When the night of the handover finally arrives, hundreds of Hong Kong people will take their places on cue.
Socialites will mingle among their brethren at dinner parties, visiting government officials will revel in the pomp of the handover ceremony, and ravers will bury themselves in blackness and music, flailing about in the hours, minutes, seconds before the long-awaited countdown.
But elsewhere, chefs will scramble around the organised chaos of their kitchens, pager operators will take umpteen 'Happy Handover' greetings and taxi drivers will crank up the radio, drowning out the drunken customers crammed into their little red cars - the colour that will seem all the more festive in the context of the night.
There will be others, however, who will be cut off from the main show, without a television or radio to allow them to witness a crucial turning point in Hong Kong's history.
'It will be like Christmas time, when they turn on the lights and you want to be there, just to experience that moment. Any other time, you aren't concerned, you don't really care. But just at that moment, it's important,' says Chan Yin-pan, referring to the fireworks, which for him symbolise the handover celebrations.
The 25-year-old police constable will be manning the inquiry desk at the Wan Chai Police Station from mid-afternoon until just an hour shy of midnight on June 30, just in time to catch the handover ceremony on television - an event he is less concerned about since he cannot take part.