Labels given to emotional ups and downs can determine how you feel. That is a contention of The Loss of Sadness, whose authors explore how psychiatry has transformed normal sorrow into depression. Although I wasn't after a name for my dark mood, I picked up the book after figuring I had come down with a bad case of SAD. Perhaps the rain was to blame for my Seasonal Affective Disorder. It had dampened my spirits by sabotaging my renovation schedule and bloating my budget.
I was lucky not to have been submerged like other Hongkongers but I did wonder why, with forecasts predicting bucket loads of rain, my contractor proceeded with the one task that requires good weather: window replacement.
So on the day the Observatory issued an amber rainstorm warning, my ground-floor flat was the only home on the street that looked as though it was ready to party. Perforated in seven places, it also appeared to be sheltering under a holey Mackintosh, which it sort of was. Only a half-collapsed awning at the front - left by the previous owner because it was a hassle to disassemble - provided protection against a raging Thor.
When his temper subsided and Ra came out to play, I joined my workers downstairs to survey the mess. Surprisingly little rain had entered through the side windows although the construction rubbish on the terrace had become an amorphous mess.
'Is this yours?' Ah Ming asked, gripping a bunch of instruction booklets and warranty cards disintegrating through his fingers.
'Who left them outside?' I asked.