, you should never judge a book by it’s cover. In my recording of my previous arrival in Beijing I “felt like a borrower rolling through a Monopoly board, contested by two heavy smokers”. Now I feel myself timidly muttering ‘do not pass go, do not collect £200.’. In hindsight I judged the cover of a book I couldn’t even read, the illness had crippled my senses and the only thing I had to go on, was the cloak of smog cozily settled over central Beijing. Continue reading ‘Beijing. Sunny side up.’