Beijing is grey today. The sun is an orange ball, and it oddly reminds me of home in summer: watching the sun through the smoke of a bushfire, when it glowed hot and angry behind the clouds, and you could stare straight at it without hurting your eyes.
Beijing is clogged by thick, polluted air. The fog of the city is hanging everywhere: unexcited, uninspiring, unclean. At lunch, I noticed that the filth had permeated the new shopping centre next door: the top floors of the atrium were blurry and distant, as if everything was gently on fire.
Urgh. This is slowly having an impact on my mood: hopefully it clears soon. It’s hard to be happy when you’re surrounded by grey.