D-91 to D-88, rude awakening

What a rollercoaster ride our life is at the moment...

First we had a slightly unreal weekend. We were invited to a barbeque on Kowloon, organised by the people whose amazing flat we had watched the fireworks from. I knew these guys were well off, but I had no idea to what extent.

Traditionally, every bbq I have ever been to (or organised myself) has been a short-and-flip-flops kind of affair, with meat casually flung on to a grill and copious cans of San Miguel consumed. Of course that has changed somewhat since Krusty got his giant grilling machine, but still, it's usually quite laid back.

Here we arrived to find a gaggle of girls steeped up high on their Louboutin heels, squeezed into elegant YSL dresses and complaining about how fat they were. (They weren't. They were light years and many, many galaxies away from fat. In fact, isn't the biggest YSL size just a few notches above size 0?).

There were also those outdoor heater parasols to keep us warm, and as many quality grilling tools as you can name. The steaks weren't the usual Hong Kong thin strip of leather, no - they were thick Citysuper affairs, which much have cost at least $300 a pop. The pork chops were iberico, the mozzarella was buffalo, the bread was from Robuchon... Everything was the best of the best.

And to drink? Well, nothing says bbq as much as free-flowing Veuve Clicquot now, does it?! I resisted the tempting orange label to remain true to my self-inflicted alcohol ban, but I gave in spectacularly when a bottle of 1998 Dom Perignon came out. There are limits to my willpower...

I suppose the extravagance of the whole night can be forgiven though, it was a 30th birthday after all. Which brings me to the gifts... We arrived first, so our tiny flat package looked proud on the empty table. But as the guests arrived, so did the presents - a bag from Tiffany & Co, a jereboam of Krug champagne, another big bag from Lane Crawford... It was too late to take ours back, and I would love to have seen the birthday girl's face as she opened it - a guide to swearing in Cantonese! Well, she is trying to learn...

The next day was similarly odd. We went to a friend's housewarming party, and their new flat was huuuggge. It was also really old, and looked like it hadn't been updated since the 30s, which doesn't mean grotty, no - it means beautiful, tiled floors; elegant wooden birdcages; and giant crystal chandeliers. Considering two young men who like loud music are living in it, the atmosphere was very strange. And I am very jealous.

But of course a flat like that comes at the price of living on the fifth floor without a lift. And as my friend Romain pointed out, at our age we have the responsibility of catering for pushchairs... Which reminds me that my cousin is in hospital giving birth right now!

Anyway, we left the party after an urgent call form the man who is making our wedding rings, a character who served in the army before becoming a sailor and then a gem dealer. Not only is this man's history rich in anecdotes, but he is also making our rings for a tiny fraction of the price other shops have quoted us. Anyway, on a recent trip he had found the unfindable - a bag of tiny blue diamonds that I had told him would be my dream to have to match my engagement ring.

I had slipped this in the conversation without any hope of ever seeing it materialise, but here he was, showing me a bag of tiny blue gems that had racked up more air miles than me this year - from being mined in Australia they had flown to Sri Lanka to be cut, then to Israel to be sold and finally to Hong Kong to be on my hand (but not without going via Guangzhou to be set). As our host explained, he mainly does business between Israel and Hong Kong, because neither country has any tax on diamonds, which allows him to slash his prices dramatically, to our great pleasure. Let's see what the result looks like, of course... (you get what you pay for, as my recent wedding dress fitting has taught me - the dress is too short, but there is no more fabric left to make it longer, so I can either make it a mini-skirt wedding, or buy some nice shoes to show off...) We should have our very own wedding bands next Monday. I was very excited.

But then, on Monday, it was back to reality. I now concretely face the prospect of unemployment. And I feel as if I am suspended in mid-air, attached to a rope that is slowly unravelling until my boss decides whether to take out his scissors and puts me out of our misery, or puts a mattress under me and softens my fall.

More to come as the situation unfolds...