Describe an activity that made you lose track of time

The activity I want to talk about is sketching. I am not a professional, but I like drawing with a black pen, especially old buildings. One time it made me completely forget about the time.

It was on a Saturday last April. After lunch I went to an old teahouse in a park in Chengdu, because I wanted to draw it. My plan was staying there one hour and then going home to study.

I found a table in the corner and I ordered some jasmine tea. The teahouse has a very beautiful roof and many bamboo chairs, and there were some old men who played mahjong very noisily. I started with the roof, then the chairs, then I tried to draw the people, which is the most difficult part. The waiter come many times to add hot water in my cup, but I didn't even notice. Also I put my phone in my bag, so nobody disturbed me. One old man came and looked at my drawing and he said it is not bad, which made me very happy.

When I finally looked up, they were already turning on the lanterns and the staffs were collecting the chairs. I was there almost six hours! Afterwards my neck was very stiff and I was hungry like a wolf, but in my mind I felt very peaceful, like after a long sleep.

An activity that made me completely lose track of time was sketching an old teahouse in Chengdu. I'm not trained or anything, but I've been doing pen-and-ink drawings of old buildings for a couple of years, and I find it incredibly absorbing.

It was one Saturday last April. I went to the teahouse in a park near my university straight after lunch, telling myself I'd do a quick sketch in an hour and then go back and revise.

What I loved about it was how much there were to look at. It's a wooden building with a curved tiled roof, surrounded by bamboo, and it's always packed with retired men playing mahjong and arguing loudly. I started with the roof, then worked my way down to the rows of bamboo chairs, and finally tried to capture some of the players, which was the hardest part. A waiter kept topping up my jasmine tea, but I barely registered him. I'd left my phone in my bag, so there was nothing to break my concentration, and at one point an old man leaned over my shoulder and said it wasn't bad at all, which made my day.

When I eventually looked up, the staff were stacking chairs and the lanterns were coming on. Nearly six hours had gone by. Physically I was a wreck, my neck was stiff and I was absolutely starving, but mentally I felt calm and clear, as if I'd had a really deep sleep.

For me it has to be sketching, and one afternoon in particular. I've been doing pen-and-ink drawings of old buildings for a couple of years, purely as a hobby, and nothing else I do swallows time quite like it.

It was a Saturday last April, warm and a little hazy. I wandered over to an old teahouse in a park near my campus in Chengdu just after lunch, fully intending to dash off a sketch in an hour and get back to my revision.

The place is a draughtsman's dream: a timber pavilion with upturned eaves, hemmed in by bamboo and crammed with retired men slapping down mahjong tiles and bickering good-naturedly. I began with the roofline and gradually worked down through the jumble of bamboo chairs to the players themselves, which is where it got genuinely hard, because people refuse to keep still. A waiter must have refilled my jasmine tea a dozen times, and I honestly couldn't tell you when. My phone was buried in my bag, and the only interruption all afternoon was an elderly man peering over my shoulder and grunting that it wasn't bad, which I took as high praise.

Then I glanced up and the lanterns were on and the staff were stacking chairs around me. Six hours had simply vanished. Physically, I paid for it: my neck had locked, my hand was cramping and I was ravenous. But my head felt wonderfully quiet, rather like the stillness after a long swim, and I walked home feeling more rested than if I'd spent the afternoon asleep.