Yes, tis me! I hope you didn't think I'd deserted you; after all, so many people have left blogging recently, but fear not, I'm not one of them! I do owe you guys an explanation though - as you know, I was in Hong Kong in the first week of April, and ever since I've been back, I've been ill with vile respiratory tract infections. It's been a horrid two weeks, and probably the most ill I've been in years, but am starting to come out of the daze of painkillers and antibiotics. I can breathe, talk, laugh without coughing, and eat again (hurray!), and the dizziness has abated enough for me to see the words I'm typing - woohoo!

Hong Kong was fun - it seems so long ago that I hardly remember it now. Actually, the weirdest thing was seeing my lab partner from uni when I landed at HK airport, getting on the same bus as me, and again at the airport on my way back - she was on the flight after mine. Small world, huh..? Anyway, I ate loads, and put on a few pounds, as I usually do when I go over there. I actually wanted to talk about weight - I just finished watching the Channel 4 documentary, SuperSkinny Me: The Race to Size Double Zero. It focused on two journalists trying to slim down from a UK size 12 to a size 2 (US size 00) in just five weeks. I watched with horror but not without fascination, as I'm sure most women watching did. Because, lets face it, who doesn't think that they could stand to lose a few lbs or an inch off the spare tyre?

During the program, I found, worryingly, that I shared a lot of the feelings and symptoms the women had during the experiment. You see, before I went to Hong Kong, I had been trying to lose some weight. I'd put on a few lbs, and it was becoming noticeable. I've pretty much been the same weight since I was 17 (aside from losing and regaining 10lbs when I was ill in 2002), but since I've had ME/CFS, I've been a lot less active, and although it didn't really show hugely on the scales, it's started to show on my body shape. As I'm not really able to do any cardiac exercise because of CFS 'flare-ups', the only thing I can control is what I eat. Just by eating slightly smaller portions and cutting out unhealthy snacks, I lost half a stone in 3 weeks (which shows you how much I snacked!), but strangely, I don't look any skinnier at all! Anyway, the women in the experiment reported constantly thinking about and becoming obsessed with food, which is exactly how I felt during weeks two and three of my 'diet'. Week one was fine - I didn't change what I ate, just chewed slowly and savoured flavours and textures, stopping when my stomach started to become full. I was thinking, 'Gosh, this isn't so hard'. But after mid week 2, every day just got harder and harder. I craved EVERYTHING, and was constantly talking and thinking about food pretty much every moment I wasn't eating, as well as evaluating how full/empty my stomach felt every other second. Food was my every thought. It wasn't very nice for me or the people around me, just as in the experiment.

Of course, being ill these two weeks and not being able to eat, I lost the holiday weight from HK and a little bit more. In the words of Emily from The Devil Wears Prada, 'I'm one stomach flu away from my goal weight' Just kidding :) Now that I've regained my appetite, I'm finding that I'm constantly starving to the point of dizziness, and consequently eating like a heifer. I have a feeling that all my suffering will have come to nothing if I carry on like this!

The difference between me and the women in the experiment was that with me, the weight needed to be lost - I had a BMI of 26 (overweight) and now have a more respectable BMI of 25 and don't feel as bloated as before. Watching the documentary though, and seeing what the two women went through to achieve a skinny body shape, I can tell you that I would never ever go to those lengths to lose weight or look good. For one, I love eating too much; two, I don't like getting sweaty; and three, who finds a bag of bones attractive anyway? I think I'll just eat normally but a little more healthier from now on, I'm not cut out for this dieting lark! :)

I hope you've all been well, and I shall definitely spend a few hours catching up on blogs tomorrow. Be good!

Love Panda xx

Hong Kong

When I was little, I was utterly fascinated by my grandparents' way of life, and how different it was to life back home. The house is a three-storey building in the village, with seven bedrooms, and a roof terrace (they had 7 children), and I loved it. To me, it was like a castle, and I could spend hours exploring it.

My grandad would wake at 6am and go straight to the roof to practice his tai chi and kung fu. He was a master of both, and I would watch and copy his movements. I was small and clumsy, and he would laugh affectionately at my weakly controlled attempts at this fine art. He taught me my first kung fu moves up there, whilst the sun appeared on the horizon.

After this, grandad would go through his morning routine of washing and shaving, sweeping the floor, watering the plants, cleaning the house. Then he and my grandma would then get the bus to the morning markets. They would always bring me back something delicious for breakfast.

During the day, grandad would work the small plot of land they used to grow all sorts of vegetables on, selecting only the best ones for dinner. My grandma would wash the clothes by hand, in huge buckets. Even though they had a washing machine, she was terribly old-fashioned, bless her. Then, when the washing was done, she would hang it. This involved stringing the clothes onto huge poles of strong bamboo, which were then propped up by a rack. I would watch, loving the quaintness of this.

Then, grandma would tend to the chickens she kept, making up their feed, sweeping out the run. I would follow her in, in wellington boots several sizes too big, trying and failing to avoid the chicken poo, as children do, and help her feed the chickens.

I remember one time when she decided to kill a chicken for a (buddhist) prayer, and eat for dinner afterwards. I couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old at the time. I was horrified that one of these lively pretty chickens would end up on my plate, but at the same time, I had a morbid curiosity about seeing how this would happen. Grandma passed the live chicken to me while she went to get a knife, instructing me to hold it tightly by the wings so that it wouldn't escape. I did this, looking at the chicken, the chicken looking back, eyes darting everywhere nervously. Then my gran came back, knife in hand, and attempted to slit the chicken's throat whilst I was still holding it. I wasn't expecting this, didn't expect to be taking part in the murder of this animal, and dropped the chicken faster than it could squawk. It ran off, as chickens do, and me and my grandma spent the best part of 20 minutes chasing it around the yard before she caught it again. I found it hilarious and couldn't stop giggling. It makes me smile to think of it now. I don't think I ate the chicken that night... I couldn't stop thinking of it's little eyes looking at me...

It's not quite the same now, when I go back. While I still have fond memories, my grandad has since passed away and my grandma has grown old and frail and has lost her sight. She'll be moving out of her home soon, and no one will be more sad than she. I'd kind of hoped that she and my grandad would grow old together, spending their days in the way I remember so well; tending the gardens, the chickens, the house; spending the afternoons strolling to the communal village area where there would be other people of a similar age chatting and playing cards. Life isn't always so rosy, but I'm glad I was able to witness the idyll of them at their happiest. A simple life with a loving partner - that's how I'd like to live out my last years.

Come 20th December, I will be 80,000 ft in the air, on my way to sunny, warm, bustling Hong Kong, yayyy!

When I was younger, we would do this trip every Christmas to visit my grandparents and other relatives and friends. We always stayed at my maternal granparents' house, in the small, idyllic village of Sheung Wo Hang near the borders of China. Words can't describe how beautiful it is, and what fond memories it holds for me. Pictures don't do it justice, but nevertheless, I shall try and paint you a picture.

The village lies in a low valley between several green mountains. When I'm there, in the mornings, I get up before sunrise so that I can sit outside in the morning dew and wait for the sun wake up, orange and pink, between the mountains. This time of morning is my favourite - the air is pure and clean, you can still hear crickets and all manner of birdsong, but it is peaceful and tranquil - the perfect place for reflection. Then the sun rises higher in the sky, and I can feel it's gentle touch warming my skin and the air around me - bliss. Hong Kong in winter is rather like early summer in Britain, and I love it.

In the afternoons, if we don't already have plans (in HK, this usually means two things - shopping or eating), me and my sister will go down to the village stream - occasionally there will be wrinkly old women washing clothes or vegetables in the water. The water here is clear and clean, having been filtered by the mountains as it runs down. The river is flanked by reeds, bamboo and trees, and prettily coloured dragon flies buzz around. We've spent many a happy afternoon playing here, paddling our feet in the water, catching crabs, shrimps, frogs, and feeding the little fish with breadcrumbs. It is a delicious way to pass the time.

When we tire of the stream, we go walkies in the village. Everyone in the village has a dog - they run free and are curious things. Small wild cats lounge in the sun, but if you get too close, they'll dart away. I love walking the path that follows the stream. You have to cover up here, for fear of being bitten by vicious mosquitoes, but it is worth it. Big purple and white flowers grow where there is water, the bugs hidden amongst the green urge you to admire their singing, and occasionally you'll see things growing that you never do back home - the odd banana, guava, papaya, starfruit and even chow-chows and lychees. I've always been a city girl, but this is my respite.

In the middle of the village are some odd-looking trees that have been here for centuries. They are strange in that they have gnarly, root-like strands growing from their branches - these grow down to the ground, and when they touch the soil, they lignify and eventually thicken to become branches in their own right. This gives it a waterfall-like effect. Behind these trees is a hidden path which leads to another part of the river - the water is deeper here - my mum, aunties and uncles used to come swimming here when they were younger. Beware of snakes though!

The old village school still stands - a very basic building, where all the children, my relatives included, went to school. It's now a museum, and tourists come to see it, and our village. I love that the village has so much history. I love knowing that my mum grew up here and seeing all the places she used to spend time in. I love knowing that this is the birthplace of my ancestors, that everyone here knows everybody else, and are descended from two brothers who settled here from China centuries back.

I love this place to pieces, and one day, I would love to bring my children here and show them where their grandma and great-grandparents grew up. I'd like to expose them to Chinese culture as much as possible, especially growing up abroad, with so many other cultural influences jostling for room. The problem is - I may not get to come here this year, or the next. My aunties and uncles want to put my grandmother into a nursing home, and if so, there will be no cause to come here - to what will be an empty, dusty house that's such a commute to the city. Without my grandma here, it just won't be the same.

Although putting my grandmother in a home makes me very sad, it is a whole other post, and I won't talk about it now. There are so many memories here. Hong Kong, the city, isn't enough to keep me wanting to come back year after year. The village is what I long for when I think of HK - of sunny, lazy days - not the shopping, not even the great food holds much appeal when this setting is missing. I feel like you do when you finish a good book. This chapter in my life has finally come to an end.