Hamish McKenzie takes the 'home holiday' theme one step further – by spending an entrie weekend in his bedroom (without the internet!)

Read our other features:
Get out
Learning to let go
Romancing Sai Kung
Water mess
 

9am, Saturday, June 21, t-48 hours Okay, it has started. I’m locked, loaded, and ready to remain within the confines of my 100-square-foot, Lamma Island bedroom for 48 hours. Supplies have been gathered. Peanuts, marshmallows, potato chips, bananas, cheap whisky, can of tuna, and various other dry foods are at the ready. I even thought to buy water. My sheets are freshly cleaned, my rubbish bin empty. I have my speakers, my Macbook, and an avocado sandwich. I’m like a freaking astronaut – an astronaut on a mission to Loserville, population: one.

According to the rules laid down by my editors, I’m allowed one book, two magazines, two movies, unlimited music, and toilet breaks as required. What I’m not allowed is the internet. There was discussion about also banning sex (nothing was mentioned about the self-administered variety), but the detail was, tantalisingly, unconfirmed. Not that I could find anyone to have it with.

So here I am. A glorious weekend of sunshine ahead of me, and I’ll be here in my room, with its pallid white walls and four-poster bed (yeah, seriously – it was cheap, and awesome).

My flatmate Andrew, a Canadian guy in his 20s, has just dropped in to inform me he’s off to the beach. Wanker. I’m going back to sleep.

Noon Just woke up. Three hours gone, just like that. This is going to be too easy. Booya!

1.16pm I’m reading a shit book about a gigolo that I have to review for the magazine. This dude is one smug sonofabitch whose idea of a good time is to tell everyone who sucked his dick and how. I take comfort in the fact he writes like a four-year-old.

4.07pm Now that I’ve turned the aircon on, the room is a tolerable temperature. I’ve even decided to get dressed.

Some text messages from friends:

"Your life sucks more than mine"

"Don’t even think about going to pee!"

"How’s the house arrest?"

"Best weather ever. Really."

What they don’t realise is that you don’t need fresh air to enjoy yourself. You only need a bottle of $68 whisky.

4.53pm Right. Time for a movie, I feel. Because of the strict, two-movies-only rule, I considered selecting the re-edited cut of The Godfather trilogy, which has all three films rolled into one eight-and-a-half-hour marathon, or even nine-hour documentary Shoah (an incisive look at the holocaust), just to help pass the time. But when it came to the crunch, I buckled and chose Blades of Glory. Don’t tell my bohemian friends.

7.07pm Surprise! Blades of Glory turned out to be a heartfelt interrogation of the complex dichotomy of agony and ecstasy in competitive sport within the context of today’s post-moral society. I even watched the two special features. My conclusion: not enough boobies. Two stars.

7.15pm My flatmate’s back. He’s taunting me by loudly celebrating the fact he’s on the internet in the next room. Being sure to keep my feet in my room, I poked my head out the door to look round the corner. He beat me back with an umbrella.

8.05pm Andrew says there are seven hot girls in their late 20s having a rooftop party next door. I refuse to believe him – there has never at one time been seven hot girls under 30 on Lamma. He reckons he’s going to go over there for an octosome.

8.54pm My friend David has just arrived with beer. He ordered us pizza. He said: “This bed’s awesome – I mean, a four-poster!” I always did like David.

12.31am After numerous threats of a trip to a local bar, Andrew and David have left the building. Possibly just to get beers from downstairs, but, perhaps more possibly, to attend the aforementioned bar. Whatever happens, I win. I have finished day one. I can sleep as a man satisfied.

Sunday, June 22, 12.07pm Well, they did come back last night with more beer. I fell to slumber before I could finish it, and managed to stay asleep until 11.30am. Woot. But my heart slumped when I looked out my window. Another blue-sky day, no clouds. Hong Kong, why are you doing this to me?

1.35pm Ever the diligent worker bee, I have compiled a to-do list of seven things I wanted to get done this weekend. I’m quite pleased with my productivity – I’ve so far managed to cross one item off the list.

2.20pm I wrote a haiku:

Stuck in my bedroom
While the sun blazes blue sky
Fuck I am stupid

3.53pm Now I’m getting to the real test of my sanity. I’ve been in here almost 19 hours, my food supplies are running low, my legs are starting to atrophy, and my aroma is becoming yet more pungent. Lesser men would buckle in the face of such adversity, but I am determined to see this through. McKenzie will not be defeated. And I still have that whisky.

4.24pm I just wrote a book review (see above) in 24 minutes. Suck on that.

7pm Just watched Million Dollar Baby? Man, that Hillary Swank is the best male actor since Marlon Brando, and her character’s ultimate confinement makes my weekend bedroom escapade look like a walk in Wan Chai. Four stars.

9.15pm Tina and Bourree have arrived after a marathon mission trying to kayak around Cheung Chau. Based on their presence in my room, I believe they survived. They brought beer and sushi. I’m counting on them to keep me entertained throughout the dying hours of the evening. No, not in that way. Okay, maybe in that way.

10.26pm The girls have gone. I’m in the closing stages. I can taste victory. It’s $68 whisky from here on in. I expect plain sailing. Best staycation ever.

11.05pm Andrew has just asked how many mentions he gets in the story. I just read them all to him. After reading the latest and saying, “That’s the last mention you get,” he said, and I quote: “Waaaaaaaarrrrrr77777rrrrhhh!”.

11.50pm Aight. I’m going to bed. As far as I’m concerned, this game is won. Only one problem – the time rules weren’t as carefully devised as perhaps they should have been. Taking 9am Monday as the end time for the incarceration period means that I’m inevitably going to be late for work (damn you, Lamma ferries). I hope my editor will forgive me (hint, hint). I can’t wait to get online tomorrow morning. I must have as many as two – maybe three – emails waiting for me in my inbox. Quite likely they’ll be providing useful tips on how to enlarge my p#$&s (penis).

Monday, June 23, 9am Victory is mine. Shower time.

Read our other features:
Get out
Learning to let go
Romancing Sai Kung
Water mess