*WARNING: Readers’ discretion is advised. For those with naturally vivid imaginations, heed caution as this post may disturb you.

One of the worst weeks of my life happened in London, my favourite city of all time.

Some, being mostly my parents, say I totally deserved it.

Why? Because during my first month in England I ate everything and I mean everything and anything I could get my hands on (mainly because most of it was free).

I ate lots of hor d’eouvres; drank red wine, then sipped some white wine; then devoured finger foods; then drank more red wine; then stuffed my face with cafeteria food; then mixed that in with creamy cakes; then downed a few veggie burgers at the Borough Market; then swallowed presumably bad milk; then…

I collapsed. (All of this took place over a few weeks, not a few days).

Read on for special cure

Appeal to the senses, advertisers are prone to say. If you want to win a consumer’s heart, you must appeal to their senses.

The same theory applies to traveling. I remember every destination not just by how I felt at the time, but also by all those tiny, but special moments that tickled my senses.

And as a lover of eating — taste is my weakest sense if you haven’t already noticed — I talk a lot about food. This is made clear everytime I meet someone from a place I’ve visited.

“BIGGETJES, I LOVE BIGGETJES!” I’d scream to any Dutch person I meet, in reference to the gummy candy. “Do you have any on you by any chance?”

What’s my new obsession in HK?