Thanks to the wonders of the modern business airport lounge, I have approximately an half-hour in which to write. So I've done the compulsary checking on the Asia Blog Awards (have you voted for me yet?) and now its time to get on with it.

Cast your mind back to Saturday. Despite the approach of Hong Kong's winter, Saturday morning was blessedly fine. Warm. Slight cooling breeze. All in all, a perfect day for a 3 year old birthday party. Mrs M, which her usual military like precision, had everything organised to a T. As she put it herself, if she could organise conferences for 3,000 people (her old job), organising a party for 35 kids shouldn't be too hard. Being the male of the house, my tasks were simple. Continually offer to help despite none being needed, and schlepping everything from our apartment to the playground and back.

We got JC (the birthday girl) dressed in her favourite Princess costume (thanks Disney). Then PB got dressed in her purple fairy outfit. Dainty she ain't, but she was darn cute. Tables, food, drinks, bowls, platters, music, arts, crafts and assorted bits and pieces were dutifully moved to the shady spot in the playground and then the waiting game began. It did perturb me slightly that JC was inviting more people the her birthday party than people I knew in HK. But she takes after her mother in the making friends stakes so it was lucky it wasn't more.

People started arriving. The music was cranking. The arts and crafts activities were laid out. All we needed were the cops. And sure enough, Disneyland security obliged. A security guard hestitantly approached and asked our apartment number. This was not a good sign. It meant we were to be written down in one of the hundreds of notebooks all the guards have, recorded the comings and goings of everyone in the Disneyland compound. I often wonder what they say. "White male took small dog out. Returned later with small dog. Got into lift and returned to apartment." It's a bestseller that's writing itself.

So I adopt the traditional male posture in such situations. I asked the man what the problem was. It was 10:30am. Surely The Wiggles CD wasn't too loud? We were camped in only one corner of the playground, and indeed were the only people in the place. But sure enough, within 15 minutes of the party starting, someone had complained. Complained because they weren't invited, I asked? Apparently sarcasm doesn't translate well. The security guard left and was soon replaced by the head of the Disneyland complex. Yes, the issue had escalated. After assurances we would clean the mess after the party finished and a promise of no nudity or violence the Disneyland people were placated and the party could carry on.

The food was devoured. The chalk was spread across the ground. The photo frames were decorated. The parents did the chatting, the kids did the running around. At the right time, the birthday cake appeared, the usual song was sung, and all was right with the world. I know all this because being the father I had to video and photograph the whole thing. I've got it all to a point where I can video and take the photos at the same time. Try that next time you're also singing happy birthday with your 18 month old clinging to your leg with her chocolate smeared faced. The goodbye gifts were distributed, the hugs and kisses were made and the party petered out.

We schlepped everything back to the apartment, including the gifts. JC and PB had a much needed snooze while we cleaned everything up. But JC could smell the presents. She soon stirred and we were sitting on the rug opening them. I commented to Mrs M how it reminded me of my excitement when I did the opening when I was young and how it's now my turn to watch. She agreed with the sentiment but still said I wasn't allowed to open any of them. Damnit! There was a great variety of gifts. There was the Snow White Barbie. The Sleeping Beauty Barbie. The Barbie make-up set. The Barbie jewellery set. And for something different, there was the costume dolls from the Princess series (which is Disney's rival to Mattel's Barbie). Say what you like about JC but she's easy to buy for. There were other gifts besides the Barbie army and some were generous in the extreme. Indeed to the point were almost embarassed by the generosity. Suffice to say half the gifts were surreptiously removed from JC's grasp and placed aside for another time. Too much at once and she'd be bouncing off the walls for days.

That evening Mrs M's sister was arriving for a visit. We decided to head to the new IFC cinema for a film before we picked her up from the Airport Express next door. We never go to the airport to pick someone up. I imagine some of our visitors think we are rude not to offer to come to the airport. But once they get the train they quickly understand the reasoning. Quick, efficient and easy. So we march up to the movie box office. Yes there are still some seats to whatever Hollywood pap is on offer. They are right at the front. So dinner it was. Ironically we had Japanese in honour of my impending visit to Tokyo. Spent some time doing our favourite thing: browsing in bookstores. Got Mrs M's sister and happily returned home, passing the glowing lights of HK's Christmas decorations and neon signs.

Sunday was blissfully quiet and blog-free. I didn't think about the blog once. No seperation anxiety at all. Indeed I walked right past the computers at the airport lounge and didn't heed the siren call of the a quick entry. Actually the truth is I didn't see the computers until I walked out, which lead to a very big D'oh! Instead we spent the morning at Nathan Road, mooching the shops a little and letting the girls enjoy the trains. Lunch at the food hall in Pacific Place with 1,000 of our dearest friends, but PB's unique eating style with rice meant we were given a reasonably wide berth (read one metre) and ate in comfort.

There's plenty more about the wonders of my visit to Tokyo, but that's for the next post.