Batten down the hatches

So, I was going to blog about the monster of a dessert that I had last night (see picture) but I now may end up treating it as my final meal. (Oh and by the way, I’m not a total pig – I did share this with two other people. And we still didn’t finish it.)

There’s a typhoon a-coming. In about an hour or so. And I’m just a little itsy bitsy teeny weeny bit scared. I have found out that a typhoon is just a region specific name for a cyclone or a hurricane. Hmmm. This does not reassure me. I’ve cancelled my 6.30pm meeting as the warning has gone from T3 to T8. (T10 is a full-blown hit.) Even though it seems quiet and relatively calm outside, the clouds have been racing across the sky and many people have been sent home from work. The mid-level escalators will now shut and I think they will probably stop the ferries.

Oh well, at least this is more important than worrying about all those calories! Having said that, most HKers just laugh and say the government is being overly cautious and I have nothing to fear. But then, they also said that about those aforementioned “occasional cobras”.

Thankfully I’ve been to the supermarket and I’ve got my supplies. Including the most enormous amount of toilet paper ever. Despite the cramped living spaces and the obsession with miniaturising everything, you can only buy an individual roll of toilet paper in your corner store, or in a 10-roll pack at the supermarket. Now where the hell am I going to store this???

5 things I’ve learned in my first week in HK

1. Despite the fact that it’s ridiculously hot and humid at the moment (around 32-35 degrees Celsius), and as an Irish person I’m dying from the heat (we’re talking three-showers-a-day kinda heat), I’ve been told that I shouldn’t talk about “sweating”. I must ignore the fact that as soon as I step outside, beads of perspiration roll from my neck, gathering speed as they pour down my back until they soak into my clothes and my underwear. No folks, I’m not sweating, I’m glowing. Hmm…

2. Further to the above point on the heat, if I want to act like a local, then I must dress like one. I have been warned that in the middle of winter, the temperature drops to a freezing 10-15 degrees. People die from the cold here. Apparently I will need a thick wool coat – and maybe a scarf and gloves too. In fact, the shops are already selling winter coats and jumpers. Of course, if it was 15 degrees in Ireland, I’d be running around in a t-shirt. But I must not talk about that. Keep quiet and button up!

3. If you’re walking along the street and you feel a large plop landing on you – fear not! It’s not bird shit. It’s just condensation from someone’s air conditioning unit high above you. Soon I hope to stop jumping in the air while flapping my arms about every time this happens. I also haven’t seen any birds in the sky, so no doubt this will help. (Is this linked to the pollution?!)

4. Creatures are scary here. Have already seen quite a few cockroaches on the street. And a rat (which my friends swear was a medium sized mouse. Now it was either a giant mouse or a rat, and my money is on the rat). Also, while someone was telling me about the wonders of living in Sai Kung (a fishing village in the New Territories – I’ve been and yes, it is rather lovely), they did mention in passing that one can find the occasional cobra sitting on one’s doorstep. Only a small one, mind. Fuck that. I’m staying in the city…

5. Every city divided by a river is also divided by its inhabitants who argue over which side is better. In Cork it’s bad, in London it’s even worse, but here it’s fricking ridiculous. Hong Kong Island is predominantly where the expat community live, whereas Kowloon is described as “more Chinese”. Both sides think the other is rubbish. HKers argue that Kowloon is “the dark side”, that it’s impossible to get to, it’s dirty, etc. A bit like the way North Londoners view South London. Kowlooners (Kowloonies?!) think HK Island is full of visiting foreigners, that it’s sterile, and that it’s a rip-off.

Now here’s the joke. You can take the MTR (tube/metro/subway) from Central (the main station in Hong Kong) to TST (the main station in Kowloon) in less than 10 minutes because they’re only two stops away from each other. Of course, have I decided which side I want to live on yet? No. Arse. Where am I going to live???

Hungry Ghostbusters

Ghosts – and ravenous ones at that – have been swarming round Hong Kong recently. It’s the annual Hungry Ghost Festival, which one friend succinctly described as “Chinese Halloween”. People burn paper money and goods to pass onto their ancestors in the afterlife. And they do this on the street. In a bucket. Turns out the people I saw weren’t mad tramps after all, but respectful citizens.

Shops in Sheung Wan do a roaring trade selling replica cardboard products for budding pyromaniacs – Sony tvs, mini BMWs, Vertu mobile phones, Louis Vuitton bags – you name it, they’ve got a paper version of it. I actually had to fight the urge to buy the replica LV with the intention of passing it off as a super limited edition bag from Hong Kong.

Another friend wagged her finger at me, warning me (a) not to steal the fruit offerings left out on the pavement and (b) not to flick my cigarette butt into one of the metal buckets used for the mini bonfire. Who? Me? As if I would…

Burma VJ

What would it take to make you be strong enough to sacrifice your life for a cause? That was all I could think about having watched Burma VJ, a documentary which collates footage supplied by various video journalists working for DVB, an independent media company condemned by the junta ruled state.

The courage required to partake in a peaceful protest, knowing that there was a high risk of death, is mind-boggling. In Burma, there is no such thing as safety in numbers. Demonstrations are banned. Members of the army can and will shoot civilians. Part of the reason, I imagine, is to show face. They cannot let the population get caught up in a “power to the people” movement in case they overthrow the government.

When the monks starting marching in September 2007 (part of a number of anti-government protests to remove fuel subsidies which caused the price of diesel and petrol to suddenly rise as much as 100%), people thought it would be safe to join them. The government is Buddhist and respects the monks. Their respect, however, was something of the past. This time they shot the monks too.

The film made me question whether I would have joined the protests. I believe in the cause, but would I have laid my life on the line to defend it? Probably not. I’ve already shown myself to be a lazy and selfish world citizen by having never attended a single demonstration in the past.

What is even more remarkable about this documentary is the courage demonstrated by the video journalists. Being caught filming runs the risk of imprisonment, torture, death or all three.

I urge you to watch this film for two reasons.
1. It is an interesting perspective on what’s happening in Burma, made even more relevant by the recent sentencing of Aung San Su Kyi.
2. Human courage never ceases to amaze me. And it makes me question what are the things I really believe in and how far I would go to defend these beliefs.

Ps – If you’re London-based, then there will be a screening at the Prince Charles Cinema off Leicester Square at 6.20pm on the 11th September 2009.

Enter a Fox

I grew up in Cork. A city, but one that was not that far from the country. I saw the usual rural animals – cows, goats, sheep and the like. But the most interesting animals I’ve seen have been the ones I’ve spotted since I moved to London.

Squirrels. I still can’t get my head around people who say they’re just rats with bushy tales. I absolutely love ‘em, ever since I first saw them in Hyde Park. This year I’ve been blessed by being able to watch them cavort on my balcony. Admittedly they’re only there so they can have a nose in my recycling bin (which has proved fruitless) or have a rummage in our potted plants (which are dead anyway, due to our communal lack of green fingers). It also amuses me to think of the destruction they’ve caused to our neighbours’ beautifully manicured flowers. Oh dear…I’m sure I’ll go to hell for that.

Badgers. Another creature I first spotted in the UK. I was looking out the window when I was on a train back to London when I spied a dead one on the tracks. Well…I was hardly going to spot at live one in the middle of the day, was I?

Which leads me to one of my favourite London inhabitants – the fox. We have quite a few in our neighbourhood and I was enamoured the first time I saw one. Yes, they’re annoying when they shriek in the night (I’ve since been informed that they do this while having sex – filthy beasts), but I love them nonetheless. While visiting my friend Gloria in south London, I encountered one on my walk back to the tube. This was the first fox I’d seen with a “fuck you” attitude. I walked along the pavement behind it and it stopped and glared at me, as if to say “how dare you try and take over my neck of the woods”. Ahhh yes, a fox with attitude – how indicative of London inhabitants in general.


Postscript: After writing this on the tube, a fox crossed in front of me on my street as I walked home – hadn’t seen an a fox for months, then two in one night!

And this post is named after the book I'm currently reading by Simon Gray.

Deaf as well as dumb?

I am sitting on the Stansted Express trying to write about the whole icky affair that was my appendicitis (coming soon to a blog near you...the story that is, not the appendicitis) and there’s a very annoying noise coming from the seat behind me. In fact, it’s a series of annoying noises that may be emanating from a series itself. A couple – white European looking types – are watching something on their laptop…WITHOUT HEADPHONES. Good god – is this what modern life has given us? Bad enough that one frequently has to listen to the whining sounds leaking from people’s iPods – but now these mofos can’t even be bothered to use headphones. I give up. I feel like an old complaining woman, but there you have it. The mind of a 90 year old trapped in the body of a 28 year old. I’ve even done the British thing and stared at them three times. Each time, they’ve acknowledged the stare and subsequently done nothing. The guy sitting opposite me has just got up and moved. I’m loathe to follow suit having secured such a good seat when I boarded, but there’s nothing for it if I want to continue to write. In my little Irish head, I’m shaking my fist, while shouting “bloody foreigners”. Oh well, perhaps one of our beloved hoodrats will relieve them of their laptop during their visit to the Big Smoke. Ahhh…that’s made me feel better…

Painting by numbers

So my excuse for not writing on my blog is that I've actually been writing elsewhere. Here's an article I wrote for RWD magazine - currently available in all good record shops and in Footlocker. Click on the image should you be interested in reading the actual text!

Freeness in London

One of the best things about this city is the number of free things that are available to do. Even better is the free education on offer. A number of museums, galleries, book stores and assorted venues frequently offer free (or cheap) talks. I recently went to one at the Wellcome Collection on Euston Road - an amazing venue where science collides with art. I wrote about it for Ctrl+Alt+Shift - you can read the article here.

The talk on disorders was linked to an exhibition of diary entries by the artist Bobby Baker. I only managed to get round half the exhibition before I had to scoot off for dinner, but I am determined to go back. I loved her candour, honesty and truthfulness (sorry - have just recently be reading a piece about Americans' love of linking three similar adjectives together to try to sound intelligent) and her style is reminiscent of Quentin Blake (who used to illustrate for Roald Dahl).

Winter sun

The sun hung blindingly low in the sky. She continued walking down the street, into the light, into the glare, into the sun, unable to see anything.

Why was the sun so low? Was the pressure from the heavens bearing down upon the sun? Or was the earth so jubilant at its appearance that it chose to rise up to meet it? Who knew? All she did know was that she couldn’t see a blasted thing as she strode through the town but that was ok.

Maybe she didn’t want to see anything because her mind was occupied with the thought of someone else. And how that person might change the direction her life would take.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

All barriers, no action

Walked through the city this morning on my way to Liverpool Street station to catch a tube to work. There were barriers everywhere in anticipation of the protests – this year’s April Fool’s Day has been renamed Financial Fool’s Day and a number of demonstrations have been organised in and around the city of London. Never before have I seen so many scared looking office security guards or bored looking city workers.

The media seem to have been hyping up the event. Despite reports suggesting that there are around 4,000 protestors and 8,000 police, the media is gagging for some action. In the online news footage, viewers can see masses of TV cameramen and press photographers, seemingly making up the majority of the frontline scrum of surging people. Some news stations are reporting an escalation of violence. This, it turns out, means 19 arrests and four broken RBS windows. Hmmm. Not particularly news worthy. Compare that will the violence of the May Day protests in 2000.

Anyway, maybe we shouldn’t be worrying about bankers, and we should, in the words of Brian, consider the lilies of the field. What have they done for the global economy, eh???

BRIAN: Consider the lilies! …
WOMAN: Consider the lilies?
BRIAN: Well, the birds, then.
MAN: What birds?
BRIAN: Any birds.
MAN: What about them?
BRIAN: Well, have they got jobs?
MAN: Who?
BRIAN: The birds.
MAN: Have the birds got jobs?
MAN 2: What’s the matter with ‘im?
MAN: He says the birds are scroungers.
BRIAN: Look, the point is, the birds, they do all right, don’t they?
MAN 2: Yes, and good luck to ‘em.
MAN 3: Yes, they’re very pretty.
BRIAN: OK! And you’re MUCH more important than they are, so what are you worrying about; there you are, see?
MAN: I’m worried about what you’ve got against birds.
BRIAN: I haven’t got ANYTHING against the birds! Consider the lilies…
MAN: He’s having a go at the flowers now.
MAN 2: Oh, give the flowers a chance.

Radio Free Europe

The dude swaggered along the upstairs deck of the bus. Securing a two-seater. he spread his legs wide as he sat down. He flicked his radio on and the sound of durrtty dancehall emitted from the tinny speakers.

The other passengers shuffled in their seats. Hadn’t he seen the sign that read “Don’t play music out loud, please use headphones”? Some twitched with annoyance. Some made tutting noises. Some decided to be brave and turned round in their seats to glare at the dude. Brief glares, but glares nonetheless.

The dude was oblivious as he nodded his head to the riddims. Although maybe he wasn’t quite so oblivious. Maybe he could tell full well that his music was pissing off the other passengers but he just didn’t care.

The girl smiled to herself. The British reserve amused her. She loved the anger within the people that refused to manifest itself into any form of action. No one was actually going to say something. They would just hope that their collective anger would form a dark cloud over the dude, causing him to realise his social faux-pas and turn his radio off.

But by the time the girl was about to disembark, there was no indication that this was going to happen. And the girl laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed.

In search of the wrong season

Constable.Yes, Constable. That was what she thought as she sat on the train as it cantered through the countryside in the dappled sunlight. Except for the barbed wire fencing, it could have been one of his paintings. Well, that and the traffic speeding alongside the tracks, which was also destroying her view.

Strange. She had taken this journey a countless number of times but the thought had never crossed her mind before. Maybe it was due to the unsocialable hours in which she usually made the journey, those almost vampric periods of dawn and dusk. Maybe it was because the English weather was generally so goddamn awful that she never got to experience this beautiful, painterly light.

It somehow filled her with a longing for autumn, which was rather perverse given that part of the reason the land looked so lush was because spring had not long commenced. But that was typical of the girl – always longing for the things in the future while failing to appreciate those in the present…

Postcard from Waterloo Bridge

She walked over Waterloo Bridge. To her right, the National Theatre was engulfed with flames of crimson light and to her left, the London Eye glowed a malevolent red. It was like the Southbank was trying to pretend that nightfall hadn’t yet arrived, that it was still sunset. An eternal sunset that would last till dawn. And yet, it wasn’t a comforting light. It was an angry light. Like London was raging against the darkness – drawing battle lines against the black night sky.

The mood had filtered down to the people on the bridge. People marched across it, looking neither left nor right, yet subconsciously absorbing the colours of aggression. No one looked up.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what Waterloo Bridge was about. Usually the pedestrians never contemplated the origins of this bridge’s name. Why think about battles and wars when London’s beauty was spread out around them? This was a bridge for romantics. But tonight, the lovers had chosen to go elsewhere…

The girl with braces

She stood at the bus stop and tried not to stare at the couple who were desperately clutching at each other. The girl had train tracks and smiled longingly at the boy.

She immediately started wondering about the potential dangers of snogging someone with metal strapped to their teeth before remembering that she once had train tracks too. Top and bottom. Had she made out with boys back then? She couldn’t recall. Surely she must have done. She remembered when she was a teenager dispassionately kissing a boy behind a bus at a campsite on the west coast of Ireland. She must have had braces then – hell – she had them for most of her adolescence.

The couple moved off. She tried to look discretely to see where they were going. Her discretion was unnecessary. They were too wrapped up in one another to notice this random girl staring after them.

It was cold.

It was, in fact, very cold. She wished that the man she was in love with was with her. If his arms were wrapped around her, then she wouldn’t have been looking at other couples – at a girl with braces. But maybe it was ok to be alone. Maybe it makes you take stock of what’s important, makes you realise what you really want. Makes you aware of how much you long for that particular person.

Then the bus came thundering down the road and she bounded onto it. And she was happy because it was warm. And she was happy because, when she was waiting at the bus stop, she had decided that as soon as the bus arrived, that she would sit on the top deck and write down what was going through her mind while she had been waiting at the bus stop. She would write it for him.

Delays

There were delays on the central line again. Typical. Why were there always delays when she was in a hurry, or late for something?

Like sardines in a can, they sat and waited at Holborn station. Some people escaped from the train, but the girl stayed in her seat, ever hopeful that the train would move. After five minutes of sitting in expectation, there was an announcement from the driver asking all passengers to disembark as the tube was terminating at that station. As her feet touched the platform, a pre-recorded and very English voice came over the intercom: “London underground wishes to apologise for the disruption to your journey. This was due to a body being under another train.”

“Oh God”, she thought to herself. “How can I live in a city that has an automated message for when someone takes their life under a tube?”

The scary thing was, she had already been contaminated by the London disease because the next thing she thought was that she could have saved herself five minutes had she gotten off the tube when she first heard about the delay…