The brilliant thing about Hong Kong is that you don’t have to worry for a second about all the culture you’re missing. That’s because there’s absolutely nothing to do there except shop (I got a seriously nice bespoke dinner jacket for just £400 from Lafarfalla Tailor) drink and, most importantly, eat.
Oh all right, so there are some half-strenuous walks you can do in the surprisingly uncrowded countryside just outside the city (you can cab it from the centre to the pretty Shek O beach — which on weekdays is half-deserted — in just 25 minutes) but even then the main purpose of the exercise is to end up in another restaurant.
‘Basically, as soon as you’ve finished your last meal you start thinking about your next one,’ says my stepson the Rat, who has lived there for three years and has just married a local. But he’s not fat, nor is his very gorgeous wife Chloe, nor in fact is anyone.
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