Singapore 1992 – The Weighing Machine

The weighing machine in Chinatown was rather exciting. It had not only told me my weight, (which was pleasantly low at the time, as I had been recovering from the illness, I had contracted in Bali) but it had doled out little cards, with comments on our character. I had stuck mine in my travel journal, as it had been so uncannily accurate.

The illness was the same illness which had caused my mother to be visited by a health official upon my return to the UK.

“You are the sort of person who sticks to his ideals, even in the face of great difficulty.”

The machine was obviously better at determining weight and character, than detecting whether I was male or female.
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