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Goodbye   Hong   Kong 


Hello   Xianggang 


Ni^'/ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

IVIulticultural  Canada;  University  of  Toronto  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/goodbyehongkonghOOvitt 


Goodbye  Hong  Kong,  Hello  Xianggang 
by  Nury  Vittachi 


Edited  by 
Stephanie  Mitchell 


Art  Directed  by 

Andrew  Rutherford 


Cover  Illustration  by 

Robin  Whyler 


\  South  China  Morning  Post  Book 


Ca«vada-Hong  Kong  Resource  Ct-Ur^ 

I  Si»*>nc  Cnutm.  Ka  III*  TorcMo.  C^i.^,   ■  w  i;;  i  .\  i 


All  rights  reserved.  This  book  is  sold  subject 
to  the  condition  that  it  shall  not,  by  way  of 
trade  or  otherwise,  be  lent,  resold,  hired 
out,  or  otherwise  circulated  without  the 
publisher's  prior  consent  in  any  form  of 
binding  or  cover  other  than  that  in  which  it 
is  published  and  without  a  similar  condition 
including  this  condition  being  imposed  on 
the  subsequent  publisher.  This  Includes 
electronic  versions.  The  moral  right  of  the 
author  has  been  asserted. 


Goodbye  Hong  Kong,  Hello  Xianggang 

©  Nury  Vittachi,  1997 

A  South  China  Morning  Post  Book 

Published  byO'Donald  Publications 

ISBN  962-815-04-6 

Printed  in  Hong  Kong  by  Midas  Printing  Ltd 

First  Impression,  March  1997 


Book  One:  How  to  be  taken  over 


Phase  one:      Goodbye  Hong  Kong,  Hello  Xianggang 
Phase  two:      What  You  Need  To  Know 
Phase  three:   The  History  Of  Hong  Kong 

(1)  (An  exclusive  interview  with  British  historian 
the  Rt  Hon  Terry  Sinter-Waffle) 

(2)  (An  exclusive  interview  with  Ho  Chi-kin, 
geomancer  and  almanac  writer) 

Phase  four:     Guide  To  The  Governors 
Phase  five:      The  Name's  Bon.  Tsim-see  Bon. 
Phase  six:       Veni.  Vidi.  Vici.  Video. 
Phase  seven:  What  A  Good  Sport  - 

A  gentle  allegory  of  Hong  Kong  politics 


Book  Two:  Louise  Fraud  and  the  immense  tailor 
In  Hong  Kong,  wonders  never  cease 

1.  This  Caller  Is  Being  Terminated 
(Transcripts  of  real  telephone  conversations! 

2.  How  To  Become  A  Property  Tycoon 
(A  true  story  of  intrigue  and  greed) 

3.  And  The  Winner  Is... 

(Awards  for  those  who  added  to  the  sum  of  human  hilarity) 

4.  Louise  Fraud  And  The  Immense  Tailor 
(Businesses  actually  operate  under  these  names) 


5.  City  On  A  Staircase 

(A  vignette  of  Hong  Kong  life) 


6.  The  President's  Massage 

(Memorable  "misprunts"  from  around  the  region) 


7.  Your  Uncensored  Chinese  Horoscope 
(Dr  Fung  reveals  all) 


8.  The  Ultimate  "Only  In  Hong  Kong"  Stories 
(Believe  it) 


9.  Our  Job  Is  To  Enjoy  You 
(Advertising  slogans  you'll  never  forget) 


10.  Joint  Venture 

(Of  handcuffs  and  suffering  for  one's  art) 


11.  Someone  Actually  Said  That? 
(Your  ears  aren't  playing  tricks) 


12.  This  Is  Your  Captain  Shrieking 
(A  note  for  busmess  travellers) 


13.  Play  It  Again,  Ah-Sum 

(A  vignette  from  a  rural  island) 


14.  Moving  Experiences 

(How  to  get  around  in  Hong  Kong) 


15.  Acne  Chan  And  The  Wonderful  Basket 
(These  names  are  real,  I'm  sorry  to  say) 


16.  The  Great  Tandoori  Mystery 
(International  cuisine:  an  appetiser) 


17.  All  Vegetarians  Digested  Here 
(A  main  course) 


18.  Hutch  Life  And  Fatal  Tights 
(Products  you  need) 


19.  Blocks  And  blockheads 
(Names  of  buildings  in  Hong  Kong) 


20.  Mean  Business 

(Anecdotes  from  the  world  of  commerce) 


21.  The  Perfect  Crime...  Not 
(Dumb  criminal  stories) 


22.  The  Truth  About  Santa  Claus 
(Christmas:  Made  in  Asia) 


Book  Three:  What  a  wonderful  world 


1 .  How  To  Take  Jokes  Through  Immigration 
(A  serious  look  at  cross-border  humour) 


2.  What  a  Wonderful  World 
(Tales  from  around  Asia) 


3.  The  Long  Run 

(A  despatch  from  the  Beijing  marathon) 


4.  Twin  Peaks 

(Bra  wars  come  to  Asia) 


5.  Miracle  On  Platform  Two 
(A  visit  to  Japan) 


6.  St  Mary's  Trucking  Service 
(A  visit  to  the  Philippines) 


7.  The  Lion,  The  Rich,  And  The  War  Refugee 
(A  visit  to  Singapore) 


8.  Death,  Where  Is  Thy  Funnybone? 
(The  collector  of  bizarre  deaths) 


9.  The  Cult  Of  Benny  Hill 

(Devotees  of  Western,  er,  culture  in  Asia) 


10.  Kids  Make  Nutritious  Snacks 
(Headlines  from  around  the  world) 


Epilogue 


Introduction  Cocktail  parties,  long  lunches,  secrets 
whispered  over  canapes,  anonymous  notes  passed  dur- 
ing formal  functions,  musings  over  the  trusty 
Remington  —  with  such  activities  does  the  gossip 
columnist  pass  his  days,  or  so  it  is  widely  believed. 
Balls.  I  forgot  to  mention  balls  and  other  gala  events. 

Well,  that's  the  myth.  The  reality  is  ver/  different. 
Gossip  columns  only  work  if  they  are  written  by  the 
community  they  serve.  The  best  the  desperate  columnist 
can  do  is  place  himself  in  positions  where  you,  the  read- 
er, can  give  him  material  by  mouth,  by  letter,  by  fax,  by 
phone,  by  e-mail,  and  (once,  in  my  experience)  carved 
on  a  rock  and  delivered  by  a  sweating  messenger  boy. 

If  Your  Humble  Narrator  was  truly  honest,  he  would 
change  the  title  on  his  business  card  to  "typist". 

Some  columnists  who  wander  into  the  territory  of 


strange  items  on  menus  are  accused  of  being  politically 
incorrect.  But  in  this  book,  with  its  origins  in  a  multi- 
lingual, multi-ethnic  community,  I  have  attempted  to 
deliver  good-natured  humour  without  becoming  a  lin- 
guistic chauvinist. 

And  I  have  two  sets  of  editors  to  keep  me  on  the 
straight  and  narrow:  A  smaller  set  is  found  in  my  office. 
The  larger  set  gives  its  views  through  my  postbag. 

So,  the  main  person  I  have  to  thank  is  you. 

Thank  you  for  writing  this  book. 

Thank  you  for  doing  it  in  record  time,  with  unfailing 

good  humour 
And  thank  you  most  of  all  for  letting  me  collect  your 
pay  packet  while  you  did  it. 


Nury  Vittachi 


Hong  Kong  February,  1997 


Phase  one:  Qoodbye  Hong  Kong,  Hello  Xiangang 


7.28  am,  June  30,  1997    The  first  inkling  that  things 
were  going  to  be  distinctly  odd  was  the  sight  of  an 
agitated  cluster  of  people  at  Mr  Fan's  double-boiled 
entrails  cart,  on  the  pavement  where  Staunton  Street 
crosses  the  Mid-Levels  escalator.  "No  cha  siu  bau? 
What  do  you  mean?  You  can't  have  run  out  already!" 
The  businessman  who  spat  these  words  appeared  to  be 
steaming,  as  he  stood  downwind  of  the  vapours  from 
Mr  Fan's  grease  pan.  The  upholstered  matron  next  to 
him  expressed  her  exasperation  in  a  snort  and  made  a 
gazelle-like  leap  back  on  to  the  escalator. 

"Cha  siu  bau  no  more,"  explained  Mr  Fan.  "I  cooking 
worteep  now,  I  not  getting  in  any  trouble  from  tomorrow." 

7.45  am    I  mull  over  this  scene  while  being  escalated 
downwards.  Northern  fried  dumplings  instead  of 
Cantonese  buns?  Has  it  come  to  this?  I  began  to 
realise  that  it  is  not  the  earth-shattering  adjustments 
in  the  statute  books  that  will  cause  most  changes  in 
our  lives.  It  will  be  the  subtle  alterations  made  by 
Hong  Kong  people  ourselves,  based  on  our  assump- 
tions that  there  is  a  major  change  in  the  culture  of 
our  home  town. 

8.35  am    Gridlock  of  a  complexity  never  before  seen 
brings  Central  and  Admiralty  to  a  standstill.  On  both 
sides  of  Queensway,  minibuses  face  each  other  nose-to- 
nose  like  dogs  squaring  up  to  a  fight.  The  driver  of  the 
28A  is  arguing  that  we  had  to  start  driving  on  the  right 
immediately.  The  driver  of  the  Sugar  Street  siuba  insist- 
ed that  we  switch  to  driving  on  that  side  from  midnight 
only,  after  the  enthronement  of  Tung  Chee-hwa.  A 


minor  functionary  from  the  Highways  Department  is 
trying  to  interject  the  official  line  that  Hong  Kong  traf- 
fic will  continue  to  drive  on  the  left,  but  this  is  pooh- 
poohed  as  ridiculous  by  both  sides. 

9.50  am    Abandon  the  bus  and  walk  towards 
Admiralty.  "Amazing,"  a  man  strolling  near  me  says  to 
nobody  in  particular.  "The  day  of  the  handover  arrives, 
and  immediately  Queensway  becomes  Nanjing  Dong 
Lu,"  he  says,  naming  the  road  in  the  centre  of 
Shanghai  famed  for  its  inch-an-hour  traffic. 

11.15  am  Enter  the  subway  station  at  Admiralty.  Note 
that  tickets  are  now  being  sold  by  branches  of  the  Bank 
of  China.  I  ask  for  a  $100  TravelCard.  "That  will  be  $100 
-  and  200  Marlboro,"  says  the  ticket  seller. 

11.30  am    The  subway  entry  turnstiles  have  long 
lines  of  people  in  front  of  them,  in  a  scene  reminis- 
cent of  the  Lowu  immigration  department.  Signs  had 
been  hung  above  various  blocks  of  entry  points.  There 
is  no  one  at  the  16  turnstiles  roped  off  under  the 
banner  "Citizens  of  the  PRC".  There  are  several  thou- 
sand people  in  a  long  line  behind  the  four  turnstiles 
marked  "Compatriots". 

1 1 .40  am    Queue  in  front  of  the  two  turnstiles 
marked  "Barbarians".  Ahead  of  me  there  is  a  shortish 
line  of  Westerners,  but  the  line  is  moving  extremely 
slowly.  This  is  because  we  are  required  to  have  AIDS 
tests  before  going  through,  now  that  Hong  Kong/ 
Xianggang's  transport  systems  are  linked  to  Southern 


China's.  A  fussy  American  is  complaining  that  the 
ticl<et  inspector  is  using  the  same  syringe  for  all  the 
passengers.  "Don't  worry,  it's  still  sharp,  look,"  says 
the  inspector,  jabbing  the  needle  into  the  sole  of  his 
shoe  to  demonstrate. 


Nathan  Road,  heading  for  the  procession  that  is 
planned  for  tomorrow  morning.  Several  tank  drivers 
stop  to  buy  leather  jackets  and  flared  trousers  in 
Mody  Road,  discovering  that  the  barrels  of  the  tanks 
are  good  bargaining  tools. 


1  pm    Arrive  at  the  office.  "Jo  san,"  I  say  to  the  guard. 
"Ni  hao,"  he  replies  loudly 

3.45  pm   Scan  the  newspapers.  It  was  long  believed 
that  this  day  would  be  a  public  relations  problem  for  the 
Chinese  authorities.  After  all,  what  headline  could  there 
possibly  be  for  reports  marking  this  historical  event  except: 
"China  takes  over:  Democratic  process  abandoned"? 

But  the  prophets  had  failed  to  take  self-censorship 
into  account.  Most  popular  headline  today:  "China 
takes  over:  Democratic  process  improved". 


9.03  pm    The  television  news  reports  that  a  petition 
signed  by  3,000  young  men  of  all  races  has  been 
handed  in  to  Government  House.  It  urges  British  Prime 
Minister  Tony  Blair  to  appoint  the  three  Patten  daugh- 
ters as  permanent  British  ambassadors  in  Hong  Kong. 

10.30  pm    Caught  jaywalking  on  Nathan  Road  as  I  try 
to  get  a  good  vantage  point  to  see  the  handover  fire- 
works. Officer  hands  me  pen  and  paper  and  orders  me 
to  write  a  three-page  self-critical  essay  as  punishment. 
I  slip  him  $500  and  he  agrees  to  write  it  for  me. 


5.30  pm    News  comes  through  on  the  police  wire- 
link  of  an  unusual  traffic  arrest.  Three  men  had  been 
arrested  by  off-duty  PLA  troops  who  saw  them  driving 
down  Upper  Albert  Road  in  broad  daylight  in  a  black 
car  with  no  number  plate,  either  on  the  front  or  the 
back.  "Even  in  the  most  lawless  parts  of  China,  people 
have  number  plates  on  their  cars,"  said  Captain  Liao, 
who  apprehended  the  three  men.  One  was  a  chauf- 
feur, one  was  a  foreigner  with  big  ears,  who  gave  his 
name  as  Mr  P.  of  Wales,  and  the  other  was  described 
as  a  Mr  C.  Patten. 

8.30  pm    I  go  to  Kowloon-side  to  see  what  is  going 
on  there.  A  long  line  of  tanks  is  rumbling  slowly  up 


Midnight    Sneak  into  a  line-up  of  Chinese  officials  at 
the  Convention  Centre  island  to  watch  the  lowering 
of  the  Union  Jack  and  the  raising  of  the  Chinese  flag. 
The  man  next  to  me,  a  pleasant  official  from  the 
north,  asks  me  whether  I  want  to  change  some  US 
dollars  into  renminbi.  I  decline.  He  doesn't  seem  to 
mind.  After  a  while,  he  comments:  "It's  nice  to  be  in 
Hong  Kong.  I'm  really  looking  forward  to  waking  up 
and  sinking  my  teeth  into  a  nice,  soft  cha  siu  bau." 


Phase  two:  What  you  need  to  know 


It  is  vital  to  remember  that  we  have  to  adjust  much 
more  than  logos  and  insignias  now  we  are  living  in 
Xianggang.  Our  culture,  our  lifestyles  and  even  our  very 
psyches  have  to  undergo  a  top-to-bottom  makeover. 
Out  go  British  and  other  Western  influences.  In  comes 
the  influence  of  Mother  China.  For  those  unsure  where 
to  start,  here  are  some  tips. 


The  gracious  Hong  Kong  hostess's  menu  for  Sunday  lunch: 
Before:    Roast  mad  cow,  potatoes,  and  Yorkshire  pudding. 
After:     Peking  duck  and  double-boiled  cold  cuts  of 
jellied  expat. 

Choice  of  prominently  placed  coffee  table  book: 
Before:   Sex  by  Madonna. 
After:      Glorious  Photographic  Record  of  the 
Achievements  of  Deng  Xiaoping. 


Best  pick-up  line: 

Before:    "I'll  buy  you  a  diamond  ring,  my  friend..." 

After:     "I've  got  these  cadre  friends  in  Shanghai  who 

are  looking  for  a  Hong  Kong  pied  a  terre 

just  like  your  flat..." 

Top-rated  television  comedy: 
Before:  r/7e  Wee*; /n /.egco. 
After:      The  Weel<  in  the  Provisional  Legislature. 

Most  nerve-jangling  horror  film: 
Before:   Natural  Born  Killers. 
After:     (see  above,  The  Week  in  the  Provisional 
Legislature.) 

Shopping  bag  to  be  seen  carrying: 
Before:   Giordano. 
After:     Friendship  Store. 


Recommended  brand  of  suit: 

Before:   Sam  the  Tailor. 

After:     PLA  jacket  over  Armani  slacks. 

Top-selling  pop  record: 
Before:   Beatles  Anthology. 
After:      When  I  Grow  Up  I  Want  to  be  a  Peasant 
(an  actual  song  from  the  mainland). 

Favoured  contraceptive: 
Before:   Durex  extra  sensitive. 
After:     Any  outfit  purchased  from  a  fashion 
boutique  in  Wuhan. 


Best  name-dropping  line: 

Before:   "I  had  that  Martin  Lee  in  the  back  of  my 

taxi  once." 
After:     "I  had  that  Martin  Lee  in  the  back  of  my 

taxi  once,  and  threw  him  into  a  ditch." 

Most  popular  fast  food: 

Before:   Big  Mac. 

After:     Shandong  fried  scorpions. 

Most  sought-after  brand  of  eye-glasses: 

Before:   Ray-ban  Aviator 

After:     Thick  black  rims.  The  Li  Peng  look. 


Most  prominent  public  service  announcement: 
Before:   No  hawking  (selling  things). 
After:      No  hawking  (spitting). 

IVIost  sought  after  invitation  card: 

Before:   Private  dinner  party  with  Chris  and  Lavender 

at  Government  House,  Saturday  night, 

carriages  at  midnight. 
After:      Friends  of  Xinhua  Annual  Rave-Up 

(Monday  morning,  10  am  to  10.30  am, 

"Bring  your  own  water"). 

Conveyance  most  likely  to  impress  your  friends: 

Before:   Gold  Rolls-Royce. 

After:      Gold  Flying  Pigeon  bicycle. 

Source  of  gutteral  growling  sounds: 

Before:   Stray  dogs  in  New  Territories  villages, 

guarding  paths  and  rooftops. 
After:      Large  numbers  of  people  tr/ing  to  learn 

Mandarin. 


Men  in  skirts  prominent  at  festivities: 
Before:   Royal  Hong  Kong  Police  Force 

Bagpipe  Band. 
After:      David  Tang. 

It  is  clear  that  Hong  Kong's  RTHK  needs  bringing  into 
line  in  the  new  era.  Here  are  some  proposed  changes: 

Before:   Ralph  Pixton's  Open  Line. 
After:      Comrade  Pixton's  Open  Door. 

Before:    Teen  Time. 

After:      Patriotic  Clianting  Hour  for  Adolescents. 

Before:  All  the  Way  With  Ray. 

After:      The  Socialist  Way  is  The  Best  Way  For 

Mature  Party  Members  To  Stay  Young 

With  Comrade  Cordeiro. 


Most  fashionable  handbag: 
Before:   Prada  backpack. 
After:     PU\  satchel. 

How  to  refer  to  expats: 

Before:   Gwailo  ("foreign  devils,"  in  Cantonese). 

After:      Laowai  {"old  foreigners,"  in  Mandarin). 


Quote  of  the  year:  Chris  Hilton,  speaking  on  RTHK 
about  South  Africa:  "I  can't  see  how  such  an  extremely 
small  minority  government  could  have  had  such  a 
stranglehold  on  such  a  large  population  for  so  long." 

Can  you  believe  that  this  was  said,  without  a  trace 
of  irony,  by  a  man  paid  by  the  British  Hong  Kong 
administration? 


Phase  three:  The  History  of  Hong  Kong 


(1)  An  interview  with  British  historian  the  Rt  Hon 
Terry  Sinter-Waffle 

SW:    I'm  awf  ly  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  to  set  the 
record  straight.  It  is  often  not  realised  that  there  was 
literally  nothing  here  when  the  British  arrived  in  1841. 
No  island,  even. 

Lai  See:    No  island? 

SW:  Not  a  speck.  The  British  engineers  had  a  bally  great 
reclamation  job  waiting  for  them  before  they  could  even 
find  somewhere  to  put  the  Union  flag.  Once  the  island 
was  in  place,  it  was  a  matter  of  building  Hong  Kong.  This 
they  did  with  the  usual  British  resolve.  No  slacking  at  all 
-  except  for  a  cooked  breakfast,  elevenses,  lunch,  tiffin, 
dinner,  supper,  and  three  tea  breaks  a  day 

LS:  What  was  the  local  involvement? 


you,  Snickton,  can  carrying  on  with  the  reclamation 
work.  Do  a  few  more  islands,  you  know,  some  big  ones, 
some  small  ones.  I'll  organise  one  of  the  world's  biggest 
financial  centres  in  this  middle  bit.'  And  so  the  Brits  set 
to  work,  not  realising  that  they  were  building  something 
that  would  eventually  be  called  an  Economic  Miracle." 

LS:   Are  you  saying  the  Chinese  played  no  part  in  it  at  all? 

SW:    Of  course  I'm  not  saying  that.  They  were  involved 
in  the  sense  that  they  got  in  the  way  a  lot.  Jardine, 
Tippett  and  Gotobed  complained  that  their  work  was 
greatly  inconvenienced  by  the  fact  that  lots  of  Chinese 
people  were  doing  unhelpful  things  such  as  eating  and 
sleeping  and  living  on  the  new  British  soil.  But  we  were 
nothing  if  not  fair-minded.  We  let  them  be  and  did  net 
disturb  them,  as  long  as  they  didn't  do  anything  outra- 
geous, such  as  entering  our  clubs  and  ordering  gin 
pahits,  or  the  like. 


SW:    None  at  that  stage,  really.  I  can  summarise  what 
happened  by  quoting  you  a  portion  of  a  speech  by 
Captain  John  Elliott.  This  appears  in  my  novel  Dragon!,  a 
dramatisation  of  the  founding  of  Hong  Kong.  Ahem. 
"Elliot  scanned  the  island  they  had  created  and  his  stri- 
dent voice  boomed  out  from  between  his  stiff  upper  lip, 
and  the  tender,  plump  lower  lip  that  drove  women 
insane:  'Jardine,'  he  opined.  'I  want  you  to  go  and  build 
some  huge  skyscrapers  over  there,  while  Dibbs  and 
Gotobed  nip  down  the  coast  a  bit  and  build  a  container 
port.  Tippett,  I  want  you  to  build  a  big  mountain  just 
about  here  -  we'll  call  it  the  Peak  or  something.  And 


I  S:  When  did  the  social  intercourse  really  start 
between  the  British  and  the  local  population? 

SW:    I  never  touched  her.  I  have  said  this  repeatedly. 

LS:   If  you  built  Hong  Kong  when  you  arrived,  what 
happened  during  the  next  150  years? 

SW:  That's  when  we  got  rich.  After  a  while,  everyone 
lived  in  large  apartments,  with  servants,  on  the  Peak.  It 
was  a  good  life.  Free  air  tickets  for  home  leave  once  a 
year,  good  bars,  nice  restaurants. 


LS:  But  not  everyone  lived  like  that,  surely? 

SW:    Well  everyone  I  knevu  did. 

LS:  But  surely  there  has  always  been  problems  with 
overcrowding  and  housing  in  Hong  Kong?  What  about 
the  high  property  prices? 

SW:    It's  a  damnable  lie.  I've  seen  it  in  the  newspapers, 
but  it's  rubbish.  You  get  a  comfortable  mansion  flat 
with  your  job.  You  pay  bugger-all  for  it. 

LS:    But  local  people  don't  get  these  perks. 

SW:    Really? 

LS:  And  they  weren't  allowed  into  your  clubs  for 
years. 

SW:  Another  damnable  lie.  We've  had  a  large  number 
of  Asians  in  my  club  since  it  started. 

LS:  Are  they  full  members? 

SW:    Of  course  not.  They're  waiting  staff. 

LS:  How  do  you  feel  about  the  handover,  and  the  final 
departure  of  you  and  your  ilk? 

SW:  Well,  to  be  honest,  it's  a  tragedy.  The  place  will  go 
to  pot.  I  mean,  what  will  they  do  without  us?  They  love 
us.  I  closed  down  my  Hong  Kong  subsidiary  last  week. 


and  the  staff  took  down  the  company  name  plate,  and 
danced  on  It,  making  whooping  noises.  Apparently  this  is 
a  local  custom  to  express  deep  sorrow  and  regret. 


(2)  An  exclusive  interview  with  Ho  Chl-kin, 
geomancer  and  almanac  writer 

HC:  Hong  Kong  was  a  simple  fishing  village  for  cen- 
turies, and  would  have  stayed  that  way  indefinitely, 
except  for  the  dramatic  events  of  1841. 

Lai  See:   The  landing  of  the  British? 

HC:  No.  Was  that  in  1841,  too?  No,  I  am  talking  of 
course  about  the  decision  of  Ah-Kin,  third  nephew  of 
the  Chans  of  Sheung  Wan. 

LS:  What  decision  was  this? 

HC:  Ah-Kin  was  quietly  eating  his  instant  noodles,  deep 
in  thought,  when  his  eyes  suddenly  lit  up.  "I've  got  an 
idea,"  he  said.  "I'm  fed  up  of  living  in  a  fishing  village. 
Let's  turn  this  into  one  of  the  richest  cities  in  the  world 
instead."  At  first,  the  idea  was  not  greeted  with  much 
enthusiasm.  Certainly,  Ah-kin's  family  who  enjoyed  the 
quiet  life,  were  against  it.  His  father  pointed  out  that 
they  would  have  to  dig  a  second  cess  pit  If  they  become 
a  big  city.  But  the  Idea  was  picked  up  by  Ah-Kln's  uncle, 
Chew  Sum-fat.  "Richest  city  in  the  world?  I  like  it.  Let's 
try  it."  So  they  tried  it. 


LS:  Just  like  that? 

HC:  Oh,  they  didn't  do  it  overnight,  of  course. 

LS:  How  long  did  it  take? 

HC:  Nearly  two  weeks. 

LS:  What  role  did  the  British  play? 

HC:  The  first  real  interaction  with  the  British  was  about 
50  years  later,  in  the  1890s. 

LS:  But  surely  they  were  there  long  before  that? 

HC:  An  early  report  says  that  some  red-faced  lunatics 
in  silly  clothes  and  feathered  hats  were  marching  up 
and  down  in  one  area,  but  we  ignored  them.  By  the 
1890s,  the  British  had  become  rather  an  irritation,  so 
we  decided  to  humour  them.  One  wanted  to  be  called 
Governor,  one  wanted  to  be  called  Colonial  Secretary 
and  so  on.  We  told  them  they  could  call  each  other 
whatever  they  wanted  and  play  their  dressing  up 
games,  as  long  as  they  did  not  get  in  the  way  of  what 
we  were  doing.  One  liked  to  wear  feathers. 

LS:  Did  they  obey? 

HC:  They  did,  generally.  Over  the  years,  we  gradually 
civilised  them.  We  taught  them  to  eat  proper  food,  like 
rice  and  noodles.  Before  that,  they  had  been  subsisting 
on  disgusting  tubes  of  minced  cow-lip  called  'sausages'. 


LS:  But  didn't  the  British  run  Hong  Kong? 

HC:  Ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha. 

LS:  The  famous  British  historian  Terry  Sinter-Waffle 
believes  they  played  a  major  role  in  the  growth  of  the 
territory,  which  was  a  British  Crown  Colony  for  more 
than  a  century  and  a  half. 

HC:  Yes,  you're  all  comedians,  you  foreigners.  There 
was  one  British  chap  -  the  one  with  the  feathers  - 
who  asked  if  we  minded  if  they  referred  to  Hong  Kong 
as  'a  colony'.  Ah-Kin's  son  replied  that  they  could  call 
it  anything  they  liked,  as  long  as  they  kept  to  their 
enclosure. 

LS:  Their  enclosure? 

HC:  We  made  them  all  live  on  top  of  the  mountain, 
where  it  was  damp,  unhealthy,  and  awkward  to  get  to. 
We  told  them  they  would  like  it  up  there,  because  it 
was  like  England. 

LS:  So  the  British  weren't  really  in  control? 

HC:  Ha  ha  ha  ha  ha.  You're  joking,  right?  It  is  plainly 
obvious  that  a  handful  of  Brits  couldn't  run  Hong  Kong. 
I  mean,  think  about  it.  They  couldn't  even  speak  the 
language.  We  set  up  this  thing  called  the  Civil  Service, 
the  main  activity  of  which  was  to  distract  the  British, 
keep  them  occupied,  prevent  them  from  harming  them- 
selves, that  sort  of  thing. 


LS:  So  you're  saying  the  civil  service  never  actually 
administered  the  territory? 

HC:  No.  The  territory  was  actually  run  from  the  back 
bar  of  a  Chinese  club  in  Yau  Ma  Tei. 

LS:  How  do  you  feel  about  the  departure  of  the  British, 
and  the  end  of  the  era? 

HC:  They're  going,  are  they? 

LS:  I  mean  the  handover  to  Chinese  sovereignty  on 
July  1.  Arranged  by  Margaret  Thatcher  and  Deng 
Xiaoping  in  1984. 

HC:  Oh  yes,  that.  Well,  to  be  straight  with  you,  that  idea 
actually  came  from  my  cousin  Ah-Peng.  We  were  in  the 
back  bar  in  the  spring  of  1984,  and  he  said  he  rather 
fancied  knocking  down  Government  House  and  redevel- 
oping it  into  a  complex  of  karaoke  bars.  It's  so  nicely 
located.  The  businessmen  in  the  bar  that  night  thought 
this  was  a  good  idea,  so  they  made  a  few  calls,  and  the 
next  thing  you  know,  the  Joint  Declaration  was  arranged. 

LS:  What  will  be  the  main  change  when  the  British 
leave  and  the  Communist  Party  of  China  takes  over? 

HC:  An  increase  in  capitalism. 

LS:  Are  you  sorry  to  see  the  British  go? 

HC:  Ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha  ha. 


Phase  four:  Guide  to  the  Governors 


One  bright  January  morning  in  1841,  the  people  of 
Tai-ki  Shan,  an  island  off  the  coast  of  China,  noticed  a 
group  of  barbarians  had  landed.  The  intruders  were 
wearing  layers  of  thick  woollen  clothes  in  the  tropical 
heat.  They  had  bizarre  growths  of  facial  hair  which  they 
had  fashioned  into  ridiculous  shapes.  They  spoke  in  a 
strange  language  of  monotones.  When  off  duty,  they 
would  peel  off  their  clothes  and  deliberately  burn  their 
skin  lobster  pink  as  a  form  of  recreation. 

There  was  only  one  possible  explanation:  They  were 
dangerously  mad. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  planet,  the  British  Foreign 
Secretary  was  having  exactly  the  same  thoughts  about 
the  same  group  of  people.  He  had  received  a  letter  from 
China  expedition  leader  Charles  Elliot  saying  that  the 
natives  of  China  were  intelligent  and  friendly  and  should 
be  treated  with  the  sort  of  respect  given  to  humans. 

The  British  Government  recalled  him,  concerned 
about  his  mental  state. 

To  replace  him,  they  sent... 


Sir  Henry  Pottinger,  1841-1844:  Sir  Henry  was  told  to 
think  of  Tai-ki  Shan,  also  known  as  Heung  Gong  (and 
mispronounced  by  the  British  as  Hong  Kong)  as  a  tem- 
porary army  post,  and  nothing  more.  The  local  populace 
made  a  practical  demonstration  of  their  feelings  about 
their  new  leader  by  burgling  Government  House. 

Sir  John  Davis,  1844-1848:  Small,  balding  Sir  John  made 
unpopularity  an  art  form.  He  annoyed  the  expatriates 
even  more  than  the  locals.  He  complained:  "It  is  much 


easier  to  govern  the  20,000  Chinese  inhabitants  of  this 
colony  than  the  few  hundred  English."  In  a  bid  for  popu- 
larity, he  had  a  horse-racing  cup,  the  Davis  Trophy,  named 
after  him.  Not  a  single  horse  was  entered  for  the  race. 

Sir  Samuel  Bonham,  1848-1854:  Sir  Samuel  was  a 
cheery  soul  who  turned  up  in  a  funny  hat  with  white 
feathers  springing  from  the  top.  This  became  standard 
uniform  for  governors  of  Hong  Kong.  He  claimed  to 
have  made  a  remarkable  discovery.  "The  study  of 
Chinese  addles  the  brain,"  he  warned  expatriates. 

Sir  John  Bowring,  1854-1859:  When  Sir  John  took 
over,  the  people  of  Hong  Kong  decided  they  had  had 
enough.  An  innovative  group  decided  to  poison  the 
ghastly  white  spongy  stuff  called  bread  that  barbarians 
lived  on.  Unfortunately  none  of  the  foreigners  died. 

Sir  Hercules  Robinson,  1859-1865:  During  his  reign,  a 
woman  called  Jane  Baxter  attempted  to  integrate  Hong 
Kong's  two  ethnic  groups  by  teaching  local  girls  English. 
After  graduation,  the  girls  "integrated"  with  the 
Europeans  by  becoming  their  mistresses. 

Sir  Richard  MacDonnell,  1866-1872:  Sir  Richard 
installed  sewers.  Local  people  used  them  to  get  into  the 
houses  of  the  rich  expatriates  on  Queen's  Road  and 
burgle  them.  Cows  and  milkmaids  were  imported  from 
England  to  establish  a  dairy  in  Hong  Kong.  The  first 
farm  was  set  up  in  Garden  Road  because  it  was  thought 
that  the  Garden  Road  area,  away  from  the  water,  was 
likely  to  remain  rural  indefinitely 


Sir  Arthur  Kennedy,  1872-1877:  Sir  Arthur,  in  a 
moment  of  rashness,  invited  a  person  of  Chinese  race  to 
a  social  function  at  Government  House  for  the  first 
time.  Expatriates  were  amazed  to  see  how  similar  the 
"Chinaman"  was  to  a  human  being. 

Sir  John  Pope  Hennessy,  1877-1882:  Sir  John  had 
noticed  something.  Every  time  his  pretty  young 
Eurasian  wife  Kitty  declined  to  go  on  his  junk  trips,  so 
did  his  lawyer  friend  Thomas  Hailyar.  On  one  such 
occasion,  Sir  John  abandoned  the  junk,  and  rushed  to 
his  house  on  the  Peak.  He  found  his  wife  and  Hailyar 
alone  in  her  boudoir  reading  a  pornographic  picture 
book  together,  or  so  Hennessy  claimed.  In  fact  it  was  a 
catalogue  of  Italian  art,  making  Sir  John  the  spiritual 
father  of  the  Philistines  on  Hong  Kong's  present-day 
Obscene  Articles  Tribunal. 

Sir  George  Bowen,  1884-1885:  Sir  George's  wife 
Diamentina  opened  the  Ladies  Recreation  Club  in  1884. 
Organisers  said  it  would  be  open  to  "English,  Germans, 
Americans  and  Portuguese  so  that  all  classes  are  repre- 
sented, except  Chinese  who  do  not  take  exercise". 


Sir  William  Robinson,  1891-1898:  Sir  William  decided 
that  his  main  job  was  to  make  sure  the  Chinese  did 
not  bother  the  Europeans.  He  said:  "My  constant 
thought  has  been  how  best  to  keep  the  Chinese  to 
themselves  and  preserve  the  European  and  American 
community  from  the  injury  and  inconvenience  of 
intermixture  with  them." 

Sir  Henry  Blake,  1898-1903:  To  halt  the  bubonic 
plague,  Sir  Henry  offered  two  Hong  Kong  cents  for 
every  rat  handed  in.  A  suspiciously  large  number  of  rats 
—  45,000  —  were  delivered.  The  scheme  was  halted 
when  he  discovered  that  the  British  administration  had 
been  tricked  into  paying  hard  cash  to  buy  mainland 
China's  rat  population. 

Sir  Matthew  Nathan,  1904-1907:  Sir  Matthew  built  a 
long,  wide  road  into  the  paddy  fields  of  Kowloon, 
claiming  that  it  would  be  important  one  day.  His  critics 
thought  it  was  a  pointless  exercise,  since  it  was  in  the 
middle  of  nowhere.  They  nicknamed  it  "Nathan's  Folly". 
It  is  now  called  Nathan  Road  and  is  one  of  the  biggest 
shopping  areas  in  the  world. 


Sir  George  Des  Voeux,  1887-1891 :  Des  Voeux  decided 
to  meet  the  real  people  of  the  colony  A  four-mile 
queue  of  Hong  Kong  locals  lined  up  to  see  him.  After 
several  hundred  passed  him.  Sir  George  became  anxious 
about  how  long  it  was  taking,  claimed  he  had  an 
unbreakable  lunch  date  and  left  the  scene.  He  returned 
an  hour  later  to  find  his  subjects  still  shuffling  by  the 
spot  where  he  was  supposed  to  have  been  standing. 


Lord  Lugard,  1908-1912:  Lord  Frederick  Lugard  had  an 
astonishing  notion:  colonies  should  only  be  held  until 
the  inhabitants  could  govern  themselves.  But  he  made 
no  progress  in  turning  his  high  principles  into  reality, 
being  caught  up  with  other  pressing  problems.  His 
house  on  The  Peak  was  so  damp  the  air  was  turning  all 
his  cigars  into  "little  bits  of  sponge".  Democracy  became 
a  secondary  issue. 


Sir  Henry  May,  1912-1918:  The  first  motor  car  was 
imported  by  an  American  dentist.  The  Governor,  too, 
soon  acquired  one.  Unfortunately,  there  were  hardly 
any  roads  to  drive  them  on.  The  only  scenic  bits  of 
Hong  Kong  island,  such  as  Deep  Water  Bay  and  Repulse 
Bay,  could  only  be  reached  by  sea,  so  he  couldn't  get 
his  car  there. 

Sir  Reginald  Stubbs,  1919-1925:  During  Sir  Reginald's 
reign,  Dr  Sun  Yat-sen  visited  the  colony  and  was  highly 
impressed  by  what  he  saw.  The  Chinese  leader  said:  "I 
began  to  wonder  how  it  was  that  foreigners,  that 
Englishmen,  could  do  such  things...  with  the  barren  rock 
of  Hong  Kong  within  70  or  80  years,  while  China,  in 
4,000  years,  had  no  place  like  Hong  Kong." 

Sir  Cecil  Clementi,  1925-1930:  Penelope,  the 
Governor's  wife,  was  a  notorious  prude.  She  read  all  the 
books  bought  for  the  Helena  May  library.  On  finding 
any  reference  to  a  kiss  or  a  cuddle,  the  book  was 
removed.  The  government  bought  some  land  from  two 
local  businessmen,  to  build  an  airstrip.  They  named  it 
Hong  Kong  Airport,  assuming  that  the  names  Kai  and 
Tak  would  quickly  be  forgotten. 

Sir  William  Peel,  1930-1935:  Hong  Kong  was  becom- 
ing increasingly  rich,  but  also  immoral.  London  forced 
Sir  William  to  close  down  the  European  and  local 
Chinese  brothels.  The  operators  went  underground, 
and  cases  of  venereal  disease  soared.  Britain  was 
upset  when  China  flooded  the  market  in  Hong  Kong 
with  opium. 


Sir  Andrew  Caldecott,  1935-1937:  Sir  Andrew  sug- 
gested jobs  be  localised,  and  vacancies  should  only  be 
filled  by  expatriates  if  they  could  not  be  filled  in  Hong 
Kong.  The  idea  was  considered  bizarre. 

Sir  Geoffrey  Northcote,  1937-1941 :  Japan  invaded  the 
territory.  Hong  Kong's  most  powerful  guns,  unfortunate- 
ly were  pointing  the  wrong  way 

Sir  Mark  Young,  1941-1947:  It  was  a  time  of  intrigue. 
Ms  Takemura,  a  massage  girl,  specialised  in  entertaining 
military  men  —  and  extracting  their  secrets.  She 
passed  them  on  to  an  innocent-looking  language  stu- 
dent, who  was  really  Colonel  Suzuki,  head  of  Japanese 
intelligence  in  the  territory.  Wyndham  Street,  which 
was  known  at  the  time  as  "Little  Japan",  was  renamed 
"Spy  Alley".  At  the  height  of  the  hostilities,  the  Japanese 
occupied  a  bar  called  the  Swatow  Club.  The  natural 
British  assertiveness  was  still  an  advantage.  A  young 
man  called  Murray  MacLehose  was  dying  for  a  drink.  He 
marched  into  the  Swatow  Club,  demanded  a  gin  and 
tonic,  which  he  paid  for  with  his  signature,  and  strolled 
out,  unmolested. 

Sir  Alexander  Grantham,  1947-1957:  The  challenges 
of  being  a  governor  could  not  be  exaggerated,  said  Sir 

Alexander.  "In  a  Crown  Colony,  the  Governor  is  next  to 
the  Almighty  The  position...  is  not  an  easy  one." 

Sir  Robert  Black,  1958-1964:  Under  Sir  Robert,  the 
teamwork  between  Hong  Kong  people  and  the  British 
worked  so  well  that  London  decided  to  stop  overseeing 


the  finances  of  Hong  Kong,  giving  the  colony  a  touch  of 
financial  independence.  The  place  started  to  become 
reasonably  wealthy 

Sir  David  Trench,  1964-1971:  Pro-communists  m  the 
Chinese  population  started  rioting  in  Hong  Kong.  As 
police  approached,  the  rioters  took  ketchup-stained 
handkerchiefs  out  of  their  pockets,  wiped  them  on  their 
faces  and  started  writhing  on  the  ground.  Sir  David  was 
not  fooled. 

Lord  MacLehose  of  Beoch,  1971-1982:  Sir  Murray  the 
gin-and-tonic  consumer  mentioned  in  the  section  con- 
cerning Sir  Mark  Young  above,  had  risen  to  the  top  job. 
He  finally  realised  that  British  uniforms  and  suits  were 
ridiculously  hot  in  Hong  Kong,  and  turned  up  for  work 
in  a  safari  suit  throughout  the  summer.  The  Hong  Kong 
Club  refused  to  relax  its  rule  that  diners  wear  British- 
style  suits  and  ties. 

Sir  Edward  Youde,  1982-1986:  During  Sir  Edward's 
tenure,  polls  in  Hong  Kong  clearly  revealed  that  the 
people  of  the  colony  wanted  to  stay  part  of  Britain. 
China  and  Britain  met  and  agreed  to  make  the  territory 
part  of  China.  The  residents  became  even  richer. 

Lord  Wilson  of  Tillyorn,  1987-1992:  Sir  David  told  the 
British  that  if  they  were  respectful  and  deferential  to 
China,  problems  such  as  the  need  for  democratic  elec- 
tions and  the  new  airport  could  be  easily  solved.  Events 
appeared  to  prove  Sir  David  wrong.  The  colony's  inhabi- 
tants became  richer  than  the  people  of  the  UK. 


Christopher  Patten,  1992-1997:  Chris  Patten  took 
the  job  of  colonial  governor  but  did  not  hide  the  fact 
that  he  hated  colonialism.  He  refused  to  wear  Sir 
Samuel  Bonham's  feathered  hat,  literally  and  metaphor- 
ically and  to  take  the  knighthood  that  usually  went 
with  the  job.  After  public  consultations.  Patten  decided 
that  Hong  Kong  people  were  intelligent  and  friendly 
and  should  be  given  full  British  passports.  Both  China 
and  Britain  were  shocked  and  horrified  at  this. 

But  Captain  Charles  Elliot,  who  landed  in  Tai-ki  Shan  in 
1841,  would  have  applauded  loudly 


Phase  six:  The  Name's  Bon.  Tsim-See  Bon. 


IThe  northwestern  flight  approach  to  Hong  Kong's 
Kai  Tak  airport  is  notoriously  difficult.  It  is  even 
more  difficult  when  attempted  without  an  aircraft. 
This  thought  ran  briefly  through  the  mind  of  the  dapper 
British  gentleman  who  was  falling  from  the  heavens 
somewhere  above  Lok  Fu.  The  rush  of  air  around  him  as 
he  fell  from  the  sky  threatened  to  dishevel  his  outfit,  so 
he  took  a  moment  to  tug  the  cuffs  of  his  Jermyn  Street 
shirt  out  the  correct  amount  from  the  sleeves  of  his 
suit-coat. 

Good  thing  he  had  been  flung  out  of  the  Cathay 
Pacific  Airways  747-400  while  it  was  flying  over  an 
area  that  he  knew. 

Now,  descending  at  an  acceleration  rate  of  32  feet 
per  second,  he  saw  what  he  was  looking  for:  a  forest  of 
bamboo  clothes-drying  poles  sticking  out  horizontally 
from  windows  of  municipal  blocks  in  Kowloon  City 

He  knew  that  a  bamboo  pole's  combination  of  flexi- 
bility and  resilience  could  arrest  his  descent  without 
harming  him.  He  angled  his  fall  towards  a  likely-looking 
rod. 

Seconds  later,  his  feet  slipped  through  the  opening 
at  the  neck  of  a  red  and  gold  cheong-sam  hanging  on  a 
pole  and  he  felt  the  bamboo  bend  into  a  U-shape  as  it 
caught  his  weight. 

The  whipcrack  sound  of  the  bamboo  snapping  back 
into  a  straight  line  drew  the  attention  of  a  stunning 
young  Chinese  woman  wearing  nothing  but  a  bath 
towel,  the  original  owner  of  the  cheong-sam  he  was 
now  wearing. 

"Sorry  to  drop  in  unannounced  like  this,"  he  said  to 
the  girl  at  the  window.  "The  name's  Bon.  Tsim-see  Bon." 


2   Half  an  hour  later,  James  Bond  was  being 
briefed  by  M  in  their  latest  field  operations 
hideaway:  an  underground  chamber  cunningly 
carved  into  the  rock  under  387,  Queen's  Road  East, 
home  of  Xinhua,  the  New  China  News  Agency 

He  apologised  for  being  late.  "I  had  to  do  a  ski  jump 
off  the  Cultural  Centre.  Then  I  got  involved  in  a  car 
chase  during  which  I  had  to  commandeer  a  tram  and 
ride  it  through  the  Pacific  Place  shopping  mall." 

"Try  and  keep  your  mind  on  the  job  at  hand,  James," 
said  the  irascible  M,  walking  slowly  around  the  table.  "I 
want  you  to  solve  a  mystery  There  are  reports  of  huge 
bubbles  coming  from  the  water  off  Repulse  Bay" 

Bond  wrinkled  his  brow.  "It  can't  be  the  mainlanders 
up  to  tricks.  The  handover  is  tonight,  and  they  get  this 
place  lock,  stock,  and  barrel  anyway" 

"True.  It  probably  isn't  the  Chinese.  We  intercepted 
some  of  their  intelligence  reports,  and  they  think  it's  us, 
with  some  fiendish  plan  to  retain  sovereignty  after 
tonight." 

"But  we  wouldn't  want  that,  would  we?" 

"Certainly  not.  The  place  is  full  of  foreigners.  But  we 
need  the  handover  to  go  smoothly.  Find  out  what's 
going  on  and  stop  it.  You've  got  eight  hours,  Double-0 
Seven." 

Bond  stopped  briefly  in  the  outer  office  to  flirt  with 
Ms  Moneypenny,  and  receive  a  summons  for  sexual 
harrassment  from  the  Hong  Kong  Equal  Opportunities 
Commission. 


3   Click.  Bond  cocked  his  Walther  PPK.  There  was 
someone  in  the  bathroom  of  his  suite  at  the 
Peninsula.  He  edged  sideways  into  the  room.  A 
beautiful  blonde  wearing  a  small  towel  stepped  out  of 
his  shower. 

"Hi,"  she  said.  "I'm  your  assistant.  My  name's  Hilary 
Boddington.  People  call  me  Hilly  Body  for  short." 

"Why  do  my  assistants  always  have  puerile,  sexist 
names?"  he  asked. 

"The  writers  are  pathetic  immature  males  trapped  in 
adolescence,  rather  like  you,  James,"  she  purred. 

"Brains  AND  beauty,"  he  breathed,  appreciatively  "Do 
we  grapple  now  or  later?" 

"Later,"  she  said.  "I've  located  a  secret  underground 
lair  beneath  some  Cable  TV  road  works  in  Pokfulam 
which  will  lead  us  to  all  the  answers.  I  feel  sure  there  is 
a  massive  complex  run  by  a  secret  army  and  an  eccen- 
tric leader  down  there." 

"How  can  you  be  so  sure?" 

"I've  seen  all  the  Bond  films  and  they  all  have  the 
same  plot." 


4  Hilly  Body's  words  proved  to  be  miraculously  cor- 
rect. But  that  was  because  she  was  a  double 
agent.  Soon,  Bond  was  in  a  secret  underground 
complex,  but  captive  in  the  arms  of  paramilitary  troops. 

"It's  madness.  It  could  never  work."  The  words  burst 
from  the  British  agent's  mouth  as  he  listened  to  the 
crazy  scheme  dreamed  up  by  the  Secret  Hong  Kong 
Independence  Movement.  "You  can't  steal  an  entire 
island.  It  would  be  a  massive  feat  of  engineering  just  to 
move  it." 

"Oh,  but  Hong  Kong  is  famed  for  huge  feats  of  engi- 
neering," said  their  leader,  a  tough  woman  in  a  black 
leather  jumpsuit  called  Emily  Lau.  "And  we've  had  13 
years  to  work  on  this,  remember,  ever  since  the  British 
sold  us  down  the  river  in  1984." 

Ms  Lau,  who  was  fondling  a  fluffy  white  cat,  walked 
around  the  master  control  room.  Pointing  to  a  large  per- 
spex  map,  she  explained  to  Bond  how  it  was  going  to 
work. 

"We  spent  several  years  cutting  Hong  Kong  island 
free  from  its  foundations,  and  building  new,  lightweight 
artificial  bedrock.  Underneath  this,  we  have  a  series  of 
air-filled  pontoons.  At  six  o'clock  this  evening,  we  set  off 
the  explosions  that  will  break  Hong  Kong  island  free 
from  its  final  moorings.  By  midnight,  the  whole  island 
will  have  sailed  out  of  Chinese  territorial  waters,  on  our 
way  to  our  new  home." 

"Which  is?" 

"Canada.  The  Hong  Kong-built  Vancouver  Expo  site  is 
actually  an  underwater  docking  station  designed  to  link 
up  with  this  island." 

"But  you  would  need  huge  engines  located  in  Central 


to  push  the  island  out  to  sea.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
hide  those." 

"The  Central  reclamation." 

"Of  course,"  said  Bond,  genuinely  impressed.  "But 
you  would  have  to  have  huge  amounts  of  equipment 
and  all  the  dredgers  in  the  world  to  achieve  all  this." 

"We  ordered  them.  We  pretended  they  were  for  a 
new  airport.  Now  take  him  away  and  lock  him  up." 

Suddenly,  Bond  pressed  a  button  on  his  Rolex  and 
the  watch  sent  out  swift-acting  nerve  gas,  which 
stunned  his  captors  long  enough  for  him  to  escape. 

He  heard  the  beseeching,  choked  words  of  Emily  Lau 
as  he  escaped  through  a  ventilation  unit.  "James!  Please 
don't  wreck  our  plans." 

Bond  suddenly  stopped  and  looked  through  the 
glass  window  at  the  computer  bay.  He  recognised  one 
of  the  operatives  working  it.  "It's  her,"  he  said, 
straightening  his  tie. 


5  At  six  pm,  Chinese  Prime  Minister  Li  Peng, 
British  Prime  Minister  Tony  Blair,  and  Hong  Kong 
Governor  Chris  Patten  climbed  on  to  a  boat  on 
Kowloon  side,  heading  for  the  handover  centre  at  the 
Tamar  Basin  on  Hong  Kong  island. 

At  six-fifteen  pm,  Mr  Patten  asked  the  skipper  why 
they  had  not  arrived.  The  man  was  sweating.  "I  can't 
understand  it,  sir.  It's  almost  as  if  Hong  Kong  island  was 
moving  away  from  us." 

The  Governor  realised  that  the  Hong  Kong  skyline 
seemed  no  nearer  than  it  had  been  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago.  He  spun  around  to  see  they  were  miles  away  from 
the  Kowloon  mainland.  Something  odd  was  going  on. 

A  message  crackled  on  the  airwaves  of  the  ship's  PA 
system.  "This  is  Commander  Bond.  I  have  a  message  for 
Mr  Blair." 

The  mirror  reflector  on  top  of  Hong  Kong  Bank  was 
flashing  a  message  at  them.  A  soldier  handed  Tony  Blair 
some  binoculars  and  he  focused  on  the  scene.  "Good 
God,"  he  said. 

He  saw  James  Bond  standing  on  top  of  the  bank 
with  Emily  Lau  on  one  side,  and  a  beautiful  young 
Chinese  woman  in  a  red  and  gold  cheong-sam  on  the 
other. 

The  agent's  voice  came  through  the  intercom.  "Could 
you  tell  M  that  I  am  going  to  be  non-operational  for  a 
few  hours?  I  appear  to  have  contracted  a  serious  case 
of  yellow  fever." 

The  island  picked  up  speed  and  headed  swiftly 
towards  the  horizon. 


Phase  seven:  Veni,  Vidi,  Vici,  Video 


They  come.  They  see.  They  conquer.  They  make  a 
documentary.  Or,  as  the  Romans  would  say: 
Veni.  Vidi.  Vici.  Video. 

I'm  talking  about  foreign  television  crews.  They  step 
out  of  Kai  Tak,  they  learn  all  there  is  to  know  about 
Hong  Kong  in  a  few  weeks,  and  then  they  go  and 
inform  the  world. 

The  tenth  (or  the  1 2th  or  the  1 5th)  example  of  this 
species  was  in  town  the  other  day  to  pick  Your  Humble 
Narrator's  brain.  The  conversation  I  had  with  her  fol- 
lowed a  pattern  which  has  become  depressingly  familiar. 

Earnest  Television  Producer:  I  want  to  make  it  exciting, 
get  a  bit  of  drama  into  it.  I'm  thinking  of  focusing  on  the 
brain  drain,  stock  market  problems,  companies  moving  to 
Singapore  and  all  that.  So  how  big  is  this  brain  drain? 

SPICE  TRADER:  Actually,  there's  a  net  inflow  of  brains, 
estimated  at  about  100,000  a  year. 

ETP:  Oh.  Okay,  scrub  that  one.  Haven't  all  the  compa- 
nies in  Hong  Kong  fled  from  the  local  stock  market  and 
gone  to  Bermuda? 

ST:  Not  really  The  Hong  Kong  stock  market  now  has  a 
record  554  companies,  and  is  growing  by  about  50  a  year. 

ETP:  Bother.  Aren't  people  taking  all  their  money  out  to 
send  overseas? 

ST:  Hmm,  I'm  afraid  not.  Hong  Kong  was  the  best  per- 
forming market  in  Asia  last  year.  One  company  rose 
1,111  per  cent. 


ETP:  Bugger.  Hasn't  everyone  moved  offices  to 
Singapore?  That's  true,  isn't  it? 

ST:  No.  Hong  Kong's  got  more  regional  corporate  head- 
quarters than  all  other  major  Asian  cities  combined. 

[She  starts  nibbling  at  her  cuticle  as  she  crosses  out 
lines  in  her  notebook.] 

ETP:  I'm  sure  I've  read  that  everyone's  getting  passports 
and  moving  to  Vancouver  and  so  on.  That's  definitely 
true,  right? 

ST:  It's  true  —  for  just  under  one  per  cent  of  the  pop- 
ulation a  year 

ETP:  Awwww,  shoot.  Maybe  I'll  concentrate  on  politics 
instead.  So  which  party  is  left  and  which  party  is  right? 

ST:  We  don't  have  those. 

ETP:  But  you  must  have  a  left-of-centre  party  and  a 
right-of-centre  party.  Everybody  does.  Look,  don't  you 
have  a  party  of  the  people,  popular  with  the  man  on 
the  street,  grassroots  support  and  all  that  stuff? 

ST:  Yes.  The  Democrats. 

ETP:  Right,  so  on  the  left  in  Hong  Kong  you  have  the 
Democrats,  the  Socialists,  the  Communists  and  so  on. 

ST:  No.  The  Democrats  are  diametrically  opposed  to  the 
Communists. 


ETP:  Wait.  You're  saying  the  grassroots  party  is  at  odds 
with  the  socialists? 


ETP:  Wasn't  there  a  crash  in  the  value  of  apartments 
after  the  Tiananmen  Square  thing? 


ST:  Loathe  each  other. 


ST:  Sorry.  Residential  prices  have  quadrupled  since  U 


ETP:  Okay,  so  who  are  the  right-wingers,  the  conserva- 
tives, the  party  of  big  business? 

ST:  Er.  The  Liberal  Party,  I  suppose. 

ETP:  So  what's  going  to  happen  to  the  Liberal  Party  and 
the  pro-business  types?  They  must  be  in  danger  of  being 
completely  obliterated  when  the  Communists  take  over. 


[She  starts  to  look  desperate.] 

ETP:  My  little  semi  in  Balham  has  gone  down  30  per 

cent  since  I  bought  it  in  88. 

ST:  Sorry  to  hear  it. 

ETP:  Me  too. 

[A  nervous  vibration  appears  in  one  of  her  legs.] 


ST:  Er.  No.  The  Liberal  Party  members  think  on  the  same 
lines  as  the  mainlanders.  They're  very  close,  and  getting 
closer  every  day. 

ETP:  Wait  wait  wait  wait  WAIT  You're  saying  that  the 
right-wingers,  the  conservatives,  the  business  party,  are 
in  cahoots  with  the  incoming  Communists? 

ST:  I  wouldn't  say  'in  cahoots',  but  you've  got  the 
general  idea. 


ETP:  Look.  Tell  me  what  you  think  about  this  idea. 
Instead  of  doing  an  overview  of  the  Hong  Kong  scene,  I'll 
just  make  it  more  of  a  human  interest  story.  I'll  just  focus 
on,  like,  one  person  who  has  been  fighting  for  democracy 
for  years,  and  how  his  dreams  have  been  torn  to  shreds 
by  the  end  of  the  through  train  and  all  that.  You  know, 
the  little  guy  battling  against  the  odds,  against  the 
authorities,  demanding  power  for  the  people. 

ST:  Good  idea. 


[She  writes  that  down  very  slowly  indeed.  A  little  worry 
grid  appears  on  her  forehead.] 

ETP:  There's  got  to  be  some  disaster  happening.  You're 
not,  by  any  chance,  having  a  property  slump  here  in  the 
run  up  to  the  takeover? 

ST:  Nope.  Priciest  retail  space  in  the  world. 


[She  starts  poking  around  in  her  transparent  designer 
briefcase.] 

ETP:  I  know  just  the  person  to  focus  on.  I've  got  just 
an  old  newspaper  cutting  somewhere  about  this 
democracy  campaigner.  Been  battling  for  democracy  for 
donkey's  years.  Here  it  is.  Elsie  Elliot  Tu. 


Phase  eight:  What  a  good  sport 


A  gentle  allegory  of  Hong  Kong  politics 


1    There  was  a  soft,  rather  wimpish  knock  at  the 
door,  as  if  an  agoraphobic  sheep  was  feeling  the 
need  to  go  indoors. 
"Ye-es?"  said  Brown,  looking  up  from  the  sports  pages 
of  the  South  China  Morning  Post. 

A  small,  nondescript  man  opened  the  door  and 
shuffled  into  the  room.  "Very  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mr 
Brown,"  he  said,  bowing  slightly.  "But  am  I  right  in 
thinking  you  organise  rugby  games  in  Hong  Kong?" 

"Well,  I'm  one  of  the  people  who  does  that  particu- 
lar task,  yes,"  said  Brown,  folding  his  newspaper  and 
gesturing  at  the  newcomer  to  sit  down. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  slightly  built  newcomer,  lower- 
ing himself  gently  into  the  metal-framed  chair  as  if  he 
weighed  something,  which  he  seemed  not  to.  "My  name 
is  Lee.  I  work  for  the  Legislative  Council.  I  will  come 
straight  to  the  point,"  he  said,  and  then  contradicted 
himself  by  hesitating. 

"Please  do,"  said  Brown,  becoming  intrigued. 

Lee  leaned  forward  conspiratorially  "We  have 
noticed  that  the  best  event  in  Hong  Kong  for  getting 
international  interest  is  the  annual  rugby  tournaments. 
People  here  fight  over  tickets,  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
people  fly  in  especially  for  the  games." 

"Very  true.  So  what's  your  point?" 

"Well,  it's  like  this.  The  political  scene  in  Hong  Kong 
is  going  through  a  difficult  patch  what  with  the 
handover  to  China.  Everyone's  a  bit  nervous  and  most 
people  are  feeling  low.  We  think  that  if  someone  like 
you  managed  to  integrate  rugby  and  Hong  Kong  politics 
in  some  way  -  well,  there  might  be  a  resurgence  of 
interest  in  Legco." 


"Fascinating  idea,"  said  Brown,  putting  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  together.  "And  what's  in  it  for  us?" 

"We  guarantee  to  pass  bills  renewing  leases  for  all 
rugby  grounds  and  rugby  clubs  in  Hong  Kong  until  the 
year  2047." 

"My  God.  Would  you  really  do  that?" 

"That  is  the  offer  on  the  table." 

Visions  swam  through  Brown's  mind.  He  could  see 
the  headlines:  "Brown  single-handedly  preserves  rug- 
ger", "Salvation  of  Hong  Kong  rugby  all  down  to 
Brown",  "Brown  knighted  for  services  to  sport". 
Irresistible! 

"You  have  yourself  a  deal,  Mr  Lee." 


2  It  proved  easier  said  than  done.  Brown  spent 
weeks  getting  to  know  members  of  the  political 
community  and  the  business  world,  and  it  took 
much  coaxing  to  organise  them  into  teams  of  ten  for 
training  sessions.  Some  had  never  heard  of  rugby,  and 
were  deeply  suspicious.  The  move  was  denounced  in  the 
To  Gung  Boo  newspaper  as  "a  British  plot". 

But  others  welcomed  the  change  from  routine  and 
looked  forwards  to  their  weekends  on  the  fields  with 
Brown  and  his  team. 

"Call  me  Pete,"  health-conscious  tycoon  Peter  Woo 
of  Wharf  said  one  Saturday,  kicking  a  ball  expertly 
through  the  cross-bars.  "And  what's  your  first  name,  Mr 
Brown?" 

"Good  lord,"  replied  Brown.  "Do  you  know  I  have 
absolutely  no  idea?  Haven't  been  called  anything  except 
Brown  since  I  was  a  nipper  at  school." 


3  At  last,  the  great  day  dawned.  But  from  the 
moment  the  whistle  blew,  it  became  evident  that 
this  was  going  to  be  the  most  extraordinary  rugby 
series  in  history. 

The  sports  reporter  from  the  South  China  Morning  Post 
made  the  following  notes  about  the  individual  matches. 

Round  1 :  The  Democrats  versus  the  Liberal  Party. 
The  Liberals  found  themselves  in  grave  trouble  when 
they  changed  their  mind  about  which  way  they  were 
playing  half-way  through  the  match.  This  resulted  in 
them  scoring  23  tries  against  themselves,  in  addition 
to  the  30  scored  against  them. 

Round  2:  The  Hong  Kong  Stockbrokers  Association 
versus  the  Democrats. 

The  game  proceeded  well  until  two  members  of  the 
business  team  were  sent  off  for  taking  bets  from 
spectators  about  the  outcome.  As  they  left  the  field, 
Democrats'  leader  Martin  Lee  made  an  announce- 
ment through  a  portable  loudhailer.  "We  declare 
ourselves  the  winners,  by  a  simple  democratic 
majority,"  he  said. 

Round  3:  The  Independents  versus  the  Democrats. 
The  match  had  to  be  stopped  when  the  referee  gave 
Independents'  captain  Emily  Lau  a  third  verbal  warning 
for  talking  too  loudly  She  then  brought  out  a  copy  of 
the  Bill  of  Rights  from  her  handbag  and  beat  him  to  a 
pulp  with  it. 

Round  4:  The  Provisional  Legislature  candidates  versus 
the  Independents. 

The  match  had  to  be  suspended  before  the  full-time 
whistle  went,  because  the  PL  candidates  insisted  that 


a  Selection  Committee  sinould  choose  the  most  suit- 
able winner  on  the  basis  of  patriotic  loyalty  to  China. 

Round  5:  The  Democratic  Alliance  for  the  Betterment 
of  Hong  Kong  versus  the  Provisional  Legislature. 
The  match  was  disrupted  from  the  fourth  minute. 
This  was  when  DAB  captain  Tsang  Yok-sing  grabbed 
the  ball  and  immediately  got  out  his  mobile  phone. 
"Hold  on  for  a  minute,"  he  said.  "I  have  to  make  an 
IDD  call  to  Beijing  to  see  if  it  is  all  right  for  me  to 
score  a  try,  and  which  goal  I  should  aim  for." 

Round  6:  The  British  Joint  Liaison  Group  versus  the 
Provisional  Legislature. 

The  British  team  refused  to  play  when  they  discov- 
ered that  they  were  offered  the  same  conditions  as 
other  players,  instead  of  expatriate  terms.  "We  want 
a  four-bedroom  dressing  room  each,  maid's  quarters, 
and  a  free  cruise  home,"  said  a  spokesman. 

Round  7:  The  Hong  Kong  Civil  Service  versus  the 
Provisional  Legislature. 

The  government  team  got  a  lot  of  press  coverage  dur- 
ing the  run  up  to  the  games,  but  only  three  out  of  ten 
turned  up  on  the  day  "Four  have  emigrated  to 
Vancouver  and  the  other  three  are  in  Brisbane,"  said 
the  team  captain. 

Round  8:  The  Hong  Kong  Federation  of  Business  People 
versus  the  Provisional  Legislature. 
The  entire  series  of  games  came  to  a  dramatic  halt, 
after  the  business  federation  offered  to  buy  the 
opposing  team's  half  of  the  field,  so  they  they  could 
redevelop  the  pitch  into  a  multi-purpose  develop- 
ment featuring  a  hotel,  service  apartments  and  a 
retail  complex. 


4  Brown  and  Lee  were  sitting  in  the  restaurant  of 
the  Legislative  Council,  musing  over  their  recent 
joint  venture. 
"Well,  Lee  old  buddy  it  certainly  created  a  lot  of  inter- 
est in  politics  and  rugby  and  made  the  two  of  us 
bloody  famous  in  Hong  Kong,"  said  Brown. 

"It  worked  exactly  as  I  hoped  it  would,"  replied  Lee. 

Brown  sipped  his  G  and  T  thoughtfully  as  he  looked 
sideways  at  his  companion. 

"What  do  we  call  this  place  now?" 

"Xianggang." 

He  tried  to  repeat  it  but  only  managed  to  spit  a  large 
portion  of  his  drink  on  to  his  lap.  "Bally  hard  to  say." 

"British  people  cannot  pronounce  it." 

"You  seem  to  be  right,"  said  Brown.  "But  you  know,  I 
wish  you  had  told  me  that  this  was  your  secret  plan  to 
spend  time  with  all  the  bigwigs  and  get  yourself  chosen 
as  Head  of  the  Hong  Kong  Civil  Service." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Lee.  "It  worked,  which  is  all  that 
matters.  By  the  way  I  hear  you  are  going  to  get  a 
knighthood,  like  Sir  Chris." 

"Really?  Well,  they  can't  call  me  Sir  Brown.  I'd  better 
find  out  what  my  first  name  is.  I'm  sure  I  must  have 
had  one  once." 


You  think  you  live  in  Hong  Kong.  But  really,  you  live  in 
the  Twilight  Zone.  To  remind  yourself,  all  you  have  to  d 
is  pick  up  the  telephone. 


It  is  common  for  Hong  Kong  employees  to  resign  by 
telephone.  This  conversation  took  place  at  a  nev*/spa- 
per  in  Kow/loon. 

Editor:  Is  it  the  money?  If  it  is  just  the  money,  I  am  sure 

that  we  can  come  to  some  arrangement. 

Ex-employee:  It's  too  late  for  that  now. 

Boss:  It's  not  too  late.  I  can  arrange  that  right  now. 

Ex-employee:  It  is  too  late.  I've  already  gone  through 

immigration. 


This  is  a  genuine  Hong  Kong  phone  conversation: 

Caller:  Can  I  please  speak  to  the  managing  director? 

Receptionist:  Hello? 

Caller:  Can  I  please  speak  to  the  managing  director? 

Receptionist:  How  to  spell? 

Caller:  Can  I  PLEASE  speak  to  the  managing  director? 

Receptionist:  What  is  your  name? 

Caller:  Mr  Hunt. 

Receptionist:  Mr  Hunt  is  not  in. 

[Click.] 


So  is  this: 

Mrs  Hui:  Hello.  I'm  Mr  Hui's  wife.  I  know  he  is  out  of  the 
office  right  now,  but  can  you  ask  him  to  return  my  call 


as  soon  as  he  comes  back? 
Secretary:  Please  hold  on. 
[Two  minutes  pass.] 
Secretary:  I  am  sorry,  Mr  Hui  is  out. 
Mrs  Hui:  I  know  he  is  out.  I  just  want  to  leave  a  message 
for  him.  Please  ask  him  to  return  my  call  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. I'm  his  wife. 
Secretary:  Hold  on. 
[Two  minutes  pass.] 

Secretary:  Okay  I  will  pass  the  message  to  Mr  Hui.  What 
is  your  name? 

Mrs  Hui:  I  am  Mr  Hui's  wife. 
Secretary:  But  what  is  your  name? 


Maneesha  Kumar,  a  STAR  TV  copywriter,  phoned  a 

contact  at  a  Hong  Kong  advertising  agency  in  Taikoo 

Shing. 

Reception:  He's  gone  away  on  a  trip. 

Maneesha:  Oh.  Where's  he  gone? 

Reception:  Er,  the  rest  room. 


Ahrenkiel  Liner  Service  has  a  staff  member  called 
Hans  Heer. 

"The  confusion  that  exists  when  he  answers  the  phone 

has  to  be  heard  to  be  believed,"  said  his  boss  Peter  Nash. 

Caller:  Hans  Heer  please. 

Heer:  Hello,  Heer. 

Caller:  Hans  Heer  please. 

Heer:  Heer  here! 

Caller:  !! 


Natalie  Foong  of  Conduit  Road,  Hong  Kong  island, 
wanted  to  give  some  clothes  away.  She  phoned 
Oxfam  Hong  Kong. 

Oxfam:  We  have  two  outlets  In  Hong  Kong  but  we 
have  stopped  accepting  donations  in  one  because  there 
are  already  too  many  clothes.  The  other  outlet  is  still 
open  but  only  for  designer  labels. 
Natalie:  What  do  you  mean  by  designer  labels? 
Oxfam:  Put  it  this  way  we  do  not  consider  something 
like  Benetton  a  designer  label. 
Natalie:  Then  what  do  you  really  mean? 
Oxfam:  The  things  they  sell  at  Joyce  we  would  consid- 
er. 

Natalie:  What  about  a  brand  like  MCM? 
Oxfam:  No,  the  tai-tais  [ladies  who  lunch]  told  us 
MCM  is  last  on  the  list.  So,  no,  we  would  not  consider 
that  a  designer  label. 
Natalie:  What  about  Yves  Saint  Laurent? 
Oxfam:  Not  really  but  maybe.  Why  don't  you  bring 
them  here  so  that  we  can  check  on  the  condition? 

It  was  a  dull  Sunday  afternoon. 
A  woman  in  Hong  Kong  (wife  of  a  regular  contributor) 
decided  she  wanted  to  see  a  film.  She  called  the  num- 
ber for  the  UA  Queensway  cinema's  automated 
Ticketmaster  service. 

The  computer-generated  voice  asked  for  her  charge 
card  number. 

"Okay"  she  said.  "Four,  nine,  six,  six..."  she  began. 
"Please  enter  your  card  number,"  the  voice  interrupted. 
She  tried  it  louder  and  more  slowly:  "FOUR.  NINE.  SIX. 
SIX..." 


"Please  enter  your  card  number,"  it  said  again. 

She  tried  speaking  more  quickly 

"Fourninesixsixzerofour..." 

"Please  enter  your  card  number." 

It  then  occurred  to  her  that  this  may  be  a  Cantonese 

speaking  computer. 

"Sel,  gau,  lohk,  lohk,  ling,  se/... " 

At  this  point,  the  computer  hung  up  on  her. 

What  to  do? 

The  thought  struck  her  that  maybe  the  computer  required 

her  husband's  card,  so  she  repeated  the  entire  exercise 

with  that  —  and  again  failed  on  every  round.  We  may 

chuckle  at  her,  but  she  has  a  point.  It  doesn't  say  "punch 

in"  the  numbers  of  your  credit  card  number,  does  it? 


Margaret  Mudd  phoned  the  Hong  Kong  office  of 
Bank  of  Tokyo. 

"Yes,"  said  the  receptionist.  "What  is  your  name?" 

"Who  wants  to  know?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Well,  Mrs  Whowantstoknow,  if  you  would  ring  862..." 

Mike  Kardel  phoned  the  Au  Trou  Normand  restau- 
rant in  Kowloon. 

Kardel:  My  name  is  Kardel.  I  have  a  table  booked  at 
your  restaurant  for  this  evening  which  I  would  like  to 
cancel  and  book  for  the  same  time  tomorrow  instead. 
Staff:  Ah,  yes.  Kardel.  7.30.  Cancel  and  book  tomorrow. 
Kardel:  Yes. 
Staff:  Your  name,  please? 


There's  a  English-language  environmental  poster  in 
subway  stations  throughout  Hong  Kong  carrying  the  slo- 
gan: "If  we  really  want  a  green  and  friendly  city,  nature 
needs  a  hand."  Tony  Giles  phoned  the  number  given. 
The  response:  "Aieeeyaa!  Gwai  lo  lei  ga...  Dim  gaau?" 
[Yikes,  a  foreigner,  what  should  we  do?] 
It's  not  only  nature  that  needs  a  little  help. 


Diane  Coogias  originally  worked  in  Hong  Kong  for  a 
company  named  Failure  Analysis  Associates.  The  normal 
phone  greeting  was:  "Good  morning,  Failure." 
This  is  the  first  time  I  have  heard  a  standard  phone 
greeting  which  is  positively  insulting,  if  not  actually 
defamaton/. 


Trish  Harwood  of  Ludgate  Asia  was  on  the  phone  to 
Singapore.  She  used  standard  alphabet  speak 

(C  for  Charlie  and  so  on)  to  spell  her  name. 

"T-Tom,  R-Robert,  l-lndia,  S-Sugar..."  she  started. 

The  Singapore  operator  repeated  it  back  to  her  —  but 

with  one  correction. 

"T-Tom,  R-Robert,  l-lndia,  S-Singapore..." 

Why  am  I  not  surprised? 


Phone  conversation  between  Marc  Nield  and  Far 
East  Jetfoils  in  Hong  Kong. 

Nield:  I  have  reserved  six  tickets  for  6  pm  on  March  7.  I 
want  to  cancel  three  of  them. 

Jetfoils:  You  must  cancel  all  six  and  make  a  new  book- 
ing for  the  three  you  want  to  keep. 
Nield:  Okay  fine.  (Gives  details  of  original  booking,  and 
receptionist  cancels  it.) 

Jetfoils:  What  new  reservations  would  you  like  to 
make? 

Nield:  Three  tickets  for  6  pm  on  March  7. 
Jetfoils:  Sorry.  6  pm  on  March  7  is  fully  booked. 
[Click.] 


Chapter  2:  How  to  become  a  property  tycoon 


A  True  Story  of  Intrigue  and  Greed  in  Ten  Acts 


Act  I  TInere  was  a  knock  at  tlie  door.  It  was  a  young 
woman  with  a  pen  and  a  clipboard.  She  wanted  to 
know  if  we  were  interested  in  selling  our  flat. 

Then  she  mentioned  the  price  she  had  in  mind. 

After  picking  my  chin  up  off  the  floor  and  re-attach- 
ing it  to  my  mandible,  I  told  her  that  I  would  move  the 
family  and  all  belongings  to  a  bench  in  the  playground 
down  the  street  within  forty  minutes. 


Act  II  We  do  not  live  in  what  is  generally  described  as  a 
"exclusive  and  sought-after  residence".  We  live  in  a 
Hong  Kong  block  so  humble  that  when  we  bring  guests 
home,  they  think  we  are  taking  a  short  cut  through  a 
derelict  tenement. 

It  is  30  years  old,  which  is  ancient  by  the  standards 
of  this  city.  No  bank  will  give  a  mortgage  on  a  property 
so  old.  Our  lift  is  so  primitive  that  you  have  to  open  the 
elevator  door  by  hand.  Many  visitors  just  stand  there 
waiting  for  something  to  happen.  We  measure  the  intel- 
ligence of  visitors  by  calculating  how  long  they  wait.  A 
financial  analyst  holds  the  record  at  three  minutes. 

Our  neighbours  are  so  traditional  that  at  the  appro- 
priate Chinese  festival  times,  they  light  bonfires  —  in 
the  upstairs  corridors,  and  that's  not  a  joke. 

The  lobby  of  the  building  features  a  traditional  type 
of  air-conditioner  known  as  the  open  door  policy  and  is 
manned  by  a  classic  Hong  Kong  security  guard:  an 
elderly  man  who  speaks  fluent  Grunt. 

The  pipes  in  the  flat  above  us  are  so  damaged  that 
they  moan  and  belch  almost,  but  not  quite,  as  loudly  as 
the  people  who  live  in  it. 


The  walls  are  so  thin  I  felt  like  crying  one  day  and 
discovered  that  a  neighbour  was  peeling  onions. 

Notwithstanding  the  bonfires  in  the  corridors,  there 
appears  to  be  unbreakable  glass  in  all  the  fire  alarms. 


Act  III  But  did  the  young  woman  at  the  door  hand  over 
the  cash?  No.  She  moved  on  to  ring  the  bell  of  the  next 
flat,  explaining  that  she  would  have  to  get  agreement 
from  all  flat-owners  in  the  building  before  trundling  my 
personal  wheelbarrow-full  of  money  around. 


Act  IV  Consulting  people  in  the  property  business  here, 
I  made  an  amazing  discovery. 

When  a  Communist  power  takes  over  a  free,  liberal 
society,  there  are  certain  subtle  societal  adjustments 
that  can  be  expected:  the  collapse  of  the  property  mar- 
ket, scenes  of  panic  at  exit  points,  and  so  on. 

But  this  is  Hong  Kong.  So  the  opposite  happens. 

I  am  writing  this  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  han- 
dover date,  and  property  prices  have  suddenly  started  to 
zoom  UP.  The  only  chaos  at  the  airport  is  with  people 
trying  to  cram  IN  to  the  territory. 

Developers  with  briefcases  of  cash  are  sniffing 
around  old  buildings  throughout  the  territory.  They  have 
found  what  used  to  be  called  the  Philosopher's  Stone: 
the  rock  that  could  be  transformed  into  gold.  Only,  the 
Hong  Kong  version  is  better.  It  turns  thin  air  into  the 
most  valuable  real  estate  in  the  world. 

Ingredients:  Champagne,  ink,  clipboard,  telephone. 

Method: 


1.  Buy  a  small  building  with  some  empty  air  above  it. 

2.  Knock  it  down. 

3.  Replace  with  a  tall  building. 

4.  Collect  HK$100  million  in  profit. 

5.  Drink  champagne,  buy  Ferrari,  etc. 

The  crumbly  block  of  23  small  apartments  in  which  I 
live  on  Caine  Road,  Central,  is  worth,  say,  US$8.7  mil- 
lion. Once  you  have  said  the  magic  words  "plot  ratio", 
you  can  replace  it  with  a  29-storey  tower  containing 
84  flats,  which  would  be  valued  on  the  open  market  at 
about  US$32  million. 

The  difference  is  US$23  million.  This  is  not  ALL  pure 
profit,  of  course.  You  have  to  deduct  the  cost  of  the 
pen  and  clipboard. 


Act  V  There  was  another  knock  on  the  door.  It  was 
another  developer.  We  turned  him  away,  explaining 
that  his  offer  was  less  than  offered  by  his  earlier  rival. 

But  one  of  my  neighbours,  a  lawyer  who  owned  two 
flats,  responded  differently.  He  agreed  to  sell  at  the 
lower  price,  if  the  buyer  stumped  up  the  money  for  his 
two  flats  immediately.  He  reasoned  that  cash  in  the 
hand  is  better  than  promises  of  untold  wealth.  The 
door-stepping  developer,  a  young  man,  searched  his 
soul  and  wallet,  and  discovered  that  deep  down,  he 
was  a  speculator. 

By  buying  the  flats,  and  reselling  them  to  his  rival, 
he  could  make  HK$2  million  almost  immediately,  just 
for  a  bit  of  paperwork.  He  pulled  out  a  sales  agreement. 
The  lawyer  packed  his  bags  and  left.  The  would-be 
buyer  suddenly  joined  the  ranks  of  us  would-be  sellers. 


Act  VI  A  residents'  meeting  was  called.  Rarely  seen 
owners  crept  out  from  their  corners.  Most  were  ordi- 
nary, working  class  Cantonese  folk.  This  writer  sat  next 
to  a  grey-robed  Buddhist  priest  of  indeterminate  sex, 
forming  a  shaven-headed  subset  in  the  corner. 

Conversation  was  loud,  excited,  in  Cantonese  — 
and  much  too  fast  for  the  two  foreigners  (myself  and  a 
German  import-export  man)  to  keep  up  with. 

The  developer-turned-owner,  looking  out  of  place  in 
his  stiff  suit  and  tie,  sat  uncomfortably  among  other 
attendees,  most  of  whom  were  elderly  people  who  have 
lived  in  the  flats  since  it  was  built. 

Suddenly,  one  man  stood  up.  "Mei  sek  faon,"<ne 
said,  informing  us  that  he  had  not  eaten  his  rice.  He 
moved  out  of  the  room  as  awkwardly  as  a  week-old 
corpse  or  a  man  who  has  eaten  too  much  All-Bran. 
An  old  lady  sitting  nearby  looked  baffled:  "How  can 
he  not  have  eaten  yet?  This  meeting  was  planned 
many  days  ago." 

But  the  others  shook  their  heads.  They  knew  exactly 
what  had  happened.  This  owner  had  caught  Last  Man 
Syndrome.  He  had  decided  to  be  the  last  to  sell,  in  the 
hope  that  he  could  negotiate  a  better  deal. 

The  actual  outcome  was  that  the  contract  was  torn 
up.  One  person  missing  meant  the  sales  agreements  for 
all  of  us  were  instantly  invalidated.  The  developer 
packed  her  briefcase  and  left. 

We  retired  back  through  our  respective  doors. 

But  you  should  have  seen  the  face  of  the  smart 
young  speculator,  who  had  just  spent  a  fortune  on  two 
Jurassic  era  flats  he  didn't  want.  Welcome  to  the 
neighbourhood,  fella. 


Act  Vll  I  consulted  an  old  businessman  who  had  owned 
properties  in  Hong  Kong  for  many  decades. 

"Don't  get  your  hopes  up,"  he  said.  "Whether  it's  a 
small  low-rise  block  of  a  handful  of  flats,  or  a  huge 
complex  of  1,000  flats,  there  is  always  one  person  who 
refuses  to  sell,  and  then  the  whole  scheme  is  scup- 
pered." 

The  most  celebrated  case  of  Last  Man  Syndrome 
concerned  a  man  who  lived  some  five  years  ago  in  a 
grubby  block  in  the  part  of  Causeway  Bay  which  now 
features  glossy  shopping  malls  such  as  the  Caroline 
Centre. 

Finding  himself  the  last  owner  in  a  building  about  to 
be  redeveloped,  this  man  forced  the  horrified  developer 
to  pay  HK$11  million  for  worthless,  derelict  premises 
which  no  self-respecting  rat  would  occupy.  In  one  fell 
swoop,  a  slum-dweller  became  a  US  dollar  millionaire. 


Act  VIII  What  does  one  do  at  a  point  like  this? 
Traditionally,  one  hires  triads  to  rough  up  difficult 
neighbours  so  that  they  move  out. 

But  this  is  not  for  me.  I  like  my  neighbours.  And 
besides,  there  was  nothing  listed  under  triads  in  the 
phone  book.  I  already  looked. 


Act  IX  More  meetings  were  held.  How  could  the  Last 
Man,  nicknamed  Mr  Greedy,  be  persuaded  to  change  his 
mind?  Weapons?  Bribery?  We  opted  for  the  second  of 
these,  as  being  possibly  less  illegal. 

Plan  one:  Collect  a  small  Mr  Greedy  Tax  from  all  the 


other  residents.  Offer  him  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars 
in  cash  up  front. 

We  suggested  it.  The  Last  Man  was  unmoved.  He 
didn't  want  a  small  payoff.  Six  figures  or  nothing,  he 
said. 

Plan  Two:  We  suggested  the  developer  talk  to  him. 
She  could  negotiate  a  special  "stubbornness  surcharge" 
from  her  backers  for  him. 

It  worked!  The  resulting  good  news  spread  quickly 
through  our  seven-storey  block  like  burst  pipe  damage: 
Mr  Greedy  had  agreed  to  sign  at  a  meeting  later  in  the 
month,  and  the  sale  was  going  to  go  through. 


Act  X  Rich.  Rich.  We  were  rich  beyond  our  wildest 
dreams.  Well,  some  reasonably  pleasant  dreams,  any- 
way. What  was  about  to  happen  really  did  seem  to  be 
the  Hong  Kong  Dream  come  true.  Twenty-three  families 
were  about  to  turn  a  derelict  block  of  flats  into  a 
mountain  of  cash,  without  the  indignity  of  having  to  do 
a  single  honest  day's  work  for  it. 

Your  Humble  Narrator  and  his  wife  went  flat-hunt- 
ing and  selected  a  nice  residence  on  Braemar  HilL 

Then  came  the  day  to  sign  away  the  old  flats  and 
collect  the  first  tranche  of  cash. 

I  hurried  to  the  meeting,  held  in  a  resident's  front 
room,  and  was  pleased  to  see  that  it  had  attracted  most 
other  inmates,  including  Mr  Greedy  from  the  fourth 
floor  and  the  grey-clad  monk  from  the  first  floor.  But 
no  one  was  smiling. 

"D/'moo/7.?/Mi;f/e/is/.^  Everything  okay?  Anything  the 
matter?" 


Developer  Number  One  broke  the  bad  news.  The 
youthful  Developer  Number  Two,  who  was  not  present, 
had  launched  a  cunning  scheme  to  snatch  the  profits 
from  this  deal  from  right  under  her  nose. 

The  young  man  had  lifted  the  price  of  his  pair  of 
tiny,  old,  almost  worthless  flats  to  a  mind-boggling 
US$1  million  each,  or  HK$16  million  for  the  two. 
Developer  Number  One  was  therefore  withdrawing.  The 
sale  was  off.  Our  dreams  popped  like  the  bubbles  in  the 
drool  of  the  70-year-old  from  the  second  floor  rear  ten- 
ement. 

The  implications  were  immediately  clear  to  all  resi- 
dents. With  two  developers  deadlocked  over  profits 
from  the  deal,  no  sale  was  going  to  be  signed  tonight 
or  at  any  time  in  the  foreseeable  future. 

We  shuffled  out  of  the  room  in  silence  and  gloom 
returned  to  the  decrepit  block  in  Caine  Road. 

That  night,  the  wailing  of  the  pipes  was  drowned 
out  by  the  wailing  of  residents.  This  time,  onions  were 
not  required. 


Chapters:  And  the  winner 


Ladies  and  gentlemen,  please  put  your  hands  together 
for  the  following  companies  in  Hong  Kong  and  the  region, 
which  desen/e  special  recognition  for  adding  to  the  sum 
of  human  happiness  —  in  most  cases,  unintentionally. 


Most  Baffling  Public  Announcement:  The  tape  loop  at 
Quarry  Bay  subway  station  in  Hong  Kong  which  repeat- 
edly said:  "Beware  of  your  personal  belongings." 
Why?  Are  they  going  to  bite  us? 


The  above  announcement  must  have  been  heard  by 
the  manager  of  Fanling  station,  who  gets  a  prize  for 
Strangest  Train  Station  Notice:  "Beware  of  platform 
announcements."  (Spotter:  Ian  Bolton.) 


The  Best  Voicemail  System:  Urbtix  of  Hong  Kong. 
Phone  them,  and  the  recorded  voice  makes  a  helpful 
suggestion:  "If  you  are  in  a  hurry,  please  call  later" 


Best  Warning  Against  Shoplifters  can  be  seen  at 
Fetish  Fashions  of  Lyndhurst  Terrace,  Central,  Hong 
Kong:  "Shoplifters  will  be  bound  and  gagged  and  have 
hot  wax  poured  up  their  bottoms." 


Worst  Business  Name  in  Hong  Kong?  Sadly,  the  Self- 

Serving  Leather  Co  of  Causeway  Bay  has  closed  down. 

The  company  called  Turns  Out  All  Right  Co  has  gone 

into  liquidation. 

No,  I  think  this  year's  winner  is  Avarice  Ltd. 

Runner  up:  Pillage  Ltd. 

(For  more  business  names,  see  the  following  chapter) 


Least  Appetising  Dish  of  this  year  is  that  listed  on  the 
menu  at  the  Liu  Hua  Hotel,  in  Guangzhou,  China. 
"Dehydrated  Pig:  28  yuan." 

There  were  some  good  runners  up.  The  Metropole  Hotel 
in  Kowloon  has  a  menu  featuring  "Broiled  Salmon  Leg". 


Most  Mysterious  Dish  of  the  Year  is  the  one  served  at 
the  Food  Street  Restaurant  in  Guangzhou:  "Roast  suck- 
ling pigeon"  (Spotter:  Ian  Hart.) 


Perhaps  a  special  award  for  Most  Intelligent 
Classification  System  should  go  to  the  telephone  direc- 
tories of  Hong  Kong  Telecom.  The  Hong  Kong  Jockey 
Club,  the  territon/'s  biggest  business,  appears  in  the 
phone  book  as  one  tiny  line  in  miniscule  print.  To  find 
it,  you  have  to  look  under  T  for  "The". 


Prize  for  Most  Fanciful  Packaging  goes  to  Lucullus, 
which  sold  cookies  stamped  with  the  words:  "Best 
Before:  February  31st."  (Spotter:  Henry  Parsont.) 


Least  Useful  Sign  in  Hong  Kong  is  the  one  on  road 
machinery  in  Kwai  Chung  which  reads:  "Drivers  of  vehi- 
cles which  collide  with  this  pylon  should  beware." 


^.t!!**?-'"*"'*  '^""«  Resource  C;?.fr? 


Best  Church  Advertisement  is  the  one  placed  every 
Saturday  in  the  South  China  Morning  Post  by  Free 
Believers  in  Christ  Fellowship  International  of  Hong 
Kong.  It  offers  friendly  advice  for  a  variety  of  gruesome 
horrors  of  modern  family  life.  The  church's  advertise- 
ment says:  "Counselling  for  family  problems,  demonic 
oppression,  possession,  vices,  drug  addiction,  terminated 
domestic  workers." 


The  runner-up  for  the  Most  Worrying  Sign  in  Hong 
Kong:  There's  a  notice  on  a  toilet  door  at  the  Mass 
Transit  Railway  Corporation  headquarters  in  Kowloon 
Bay  which  says:  "Beware  of  Man  Behind  the  Door." 
(Spotter:  Michael  Wood.) 

First  prize  in  the  Most  Worrying  Sign  category  goes  to 
the  women's  toilet  of  the  same  office,  which  has  the 
same  sign. 


The  Best  Financial  Company  Name  in  China?  There's  a 
new  financial  firm  in  Shaanxi  province  called  The  Risky 
Investment  Co. 


Dumb  Statement  of  the  Year  goes  to  Channel  KTVs 
Singapore-based  chairman,  Chong  Huai  Seng,  who  said 
karaoke  was  "as  Asian  as  apple  pie".  Worst  Public  Relations 
Decision  of  the  year  goes  to  the  same  company  who  took 
that  statement  and  widely  distributed  it  on  press  releases. 


Bravest  Restaurant  Advertisement  of  the  Year  is  the  one 
for  the  Sheraton  Hotel's  Bukhara  restaurant,  nominated  by 
reader  M.  Mendelsohn  of  Hong  Kong.  Below  a  picture  of  a 
toilet  roll  are  the  words:  "Some  Indian  food  burns  you 
twice.  On  the  way  in  and  the  way  out.  To  avoid  this  sensa- 
tion, try  our  mild,  north  Indian  buffet  lunch  for  HK$88." 


Best  Classified  Ad  of  the  Year  was  placed  by  Leung 
Sun-fat  in  Hong  Kong  newspapers:  "This  serve  to  con- 
firm my  regret  for  any  inconvenience  caused  to  Mr  Mar 
Hong-chin  and/or  Sun  Sun  Motor  Company,  due  to  my 
inadvertence  to  issue  legal  proceedings  (High  Court 
Action  No.  AB206  of  1995)  against  them." 
(Spotter:  Simon  Clennell.) 


And  in  Hong  Kong?  The  official  receiver  recently 
wound  up  a  company  called  Solong  Investment. 


Weirdest  Invitation  in  Hong  Kong:  "Welcome  to  the 
first  Hermes  leather  exhibition.  Stand  in  awe  beside  the 
giant-size  Kelly  bag." 


Feeblest  Sales  Slogan  is  the  sticker  on  a  clock  sold  by 
Sony  Radio  of  Queen  Victoria  Street  which  said:  "Non- 
radioactive". Now  there's  a  thing. 


The  Hong  Kong  Immigration  Department  wins  an 
Airhead  Award  for  Extreme  Pettiness.  Andrew  Taylor 
applied  for  a  new  passport.  Immigration  officials  reject- 


ed  his  application,  because  the  photos  were  attached  by 
a  staple,  which  meant  there  were  tiny  holes  in  each  one. 
On  the  other  hand,  maybe  they  are  right,  Andrew.  They 
seem  to  be  the  ones  with  holes  in  their  brains,  not  you. 


Second  Most  Idiotic  Advertising  Slogan:  The  one 
designed  to  attract  buyers  to  Beijing  International 
Friendship  Garden,  which  makes  this  grand  promise: 
"Residents  live  here  without  any  fear  of  attacks  from 
behind." 


Most  Off  the  Wall  Sign  was  that  spotted  at  the 
General  Post  Office  in  Central  Hong  Kong  by  reader  Ian 
Johnston:  "Beware  of  your  head." 
You  may  laugh,  but  some  of  us  need  constant  reminding. 


An  award  for  Best  Point-of-Sale  Merchandising  goes 
to  the  cigarette  lighter  shop  in  Cameron  Road,  Kowloon, 
which  has  a  sign  next  to  the  display  of  lighters  saying: 
"Please  do  not  try  them  as  they  are  dangerous." 


The  award  for  the  Least  Enterprising  Organisation  of 
the  Year  goes  to  the  Hong  Kong  Kite  Association.  They 
invited  reporters  to  a  kite  flying  demonstration  and 
then  cancelled  it  because  the  weather  forecast  said  it 
was  going  to  be  windy 


An  award  called  Turning  the  Tables  goes  to  the  170 
lawyers  who  lined  up  voluntarily  at  a  medical  centre  in 
Swire  House  to  give  their  blood  to  the  public.  Makes  a 
change. 


A  second  Honesty  Award  goes  to  the  garment  firm  in 
Western  which  chooses  to  market  its  designs  under  the 
name  Puking  Fashions. 


For  their  brave  refusal  to  pander  to  the  present  trend 
for  healthy  low-calorie  foods,  I  give  an  Honesty  Award 
to  the  Lam  Soon  company,  for  the  cooking  oil  they  mar- 
ket under  the  name  "Fat  Brand". 


A  special  award  for  Most  Idiotic  Advertising  Slogan 
goes  to  the  Hong  Kong  distributor  of  K  Shoes.  Their  slo- 
gan: "K  Shoes.  Designed  to  fit  like  a  glove." 


Bargain  of  the  Year  was  to  be  found  at  Florist's 
Collection  of  Wan  Chai,  which  offered  to  sell  Stephanie 
Mitchell  a  "new  born  baby  with  flowers"  for  HK$280. 


And  finally,  the  Product  of  the  Decade:  The  sunglasses 
sold  by  Canaan  Optical  of  Central  Hong  Kong.  Ron 
McMillan  of  Glenealy  bought  a  pair  and  was  given 
some  advice  on  how  to  look  after  them:  "Keep  them  out 
of  direct  sunlight." 


Chapter  4:  Louise  Fraud  and  the  immense  tailor 


Make  sure  your  business  has  a  memorable  name  - 
that's  what  marketing  specialists  say.  If  you  are  remem- 
bered, you  will  get  business.  I  don't  know  if  this  also 
applies  to  the  Hung  Fat  Brassiere  Company,  which  had 
trouble  enticing  women  to  buy  bras  with  "Hung  Fat"  on 
the  label.  Or  the  firm  mentioned  in  the  Hong  Kong 
Government  Gazette  caWed  Moronicus  Ltd. 

But  maybe  having  a  very  silly  name  can  be  a  smart 
sales  move.  BUM  Equipment,  a  Los  Angeles  company 
with  a  deliberately  wacky  name,  did  well  until  1995, 
when  it  collapsed.  (When  I  heard  the  news,  I  wished  I 
was  still  working  as  a  headline  writer.  Just  think  of  the 
possibilities:  Bum  Whacked  by  Heavy  Losses.  Bottom 
Drops  Out  of  Bum.  Bum  Goes  Through  the  Floor. 
Wrathful  Shareholders  Fall  On  Bum.  Etc.,  etc.) 
Other  company  names  from  the  files: 


dangerous-looking  holes  dug  at  the  Sheung  Wan  end  of 

Queen's  Road  were  surrounded  with  signs  saying 

"Welcome". 

The  holes  were  dug  by  Welcome  Engineering  Co,  whose 

sign-makers  clearly  did  not  think  too  hard. 


An  interestingly  named  financial  company  opened  an 
office  on  the  sixth  floor  of  New  World  Tower:  The 
Bookook  Securities  Co. 

I'm  sure  this  is  a  fine,  upstanding,  law-abiding  compa- 
ny. The  trouble  is,  I  can't  think  of  any  way  of  pronounc- 
ing the  name  except  Book  Cook. 
It  could  have  been  worse.  Bookook  could  have  been  an 
accountancy  firm. 


A  company  opened  up  in  the  Western  district  called 
Puking  Fashions.  It  was  a  subsidiary  of  a  company 
memorably  named  Puking  International.  (Spotter: 
Bernard  Long.) 


A  company  named  in  the  Supreme  Court  writs  was 
called  Chinglish  Investment  Co. 
Bet  you  didn't  know  you  could  buy  shares  in  a  lan- 
guage. (Spotter:  John  Budge.) 


Normally,  unexpected  holes  in  the  pavement  are  sur- 
rounded by  warning  signs  saying:  "Do  Not  Enter."  But 


Genuine  Hong  Kong  company  names,  found  by 

Jean  Bunton: 

Man  Hop  Scaffolding  Co. 

Lee  Kee  Refrigerating  Meat  Co. 

Fat  Fat  Fast  Food. 

Tai  On  Towel  Factory. 

Wong  Kee  Construction  Co. 

King  Kong  a  Co. 

Man  On  Wine  Ft  Drug  Store. 

Hang  On  Transportation  Co. 

Hop  On  Bicycle  Shop. 

Wing  King  Optical  Co. 

King  Kee  Seafood. 

Chun  Kee  Noodle  Factory. 

Sing  On  Meat  Co. 


Hang  On  Bags  Factory. 

Man  on  Wooden  Case  Co. 

Man  on  Rubber  Tyre  Co. 

Sing  Song  Piano  Co. 

Lee  Kee  Enamelware. 

Jean  tells  me  that  there  used  to  be  a  company  in  the 

China  Resources  Building  called  Sin  King  Enterprises  Co, 

but  it's  gone  now.  Clearly  it  sank. 


Most  fun  company  to  work  for:  Sin  Full  Development  Co. 


On  a  religious  note,  there  is  one  firm  listed  as 

Heavenly  People  Depot. 

A  little  more  controversially,  there  are  four  Heap  Gay 

churches. 


Incidentally,  the  Sin  Do  company  is  followed  in  the  new 
1997  phone  book  by  the  Sin  Dun  company. 


A  legal  dispute  was  filed  in  the  courts  of  Hong  Kong 
between  one  Shirley  Lam  and  a  company  called  Konew 
Finance.  So  how  does  one  pronounce  Konew,  anyway? 


Other  gems  in  the  1997  Hong  Kong 
telephone  book,  listed  under  'F': 
Fat  Boy  Vegetable. 
Fat  Free  Advertising. 
Fat  Kau  Fastfood. 
Fata  Models  Centre. 
Fat  Man  Co. 
Father  Dn/  Clean  Co. 


Useful  sounding  genuine  company  in  Hong  Kong  for 
anyone  wanting  to  send  round  the  boys:  Henchman 
International. 


Why  do  people  in  this  region  like  to  call  their  buildings 
after  other  places?  I  mean,  if  a  tourist  from  Iowa  finds 
himself  in  the  Swissotel  Beijing  Hong  Kong  Macau 
Centre  (a  real  name),  there  is  no  way  he  is  going  to  be 
able  to  work  out  what  country  he  is  in. 
This  particular  Beijing  establishment  should  take  a 
leaf  out  of  the  book  of  their  dim  sum  chef,  who 
carries  a  short,  clear,  appropriate  name: 
Mr  Cheung  Yumyum. 


Name  of  a  firm  in  the  Hong  Kong  technology  sector: 
Mercenary  Computer  Consulting. 


Paddy  Murphy  tells  me  that  there  is  a  company  in 
Wong  Chuk  Hang  called  Winkle  Design  and  Decoration 
Co.  "It's  true  what  they  say  —  you  can  buy  any  service 
in  Hong  Kong,"  he  said. 


Seen  parked  outside  Pacific  Place  was  a  van  embla- 
zoned with  the  words  "Christian  Pest  Control".  Yes,  the 
atheists  are  starting  to  play  hardball. 


Another  example  of  a  Hong  Kong  business  with  a  label 
instead  of  a  name:  There's  a  local  travel  agency  called 
Local  Travel  Agency.  (Spotter:  Phil  Hewitt.) 


One  of  the  dirtiest  lorries  I  have  ever  seen  passed  my 
taxi  on  the  Eastern  Corridor.  The  name  on  the  back  was 
almost  obscured  by  filth,  but  I  could  just  make  it  out: 
"Wai  Tat  Cleaning  Co." 


There  is  now  a  company  on  Wellington  Street  called 
Mitty  Alterations,  I  hear  from  Jeff  Heselwood.  Walter 
Mitty,  of  course,  was  a  James  Thurber  fictional  charac- 
ter whose  name  has  become  synonymous  with  things 
which  are  imaginary.  I  can  imagine  the  conversations  in 
the  shop. 

"Here  is  your  dress,  madam." 
"But  you  haven't  altered  it  in  any  way." 
"It  is  a  Mitty  Alteration,  madam." 
"Oh,  all  right." 


The  French  boutique  Agnes  Trouble  has  been  publishing 
trademark  announcements  saying  it  will  cause  trouble 
for  any  Hong  Kong  firm  which  tries  to  copy  its  products. 
What  a  great  name.  I  am  reminded  of  the  Hong  Kong 
label  sold  in  Stanley  Market  which  on  first  glance  looks 
like  Louis  Feraud.  A  closer  examination  reveals  the 
name  to  be  Louise  Fraud. 


Retailers  set  up  a  parade  of  stalls  in  Discover/  Bay 
plaza  to  mark  the  Dragon  Boat  festival  and  make  a  few 
bucks.  One  stall  was  named  "WEE  WEE".  Yes,  another 
Hong  Kong  business  that  is  going  to  have  trouble  in  the 
international  marketplace. 


Wharf  Holdings  spokesman  Nick  Thompson  chanced 
upon  a  disposable  cigarette  lighter  in  Park'N  Shop.  The 

brand  name:  "Forever." 


Shop  233,  Silvercord  Centre,  is  occupied  by  The 
Immense  Tailor. 


There  is  a  hotel  in  Kowloon,  which,  for  legal  reasons, 
carries  the  name:  The  Omni  The  Hong  Kong  Hotel. 
True  story:  United  Airlines  pilot  James  Lunte  climbed 
into  a  taxi  at  Kai  Tak. 

Captain  Lunte:  Please  take  me  to  The  Omni  The 

Hong  Kong  Hotel. 

Driver:  There  is  no  Omni  Hotel  in  Hong  Kong. 

Lunte:  I  know.  Please  take  me  to  The  Omni  The 
Hong  Kong  Hotel  in  Kowloon. 
Driver:  Cannot  do.  Hong  Kong  and  Kowloon  are  not 
the  same  place. 

Lunte:  I  know!  Please  take  me  to  The  Omni  The  Hong 
Kong  Hotel,  located  in  Kowloon,  next  to  the  Star  Fern/ 
terminal.  Drive  me  to  the  Hong  Kong  Hotel  in  Kowloon. 


Driver:  Cannot  do.  Hong  Kong  and  Kowloon  are  not 
the  same  place. 

Lunte:  I  know!  Please  take  me  to  The  Omni  The 

Hong  Kong  Hotel,  located  in  Kowloon,  next  to  the 

Star  Ferry  terminal. 

Driver;  Hong  Kong  hotels  cannot  be  in  Kowloon 

because  Hong  Kong  and  Kowloon  are  not  the  same 

place! 


done  anything  at  all." 

Staff  member:  "Yes,  sir.  We  lived  up  to  our  name  and 

gave  you  a  completely  imaginary  design." 


A  Hong  Kong  company  called  the  Worldwide  Watch  Co 
faced  a  "petition  for  winding  up"  in  the  Supreme  Court. 
(Spotter:  Kim  Manchester.) 


Lunte:  Please  just  take  me  to  the  Star  Ferry  terminal 
in  Kowloon. 

Driver:  If  you  want  to  go  to  Hong  Kong  I  can  take 
you  better  than  the  Star  Ferry. 

Lunte:  Please  take  me  to  the  Star  Ferry  terminal  in 
Kowloon. 


Euan  Barty  told  me  that  the  excellent  Spice  Island 
restaurant  in  Wellington  Street  is  serving  beer  brewed 
by  "Inertia  Industries"  of  Haryana,  India.  "Since  the 
manufacturers  got  off  their  backsides  long  enough  to 
produce  a  palatable  ale,  I  can  only  assume  the  inertia  is 
what  happens  to  the  drinkers  after  a  while,"  he  said. 


Captain  Lunte  was  then  dropped  at  the  Star  Ferry, 
where  a  young  man  helped  him  carry  his  six  large  suit- 
cases the  300  metres  to  the  hotel  at  an  extortionate 
rate.  At  least  he  got  there  in  the  end.  One  wonders  if 
some  guests  never  do. 


Mitty-ism  is  contagious,  it  seems.  Travelling  down 
Chatham  Road  North  in  Kowloon,  I  noticed  that  a  com- 
pany called  "Imaginary  Design"  has  opened  for  busi- 
ness. One  can  just  imagine  a  typical  conversation  in 
their  offices. 

Angry  customer:  "I  paid  you  tens  of  thousands  of 
dollars  to  reconfigure  my  premises  and  you  haven't 


On  the  same  street  as  Taipei's  "Unconscious 
Restaurant"  there  is  a  sign  for  the  "Shopping  Shop",  I 
hear  from  Bob  Piccus.  This  is  titled  thus  so  that  cus- 
tomers know  that  they  can  shop  for  things  in  it,  as 
opposed  to  other  shops,  where  they  can,  er,  well,  ah  . . . 
Hmmm. 

Anyway  Robert  commented:  "All  in  all,  it's  good  to 
know  that  Taipei  has  not  lost  its  touch  in  terms  of  dec- 
orative descriptive  signage.  It  was  famous  in  the  1960s 
as  the  site  of  the  'Happy  VD  Clinic'." 


Chapter  5:  City  on  a  staircase 


The  ripper  was  not  there.  Her  patch  of  dirty  pavement 
was  clear  of  the  usual  tools  of  her  trade  —  knife,  plas- 
tic dustbin,  chipped  enamel  plate  —  but  the  blood 
stains  remained  on  the  concrete.  I  hurried  past,  thank- 
ing my  stars  to  be  spared  having  to  start  my  day  with 
the  cheery  sight  of  spurting  red  fountains  for  once. 

I  live  in  a  miniature  city  on  a  staircase.  Shing  Wong 
Street  is  an  old  Hong  Kong  township  that  exists  on  a 
series  of  stone  steps.  You've  seen  pictures,  I'm  sure,  of 
these  narrow,  stepped  urban  villages,  winding  up  the 
slopes  of  Hong  Kong. 

This  one  rises  all  the  way  from  the  Western  end  of 
Queen's  Road,  to  Caine  Road,  where  Central  turns  into 
Mid-Levels.  As  I  stroll  down  the  steps  every  morning,  on 
my  way  to  Sheung  Wan  subway  station,  an  old  cliche, 
originally  uttered  about  newspapers,  pops  into  mind:  All 
of  human  life  is  here. 

Most  of  the  buildings  are  ancient  three-  or  four- 
storey  tenements.  In  typical  Hong  Kong  fashion,  there  is 
no  division  between  residential  dwellings  and  work 
places.  Several  old  houses  have  small  factories  on  the 
ground  floor. 

The  economy  of  this  staircase  town  is  based  on  print- 
ing. The  younger  men  work  on  old-fashioned  presses  in 
rooms  on  either  side  of  the  steps.  The  doors  are  always 
open,  and  you  can  see  old  hot  metal  machines  churning 
out  documents. 

Toothless  old  ladies  sit  outside  on  the  steps  in  the 
sunshine  doing  piecework,  such  as  tying  gold  threads 
on  to  gift  tags.  Western  management  experts  talk  about 
low  overheads.  Here  we  have  no  overheads.  When  it 
rains,  they  sit  in  their  doorways. 


The  first  crossroads  we  reach  is  where  the  Shing  Wong 
steps  cross  Bridges  Street,  site  of  a  polling  station  where 
residents  vote  for  the  Democratic  Party  at  every  election. 

It  is  at  this  junction  that  one  sees  the  ripper.  She  is  a 
wizened  old  woman,  with  a  stooped,  almost  simian  pos- 
ture. She  makes  a  living  selling  extremely  fresh  chickens 
—  by  which  I  mean,  sometimes  still  moving. 

For  years,  her  technique  has  been  as  follows.  She  pulls 
a  squawking  chicken  from  a  wicker  basket  from  the 
ground,  and  yanks  its  head  backwards  with  her  left 
hand.  She  makes  a  sawing  movement  with  a  rather 
blunt  knife  across  the  neck  with  her  right  hand.  A  foun- 
tain of  blood  erupts. 

Then  she  drops  the  thrashing  chicken  into  a  plastic 
dustbin  and  clamps  a  lid  on  it.  The  dying  fowl  runs 
round  and  round  inside  the  bucket.  Thump  thump 
thump  thump  thump  thump.  As  one  hurries  past,  one 
hears  the  creature's  footsteps  speed  up  as  it  panics  and 
seeks  escape.  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump- 
thump-thumpthumpthumpthump.  And  then  it  slows 
down,  as  blood  and  life  gradually  drain  away 

This  awful  accelerating-decelerating  drumbeat  haunt- 
ed my  dreams  for  a  long  time.  It  was  the  desperation 
and  frenzy  of  it.  I  thought,  at  first,  it  was  because  it 
was  the  sound  of  death.  Then,  if  you'll  excuse  me 
becoming  a  tad  philosophical  —  I  realised  that  it  was 
because  it  was  the  sound  of  life. 

In  recent  months,  the  chicken-ripper  became  lazy,  and 
decided  that  she  could  do  business  more  quickly  if  she 
prepared  her  chickens  in  advance.  She  started  slashing 
the  necks  of  six  chickens  at  once,  and  dropping  them  all 
into  the  dustbin.  The  tumult  in  the  container  as  the  ter- 


rified  beasts  clawed  each  other  in  their  death  throes 
was  so  great  that  the  dustbin  would  leap  around  and 
dance,  like  the  television  set  does  in  the  Calvin  and 
Hobbes  cartoon.  The  dustbin  lid  would  occasionally  fly 
off,  sending  an  explosion  of  blood-spattered  feathers 
soaring  into  the  air. 

So  great  was  my  distaste  for  this  woman's  work,  that  I 
when  a  saw  an  item  in  the  Straits  Times  recently  head- 
lined "Chicken  slaughterer  charged  with  murder"  I 
cheered  and  clipped  it  out.  The  throat-slitter  in 
Singapore  had  no  connection  with  the  woman  on  the 
steps  in  Hong  Kong,  but  I  felt  it  vindicated  my  feelings. 
If  you  could  kill  beasts  in  that  way,  you  were  capable  of 
any  dark  deed. 

Then  one  day  the  chicken-ripper  was  gone.  The  junc- 
tion became  curiously  tranquil. 

The  Cantonese  taste  for  extremely  fresh  food  is 
admirable,  but  distressing  to  the  faint-hearted. 

My  wife  bought  meat  from  the  market  butcher.  "Wan' 
see  how  fresh?"  he  said. 

She  didn't,  but  smiled  politely  He  hit  the  lump  of  beef 
she  was  about  to  buy  with  the  back  of  his  chopper,  and 
it  went  into  spasm,  because  the  nerves  in  it  were  still 
working. 

She  carried  the  bag  back  up  the  stairs  at  arm's  length, 
convinced  she  could  hear  a  tiny,  plaintive  moooooooo 
coming  from  it. 

Asians  are  not  known  for  being  kind  to  animals,  but 
there  are  exceptions.  With  the  ripper  gone,  my  focus  of 
attention  moved  a  few  steps  lower  down,  which  was  an 
animal  lover's  corner.  Every  day  at  8.30  am,  an  eccen- 
tric old  man  appears  at  this  spot  with  a  designer  carrier 


bag.  It  is  full  of  individually  wrapped  food  parcels. 
Suddenly,  half  a  dozen  stray  cats  —  his  children  — 
appear  and  line  up  to  be  fed.  There's  a  food  parcel  for 
each  of  them. 

Let  us  walk  down  just  a  few  more  steps.  Now  we  are 
at  the  most  pleasant  part  of  Shing  Wong  staircase- 
town,  where  the  steps  pause  and  there  is  a  small  flat 
area,  often  containing  one  or  two  camp  beds.  It  is  over- 
hung by  huge,  beautiful  old  trees,  which  have  grown 
out  of  tiny  cracks  in  a  wall.  This  is  where  workers  who 
can't  (or  won't)  pay  Hong  Kong  rents  sleep  at  night. 
These  are  not  tramps  or  winos,  but  working  class  men. 
They  wear  watches  and  spectacles. 

Now  the  steps  reach  another  intersection,  this  time 
with  Hollywood  Road.  We  have  reached  Sheung  Wan, 
the  original  city  of  Hong  Kong. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  is  a  school,  and  on  the 
wall,  one  notices  a  plaque.  This  was  the  site  of  Central 
School,  partially  responsible  for  the  education  of  Dr  Sun 
Yat-Sen,  who  grew  up  to  become  the  father  of  modern 
China. 

As  I  say  all  of  human  life  is  here,  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest. 

Recently  one  spring  morning,  I  saw  the  ripper  again. 
She  was  wearing  a  patch  over  one  eye.  Clearly,  one 
half-decapitated  bird  had  scratched  out  its  revenge  and 
passed  on  a  bit  of  its  mortality  before  starting  its  dance 
of  death. 


Chapter  6:  The  President's  massage 


We  all  make  writing  mistakes  (especially  me),  but  some 
of  us  make  them  more  hilariously  than  others.  Some 
errors  are  accidental,  some  are  deliberate,  and  some  — 
well,  we'll  never  know.  Tony  Giles  has  a  cutting  from  a 
Hong  Kong  newspaper  about  a  raid  by  "uniformed  detec- 
tives". Unfortunately,  this  was  printed  as  "uninformed 
defectives".  There  is  a  difference,  albeit  small. 


"We  shall  continue  to  dedicate  our  efforts  to  main- 
taining and  ensuring  that  similar  incidence  shall  be 
experienced  again." 


Sign  at  the  Hopewell  Centre  in  Wan  Chai:  "Change 

bubble  lift  to  revolving  restaurant." 

That's  a  lot  to  ask  of  a  passer-by.  (Spotter:  Pat  Sarwal.) 


Sign  on  the  wall  at  the  Tsing  Yi  Sports  Stadium:  "No 
Pay,  No  Gain."  (Spotter:  Simon  Jones.) 


The  Gold  Pfeil  shop  at  the  Omni  group's  Hong  Kong 
Hotel  has  a  sign  in  the  window:  "Furter  reductions." 
Spotter  Quentin  Kilian  said:  "They  must  be  making 
smaller  sausages." 


James  Johnston,  of  Lamma,  notes  that  in  the  jazz  sec- 
tion of  HMV,  the  music  shop  in  Swire  House,  Central, 
you'll  find  an  artist  listed  as  The  Lonius  Monk.  I'm  sure 
they  haven't  got  confused  about  jazz  pianist  Theolonius 
Monk.  No,  this  is  probably  a  record  of  chants  by  a  lone- 
ly guy  from  some  monaster/. 


A  sign  was  erected  at  the  Marithe  Francois  Giraud 
boutique  at  the  Landmark  in  Hong  Kong:  "Owing  to  the 
support  of  our  customers  we  are  moving  to  a  more 
convenient  location..."  (Spotter:  Don  Rae.) 


A  notice  went  up  on  the  wall  at  Cliffview  Mansions  in 
Conduit  Road,  from  Leader  Engineering  and 
Construction:  "Any  inconvenience  caused  is  appreciat- 
ed." (Spotter:  J.W.  Gregg.) 


Slogan  on  the  notepaper  at  the  Movenpick  Hotel, 
Zurich  Airport:  "Guest  is  stationery  at  our  hotel." 
So  what  do  they  do?  Pulp  them?  (Spotter:  Martin 
Baggaley) 


Desmond  O'Toole  stepped  into  one  of  those  photo 
booth  machines  at  an  MTR  station,  put  his  money  in, 
and  failed  to  get  a  recognisable  picture  out.  So  he 
wrote  to  the  machine  owner,  Max  Sight. 
That  firm's  customer  service  department  wrote  back: 


Condom  company  Okamato  Industries  (HK),  of  Wan 
Chai,  is  giving  out  product  questionnaires,  asking  peo- 
ple about  condom  useage.  You  have  to  tick  a  box  if  you 
"use  15  pes  or  above  per  mouth".  That's  what  it  says. 


Remember  Nike's  slogan,  'Just  Do  It'?  Slogan  on  a 
T-shirt  won  by  a  young  woman  in  Central  Hong  Kong: 
"Just  do  me".  (Spotter:  Bernard  Long.) 


Advertisement  placed  in  the  "wanted"  columns  by  a 
Hong  Kong  company:  "Medical  Detail  Man  Urgently 
required.  Either  sex."  (Spotter:  Jean  Bunton.) 


Announcement  from  Hong  Kong's  Environmental 
Protection  Department:  "Vibratory  pokers  will  be  subject 
to  stringent  noise  limits  if  they  are  to  be  operated  in 
designated  areas  during  noise  sensitive  hours."  So  be 
warned. 


ATV  faxed  its  tentative  schedule  for  the  Olympics  to 
Shonali  Rodrigues.  It  said  the  games  were  to  be  broad- 
cast between  2500  hours  and  3000  hours.  "Somehow 
they  have  managed  to  squeeze  an  extra  six  hours  into 
the  day,"  Shonali  said.  I  reckon  it  is  because  if  you 
spend  an  evening  watching  ATV,  it  feels  like  30  hours. 

Congratulations  to  people  at  the  National  Geographic 
Society.  For  years,  the  world's  best-known  experts  in 
geography  were  writing  to  people  in  the  territory  as 
"Hong  Kong,  China".  More  recently,  though,  they  have 
been  getting  it  right.  But  they  still  have  one  thing  to 
learn.  That  big  building  full  of  stockbrokers  in  the  middle 
of  town  is  "Exchange  Square"  not  "Sex  Change  Square". 


How  can  a  cash-strapped  youngster  jazz  up  her 
clothes?  The  AskAngie  column  in  the  South  China 
Morning  Post  recommended  that  she  invest  in  a  few 
floral  scarves  and  "dotty  bananas"  to  jazz  up  her 
T-shirts  and  jeans. 


Mark  Blacker,  of  Robinson  Road,  Hong  Kong,  bought  a 
piece  of  computer  equipment  from  IBM  only  to  find  it 
had  a  label  across  the  opening  of  the  box,  saying:  "Do 
not  break  seal  prior  to  useage." 
How  can  he  use  it  if  he  is  not  allowed  to  open  it?  Come 
on,  IBM  employees,  THINK. 


Sign  on  Cheung  Chau  Island: 

"Alliance  Bible  Seminary." 

"NO  TRESPASSING." 

Spotter  Roy  Grubb  commented:  "And  presumably  they 

don't  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  them." 


Synopsis  of  Moby  Dick  by  TVB,  a  Hong  Kong  television 
station:  "When  Ahab  finally  sights  the  huge  Moby  Dick, 
he  steers  his  ship  right  for  the  whale.  In  a  desperate 
effort  to  escape,  the  whale  capsizes." 


The  glossy,  expensive  annual  report  for  the  Joong-ang 
Daily  News  of  South  Korea  opens  with  a  taped-on  head- 
line, I  discovered  yesterday.  Peel  it  off,  and  you  see  why. 
The  original  headline  was:  "The  President's  Massage." 


Sign  seen  by  Chris  Gillespie  at  the  swimming  pool  at 
Stanley  Fort:  "All  persons  entering  the  pool  are  not  to 
wear  a  swimming  costume  or  trunks." 


Contents  of  the  room  to  the  right  of  the  press 
entrance  in  the  Legco  Building  in  Hong  Kong:  Three  ur 
nals  and  a  sign  saying:  "Pull  gently  to  avoid  hurting 
others". 


From  a  Bloomberg  rt: .  about  an  infrastructure  deal 
by  Guangdong  Investment:  "The  company  said  it  would 
sell  96  million  new  shares  to  its  parent  to  help  finance 
the  purchase  of  $1.31  billion  of  toads." 


Jonathan  Mirsky,  delightfully  eccentric  foreign  correspon- 
dent for  The  Times  of  London,  bumped  into  a  young  lady 
wearing  a  T-shirt  saying  "EUTHANASIA"  in  Hong  Kong. 
"What  does  that  mean?"  he  asked. 
"It's  in  support  of  all  the  young  people  in  the  region," 
she  explained.  "All  the  euth  in  Asia." 


Advertisement  placed  by  a  Nathan  Road  company: 
"Part  time  models  required.  Sex,  experience  and  nation- 
ality not  essential." 

At  last.  A  job  which  might  suit  some  members  of  Hong 
Kong's  stateless  minorities.  (Spotter:  Jean  Bunton.) 


Lo  Hoi-man  notes  that  there  is  a  little  Cantonese  les- 
son in  the  tourist  maps  distributed  free  in  Hong  Kong 
hotel  lobbies.  It  says:  "To  ask  how  much  something 
costs,  you  say  'gay  daw cheen' or  'gay  man'." 
Hoi-man  commented:  "This  must  be  why  so  many 
Chinese  view  homosexuality  as  a  Western  disease." 
One  can  just  picture  a  sai-yan  [Westerner]  marching 
into  a  shop  and  loudly  declaring:  "Gay  man." 
Shopkeeper:  "Faidi  Ah-Ho,  dai  seung  leigejeung  gau  sau 
to."  [Quick,  Ah-Ho,  get  your  rubber  gloves  on.] 


Stephanie  Mitchell  noticed  signs  on  the  windows  in 
the  stairwells  at  the  Arts  Centre  in  Wan  Chai  demand- 
ing that  people  "BE  CONSIDERED". 
"I  wonder  if  I  have  been,"  she  asked. 


David  Miller  of  Quarry  Bay  got  a  letter  from  Diners 
Club  Australia  apologising  for  postal  delays  in  sending 
out  his  statement. 

"Actions  have  been  taken  to  rectify  the  problem,"  says 
Diners  Club. 

The  apology  was  addressed  to:  "Mr  David  Miller,  GPO 
Box  4761,  Hong  Kong,  Solomon  Islands." 


Reader  Monika  Hendry  picked  this  non-sequitur  out  of 
an  Observer  story:  "By  March  1827,  Beethoven  —  who 
never  married  but  had  several  passionate  relationships 
with  women  —  was  suffering  from  shortness  of 
breath,  chest  pain,  pneumonia,  diarrhoea,  jaundice, 
vomiting,  and  a  distended  abdomen." 
I  sympathise,  having  much  the  same  reaction  to  women. 


No  wild  parties  at  the  Hong  Kong  Gold  Coast  settle- 
ment, no  sirree.  There  is  a  sign  on  the  forecourt  of  the 
Mobil  station  on  Castle  Peak  Road  which  says;  "No 
naked  nights".  Get  those  PJs  back  on  NOW. 
(Spotter:  Jan  Jenkins.) 


The  Legco  official  report  for  November  15,  1995,  says 
Hong  Kong  now  has  a  "Secretary  for  Home  and  Affairs". 
Sounds  like  a  fun  job.  (Spotter:  John  Wilson.) 


Reuter  sent  out  a  despatch  to  newspapers  about  a 
Siberian  conservation  group,  which  intercepts  tiger 
parts  and  other  items  destined  for  mainland  Chinese 
dinner  tables.  "The  team  has  confiscated  1 6  tiger  skins 
last  year  as  well  several  leotards,"  it  said. 


For  some  weeks,  I  walked  past  a  solid  wall  at  Fortress 
Hill  MTR  station  in  Hong  Kong  which  had  a  barrier 
erected  in  front  of  it,  bearing  the  words:  "Do  not  enter." 
This  can  only  be  to  stop  hordes  of  passengers  using 
astral  projection  to  walk  through  the  concrete. 


Brian  Heard  was  surprised  recently  when  his  office 
received  a  letter  from  the  financial  firm  of  Mason  Ball. 
When  I  say  "his  office",  I  don't  mean  his  staff  -  I  mean 
his  office. 

The  envelope  was  addressed  to  his  room,  and  the  letter 
inside  began:  "Dear  Room  1817". 


A  reader  in  Boyce  Road  got  a  letter  from  Hong  Kong 
and  China  Gas  Co.  "Dear  Sir  Madam,  your  gas  bill  will 
be  deducted  automatically  from  your  designated  bank 
account  number  with  effect  from  gas  bill  dated 
024281039542  onwards."  What's  going  on?  Is  the  gas 
company  using  a  star  date  calendar  from  Star  Trek 
these  days? 


The  Hong  Kong  branch  of  Wacoal,  the  Japanese 
underwear  company,  has  covered  the  territory  with 
posters  saying:  "Good  Up  Bra."  I  bumped  into  Jeff 
Heselwood,  staring  at  one  of  the  posters  and  asking  the 
obvious  question.  "What  is?" 


Still  on  physical  topics,  a  pop-quiz  in  Hong  Kong's 

Boutique  magazine  includes  suggestions  for  women 

whose  rough  partners  "persist  in  kneading,  rather  than 

gently  stroking,  your  breasts" 

The  English  version  says:  "Give  his  pecs  a  playful  pinch 

to  show  how  it  feels." 

The  Chinese  version  says:  "Give  his  buttocks  a  playful 

pinch  to  show  how  it  feels." 

Unh  -  do  Chinese  men  not  have  pecs?  Are  Western 

male  buttocks  so  heavily  padded  that  they  don't  feel 

anything  through  them? 


Keith  Maxted  of  Asco  General  Supplies,  Kowloon, 
received  a  letter  from  C  W  Yip  of  the  Immigration 
Department,  saying:  "Please  bring  your  Hong  Kong 


identity  card-travel  document,  this  letter  and  the  fol- 
lowing documents:  passport  for  visa  endorsement  with 
attached  father."  One  likes  to  comply  with  bureaucratic 
arrangements  as  much  as  possible,  but  it  is  jolly  hard  to 
clip  the  old  bloke  to  a  pile  of  papers. 


course  it  isn't.  There  was  a  report  in  the  racing  page  of 
the  same  newspaper  the  same  week  which  said  four  hors- 
es "swept  across  the  line  literally  locked  together".  If  this 
is  true,  Hong  Kong's  race-fixers  are  using  really  unusual 
methods. 


On  the  back  of  a  baby  garment  in  the  Walt  Disney 
shop,  Kowloon:  "Baby's  first  Christmas." 
On  the  label  of  the  same  garment:  "18  months." 
(Spotter:  Kevin  Gould.) 


The  Mass  Transit  Railway  Corp  held  its  "4th  Yeung 
Sau  On  Plague  Snooker  Trophy",  according  to  its 
newsletter.  What  are  the  rules  of  "plague  snooker",  any- 
way? Do  infected  players  have  to  pot  the  ball  before 
dropping  dead?  (Spotter:  Howard  McKay.) 


Title  of  a  seminar  at  the  Hong  Kong  Convention  and 
Exhibition  Centre:  "Persuit  of  Excellence". 
(Spotter:  John  Meirs.) 


Asians  are  always  being  mocked  for  the  ghastly  mis- 
takes we  make  trying  to  communicate  in  English,  so 
let's  savage  some  native  English  speakers  for  a  change. 
In  the  technology  section  of  the  Japan  Times,  John 
Moran  wrote:  "Sure  glad  the  monkey  is  off  my  back. 
That's  not  a  figure  of  speech.  The  monkey  in  question  - 
commonly  known  as  'monkey  B'  -  is  a  virus." 
Come  off  it,  John.  It  IS  a  figure  of  speech,  or  you're 
playing  piggy-back  with  Bubbles  the  Chimp. 


Next  to  the  duck  pond  in  scenic  Tuen  Mun  park  there 
is  a  sign  which  reads:  "Do  not  feed  the  living  creature." 
Given  the  condition  of  the  murky  water,  I'm  not  sur- 
prised that  there's  only  one  left.  (Spotter:  Cathy  Gritz.) 


My  favourite  recent  howler  goes  back  to  that  gem  of 
a  word,  literally.  On  the  international  wires  shortly 
before  writing  this,  I  read  a  football  story  which  said-: 
"This  time  [Eric]  Cantona  kept  his  head  -  literally." 
The  previous  time,  poor  Eric  was  evidently  decapitated. 
From  the  travel  pages  of  the  South  China  Morning  Post: 
"Moscow  is  a  city  literally  awash  with  museums."  Of 


Sign  on  a  wall  in  a  restaurant  in  Stanley  Village:  "Up 
stairs  air  conditional."  (Spotter:  Jack  Moore.) 


Robert  Allender  sent  me  a  programme  from  a  recent 
hotel  industry  conference  which  features  an  interesting 
seminar:  "Guest's  [sic]  satisfaction  -  how  to  keep  them 
from  coming  back." 


Sign  seen  in  the  window  of  Bauhaus,  a  boutique  in 
Kowloon:  "Sales  urgently  wanted." 


Marc  Smith-Evans  was  playing  squash  with  Paul 
Claughan  at  the  Harbour  Road  Sports  Centre  in  Wan  Chai, 
Hong  Kong  when  they  noticed  a  sign  outside  the  court: 
WORK  IN  PROGRESS.  PLEASE  APOLOGISE  FOR  ANY 
INCONVENIENCE  CAUSED. 

Marc  wrote  to  the  South  China  Morning  Post  after- 
wards: "As  I  was  in  a  bit  of  a  rush,  I  forgot  to  obey  the 
notice.  I  wonder  whether  I  could  use  the  media  to  apol- 
ogise to  the  Urban  Services  staff  and  the  workmen 
changing  the  ceiling  tiles?" 


in  the  Christmas  carol  concert  programme  at 
the  Hong  Kong  Club:  I  Saw  Murray  Kissing  Santa  Claus. 
(Spotter:  Charlotte  Woolley.) 


Seen  in  the  wanted  columns  of  the  South  China 
Morning  Post:  "Plastic  salesmen." 
(Spotter:  Jean  Bunton.) 


Disclaimer  printed  daily  on  the  television  page  of  the 

South  China  Morning  Post:  "Programmers  are  subject  to 

alteration." 

Yes,  they  are  a  fickle  lot. 


Chapter  7:  Your  uncensored  Chinese  horoscope 


Dr  Fung  opened  up  his  ancient,  dusty  tomes  (actually, 
a  pile  of  exercise  books  from  Wellcome  supermarket)  to 
reveal  page  after  page  of  tight,  illegible  scribble.  The 
contents  turned  out  to  be  a  hotch-potch  of  apparently 
unconnected  facts:  the  birth  dates  of  criminals  convict- 
ed in  the  Supreme  Court  of  Hong  Kong;  data  about  the 
heads  of  listed  companies  in  the  territory;  and  a  pletho- 
ra of  astrological  charts  and  readings. 
For  the  good  Dr  Fung  (not  his  real  name)  is  a  geomantic 
hobbyist,  believing  there  are  causative  links  between 
astrological  movements  and  modern  societyThe  America- 
born  stargazer  from  Tai  Hang  Road,  Hong  Kong,  has  pre- 
pared a  lunar  astrology  table  allegedly  based  on  observa- 
tions of  the  Asian  business  world  over  three  years. 
So  here  are  some  excerpts  from  the  geomancer's  find- 
ings -  surely  the  most  gloriously  honest  horoscope  in 
the  world. 

Dr  Fung,  whom  I  suspect  has  his  tongue  firmly  in  his 
cheek,  warned:  "I  would  like  to  make  it  clear  that  this  is 
not  an  attempt  to  offend  any  individual  or  group.  It  is 
an  attempt  to  offend  all  individuals  and  groups." 
If,  by  any  chance,  you  think  you  can  identify  which 
real-life  individuals  he  had  in  mind,  please  write  the 
answers  on  a  postcard  and  send  it  to:  The  Tseung  Kwan 
0  Stage  III  Landfill,  Junk  Bay,  Kowloon. 


RAT  (1936,  '48,  '60,  '72,  '84,  '96):  If  you  were  born  in 
the  year  of  the  rat,  you  are  suave  and  sociable,  with  a 
romantic  streak  and  a  genuine  talent  at  seduction.  You 
are  wildly  creative,  especially  when  it  comes  to  filling  in 
your  tax  bill.  Your  curriculum  vitae  is  a  pack  of  lies. 


OX  ('37,  '49,  '61,  '73,  '85,  '97):  You  are  steadfast  and 
practical,  authoritative  and  talented,  but  rather  too 
cautious  for  your  own  good.  Hair  grows  sideways  out  of 
your  ears  in  a  manner  that  makes  people  physically 
recoil  from  you.  You  are  a  sicko. 


TIGER  ('38,  '50,  '62,  '74,  '86):  Unpredictable  and  free- 
dom-loving, your  spirit  of  liberality  is  refreshing  to 
everyone  who  meets  you.  You  have  lost  billions  of 
dollars  for  your  company,  but  have  disguised  it  by 
cooking  the  books.  You  smell  funny  but  no  one  wants 
to  tell  you. 


RABBIT  ('39,  '51,  '63,  '75,  '87):  You  rabbits  are  refined 
and  chivalrous  beasts.  Ironically,  you  also  have  paranoid 
tendencies,  thinking  everyone  is  out  to  get  you.  In  your 
case,  you  are  right,  as  you  are  a  pathetic,  horrible  per- 
son who  is  universally  loathed. 


DRAGON  ('40,  '52,  '64,  '76,  '88):  Strong-willed  and 
dominant,  you  operate  on  a  string  of  impulsive  deci- 
sions. Your  bursts  of  magnanimity  make  you  popular, 
but  your  habit  of  getting  your  triad  friends  to  rough  up 
your  critics  lowers  your  averages  on  the  good-citizen 
scale.  You  will  die  of  syphilis. 


SNAKE  ('41,  '53,  '65,  '77,  '89):  You  have  a  strongly  epi- 
curean nature,  with  a  passion  for  the  good  life.  You  are 


prone  to  sessions  of  profound  thought,  alternating 
with  periods  of  day-dreaming.  You  molest  domestic 
servants,  and  feel  guilty  that  you  enjoy  your  work  as  a 
drug  courier  too  much. 


DOG  ('46,  '58,  '70,  '82,  '94);  Protective  and  warm- 
hearted, your  stubborn  streak  can  be  forgiven.  Your 
aggression  is  a  problem,  particularly  your  liking  for  ran- 
dom violence  and  obscene  phone  calls.  Hobby:  Dragging 
people  into  stairwells. 


HORSE  ('42,  '54,  '66,  '78,  '90):  Exuberant  and  flirta- 
tious, you  are  one  of  the  most  entertaining  people  in 
your  social  circle.  You  are  physically  active  and 
broad-minded,  which  is  a  good  thing,  considering 
that  your  main  hobbies  are  incest  and  supporting  the 
Liberal  Party 


PIG  ('47,  '59,  '71,  '83,  '95):  Impartial  and  honest,  the 
reliable  pig  is  one  of  the  most  astute  signs.  Pity  then 
that  your  coy,  home-loving  image  covers  a  tendency  to 
sue  everyone  in  sight,  including  members  of  your  own 
family.  Your  driving  ambition  is  to  make  a  hoax  phone 
call  to  the  Queen  of  England. 


GOAT  ('43,  '55,  '67,  '79,  '91):  Despite  a  cultured  exteri- 
or, goats  are  prone  to  abandoning  their  inhibitions, 
thus  giving  rise  to  the  ancient  Chinese  phrase,  "Go  on 
then,  you  randy  old  goat."  You  fall  asleep  when  being 
made  love  to. 


MONKEY  ('44,  '56,  '68,  '80,  '92):  Provocative  and  decep- 
tive, the  monkey  is  known  for  touchiness  and  ego-cen- 
tricity.  You  would  be  a  shallow  conman  if  you  were 
more  intelligent.  You  fall  asleep  while  making  love. 


Talking  of  the  mystic  arts.  Hong  Kong  papers  carried 
horoscopes  bearing  the  name  of  British  stargazer  Patric 
Walker  weeks  after  he  died.  Fortunately  for  astrology 
devotees,  Patric  was  able  to  see  a  month  into  the 
future  to  supply  his  column. 
His  prediction  for  Libra  (his  own  sign)  on  the  day  he 
died  was:  "Certain  reversals  are  inevitable". 


COCK  ('45,  '57,  '69,  '81,  '93):  You  are  stylish,  given  to 
ostentation  and  known  for  your  fastidious,  fussy  man- 
ners. But  under  it  all,  you  are  completely  different.  You 
are  wanted  for  crimes  under  various  names  in  at  least 
three  countries. 


I  once  had  a  letter  from  a  young  local  Chinese  boy 
called  Edward  begging  me  to  doctor  the  stars  column 
to  help  him  get  his  way  with  a  horoscope-believing 
prospective  girlfriend  ("Today  is  a  good  day  to  fall  in 
love  with  that  spotty  nerd  who  follows  you  around").  I 
declined,  but  it  is  an  idea  that  pops  up  regularly. 


CK  Man  wrote  recently  to  suggest  we  boost  the  econ-  Ready  Mixed  Concrete  of  Hunghom  was  the  exception, 
omy  by  allowing  the  Government  to  start  writing  the  writing  to  its  customers:  "May  we  take  this  opportunity 

horoscopes.  He  gave  the  following  suggestions:  to  wish  you  a  Happy  New  Year  of  Cock." 

Cancer:  "Why  don't  you  go  out  and  start  a  business, 

employing  100  people?" 

Virgo:  "Today  is  a  good  day  to  spend  a  lot  of  money 

on  products  with  a  substantial  made-in-Hong  Kong 

content." 

Scorpio:  "Jupiter  is  in  the  South  China  Sea,  so  it's 

vital  that  you  sell  all  your  shares  in  Tokyo  and  buy 

Cheung  Kong." 

Pisces:  "Your  amah  is  overworked,  so  every  Piscean 

should  urgently  employ  a  gardener,  a  cook,  a  driver, 

and  a  valet." 

Aquarius:  "Aquarians  should  seriously  consider  dou- 
bling their  workforces,  or  something  horrible  could 

happen." 


Art  gallery  maestro  John  Jarman  was  shopping  at  the 
Wellcome  supermarket  in  Razor  Hill,  Sai  Kung,  when  he 
was  handed  scratch  'n'  win  contest  cards  which  said 
that  the  current  Lunar  New  Year  (then  1996)  was  the 
Year  of  the  Mouse. 

But  surely  it  was  supposed  to  be  the  Year  of  the  Rat? 
Mouse?  It's  probably  something  to  do  with  Bill  Gates, 
said  John. 


It  reminds  me  of  1  993,  the  Year  of  the  Cock,  which 
almost  every  Hong  Kong  firm  bowdlerised  to  Year  of  the 
Rooster,  because  male  poultry  is  apparently  obscene. 


Chapter  8:  The  ultimate  "only  in  Hong  Kong"  stories 


The  year  was  1981.  Annie  Dennis  had  been  asked  to 
help  the  Independent  Commission  Against  Corruption 
catch  Hong  Kong  pharmacists  who  had  been  selling 
prescription  drugs  over  the  counter. 

Her  mission,  should  she  decide  to  accept  it:  Go  into 
a  succession  of  shops,  asking  for  illegal  tablets.  A  highly 
trained  officer  will  lurk  in  the  shadows  outside,  ready  to 
pounce  if  she  is  given  any 

Annie  eventually  found  a  shop  in  Kowloon  which 
sold  her  the  illicit  substances,  and  she  marched  out  of 
the  shop,  waiting  for  action.  Nothing  happened. 

The  law  enforcer  had  gone  for  a  walk. 

She  wandered  around  for  a  while,  and  eventually 
bumped  into  the  man. 

Annie  felt  a  bit  of  a  heel  as  she  re-entered  the  shop 
and  pointed  to  the  shopkeeper,  who  simply  shrugged. 

The  three  of  them  then  climbed  into  the  ICAC  van, 
and  headed  for  the  police  station.  Unfortunately  the 
driver  got  completely  lost.  Soon  neither  he  nor  the  ICAC 
officer  knew  where  on  earth  they  were. 

However,  their  prisoner  was  good  at  geography  and 
ended  up  directing  the  driver  to  the  police  station, 
where  he  was  duly  arrested  and  charged. 

I  can  just  imagine  the  conversation. 

"You  turn  down  this  road,  and  park  the  van  in  the 
police  car  park,  on  the  left.  Then  you  march  me  through 
those  big  doors  and  turn  into  the  corridor  on  the  left, 
where  you  throw  me  into  the  cells." 

"Mm  gol."  (Thanks.) 

"Mm  so/."  (Don't  mention  it.) 


Clare  Vickers,  drafting  an  educational  children's  book 
for  the  Hong  Kong  branch  of  Longman,  included  sen- 
tences about  activities,  including  "John  plays  cricket" 
and  "John  plays  squash". 

When  she  received  the  material  back  from  the  artist, 
she  found  "John  plays  cricket"  was  illustrated  by  John 
holding  a  hopping  insect. 

"John  plays  squash"  was  illustrated  by  John  stamp- 
ing the  creature  flat. 


The  scene:   A  hospital  ward  in  Hong  Kong  on  a  quiet 
weekend.  A  friend  of  mine  from  the  Indian  community 
had  offered  to  help  a  patient  choose  a  shahtoosh  -  an 
expensive  shawl,  costing  between  HK$6,000  and 
HK$12,000,  made  from  the  ultra-soft  chin  hair  of  a  yak 
or  a  guru  or  some  such  thing. 

So  she  took  six  shahtoosh  shawls,  on  loan  from  a 
shop,  to  the  hospital  and  asked  him  to  choose.  He 
selected  one.  The  other  visitors  to  the  ward  took  an 
interest  -  and  bought  the  other  five. 

"They  paid  cash.  You'd  think  no  one  would  carry  so 
much  money  in  cash  in  their  jeans  on  a  Sunday  but  this 
is  Hong  Kong,"  she  said. 


Karin  Arsan,  strolling  down  the  path  beside  the  Peak 
Tram  route  south  of  Kennedy  Road,  saw  a  sign  on  the 
wall:  "Central  Green  Trail,  Station  Two." 

It  said  she  was  gazing  at  a  phenomenon  called 
"Stone  Wall  Vegetation",  continuing  with  these  words: 
"The  stone  wall  in  front  houses  a  rich  variety  of  plants. 


Made  up  of  large  stones  held  together  by  cement,  the 
wall  allows  water  to  seep  out  from  the  soil  behind, 
enabling  plants  to  absorb  water  and  nutrients  through 
seepage  as  well  as  atmospheric  moisture." 

Sounds  nice,  doesn't  it?  Unfortunately,  the  sign  was 
in  front  of  a  sight  curious  to  see  in  Hong  Kong.  A  spot- 
less wall.  "It  was  more  devoid  of  vegetation  than  any 
wall  I  had  ever  seen  in  Hong  Kong,"  said  Karin. 

Uh-oh.  You  don't  think  somebody  cleaned  it,  do  you? 


Tourold  talking  to  the  doorman  of  the  Excelsior  hotel 
in  Hong  Kong:  "So,  what  time  does  the  Noon  Day  Gun 
fire?"  (Eavesdropper:  Simon  Constable.) 


Edward  Turner  III  was  walking  through  Mid-Levels, 
when  he  was  stopped  by  a  census-taker  who  asked  him 
whether  he  knew  where  to  find  No  1,  Chatham  Path. 

"Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  building?"  Edward 
asked. 

The  young  man  consulted  his  computer  print-out 
and  showed  him  the  relevant  entry.  The  building  in 
question  was  called  "Latrine". 

The  Westerner  laughingly  pointed  to  the  public  toilet 
across  the  track  from  the  May  Road  Peak  Tram  stop. 

Edward  said  later:  "As  I  headed  up  the  path,  he  entered 
the  small  building,  presumably  to  survey  the  occupants." 

I  can  just  imagine  the  fellow  knocking  on  the  doors 
of  the  stalls  and  reading  out  his  list  of  questions  to  the 
occupants:  "And  how  many  of  you  are  in  there?  Do  you 
have  a  colour  TV?" 


A  big  cigarette  poster  has  gone  up  alongside  the 
Kowloon  Funeral  Parlour  emblazoned  with  the  words: 
"Coolness  above  all." 

Many  of  the  people  in  the  parlour,  some  of  whom 
were  ex-smokers  are  extremely  cool.  In  fact,  they  are 
frozen  stiff. 


On  the  rural  island  of  Lantau,  Hong  Kong,  you  still 
occasionally  see  older  residents  wearing  cone-shaped 
hats  and  traditional  pyjama-like  outfits.  The  fields  are 
still  designed  like  traditional  rice  paddy  fields.  The  crags 
stand  against  the  wind  and  the  sea  crashes  against  the 
rocks  as  they  have  done  for  centuries. 

A  group  of  foreign  holiday  makers  was  musing  on 
this  as  they  sat  in  a  restaurant  overlooking  the  water,  I 
heard  from  Tony  Henderson. 

They  watched  as  a  little  old  lady  trundled  a  rubbish 
trolley  along  a  thin,  winding  path  below  them. 

"It's  amazing  how  life  in  parts  of  Asia  simply  doesn't 
change,"  said  one  diner 

The  perfection  of  the  scene  was  enhanced  by  a  shrill, 
cicada-like  trill.  They  looked  towards  the  bushes,  to  see 
if  they  could  spot  the  member  of  the  cricket  family  that 
was  making  the  sound. 

But  no.  It  was  the  rubbish-wallah's  Ericsson  GM3 
mobile  phone. 


This,  believe  it  or  not,  was  a  real  announcement  from 
the  Hong  Kong  Government  Information  Service: 
"Attention  News  Editors: 


"The  following  is  issued  on  behalf  of  the  Regional 
Council:  "How  many  people  could  be  squeezed  into  a 
single-decker  bus  all  at  a  time? 

"Entitled  'The  Most  Crowded  Bus',  this  record 
challenging  event  is  a  special  event  of  the  Super 
Giant  Maze  which  was  organised  specially  by  the 
Regional  Council  to  commemorate  its  10th 
Anniversary." 

Interested  parties  were  invited  to  the  Kwai  Chung 
Sports  Ground  to  see  a  bus  in  which  people  were  jam- 
packed  like  sardines. 

I  don't  know  how  Chow  Yick-hay  of  the  Regional 
Council  gets  to  work,  but  he  may  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  rest  of  us  do  this  every  day 


A  n:rin  .'.as  talking  on  a  mobile  telephone  on  a  sub- 
way train  in  Mongkok,  Kowloon.  The  carriage  was  sud- 
denly filled  with  the  sound  of  more  ringmg  from  his 
bag.  Yes,  someone  was  calling  on  his  second  line. 
(Spotter:  Angela  Jones.) 


Bernard  Long  saw  a  Hong  Kong  man  in  his  30s  wear- 
ing a  T-shirt  which  said:  "Play  safe  —  wear  Malaysian 
rubber  condoms."  Nothing  particularly  unusual  about 
that.  Except  for  the  fact  that  the  man  was  wearing  it  in 
church.  And  yes,  it  was  a  Roman  Catholic  Church  —  St 
Joseph's.  And  yes,  he  did  strut  up  to  the  front  and  take 
communion  with  it  on. 

Why  God  is  so  sparing  with  his  lightning  bolts  I  will 
never  understand. 


Four  o'clock   on  a  work-day  afternoon.  The  setting:  a 
lift  in  Taikoo  Place,  the  Swire-owned  complex  in  Quarry 
Bay,  Hong  Kong. 

Door  opens.  Smoker  gets  into  lift.  Furious  glares 
from  other  occupants.  Man  quickly  stubs  out  cigarette. 

Door  opens  again.  Man  in  uniform  carrying  huge 
loaded  shotgun  gets  into  lift.  No  reaction. 


There  was  a  newspaper  item  in  the  Hong  Kong 
Standard  about,  the  closure  of  the  Kowloon  Bay  Bowling 
Alley  "The  alley  has  a  long  histon/.  It  began  as  a  40- 
lane  alley  10  years  ago,"  it  said. 

Only  in  this  territory  could  something  10  years  old 
be  described  as  having  "a  long  history".  (Spotter:  Simon 
Clennell.) 


People  in  Hong  Kong  are  finding  little  notes  with  their 
electricity  bills  informing  them  of  a  useful  way  to  save 
electricity:  "Don't  iron  your  socks." 

Now  that  really  is  beyond  the  pale  in  a  civilised 
society 

I  am  reminded  of  the  scene  in  The  Diary  of  Adrian 
Mole,  Age  13-3/4,  where  the  boy  serves  tea  in  non- 
matching  cups  and  saucers,  and  his  shocked  aunt  sends 
him  back  to  the  kitchen  with  the  words:  "We  are  not 
animals." 


The  office  of  Hong  Kong's  Postmaster  General  made 
an  announcement  about  new  sheets  of  stamps:  "The 


HK$10  definitive  stamp  depicted  on  the  sheetlet  is 
green  in  colour  which  is  different  from  the  brown 
colour  of  the  current  $10  definitive  stamp." 

Everybody  got  that,  then?  Brown  things  and  green 
things  are  different  colours.  One's  brown,  one's  green. 
Thanks,  PG! 


A  large  Santa  Claus  appeared  at  the  main  entrance  to 
the  Bank  of  China  Building  in  Hong  Kong  in  October.  No 
doubt  some  junior  official  was  told:  "There's  some 
Western  festival  called  Halloween  coming  up.  Go  to  the 
basement  and  dig  out  that  effigy  of  a  scary-looking 
barbarian  to  stick  over  the  door." 


Merry  Christmas.  When  December  did  arrive,  Nick 
Griffin  of  Metro  Broadcasting  found  himself  admiring  the 
Christmas  display  at  the  Nine  to  Five  fast  food  shop  in 
the  Prince's  Building.  This  consists  of  a  little  Christmas 
tree  and  a  pile  of  gifts,  all  neatly  wrapped  in  paper  which 
says:  "Wedding  day  congratulations."  Ho  ho  ho. 


John  Joseph  of  Hong  Kong  University  tells  me  that  the 
programme  for  the  Urban  Council's  recent  production 
of  Lucia  di  Lommermoor  contained  a  disclaimer  at  the 
bottom  of  page  one.  "Note:  the  contents  of  this  perfor- 
mance do  not  reflect  the  views  of  the  Urban  Council." 

What  could  have  driven  them  to  add  that?  John 
thought  about  it.  "I  assume  that  in  their  view  she 
should  not  have  gone  mad  and  murdered  her  wealthy 


and  powerful  husband  on  their  wedding  night,  but  have 
been  a  good  tai-tai  and  erased  the  memon/  of  her  lover 
by  taking  a  nice  long  shopping  trip,"  he  said. 


The  doorway  into  the  Mannings  shop  at  the  foot  of  the 
Mid-Levels  escalator  at  Queen's  Road,  Central,  has  theft 
detection  devices  on  either  side,  all  neatly  decorated 
with  multi-coloured  tinsel.  Thieves  caught  by  it  will  no 
doubt  momentarily  appreciate  the  joyful  spirit  of 
Christmas  as  they  are  dragged  to  the  nick. 


Hong  Kong  truly  entered  a  new  era  with  the  news  that 
a  man  was  arrested  after  allegedly  hitting  another  over 
the  head  with  a  portable  television. 


Personally,  I  blame  Nokia  and  Ericsson  for  the  loss  of 
another  bit  of  our  heritage.  Mobile  phones,  the  tradi- 
tional hand-fighting  weapon  in  Hong  Kong,  are  now 
too  small  to  do  any  damage. 

A  friend  of  mine  bought  one  of  those  feather-light 
Ericsson  mobile  phones  the  other  day  It  looks  flash,  but 
unfortunately  it  is  smaller  than  his  face.  He  holds  it  to 
his  ear  to  listen  and  moves  it  to  his  mouth  to  speak. 
Coming  next  in  Hong  Kong:  mandible-shortening  surgery, 
to  enable  yuppies  to  use  flashier,  smaller  phones. 


On-screen  shopping  is  coming  to  Hong  Kong.  Olivi 
Sheng  of  the  Hong  Kong  University  of  Science  and 


Technology  gave  an  entertaining  demonstration  on 
Internet  grocery  shopping.  It  was  highly  user-friendly, 
with  clear  pictures  and  easy-to-use  order  forms. 

In  the  audience  was  Renee  Thorpe,  who  felt  that  the 
only  problem  was  that  it  was  too  slick  —  nothing  like 
real  shopping  in  Hong  Kong. 

So  Renee  sat  down  and  devised  a  few  built-in  obsta- 
cles to  make  Hong  Kong  shoppers  feel  at  home. 

1.  As  soon  as  a  user  enters  your  Web  site,  he  or  she 
must  be  greeted  with  "Ngoh  hoyih  bong-do  lei?"  if 
Cantonese-speaking  and  "M'eh  hep  chew?"  if  English 
speaking. 

2.  When  asked  for  a  non-existent  item,  such  as  a  .47 
litre  bottle  of  Snapple,  the  system  must  instantly 
reply:  "Out  of  stock". 

3.  If  the  user  asks  for  an  item  that  you  do  not  sell  and 
never  will,  the  computer  should  flash  "Maybe  you  try 
back  later"  and  disconnect  the  shopper  immediately. 


helper  ran  around  collecting  stray  balls,  of  which  there 
were  many. 

Now  I  admit  to  being  sympathetic  to  domestic 
helpers,  but  I'm  not  naive  -  just  as  many  helpers  are 
not  naive  at  all.  Some  Filipinas  queuing  all  night  for 
Rugby  Sevens  tickets  told  friends  of  mine  queuing  near- 
by that  they  had  agreed  to  stay  out  all  night  for  their 
employers  in  exchange  for  HK$300. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  everyone  became  friendlier, 
they  admitted  that  they  were  really  picking  up  the  tickets 
for  re-sale  at  a  fat  profit  to  desperate  Western  men. 

I  can  imagine  the  sales  pitch. 

Employer:  "Consuelo,  I  want  you  to  spend  the  day 
licking  the  floor  clean  with  your  tongue." 

Helper:  "Yes,  sir,  I'll  do  it  as  soon  as  I  put  my  Rugby 
Sevens  tickets  away  in  the  cardboard  box  where  I  sleep." 

Employer:  "Forget  about  the  floor  Why  don't  you  spend 
the  day  watching  my  videos  and  drinking  my  sherry?" 


The  scenic,  once-rural  island  of  Cheung  Chau  is 
achieving  middle-class  urban  status.  The  tell-tale  sign? 
Its  residents  are  hiring  domestic  helpers  to  abuse. 

The  island  has  a  small  number  of  tri-shaws,  which 
are  sort  of  cross  between  a  bicycle  and  wheelbarrow, 
originally  associated  with  the  tourist  trade. 

These  days  you  see  them  trundling  down  the  street, 
with  a  panting  domestic  helper  working  the  pedals, 
while  ma'am,  six  shopping  bags  and  little  Fei-fei  sit  on 
the  bench  at  the  back. 

The  other  night,  the  island's  fancy  tennis  courts  were 
occupied  by  ma'am  and  her  coach,  while  the  domestic 


KPS  Video  Express  had  a  "buddy  movies"  promotion 
including  such  feel-good  films  as  Natural  Born  Killers  and 
Goodfellas.  I  had  no  idea  that  ultra-violence  with  large 
automatic  weapons  was  considered  a  prerequisite  of 
chummy  relationships  these  days.  (Spotter:  Pranjal  Tiwari) 

A  Hong  Kong  television  station  recently  showed 
Merry  Christmas,  Mr  Lawrence,  a  film  about  the  suffer- 
ing in  Japanese  internment  camps,  as  part  of  its  special 
Yuletide  seasonal  offerings. 

"May  I  suggest  a  few  titles  for  Mother's  Day?"  said 
Pranjal.  "Perhaps  Psycho  and  Throw  Momma  from  the 
Train. " 


I  like  the  idea.  They  could  have  a  special  winter 
season,  too,  featuring  Some  Like  it  Hot  and  In  the  Heof 
oftheNiglit. 


John  Sanders  was  watching  King  of  Kings,  a  biblical 
epic,  on  ATV  World  in  Hong  Kong,  when  they  got  to  the 
scene  about  the  three  wise  men.  His  fiancee  Tseng 
Choi-lin  started  laughing.  One  of  the  wise  men,  Kaspar, 
was  transliterated  in  Chinese  subtitles  as  Ka-si-buk  - 
or  "Carlsberg". 


In  This  Boy's  Life,  Robert  De  Niro  makes  fun  of  a  stepson 
who  wants  to  change  his  name  from  Toby  to  Jack:  "Hey 
Toby,  Toby  -  whoops.  Jack.  Jack,  huh?  Hey,  Toby-Jack!" 

The  Chinese  subtitle  on  Hong  Kong  television  was: 
"Would  you  like  to  drink  some  Jack  Daniels?"  (Spotter: 
Steve  Creighton.) 


Whenever  the  word  "geek"  is  spoken  on  Hong  Kong 
television,  it  is  inevitably  translated  as  "Greek".  Movies 
are  full  of  lines  such  as:  "He's  a  skinny  nerd  with  thick 
specs  who  never  leaves  his  computer.  A  real  Greek." 
(Spotter:  Bill  Teng.) 


In  Only  the  Lonely,  there's  a  tender  scene  where  Ally 
Sheedy  looks  up  at  John  Candy  and  says  shyly:  "I'm 
sorry.  I'm  an  introvert."  This  was  subtitled;  "I'm  sorry. 
I'm  a  pervert."  (Spotter:  Paul  Fonoroff.) 


Real  subtitles  from  Hong  Kong  films,  featured  in  Sex 
and  Zen  ft  a  Bullet  in  the  Head  by  Stefan  Hammond  and 
Mike  Wilkins: 

1.  I  am  damn  unsatisfied  to  be  killed  in  this  way 

2.  Fatty  you  with  your  thick  face  have  hurt  my  instep. 

3.  Same  old  rules:  No  eyes,  no  groin. 

4.  A  normal  person  would  not  steal  pituitaries. 

5.  Who  gave  you  the  nerve  to  get  killed  here 

6.  Quiet  or  I'll  blow  your  throat  up. 

7.  I  got  knife  scars  more  than  the  number  of  your  leg's 
hair. 

8.  I'll  fire  aimlessly  if  you  don't  come  out. 

9.  You  always  use  violence.  I  should've  ordered  gluti- 
nous rice  chicken. 

10.  Beat  him  out  of  recognisable  shape. 


Mandy  Hemmings,  28,  was  relaxing  on  Sunday  after- 
noon at  her  Happy  Valley  flat,  dreaming  about  her  far- 
away boyfriend  Simon.  Engineer  Simon  Rooke,  also  28, 
was  in  the  jungles  of  Malaysia,  building  the  Pergau 
hydroelectric  dam. 

Mandy's  phone  rang.  On  the  Ime  was  the  Grand 
Hyatt  florist,  an  agent  for  Interflora.  The  florist  said  the 
shop  had  been  trying  to  deliver  flowers  to  her 

Mandy  suggested  that  the  flowers  be  delivered  the 
following  day 

"Would  you  like  to  know  the  message?"  asked  the 
florist. 

Mandy  thought  it  could  wait,  but  the  caller  was 
quite  insistent. 

"I  think  you  should  -  it  is  really  rather  important," 


she  urged. 

"OK,"  said  Mandy,  becoming  curious. 

'Will  you  marry  me?" 

Now  that's  Hong  Kong  efficiency  for  you.  Love  deliv- 
ered, proposals  made,  the  course  of  young  lives  changed 
-  at  no  extra  charge. 


TicketMaster,  the  terrifyingly  powerful  computer  at  the 
UA  Queensway  cinema  in  Hong  Kong,  has  taken  it  on 
itself  to  decide  who  can  watch  "adult"  films. 

It  asked  one  caller,  screenwriter  Lawrence  Gray  to 
fax  in  his  credit  card  and  passport.  But  how  does  one 
get  a  credit  card  or  a  passport  into  a  fax  machine? 
"Answer:  you  can't,"  Lawrence  said,  pointing  out  that 
few  people  have  copiers  at  home. 

There  is  no  human  option  on  the  voice-mail  instruc- 
tions for  you  to  explain  this  fact,  or  any  other. 

It  flatly  refused  to  send  another  caller,  journalist 
Rodney  Pinder  of  Reuter,  tickets  to  an  adults-only  movie. 

I  tried  it  myself  and  also  got  turned  down.  Clearly,  it 
thinks  journalists  are  not  mature  enough  to  be  consid- 
ered adults. 

Hey,  maybe  this  is  a  pretty  smart  computer,  after  all. 


Chapter  9 :  Our  job  is  to  enjoy  you 


Want  humour  in  Asian  newspapers?  Skip  the 
cartoons,  and  flip  back  to  the  classifieds: 


For  sale  ad  in  the  South  China  Morning  Post:  "Two 
Lorikeet  Parrots  —  with  cages.  Bright  green  expat 
owner  HK$700."(Spotter:  Nigel  Wilson.) 


In  the  job  ads  section  of  the  Hong  Kong  Standard: 
"Marketing  Secretary.  10-1 2k.  At  least  two  years' 
experience.  Physically  fit  with  self-defence  skill." 

Clearly  a  company  which  plays  rough.  (Spotter: 
Alison  Bareham.) 


environment"  plus  "a  thorough  knowledge  of  both 
gamma-ray  spectrometers  and  high  resolution  magne- 
tometers" plus  "fluent  Bulgarian". 

Thousands  will  be  killed  in  the  rush. 
(Spotter:  Martin  Baggaley.) 


Slogan  on  the  cover  of  a  pamphlet  listing  Christmas 
catering  services  from  Mario  of  Hong  Kong:  "Even  if  you 
are  having  a  big  X'mas  party,  with  Mario  your  enjoy- 
ment will  never  be  less." 

So  the  best  thing  they  can  say  about  themselves  is 
that  their  presence  is  not  a  big  downer. 
(Spotter:  lain  Masterson.) 


Marc  Taylor  found  this  ad  in  a  Hong  Kong  newspaper: 
"Mazda  MPV  95.  Seven  seater,  owner  fully  auto." 


Florence  Wong  of  the  Shui  On  Centre,  Hong  Kong, 
advertised  to  recruit  a  person  who  wishes  to  collect  an 
"attractive  salary"  to  fill  the  post  of  "Beer  Filtration 
Specialist".  This  is  an  activity  that  many  stock  brokers 
and  journalists  in  Hong  Kong  do  completely  gratis  for 
several  hours  a  night. 


A  Toronto  firm  advertised  in  the  Globe  and  Moll  of 
Canada  for  someone  with  knowledge  of  "digital  elec- 
tronics design",  plus  "an  extensive  knowledge  of  FPGA 
programming  and  development  in  the  Oread  Xilinks 


In  a  similarly  modest  vein.  Pizza  Pizza  of  Hong  Kong 
sent  out  a  leaflet  to  potential  new  customers,  saying: 
"Try  to  enjoy  our  delicious  food." 

They  sound  confident,  don't  they? 
(Spotter:  George  Lau.) 


Angus  Freathy  was  looking  at  a  classified  ad  in  the 
Sunday  Morning  Post:  "Cats  to  sell  —  Owner  has  left 
HK.  Healthy,  desexed,  free." 

Since  the  cats  are  for  sale  rather  than  free,  one  has 
to  assume  that  it  is  the  former  owner  who  is  "healthy, 
desexed  and  free". 


Canon  has  plastered  subway  stations  all  over  Hong 


Kong  with  posters  advertising  its  new  IXUS  camera.  The 
slogan;  "For  Man  or  Woman". 

I  had  not  realised  that  other  cameras  were  for  one 
or  other  sex  only.  No  wonder  I  get  funny  looks  when  I'm 
lurking  with  my  point-and-shoot  in  public  places. 


GRADUATE  MISTRESSES  are  invited  to  apply"  with  a 
photograph  to  a  post  office  box  number  for  a  job  in 
Kowloon.  I  had  no  idea  you  could  reach  accredited  lev- 
els in  that  line  of  activity. 


Seen  in  the  "wanted"  columns  of  the  South  China 

Morning  Post: 

"ASST  MKTG  MGR  MKTG  OFR  U,  2-3  yrs  S  ft  M  exp." 
I  can  work  out  most  of  the  abbreviations,  but  still 

can't  figure  why  a  couple  of  years  of  S  ft  M  experience 

is  needed.  Is  the  boss  a  really,  really  hard  man? 

(Spotter:  Colin  Bennett.) 


Another  classified  ad  spotted  by  Angus  Freathy: 
"Wanted:  Heated  hostess  trolley  fax". 

Must  be  tricky  to  use.  "You've  just  received  a  fax 
Chan,  but  I'm  afraid  it  landed  in  the  steamed  fish." 


Promotional  sign  outside  a  hotel  near  Karnak  in  Egypt, 
the  site  of  the  Karnak  Temple:  "Our  Job  Is  To  Enjoy  You. 
Please  Let  Us  Do  Our  Job."  (Spotter:  Graham  Ford.) 


A  Hong  Kong  company  called  Matrix  is  selling  a  multi- 
media projector  for  use  in  business  presentations. 
Their  advertisement  carries  the  headline:  "Blow  up 
your  computer  screen  and  stun  the  audience"  If  they 
survive,  that  is. 


Slogan  on  the  television  ads  showing  products  from 
Interwood  Marketing:  "As  Seen  On  TV." 

This  is  like  publishing  a  book  emblazoned  with  the 
words:  "This  Book  Now  Available  In  Book  Form." 
(Spotter:  Robert  Nield.) 


Doncha  just  adore  Hong  Kong  classified  ads?  There 
a  classic  the  other  day,  which  said:  "CERTIFICATED 


Chapter  10:  Joint  Venture 


Uh-oh.  Danger  ahead.  It  all  started  when  Your  Humble 
Narrator  decided  to  show  the  draft  text  of  his  brilliant 
new  novel  Asian  Values  to  novelist  Sussy  Chako  to  criti- 
cise (i.e.,  praise). 

This  masterwork  has  a  simple  plot.  University  stu- 
dents handcuff  two  strangers  together  as  a  prank.  If 
they  stay  shackled  together  for  24  hours,  they  raise  a 
fortune  for  charity.  But  there's  a  hitch.  One  victim  is 
an  Asian  businessman  (you  know,  rapist  of  rainforests 
and  stuff).  The  other  is  a  female  Western  tree-hug- 
ging feminist. 

"It  almost  works,"  said  Sussy  "But  not  quite.  It's  not 
authentic  enough.  You  need  to  live  the  story  yourself, 
feel  their  pain." 

This  was  completely  ridiculous  and  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, of  course.  No  sane  person  would  allow  himself  to 
be  chained  to  a  complete  stranger  of  a  different  culture 
and  sex  for  24  hours. 

So,  naturally,  I  agreed.  The  publisher  stumped  up 
cash  to  cover  an  advertisement  and  pay-packet  for  a 
"research  assistant  desperately  sought  for  temporary 
joint  venture". 

My  wife  nobly  volunteered  to  select  the  female  vic- 
tim. This  being  the  case,  I  assumed  I  would  be  attached 
to  an  elderly  female  street-sleeper  with  tentacles.  But 
she  selected  Susie  Wilkins,  an  attractive,  red-headed, 
18-year-old  singer.  (Is  any  further  proof  needed  of  the 
gulf  between  male  and  female  logic?) 

Eric  Lockeyear  of  the  Hong  Kong  Police  lent  us  some 
cuffs.  Publisher  Jean  Bunton  shackled  Ms  Wilkins  and 
Your  Humble  Narrator  together  at  noon  on  a  Thursday 
for  24  hours. 


The  experience  enabled  me  to  compose  the  follow- 
ing useful  rules. 


Twelve  Bits  of  Advice  for  Anyone  Planning  to 
Handcuff  Themselves  to  a  Stranger  For  24  Hours. 

1 .  Do  not  handcuff  yourself  to  a  stranger  for  24  hours. 

2.  You'd  assume  it  would  be  a  bad  idea  to  let  your 
spouse  select  the  stranger,  but  you  may  be  wrong. 

3.  Real  people  do  double-takes,  exactly  like  cartoon 
characters. 

4.  The  first  part  of  the  24  hours  flies  by  quickly  and 
amusingly  but  the  novelty  eventually  wears  thin,  and 
the  following  23  and  three-quarter  hours  stretch  before 
one  like  an  eternity. 

5.  People  in  Lan  Kwai  Fong,  the  bar  area  of  Hong  Kong, 
don't  notice  anything  odd  about  a  couple  going  around 
in  heavy  police  shackles.  Guests  and  staff  in  five-star 
hotels  such  as  the  Conrad  International  in  Hong  Kong 
do  notice,  but  are  far  too  refined  to  make  any  reference 
to  it. 

6.  You  would  be  amazed  how  often  you  need  to  make 
minor  adjustments  to  your  underclothing. 

7.  While  offering  cerebral  explanations  of  how  one's 
actions  are  an  allegory  of  East-West  influences  in 
Southeast  Asian  history,  members  of  the  media  will 
continually  interrupt  to  ask:  "How  did  you  go  to  the 
toilet?"  "Did  you  have  baths?" 

8.  Subway  train  turnstiles  are  an  almost  insurmountable 
obstacle  for  a  handcuffed  couple  carrying  bags.  Admit 
it,  railway  executives.  You  forgot  to  consider  people  like 
us,  didn't  you? 


9.  You  may  think  there  are  certain  private  functions  you 
absolutely  cannot  do  when  firmly  attached  to  a 
stranger,  but  you  would  be  surprised. 

10.  It  takes  a  female  almost  seven  minutes  to  pull  up  a 
pair  of  tights  using  only  one  hand. 

11.  The  only  way  to  turn  over  when  sleeping  in  hand- 
cuffs is  to  roll  right  over  the  person  next  to  you.  Three 
hours'  sleep  results  in  the  sleeping  pair  travelling  four 
metres  across  a  carpet. 

12.  Attempting  to  butter  a  piece  of  toast  with  one  hand 
results  in  the  bread  whizzing  across  the  table  into  the 
lap  of  the  person  opposite. 

Warning:  If  you  try  to  do  this  at  home,  children,  please 
remember  one  thing.  It  is  not  nearly  as  difficult  and 
embarrassing  as  it  seems.  It  is  much,  much  worse. 


Chapter  11 :  Someone  actually  said  that? 


John  Dickson  visited  thie  Foreign  Correspondents'  Club 
of  Hong  Kong  and  bought  a  souvenir  club  watch  for 
HK$150.  A  staff  member  pulled  open  a  drawer  contain- 
ing 100  watches  and  set  one  to  the  correct  time  before 
politely  handing  it  over. 

John  commented  that  she  might  consider  setting  the 
time  on  all  the  watches  when  she  wasn't  busy  and  so 
eliminate  the  hassle  of  having  to  set  the  time  each  time 
she  sold  a  watch. 

"Sir,  how  could  I  possibly  do  that?"  she  asked, 
indignantly.  "I  have  no  idea  what  time  I'll  sell  each  of 
them,  do  I?" 


Lee  San  San,  the  Hong  Kong  gold  medal  windsurfer,  was 
being  interviewed  on  TVB  Pearl  during  the  Atlanta 
Olympics.  Right  in  the  middle  of  her  emotional  speech, 
viewers  heard  the  faint  ringing  of  a  mobile  phone. 

Viewers  watched  in  amazement  as  the  interviewer 
pulled  a  phone  out  of  his  pocket,  while  still  thrusting  the 
microphone  at  his  target  with  the  other  hand.  In  a  voice 
clearly  audible  to  viewers,  he  said:  "Wai?"  ["Hello?"]. 


A  discussion  about  wine  took  place  between  journalist 

Hilton  Shone  and  at  Remy  Fine  Wines  in  Taikoo  Shing, 

Hong  Kong. 

Hilton:  Is  this  dry  or  sweet? 

Staff  member:  Dry  or  sweet? 

Hilton:  Yes,  fruity  like  a  Riesling,  or  dry  like  a  Chenin 

Blanc? 

Staff  member:  The  more  the  price,  the  more  the  sweet. 


On  a  Cathay  Pacific  flight  between  Hong  Kong  and 

London,  a  crew  member  approached  passenger  Pat 

Malone,  who  was  gueuing  for  the  toilet,  and  said:  "Do 

you  mind  if  I  ask  you  something?" 

"Go  right  ahead.  Fire  away" 

"Do  you  know  what  terminal  we  arrive  at?" 

"I  think  it's  three,"  replied  Pat.  "But  who  wants  to  know?" 


Heard  on  a  Mass  Transit  Railway  train  In  Hong  Kong: 

A;  Where  are  you  off  to? 
B:  The  Majestic  cinema. 
A:  What  are  they  showing? 
B:  Sex  and  Sensibility. 


Debbie  Smith  was  taking  a  taxi  home  to  Sai  Kung,  in  the 
hinterlands  of  the  New  Territories  in  Hong  Kong.  To  make 
conversation,  she  said  to  the  driver:  "It's  a  long  way" 
He  snapped  back:  "Well,  you  show  me  the  right  way  then." 


An  Asian  starlet  swept  into  a  chic  boutique  in  New 

York,  and  selected  some  suitably  expensive  items. 

"How  would  madam  like  to  paY?"asked  the  lady  in 

attendance. 

"Oh!  Just  charge  it  to  Mr  [name  suppliedj's  account," 

she  simpered. 

"That's  strange,"  said  the  lady  "I'm  Mrs  [name  supplied]." 

I  swear  this  is  a  true  story.  The  name  has  been  left 
out  to  avoid  worsening  a  situation  which  is  already  less 
than  consummate  bliss. 


Thai  media  mogul  Sondhi  Limthongkul  sounded 
extremely  relaxed  during  his  phone  interview  on  RTHK's 
morning  radio  show. 

"Actually,  I  was  lying  in  bed  at  the  time,"  he  told 
Your  Humble  Narrator  at  lunch  the  same  day. 

The  same  show  had  earlier  featured  Matt  Barrett, 
chief  executive  officer  of  the  Bank  of  Montreal. 
Afterwards,  his  public  relations  man  Ted  Thomas 
phoned  him  at  the  Mandarin  Oriental  and  said:  "You 
sounded  a  bit  strained  on  the  radio  this  morning." 

"I'm  not  surprised,"  he  replied.  "I  was  on  the  toilet 
at  the  time." 


An  elegant  Chinese  woman,  mother  of  a  well-known 
Hong  Kong  TV  presenter,  was  prevented  from  playing  at 
Deepwater  Bay  Golf  Club  because  of  what  she  was 
wearing:  a  golfing  outfit.  The  baffled  member  explained 
to  officials  that  she  had  bought  the  golfing  clothes  at  a 
golf  shop.  She  pointed  to  the  classic  check  slacks  and 
the  little  golf  logo  on  the  knit  shirt. 

"But  there  are  no  flies  on  your  trousers,"  the 
official  said. 

Now  this,  she  had  to  admit,  was  true.  Women's 
trousers  often  have  elasticky  bits  or  fasten  on  the  side. 

The  official  explained  that  the  club  had  a  strict  rule 
that  no  one  could  play  in  trousers  which  did  not  have 
flies.  She  was  ejected  from  the  course. 

Could  someone  kindly  tell  the  committee  at 
Deepwater  Bay  Golf  Club  that  women's  trousers  often 
don't  have  flies  at  the  crotch,  because,  well  ...  you  see, 
chaps,  there  are  the  birds  and  the  bees  .  .  . 


Peter  Jackson  of  Inchcape  Insurance  Services  was  on  a 
Philippine  Airlines  flight  from  Singapore  to  Manila 
when  the  stewardess  told  him  to  pull  the  table  out  of 
the  armrest  and  place  his  nuts  on  it. 

He  thanked  her  for  her  concern  about  his  comfort, 
but  declined. 


Overheard  at  the  weekend:  A  man  who  had  just  bro- 
ken up  with  his  wife  was  telling  his  friend  how  he  had 
moved  from  a  palatial  residence  to  a  tiny  flat. 

"It's  not  the  space,  so  much,  but  what  I  really  miss  is 
all  the  pampering,  you  know,"  he  said. 

So  he  was  really  missing  his  wife? 

"No,"  he  said.  "The  maids." 


Robin  Bradbeer  was  car-hunting,  touring  Hong  Kong 
car  parks,  many  of  which  double  as  sales  showrooms. 

Robin:  How  many  owners  has  this  car  had? 

Salesman:  Zero. 

Robin:  Ah.  So  it's  a  showroom  model? 

Salesman:  No.  It's  been  owned  by  one  person. 

Robin:  So,  it's  had  one  owner? 

Salesman:  No.  It's  had  zero  owners. 

Robin:  Ah,  so  it's  a  showroom  model? 

Salesman:  No.  It's  been  owned  by  one  person. 

Robin:  So,  it's  had  one  owner? 

Salesman:  No.  It's  had  zero  owners. 

Etc,  etc. 
He  has  had  conversations  like  this  a  dozen  times.  It 
became  apparent  that  in  Hong  Kong  second-hand  car 


salesman's  jargon,  the  term  "owner"  does  not  include 
"original  owner",  but  "mug  we  palmed  this  old  banger 
off  to  before". 


woman  smiled.  "Oh  no,"  she  said.  "You  can't  use  it, 
because  you  don't  have  your  credit  card  any  more." 


Richard  Hawkins  moved  from  Australia  to  Hong  Kong. 
He  sent  an  e-mail  message  from  Australia  to  the  secre- 
tary in  Hong  Kong  commissioned  to  organise  accommo- 
dation, explaining  that  he  would  like  a  long  bed  and 
"enough  room  to  swing  a  cat". 

Although  she  had  always  previously  replied  instantly 
this  time  she  took  two  days  to  get  back  to  him  with  a 
confirmation. 

"I  have  made  a  hotel  booking  for  you,  with  a  double 
bed.  In  respect  of  bringing  your  cat  to  Hong  Kong,  I 
have  contacted  the  relevant  authorities  and  am  obtain- 
ing copies  of  the  necessary  forms." 


Alan  Walker  of  Fanling  took  his  Visa  card  into  the 
Hang  Seng  Bank  in  Causeway  Bay  to  have  it  cancelled. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  charming  young  woman  at  the 
counter,  cutting  it  into  two  pieces  in  front  of  him.  For 
the  bonus  points  he  had  collected,  she  handed  him  a 
special  coupon  worth  HK$100  which  he  could  spend 
wherever  he  liked. 

He  decided  to  spend  it  at  a  Shell  petrol  station  — 
but  they  refused  to  accept  it.  "You  have  to  show  your 
credit  card  at  the  same  time,"  the  Shell  staff  member 
explained. 

So  Alan  went  back  to  Hang  Seng  Bank  and  explained 
that  he  had  been  unable  to  use  the  coupon.  The  young 


Yu  Binglin,  vice-mayor  of  Zhuhai  City,  China,  was 
speaking  at  the  Marlboro  China  Zhuhai  International 
Race  '96:  "On  behalf  of  the  committee  of  the  China 
Zhuhai  International  Circuit,  I  herewith  express  my 
deepest  thankfulness  to  the  guests,  racists . . ." 

Tan  Chenfu,  chairman  of  Zhuhai  International 
Circuit,  said  his  company  was  making  every  effort  to 
provide  "top  training  and  racing  facilities  to  all  the 
racists  and  friends". 


Don  Cohn  went  to  the  Sunning  Pharmacy  at  New  Town 
Plaza,  New  Territories,  with  a  prescription  from  a  well- 
known  Hong  Kong  doctor.  The  pharmacist  picked  up  a 
book  of  doctors  allowed  to  prescribe  it,  and  looked  up 
the  name  of  Don's  physician.  "I  can't  find  it,"  he  said. 

Now  this  had  to  be  wrong.  Don's  doctor  had  had  an 
active  practice  in  Hong  Kong  for  at  least  three  years. 
Then  he  noticed  that  Sunning  Pharmacy  was  using  a 
book  of  doctors  that  was  five  years  old. 

"Shouldn't  you  keep  up  to  date?"  he  asked. 

The  pharmacist  looked  at  him.  "But  I'd  have  to  buy  a 
new  book,"  he  said. 

Don  suggested  he  make  a  call  to  verify  the  name  of 
the  doctor.  The  pharmacist  told  him  to  go  elsewhere. 

Don  found  the  pills  he  was  after  at  Fanda,  the  large 
pharmacist  opposite  the  Mandarin  Oriental  in  Central. 
He  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  cost  double  the  price 


he  was  expecting,  and  pointed  this  out  to  staff. 

"Okay,  so  how  much  do  you  want  to  pay?"  replied 
the  pharmacist,  sounding  more  like  a  dodgy  vendor  of 
fake  Rolexes. 

The  pharmacists  of  Hong  Kong.  What  a  fine  body  of 
upstanding  professionals. 


Hugh  Tyrwhitt-Drake  stopped  off  at  a  7-Eleven  in 
Hong  Kong  early  one  morning  to  buy  his  South  China 
Morning  Post.  The  paper  had  not  yet  arrived.  He  was  just 
leaving  the  shop,  when  the  saleswoman  called  out  after 
him:  "Kahm  yaht  dou  yauh."  [We've  got  yesterday's]. 


"Does  your  family  have  a  maid?" 
"What  kind  of  cars  are  used  to  transport  you  to 
school?" 

"Where  do  your  parents  take  you  for  holidays?" 
"Does  your  mother  have  any  original  dresses  by  Chanel, 
Versace,  or  Alaia?" 

Actually,  I  made  the  last  one  up,  but  it's  in  the  same 
mould. 


Overheard  by  Ann  Day  of  the  Helena  May  Institute 
from  the  mouth  of  a  small  boy  emerging  from  a  cinema 
showing  Apollo  13:  "No  wonder  they  got  in  a  mess, 
dad.  They  had  Forrest  Gump  driving." 


Overheard  at  a  perfume  counter  in  Daimaru: 

"It's  not  pronounced  Poison.  It's  French." 

"Well  how  do  you  say  it  then?" 

"Poisson. " 

"But  I  thought  that  meant  fish." 

"It  does  mean  fish." 

"Funny  name  for  a  perfume." 

"Well  I  didn't  make  it  up." 


What  do  Hong  Kong  schools  look  for  in  their  pupils? 
Character  and  intelligence?  Or  money  and  a  knowl- 
edge of  brand  names?  I  would  like  to  think  the  former, 
but  I  don't  know. 

A  colleague's  friend  sent  his  children  to  the  Chinese 
International  School  for  an  interview,  and  they  were 
asked  questions  by  a  panel  of  teachers. 


There's  a  new  pawn  shop  on  Canal  St  West  in  Hong 
Kong  called  Hang  On  Pawn  Shop,  I  heard  from  Mark 
Majner.  It's  one  of  those  shops  where  you  have  to  ring 
a  bell  to  get  in,  so  he  imagined  the  scene  when  a  cus- 
tomer arrives. 
Ding  dong. 
"Wai?HangOn." 

"Okay."  (Customer  waits  outside). 
(Customer  gets  tired  of  hanging  on  and  presses  the  bell 
again. 

"Woi?  Hang  On. " 

"Okay"  (Customer  waits  outside.) 
(Customer  gets  tired  of  hanging  on  and  presses  the  bell 
again. 

"Wai?  Hang  On. " 
Etc,  etc. 


Chapter  12:  This  is  your  Captain  shriel<ing 


Today,  business  travellers,  we  are  going  to  examine 
one  of  the  most  controversial  issues  of  modern  society: 
just  how  intelligent  should  aircraft  toilets  be? 

But  first,  a  news  flash.  It  has  been  discovered  that 
the  lack  of  female  airline  pilots  cannot  be  blamed  on 
general  sexism.  The  cause  is  highly  specific  sexism. 

Psychologists  reckon  passengers  relax  more  if  they 
think  the  plane  is  being  flown  by  a  bloke.  And  not  just 
any  bloke.  It  has  to  be  one  of  those  mature,  fatherly 
mellow  chaps. 

Pilots'  manuals  instruct  the  crew  to  give  the  image 
that  the  captain  is  personally  doing  all  parts  of  the  job, 
even  if  he  is  doubled-up  in  the  crew  toilet  for  the 
whole  trip.  This  can  mean  dressing  someone  else  up. 
"You  always  have  the  option  to  get  the  first  officer  to 
wear  your  jacket  through  the  termmal,"  says  an  oldish 
Cathay  Pacific  captain's  manual  I  have. 

Here  is  a  list  of  Announcements  You  Don't  Want  to 
Hear  on  Aircraft  Public  Address  Systems,  some  of  which 
come  from  a  discussion  of  the  subject  on  the  Internet. 

"This  is  your  Captain  speaking.  I  just  wanted  to  take 
this  opportunity  to  remind  you  that  your  seat  cushions 
can  be  used  as  flotation  devices." 

"Is  there  a  geography  major  on  board?" 

"This  is  Captain  Edwards.  It  would  be  a  good  idea  if 
you  all  pull  down  your  window  shades  and  concentrate 
on  the  inflight  movie  for  a  while." 

"Staff  announcement:  Would  the  new  stewardess 
kindly  report  to  the  cockpit  and  sit  on  my  lap." 

"We're  having  a  few  technical  hitches,  probably 
nothing  to  be  alarmed  about.  Just  enjoy  the  view.  If 
those  on  the  left  of  the  aircraft  look  out  of  the  window, 


you  can  see  a  little  parachute  drifting  down.  That's  me 
in  my  ejector  seat." 

Anyway  let's  get  back  to  today's  topic,  which  is 
intelligent  washroom  appliances.  Bryan  Leving  of  Hong 
Kong  visited  the  toilet  in  the  first  class  section  of  the 
new  Philippine  Airlines  Boeing  747-400. 

He  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  find  that  the  airline 
had  placed  a  "smart"  tap  in  the  wash  basin.  Simply 
place  your  hands  under  it,  and  it  turns  itself  on.  Take 
your  hands  away  and  it  turns  itself  off. 

Prominently  placed  in  the  washroom  was  a  sign:  "As 
a  courtesy  to  the  next  passenger,  kindly  use  your  paper 
towel  to  wipe  the  basin." 

So  he  wiped  the  basin  dry. 

Which  caused  the  tap  to  turn  on. 

Which  led  him  to  wipe  the  basin  dry  again. 

Which  caused  the  tap  to  turn  on. 

Which  led  him  to  wipe  the  basin  dry  again. 

He  could  have  been  there  for  hours,  had  he  not 
deliberately  disobeyed  the  instructions  and  left  the 
basin  wet. 

We  interrupt  this  essay  for  another  Announcement 
You  Don't  Want  to  Hear  on  Aircraft  Public  Address 
Systems: 

"This  is  the  Captain  speaking.  We've  now  reached 
our  cruising  altitude  of  39,000  feet  and  ooooohhh 
sh'™*™t." 


Chapter  13:  Play  it  again,  Ali-Sum 


Crash.  Bump.  Plink.  Thud.  Thunk.  Tinkle.  A  curiously 
musical  cacophony  floated  through  the  tranquil  air  of 
Cheung  Chau  island  one  warm  day 

"I  thought  someone  was  murdering  his  grandmoth- 
er," one  14-year-old  resident  said. 

He  went  to  the  window  to  have  a  look.  A  piano  had 
magically  appeared  outside  the  front  door  It  was  a 
rather  sad-looking  upright  "Joanna",  apparently  aban- 
doned. A  sign  in  Chinese  had  been  placed  on  the  front: 
"Free  to  Music  Lover". 

The  piano  had  participated  in  the  time-honoured, 
two-stage  Hong  Kong  method  of  property  disposal. 
First,  place  object  outside  personal  space  when  no  one 
is  looking.  Second,  run. 

The  householders  of  Tai  Sun  Street  thought  nothing 
more  about  this  until  the  evening  came.  It  was  mildly 
amusing,  the  first  time  a  drunken  passer-by  started  to 
thump  on  the  keys.  "0  Danny  boy..." 

The  second  to  15th  times  were  less  amusing. 

Sometimes  the  "music"  was  experimental. 
Sometimes  it  was  Chopsticks,  played  with  various 
degrees  of  virtuosity.  Every  so  often,  a  passer-by  who 
could  actually  play  the  thing  would  send  melodies 
trilling  through  the  night  air. 

After  two  nights  of  impromptu  concerts,  the  piano 
vanished,  and  has  not  been  seen  since. 

This  whole  business  of  furniture  disposal  is  a  tricky  one. 

A  financial  analyst  of  my  acquaintance  moved  into  a 
new  flat  on  Hong  Kong  Island.  Like  most  flats,  it  was 
tiny  and  he  could  not  move  any  item  without  moving 
everything  else  in  tandem. 

He  placed  his  favourite  bookcase  outside  the  front 


door,  to  give  a  bit  of  space  in  which  to  manoeuvre.  "I'll 
bring  the  thing  back  in  a  minute,"  he  told  his  wife.  BIG 
mistake. 

He  spent  some  time  shifting  all  the  other  furniture 
to  where  he  -  okay,  his  wife  -  wanted  it.  Mopping  his 
brow,  he  opened  the  front  door  to  find  -  nothing.  His 
bookcase  had  quickly  and  silently  been  adopted  by 
new  parents. 

What  to  do?  He  composed  a  sign  asking  for  his 
bookcase  back,  and  placed  it  in  view  of  his  neighbours 
in  the  block. 

That  night,  there  came  a  knock  on  his  door.  It  was  a 
security  guard,  telling  him  that  he  must  remove  his  sign, 
because  other  residents  said  it  implied  they  were  thieves. 
What  a  pleasant  start  to  life  in  a  new  community. 

There  was  drama  on  Cheung  Chau  island  as  well 
last  week. 

A  young  Western  woman  noticed  that  her  flatmate 
looked  ill,  so  she  summoned  help.  Cheung  Chau  is  a 
rural  place,  and  there  are  no  roads  or  vehicles  —  normal 
ones,  anyway.  The  ambulance  on  the  island  is  a  tiny  lit- 
tle one-man  motorised  truckette.  Two  men  and  a 
stretcher  squeeze  on  to  it. 

The  mini-ambulance  whizzed  out  of  the  fire  station 
and  shot  along  the  narrow  paths.  After  a  few  minutes, 
it  became  apparent  that  the  vehicle  itself  had  been 
stricken  with  some  dire  illness.  The  engine  received  its 
last  rites  outside  the  Hongkong  Bank. 

The  fearless  servicemen  were  not  to  be  swayed  from 
their  mission.  They  assembled  a  stretcher-on-a-trolley 
device  and  rescued  the  young  woman,  wheeling  her 
towards  the  clinic. 


It  soon  became  apparent  that  the  stretcher  itself 
was  ailing.  One  wheel  was  rolling  at  a  funny  angle,  and 
eventually  flew  off. 

The  patient  made  a  full  recovery.  Doctors  are  not 
confident  about  the  survival  of  the  ambulance  and  the 
stretcher. 

One  worries  about  what  will  be  used  the  next  time 
an  accident  victim  needs  to  be  transported  to  safety. 
"You  climb  on  to  this  piano,  please,  missee." 


Chapter  14:  Moving  experiences 


When  Hong  Kong  newspaperman  Andrew  Lynch 
arrived  at  London's  Heathrow  Airport  a  few  days  ago, 
he  couldn't  help  but  notice  a  chauffeur,  peaked  cap  an' 
all,  waiting  for  the  Cathay  Pacific  flight  from  Hong 
Kong.  In  the  uniformed  man's  hand  was  a  sign  saying 
"MR  GWILO". 

No  doubt  a  Hong  Kong  functionary  had  telephoned  a 
car  service  in  London  and  had  a  somewhat  brief  con- 
versation on  the  following  lines. 

Driver:  Who  do  I  have  to  meet? 

Hong  Kong  caller:  Is  a  gwoilo. 


fied  amount  of  bail,  the  driver  was  freed  to  collect  his 
accoutrements,  human  and  otherwise. 

The  troupe  and  furniture  arrived  at  the  des  res  in 
Happy  Valley  at  2.30  am. 

I  think  Charlotte  and  Susannah  got  off  lightly.  In 
cases  of  unpaid  tax,  they  sometimes  confiscate  every- 
thing in  the  miscreant's  possession  and  auction  it  off. 

Lot  number  1 :  Truckload  of  slightly  used  gwoilo- 
taste  (i.e.  bad  taste)  furniture.  Two  gwo/por  included. 
(Tipster:  James  Effingham.) 


A  young  woman  named  Charlotte  hired  a  removal 
truck  and  a  driver  to  pick  up  some  furniture  in  Stanley 
and  Mid-Levels,  and  transport  it  to  her  new  flat  in 
Happy  Valley 

The  move  proceeded  smoothly  enough.  The  furniture 
had  been  collected  and  the  driver  was  moving  along 
Queen's  Road  East  on  the  way  to  their  final  destination. 

Suddenly,  a  policeman  pulled  them  over  for  a  spot- 
check  of  ID  cards.  It  transpired  that  the  driver  had  not 
paid  any  income  tax  for  the  past  few  years. 

Excited  by  cornering  a  desperate  fugitive  -  well, 
actually,  the  driver  was  shrugging  nonchalantly  -  the 
officer  extended  a  firm  invitation  to  the  entire  ensem- 
ble to  pay  a  visit  to  Wan  Chai  police  station. 

The  two  flatmates,  Charlotte  and  Susannah,  were 
surprised  to  find  themselves  behind  bars  in  a  police  van, 
as  the  whole  lot  -  driver,  truck,  furniture,  and  occu- 
pants -  was  duly  impounded. 

After  three  hours,  and  the  payment  of  an  unspeci- 


Handbag-snatchers  used  a  taxi  as  a  getaway  car  and 
the  victims  pursued  and  caught  them  in  another  taxi. 
Only  in  Hong  Kong  have  I  heard  of  thieves  relying  on 
passing  taxis  to  provide  a  getaway  car  service. 

David  Roads  was  reminded  of  an  incident  a  couple  of 
years  ago  when  some  rather  dense  Filipino  robbers  raid- 
ed a  shop  and  leapt  into  a  taxi,  shouting  out  to  the  dri- 
ver: "Airport,  Philippine  Airlines."The  victim  told  police, 
who  arranged  for  an  officer  to  stand  by  and  arrest  the 
villains  as  they  arrived  at  the  PAL  check-in  desk. 


Despite  what  other  airlines  claim,  Chinese  Eastern 
Airlines  must  have  the  best  inflight  entertainment  in  the 
region.  This  is  the  opinion  of  Diana  Collins  of  Hong  Kong. 

On  the  runway  in  Shanghai,  passengers  were  asked 
not  to  punch  holes  in  the  windows  during  the  flight. 
One  assumes  this  is  a  common  problem,  if  passengers 
have  to  be  reminded  not  to  do  it. 

Once  in  the  air,  they  were  told  that  if  they  reguired 


anything  during  the  journey,  "please  refrain  from  con- 
tacting the  cabin  crew". 


Wasn't  it  amazing  that  two  Hong  Kong  trams  were  in  a 
head-on  collision  in  Hennessy  Road,  Causeway  Bay? 

I  mean,  how  fast  do  these  things  go?  I  can  just  imagine 
the  testimony  at  an  inquin/;  "Suddenly  I  saw  this  tram 
heading  straight  for  me  at  four  kilometres  an  hour,  roughly 
the  same  speed  as  a  pensioner  on  the  pavement  nearby  I 
tried  to  screech  to  a  halt,  but  it  was  too  late,  as  we  were 
less  than  half  an  hour  away  from  a  direct  collision." 


Bob  Bunker  of  Mees  Pierson  was  passing  the 
Legislative  Council.  Two  men  came  out  and  climbed 
into  a  car  with  the  "AM"  government  number  plate. 

The  car  moved  a  few  yards  in  a  straight  line,  from 
the  Legco  parking  lot,  to  the  Hong  Kong  Club,  which  is 
the  next  building  to  the  north. 

The  two  men  disembarked  and  went  into  the  club. 

The  chauffeur  drove  the  car  into  the  tortuous  Central 
one-way  system  and  travelled  God  knows  how  far  until 
he  eventually  managed  to  get  back  to  where  he  started. 

Who  was  wasting  resources  in  this  terrible  manner? 

Bob  didn't  recognise  the  government  officials. 
"Probably  someone  working  on  some  environmental 
protection  sub-committee,"  he  mused. 


Martin  Merz,  a  savvy  China  trader  who  can  curse  in 
five  Chinese  dialects,  clambered  into  a  taxi  in 


Guangzhou  and  asked  to  be  taken  to  the  airport.lnstead 
of  flipping  on  the  meter,  the  taxi-sigei  decided  to  try  to 
cheat  his  passenger  into  over-paying. 

"Fifty  renminbi,"  he  barked. 

"Very  well,"  replied  Martin  in  street  level  Mandarin, 
"But  first  we  will  visit  the  police  station  and  discuss  the 
matter  there,  you  dumb  (expletive]." 

The  driver  was  clearly  impressed  by  the  foreign  bar- 
barian's ability  to  talk  just  like  a  proper  male  human. 

He  immediately  switched  the  meter  on.  "I  just  wish 
to  make  one  correction  to  your  statement,"  he  said. 
"You  should  have  said:  'But  first  we  will  visit  the  public 
transport  management  office.'  The  police  don't  give  a 
(expletive)  about  taxi  fares." 


Ian  Skeggs  was  sitting  on  his  yacht,  floating  off  Middle 
Island  with  a  group  of  friends,  enjoying  a  few  bottles  of 
chilled  wine. 

About  8  pm  they  started  to  feel  hungry,  but  felt  too 
lazy  to  move  their  fat  butts  and  go  and  get  some  food. 

"Why  don't  we  get  a  pizza  delivered?"  someone  asked. 

"To  a  boat?  Impossible!"  said  Inchcape  Motors  exec- 
utive Ian. 

Wagers  were  taken  as  to  whether  Pizza  Hut  would 
be  willing  and  able  to  deliver  a  still-warm  pizza  to  a 
boat  off  Middle  Island. 

They  phoned  the  manager  of  the  Pizza  Hut  in 
Repulse  Bay  and  found  him  completely  unfazed  at  the 
thought  of  deliver/  to  an  ocean-going  vessel,  bobbing 
about  in  the  South  China  Sea. 

The  sailors  gave  the  pizza  delivery  man  their  mobile 


phone  number,  which  he  called  a  couple  of  times  to 
make  sure  he  was  going  in  the  right  direction.  Shortly 
afterwards,  they  spied  him  walking  along  the  promenade 
holding  the  pizzas  high.  He  then  climbed  into  a  sampan 
and  braved  the  waters,  soon  reaching  ian's  boat. 

They  munched  into  their  Deep  Pan  Super  Supremes 
and  found  them  still  piping  hot. 

Everyone  was  delighted. 

Except  Ian.  "I  lost  a  bottle  of  champagne  because  I 
bet  no  one  would  deliver  a  pizza  at  sea." 


An  official  statement  has  been  posted  in  Hong  Kong 
newspapers  by  the  New  World  Centre  Management 
Office  in  Kowloon. 

"Notice  is  hereby  given  to  the  owner  of  a  Daimler 
saloon  bearing  UK  registration  number  KVP  650W, 
which  has  been  parked  in  the  New  World  Centre 
Basement  Four  car  park,  20,  Salisbury  Road,  Kowloon, 
since  August  1988,  that  if  the  vehicle  is  not  collected 
after  payment  of  parking  charges  at  the  New  World 
Centre  Office  Building  West  Wing,  20,  Salisbury  Road, 
Kowloon,  within  seven  days  from  the  date  hereof, 
arrangements  will  be  made  for  the  vehicle  to  be  dis- 
posed of  without  further  notice." 

This  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  John  Ferguson  of 
Build  Asia  Selection,  who  said:  "I  wonder  whether  the 
owner  might  not  find  it  less  expensive  to  buy  a  new 
Daimler,  considering  the  car  parking  charges  in  such 
establishments." 


An  unusual  line  from  the  Reverend  Wendell  Karsen  at 
the  Union  Church:  "A  pessimist  is  someone  who  looks 
both  ways  before  crossing  a  one-way  street.  So  an 
optimist,  I  would  imagine,  is  someone  who  doesn't 
look  at  all.  On  Hong  Kong  roads,  I  would  recommend 
being  a  pessimist." 

There  was  a  teeny-weeny  problem  with  the  Round 
The  Island  Yacht  Race.  It  couldn't  go  round  the  island. 
The  Hong  Kong  harbour  was  too  narrow,  there  was  too 
much  traffic  in  it  already,  and  there  are  vast  spans  of 
dangerous  reclamation  on  both  sides.  Organisers  decid- 
ed the  yachts  don't  have  a  hope  of  going  around  Hong 
Kong  island  without  being  dredged  up  and  turned  into 
part  of  a  sea  wall  in  new  Kowloon. 

Instead,  the  sailors  are  going  to  go  part  way  round 
and  then  turn  back  again. 

Michael  Ouinn  of  Friends  of  the  Earth  said:  "Boats  that 
do  not  dissolve  in  the  harbour  will  receive  a  special  award". 


Chapter  15:  Acne  Chan  and  the  wonderful  basket 


Asians  who  carry  Western  names  like  to  choose  mem- 
orable ones.  This  is  why  Hong  Kong's  registers  of 
employment  have  included  a  secretary  called  Nausea 
Yip  and  an  artist  on  a  porn  magazine  called  Pubic  Ha. 


Genuine  Hong  Kong  names,  from  a  collection  made  by 

an  engineer: 

Acne  Chan,  a  female  bank  clerk; 

Motor  Fan,  a  male  electrical  engineer; 

Ivan  Ho,  a  male  TV  talk  show  host; 

Handy  Kam,  a  male  salesman; 

Orphelia  Kok,  a  female  programmer; 

Arsenic  Lo,  a  male  (job  unknown); 

Hernia  Kong,  a  female  railway  worker; 

and  Morning  Sun,  a  female  student. 


From  The  1997  Hong  Kong  Diary  by  John  Dykes,  pub- 
lished by  Ant  Co: 

1.  There's  a  Twinkle  To  out  there. 

2.  You've  got  to  feel  a  bit  embarrassed  for  Willy  Pong, 

3.  Then  there's  the  slightly  confused  woman  called 
Candy  Man. 

4.  McDonald's  has  a  staffer  called  Alien  Lee. 

5.  A  friend  swears  he  knows  a  Scooby  Doo. 


Hong  Kong  environmental  specialist  Paul  Claughan 
was  informed  by  US  Environment  Report  magazine  that 
he  can  contact  a  nuclear  fuel  expert  by  writing  to: 

"B.F  Bugger,  Off. 

"of  Communications." 
Do  you  think  there  is  a  subliminal  message  here? 


There's  a  salesgirl  in  the  Causeway  Bay  Giordano  store 

by  the  name  of  Busy  (Spotter:  Andrew  Case.) 

It  must  be  jolly  hard  to  pick  her  up  at  a  disco. 

Suitor:  Hello  darling,  what's  your  name? 

Busy:  I'm  Busy 

Suitor:  Well,  excuuuuuuse  me. 


The  winner  of  a  contest  on  TVB's  Pearl  Watch  in  Hong 
Kong  was  called  Harlet  To.  (Spotter:  Bernard  Long.) 
Someone  had  better  warn  this  young  lady  that  her 
name  could  lead  to  embarrassing  misunderstandings. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  Harlet." 

"Really?  How  much  do  you  charge?" 


Chen  Hsien  Min,  managing  director  of  Prime  Success 
International  Group,  revealed  that  his  English  name  is 
Keeper,  because  he  played  in  goal  for  his  school  soccer 
team.  Good  thing  his  school  game  wasn't  cricket,  which 
features  positions  known  as  Silly  Mid-On,  Square  Leg 
and  Deep  Mid-Off. 


If  you  call  up  the  offices  of  Compaq  Computer  Hong 
Kong  and  ask  to  speak  to  "admin",  you  may  get  a  Mr 
Admin  Cheung  on  the  phone.  And  no,  he  doesn't  work 
in  the  administration  department  -  that  would  be  too 
logical.  This  IS  Hong  Kong. 


A  new  nightclub  has  opened  in  IVIanila,  called  "Club 
Chevalier".  (Spotter:  Peter  Weldon.)  It  is  run  by  a  woman 
called  Candy  Bumpy  I  foresee  problems  if  this  place 
gets  confused  with  the  giant  Hong  Kong  based  office 
supplies  firm  of  the  same  name,  Chevalier. 
Customer:  "Got  any  floppy  disks?" 
Candy  Bumpy:  "There's  nothing  floppy  around  here,  dear." 


In  the  Willie  Building,  Central,  you'll  find  a  printing 
worker  called  Do  Do  To.  What  would  happen  if  Do  Do 
To  married  actress  Dodo  Cheng? 

"Do  you,  Do  Do,  take  Dodo,  to  be  your  wife?" 

"I,  Do  Do,  do  do." 
Then  again,  imagine  if  he  had  a  stutter... 


Making  sure  your  name  doesn't  mean  something 
embarrassing  in  other  languages  is  only  half  the  battle. 
Pronouncing  it  correctly  is  the  other  half.  Tan  Gim  Eam 
tells  me  a  friend  of  hers  called  a  computer  firm  in  Hong 
Kong  to  speak  to  someone  called  Anais. 

Caller:  Can  I  speak  to  Anais,  please? 

Receptionist:  No  such  person. 

Caller:  It's  spelt  A.  N.  A.  I.  S. 

Receptionist:  Oh,  you  mean  Anus.  Hold  on. 

(Click.) 

Caller:  Hello!  Can  I  speak  to  Anais? 

Anais:  Anus  here. 


Your  Humble  Narrator  sat  next  to  Patrick  Paul  of  Price 
Waterhouse  at  a  dinner,  and  was  surprised  to  learn  he  had 
an  acguaintance  in  Zimbabwe  named  Wonderful  Basket. 
Mr  Paul  said  he  found  it  tough  to  adjust  to  greeting  this 
large  and  macho  African  gentleman  with  the  affectionate- 
sounding  words:  "Good  morning,  Wonderful..." 

If  Wonderful  Basket  married  Liz  Case,  who  does  the 
lunchtime  show  on  Hong  Kong's  Radio  Three,  would 
their  children  be  known  as  the  Basket-Cases? 


Hold  the  presses.  A  reader  tells  me  that  Do  Do  To  could- 
n't marry  Dodo  Cheng  because  he  is  already  married. 

Whoops!  There  goes  the  phone  again.  That's  odd.  It's 
someone  telling  me  that  Do  Do  To  is  definitely  a 
female. 

There's  only  one  possible  conclusion:  there  are  two 
Do  Do  Tos.  Imagine  the  confusion  if  they  were  ever 
introduced  to  each  other. 

"Do  Do  To,  Do  Do  To." 

"Is  your  name  Do  Do  To  too?" 

"No,  my  father  was  Do  Do  To  II.  I'm  Do  Do  To  III." 


Hold  the  presses  again.  A  caller  tells  me  he  has  an 
employee  called  Do  Do  To-To,  which  is  one  syllable  up 
on  the  Do  Do  Tos.  If  this  chap  passed  his  name  on  to 
his  son,  and  the  boy  ever  met  someone  with  the  same 
name,  he  would  have  to  say:  "I'm  Do  Do  To-To  II  too." 


Adam  Williams  of  Dow  Jones  Telerate  in  Hong  Kong 
showed  me  a  letter  from  a  chap  caled  Soso  So.  I  won- 
der how  his  doctor  greets  him  when  he  is  run  down? 
Doctor:  "How  are  you  feeling,  Soso  So?  So-so?" 


Iranian  journalists  have  a  problem  with  Bob  Dole, 
whose  surname  is  the  Persian  word  for  male  genitalia. 
(Spotter;  Mirja  Muncy.) 

Reporter  Majid  Fanni  told  his  foreign  counterparts: 
"It  might  seem  funny  to  some  people  but  it's  creating  a 
serious  issue  for  us.  How  can  we  write  headlines  using 
that  word?" 

It  would  have  become  easier  had  he  become  President, 
Majid.  The  word  would  have  seemed  more  fitting. 


If  you'll  excuse  further  asterisks,  the  Obscene  Articles 
Tribunal  in  Hong  Kong  has  passed  a  film  featuring 
"Actress  F'^  Keiko".  This  was  brought  to  my  attention 
by  reader  Simon  Cuthbert,  who  thought  she  appeared 
"appropriately  named  for  her  chosen  career". 


Name  of  a  rather  attractive  Hong  Kong  girl,  spotted 
by  Brian  Stewart:  Bikky  Jar  No,  you  can't  have  a  nibble. 


Hang  on  a  minute.  The  journalist  complaining  that  Bob 
Dole's  surname  is  the  Persian  for  male  genitalia  is 
named  Majid  Fanni. 
You  black  pot,  you... 


On  a  related  topic,  Bernard  Long  tells  me  that  in 
Malaysia,  the  premier  of  Pakistan  is  always  referred  to 
as  President  Benazir 

"They  cannot  bring  themselves  to  utter  the  word 
Bhutto,  because  of  what  it  means  in  Indonesian,  Malay 
and  some  dialects  of  the  Philippines,"  he  said. 

A  Bhutto  is  a  man's  er,  well,  um.  Dole. 


There  is  a  footballer  of  Brazilian  origin  in  Osaka  called 
Argelico  F**ks.  I've  prudishly  used  asterisks,  although  I 
realise  that  a  name,  technically,  cannot  be  an  obscenity. 
But  imagine  having  to  go  through  life  burdened  with 
such  a  moniker.  "His  name  sounds  like  an  advert  for  a 
male  escort  service,"  said  spotter  Jeremy  Walker 


cttcr  received  by  business  people  in  Hong  Kong:  "Dear 
Sir,  thank  you  for  your  interest  in  our  company  product 
and  services.  We  are  pleased  to  submit  herewith  the 
information  for  Internet  Phone  for  your  kind  reference. 
Yours  sincerely,  Yu  Wankel." 

There's  another  one  of  those  subliminal  messages 
here,  isn't  there? 


A  company  in  Tsim  Sha  Tsui  produces  a  brand  of  batten/ 
called  Double  Cat,  each  of  which  features  a  picture  of 
two  moggies,  one  black  and  one  white.  The  director  of  the 
firm  carries  the  English  name  Mr  Double  Cat.  His  Chinese 
name  is  Seung  Mau  Seen  Sang  [Mr  Pair  of  Pussycats). 
Now  that's  what  I  call  fully  integrated  marketing. 


Seen  at  the  Spice  Market  restaurant  in  Ocean 
Terminal,  Kowloon,  a  waiter  with  a  badge  that  said, 
simply,  "Human". 
(Spotter:  Shona  Parker) 


Trader  Choith  Ramchandani  asked  a  young  woman  work- 
ing at  the  Friendship  Store,  Shenzhen,  what  her  name  was. 

"Lucy,"  she  said. 

Unfortunately  her  nametag  said  "Lousy". 


Paul  Moyes  of  Coopers  a  Lybrand  in  Hong  Kong  tells 
me  that  there  is  a  Correctional  Services  Department 
officer,  who  presumably  is  employed  to  show  prisoners 
the  error  of  their  ways,  called  Wong  Wai-man. 

He  also  knows  of  an  executive  at  the  Official 
Receiver's  Office  (the  agency  responsible  for  monitoring 
the  affairs  of  liquidated  firms)  called  Monita  Yu. 

I'm  assured  that  there  was  once  an  undertaker  in  the 
United  States  whose  real  name  was  Filmore  Graves. 

But  the  chap  I  really  feel  sorry  for  is  the  real-life 
American  detective  whose  name  is  Bond.  James  Bond. 


There's  a  gentleman  m  Happy  Valley  whose  name  is  Ho 
Ho,  I  heard  from  Michael  McGuire.  "This  is  right  up 
there  with  the  poor  child  who  was  named  Module  after 
the  Apollo  11  landing, "he  said. 

I  wonder  if  Mr  Ho  Ho  was  born  in  Santa's  grotto  some- 
where? What  happens  if  Mr  Ho  Ho  married  one  of  Stanley 
Ho's  daughters?  He  could  end  up  as  Mr  Ho  Ho-Ho. 


There  is  also  a  Ms  Lai  Lai-lai  who  lives  in  the  territory. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  there  have  been  several  songs  writ- 
ten about  her.  Doesn't  Those  Were  the  Days  mention  her 
in  the  chorus? 


Kai  Tak,  the  Hong  Kong  airport,  is  derived  from  the 
personal  names  of  the  two  former  owners  of  the  land, 
Mr  Ho  Kai  and  Mr  Au  Tak. 

Rather  cute,  isn't  it?l  mean,  you  can't  imagine  a 
major  airport  in  the  United  States  deciding  to  call  itself 
"Beau  and  Flopsy  International  Airport",  can  you? 


All  the  racehorses  of  Hong  Kong  music-fan  Hans  Ebert 
are  named  after  hit  songs  -  "Only  You",  "Light  My  Fire", 
"Happy  Together"  and  so  on.  He  wanted  to  call  his  lat- 
est filly  "A  Horse  With  No  Name,"  but  the  authorities 
turned  him  down.  They  thought  it  would  have  been  too 
confusing  to  have  the  10-words-a-second  commenta- 
tors saying;  "And  ahead  on  the  final  stretch  is  'A  Horse 
With  No  Name'." 

One  owner  called  his  horse  "Derry  Air",  which  seems 
Okay  in  print,  but  caused  sniggers  when  crowds  heard 
the  commentator  say  something  like:  "And  moving  up 
from  a  position  at  the  rear,  is  jockey  Hypothermia  Chan, 
bouncing  up  and  down  on  his  Derry  Air" 

Hans  said:  "There  used  to  be  a  horse  named  'Pepper 
Steak'.  I  wonder  what  ever  became  of  him?" 


Andy  Onslow  tells  me  that  the  Possession  Street 
branch  of  Hongkong  Bank  has  a  teller  named 
Strawberry  Field.  He  says  he  was  in  the  queue  when  he 
spotted  her,  so  I  guess  he  could  say  he  felt  he  was 
waiting  for  Strawberry  Field  forever  It  doesn't  surprise 
me.  This  is  Hong  Kong.  Nothing  is  real. 


Chapter  16:  The  great  Tandoori  mystery 


If  an  industry  continuously  mis-represented  its  products, 
you  could  take  civil  action  against  it,  couldn't  you?  Of 
course  —  unless  the  industry  is  the  restaurant  business. 

Let  us  consider  the  experience  of  Robert  Gray  of 
Discovery  Bay,  Lantau.  Robert  does  not  like  cheese.  He 
never  orders  cheese,  and  never  knowingly  eats  it. 

By  good  fortune,  he  lives  in  a  settlement  off  the 
coast  of  China,  a  region  which  has  a  tradition  of 
cheese-free  dining  stretching  back  to  the  dawn  of  time. 
So  it  should  be  easy  to  avoid  the  stuff,  no? 

No.  These  days  it's  everywhere  -  but  not  by  name. 
He  dined  recently  at  Va  Bene  in  Lan  Kwai  Fong,  and 
ordered  minestrone.  He  was  presented  with  a  dish  of 
soup  in  which  a  large  number  of  pieces  of  shredded 
cheese  were  enjoying  a  swim.  "Hi,  Robert,"  they  seemed 
to  say  to  him.  "Come  on  in,  the  soup's  lovely" 

He  grimaced. 

"You  should  have  asked  first,"  said  his  wife,  helpfully 
"You  normally  do." 

"But  this  is  bloody  soup,"  he  protested  between  his 
teeth. 

Robert's  standard  dialogue  with  waiters  in  Italian 
restaurants  is  as  follows: 

"I'd  like  the  CotoHetta  alio  Milanese,  please.  Now, 
does  that  come  with  cheese?" 

"Cheese?" 

"Yes,  cheese.  Does  it  come  with  cheese?" 

"You  want  cheese?" 

"No.  Specifically  I  DON'T  want  cheese.  Can  you  make 
sure  there  is  none  on  my  meal,  please?" 

This  conversation  cuts  the  number  of  cheese-tainted 
meals  to  one  out  of  two  instead  of  100  per  cent. 


Mr  Gray  and  Your  Humble  Narrator  share  this  dislike. 
I  once  ordered  a  green  salad  in  an  Italian  restaurant  in 
Macau  and  received  a  dish  of  cheese.  Admittedly  there 
was  a  shredded  lettuce  leaf  under  the  diary  topcoat. 

He  told  me  he  once  protested  loudly  at  a  restaurant, 
after  he  ordered  a  safe-sounding  veal  cutlet  to  find  it 
heavily  coated  with  molten  yellow  stuff. 

The  waiter  fired  back:  "But  this  is  an  Italian  restau- 
rant. Everything  comes  with  cheese." 

"Not  in  friggin'  Italy  it  doesn't,"  replied  Robert. 

Now  this  is  an  important  point.  Say  you  go  to  a 
restaurant  called  The  Sub-Saharan,  and  find  they  are 
marketing  ice  cream  and  jelly  as  indigenous  cuisine  of 
the  area.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  complain  to  some 
restaurant  business  watchdog  called  the  International 
Foodstuff  Authenticity  Council.  (Authentic  restaurants 
in  north  Africa  serve  black  forest  gateau.) 

Having  said  that,  the  problems  sometimes  arise  from 
the  customer  rather  than  the  business.  I  spotted  a  mid- 
dle-aged American  woman  sitting  in  Club  Sri  Lanka,  a 
small  basement  restaurant  in  Hollywood  Road,  Central, 
pleading  with  the  waiter. 

"But  you  MUST  have  tandoori  chicken,"  she  insisted. 

The  waiter,  never  having  heard  of  the  dish,  pointed 
out  that  it  wasn't  on  the  menu. 

"I  know  it's  not  on  the  menu,  but  your  chef  must  be 
able  to  make  it.  It's  the  most  famous  Indian  dish." 

The  waiter  said:  "This  is  not  an  Indian  restaurant. 
This  is  a  Sri  Lankan  restaurant." 

"Can't  you  just  make  a  small  one  for  me?  Or  a  chick- 
en tikka,  which  is  almost  the  same?"  she  said. 

She  clearly  thought  countries  full  of  small  brown 


people  eating  curry  were  interchangeable. 

I  have  never  been  to  an  Indian  restaurant  outside 
India  which  doesn't  have  tandoori  chicken  (except  for 
vegetarian  ones).  And  I  have  never  been  to  a  restaurant 
in  India  which  DOES  serve  tandoori  chicken. 

One  day,  that  American  tourist  from  Hollywood 
Road,  is  actually  going  to  go  to  India  and  get  a  shock.  I 
can  picture  her  sitting  in  a  cafe  in  Trivandrum  saying: 
"But  you  must  have  tandoori  chicken.  This  is  India.  This 
is  what  you  people  eat  all  the  time." 

The  real  "standard"  Indian  dish  is  masala  dosa  - 
potato  curry  pancake.  You  CAN  find  this  in  many  Indian 
restaurants  in  Hong  Kong.  But  usually  not  on  the  menu. 
It's  round  the  back,  being  scoffed  by  kitchen  staff. 

Last  time  I  was  in  London,  my  host  took  me  to  his 
favourite  oriental  diner.  He  announced  to  other  guests: 
"He's  from  Hong  Kong.  We'll  get  him  to  order  for  us, 
and  have  a  really  authentic  Chinese  meal." 

But  did  the  restaurant  have  any  of  my  favourite 
dishes?  Dau  m/u.^ Shredded  beef  and  kumquat  in 
sesame  pockets?  Onion  cakes?  Gai  loan? 

No.  But  they  did  have  something  called  "chop  suey", 
lots  of  things  cooked  in  soy  sauce,  and  neat  little  "Hong 
Kong  fortune  cookies"  to  hand  round  at  the  end. 

The  meal  was  not  particularly  good,  and  after  won- 
dering around  Picadilly  Circus  and  having  a  few  drinks, 
we  felt  in  need  of  a  snack.  So  we  headed  to  Leicester 
Square  and  enjoyed  Hong  Kong's  real  favourite  meal. 

Two  Big  Macs  with  large  fries  to  go. 


Chapter  17:  All  vegetarians  digested  here 


Her  eyes  lit  up.  "I  know.  We'll  make  you  a  Western 
meal,"  my  wife  said.  It  was  1986,  and  my  wife  and  I 
were  living  with  a  young  Indian  couple  in  a  small  flat  in 
Uttar  Pradesh,  northern  India.  In  that  household,  the 
menu  was  the  same  every  day:  rice  and  one  vegetable. 
The  simple  meals  were  surprisingly  tasty,  despite  (or 
perhaps  because  of)  the  bugs  in  the  kitchen,  especially 
in  the  jar  in  which  lentils  were  kept. 

Now  we  had  volunteered  to  do  the  cooking,  and  my 
wife  Mary,  from  England,  had  the  bright  idea  of  intro- 
ducing our  hosts,  Govind  and  Shailajah,  to  the  rarified 
delights  of  European  cuisine. 

But  where  to  find  the  ingredients?  The  little  market 
in  our  village  sold  only  rice  and  local  vegetables,  at  the 
equivalent  of  US$1.50,  or  HK$10,  for  enough  food  for  a 
family  for  a  week. 

We  took  the  ancient  bus  (a  50-seater  vehicle  carrying 
143  people,  many  sitting  on  the  laps  of  strangers)  along 
the  dusty  roads  to  Delhi.  After  desperately  scouring  shops 
in  the  Indian  capital,  we  were  left  with  a  menu  which 
was  Western,  but  not  exactly  haute  cuisine:  tinned 
sausages,  cauliflower  cheese,  fried  eggs  and  baked  beans, 
ice  cream.  The  raw  materials  cost  a  fortune. 

Back  in  the  flat  in  Uttar  Pradesh,  we  spent  hours  in 
the  kitchen.  When  the  meal  was  ready  we  asked  them 
where  they  kept  the  cutlery. 

Cutlery...? 

Ah.  No  cutlery.  Right. 

The  four  of  us  sat  in  a  circle  on  the  concrete  floor 
where  dinner  was  normally  served  (there  was  no  dining 
table),  and  studied  the  dishes  placed  between  us.  We 
made  the  following  discoveries. 


1.  You  can't  eat  Western  food  Asian-style  because  it  is 
served  piping  hot  and  scalds  your  fingertips.  This  is 
particularly  true  of  sausages. 

2.  After  you  have  waited  for  Western  food  to  become 
cool  enough  to  grasp,  it  has  become  congealed  and 
disgusting.  This  is  especially  true  of  cauliflower 
cheese. 

3.  When  an  "over-easy"  egg  is  inserted  into  the  mouth 
with  the  fingers,  a  single  bursting  yolk  can  cover 
about  20  square  inches  of  shirt  with  an  indelible  yel- 
low splatter. 

4.  Baked  beans  should  not  be  eaten,  hot  or  cold,  with 
the  hands.  You  end  up  consuming  them  one  at  a 
time.  Misjudge  the  pressure  between  finger  and 
thumb,  and  the  slippery  buggers  will  shoot  the 
length  of  the  room. 

5.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  eat  ice  cream  with  your 
hands,  because  it  is  too  cold  to  touch.  Wait  for  it  to 
thaw  (which  takes  about  two  minutes  in  India)  and  it 
becomes  completely  impossible  to  eat,  seeping  away 
through  the  floor. 

Afterwards,  Mary  told  me  she  could  see  poor  Govind 
catching  his  wife's  eye,  and  the  unspoken  message  was 
unmistakeable:  "After  this,  can  we  have  some  food?" 

Shailajah  sat  cross-legged  and  politely  stirred  the 
hideous  mess  on  her  plate  with  her  index  finger.  "I'll 
cook  tomorrow,'  she  said. 

One  man's  delicacy  is  another  man's  rubbish.  I've 
always  thought  that  the  ultimate  proof  of  this  is  the 
product  made  by  Hong  Kong  company  Tung  Fong 


Hung  Medicine  Co.  "Old  Orange  Peel"  costs  about 
HK$18  a  packet  and  is  available  in  supermarkets 
around  the  territory. 

Of  course,  there  are  many  examples  of  this  principle 
around  Asia.  In  the  open  air  food  markets  of  northeast- 
ern Thailand,  snackers  can  buy  seven  live  lizards  on  a 
string  for  20  baht,  which  is  just  under  US$1. 

The  Isan  tribe  of  that  area  also  makes  what  looks 
like  a  pinkish  rice  salad.  Consume  at  your  own  risk.  It  is 
made  out  of  the  eggs  of  giant  red  ants. 

It  is  good  to  see  that  the  gourmands  in  the  sensa- 
tion-hungry West  are  starting  to  get  interested  in  some 
of  the  insect-based  dishes  of  Asia  and  Africa. 

Recent  insect  cookbooks  published  include 
Unmentionable  Cuisine  and  the  memorably  titled 
Butterflies  in  My  Stomach.  Entertaining  Witti  Insects  is  in 
its  third  edition,  the  Times  of  London  recently  reported. 

A  Food  Insects  Newsletter,  produced  quarterly  by  a 
professor  at  the  University  of  Wisconsin,  now  claims  a 
circulation  of  2,000.  Its  recipes  include  ones  for  cater- 
pillar crunch,  sauteed  giant  ants  and  waxworm  fritters 
that  explode  like  popcorn  when  dropped  in  hot  oil. 

Other  unusual  dishes  are  just  abnormal  parts  of  nor- 
mal food  animals.  For  example,  in  Japan  last  year,  there 
was  a  bit  of  a  run  on  canned  eyeballs.  Sounds  disgust- 
ing? These  succulent,  burst-in-the-mouth  globes  were 
taken  from  tuna,  other  bits  of  which  I  suspect  both  you 
and  I,  dear  reader,  have  eaten  without  qualms. 

In  Hanoi,  at  the  Nha  Hang  Bia  Hoi  restaurant,  a  corre- 
spondent once  told  me  that  the  menu  included  veal  in 
various  styles  ("Burned"  and  "Burned  with  burned  rice 
flour")  but  the  piece  de  resistance  was  "Not  Born  Yet  Baby 


CowStir  Fried".  Gets  your  mouth  watering,  doesn't  it? 

But  to  go  back  to  insects  for  a  moment,  don't 
think  you  can  just  nip  down  to  the  Botanical  Gardens 
and  snack  on  things  living  under  rocks.  There  are 
more  than  a  million  species  of  insects,  and  only 
about  1,000  are  believed  to  be  suitable  for  human 
consumption. 

Which  ones  improve  the  flavour  of  lentils,  I  don't 
know,  but  I'm  told  that  palm  grubs  go  particularly  well 
with  red  wine. 


Now  on  sale  in  every  Hong  Kong  subway  station:  small 
packets  of  "Mamon"  at  HK$4.  I  knew  you'd  find  the 
stuff  in  Hong  Kong  somewhere.  (Spotter:  Roy  Grubb.) 


On  the  menu  at  Hunan  Garden,   Exchange  Square: 
"Chicken  and  stringbean  with  strange  sauce."  They  said  it. 
(Spotter:  Jack  Moore.) 


Lunch  special  offered  by  a  Kowloon  hotel:  "Welsh  ham 
from  Scotland."  (Spotter:  John  Marenakos.) 


Sign  on  the  door  of  a  restaurant  in  Causeway  Bay:  "All 
vegetarians  digested  here."  (Spotter:  John  Dickson.) 

Ever  been  served  murky  dark  liquid  instead  of  coffee? 
Stephen  Birkett  was,  on  a  recent  trip  to  Nepal.  To  be  fair, 
it  was  labelled  with  commendable  honesty:  "Mucca". 


The  team  at  Carnegies,  the  fashionable  bar  and 
restaurant  in  Wan  Chai,  the  Hong  Kong  bar  area,  has 
been  building  up  a  healthy  midday  trade  since  the 
introduction  of  free  wine  and  cheesecake  with  lunch. 

So  it  came  as  a  surprise  when  the  majority  of 
desserts  were  returned  to  the  kitchen  barely  nibbled. 

New  manager  Karl  Bullers  asked  the  chef  what  the 
cheesecake  flavour  of  the  day  was,  and  he  replied: 
"Cheese  and  onion". 

"This  man  is  a  master  of  culinary  invention,"  one  of 
the  directors  of  the  company  told  me. 

He  has  a  range  of  "firsts"  in  cooking  techniques. 
Instead  of  trying  to  work  out  which  soups  are  served 
hot  and  which  chilled,  he  made  a  soup  and  asked 
diners:  "Do  you  want  it  hot  or  cold?" 

When  making  mashed  potatoes,  he  boiled  them  in 
their  jackets,  to  make  them  easier  to  peel.  To  save  time 
with  the  sausages,  he  fried  them  earlier  and  then 
warmed  them  up  by  dropping  them  in  hot  water. 


Instructions  on  a  packet  of  noodles:  "Please  eat 
slurping  them  briskly  in  the  traditional  Japanese 
manner."  (Spotter:  Bryce  Mclntyre.) 


John  Snelgrove  asked  the  waitress  at  the  Aberdeen 
Marina  Club:  "What  is  the  roast  of  the  day?" 
"It  is  the  daily  roast,"  she  helpfully  replied. 


On  the  menu  at  the  Hoi  Yuet  restaurant  in  Peking  Road, 
Kowloon,  Jo-Anne  Franks  spied  "fried  vegetarians". 

I  haven't  seen  Linda  McCartney  around  lately, 
have  you? 


From  a  food  review  in  HK  Magazine:  "The  sweet  fruity 
sauce  complimented  the  deep-fried  garoupa." 

One  wonders  what  it  said?  "You're  looking  tasty 
tonight,  dear." 


The  slogan  of  Casino  Filipino,  a  posh  restaurant  and 
gambling  establishment  at  Tagaytay,  near  Manila,  is: 
"We  suggest  crabs...  followed  by  craps." 

I  agree  that  this  is  too  often  the  case  with  Asian 
seafood  meals. 


Mike  Raath  wanted  to  go  to  the  Military  Club  in 
Macau  for  dinner,  but  did  not  know  if  the  dress  code 
was  casual  or  formal.  So  he  telephoned  and  asked. 
"Formal  casual,"  was  the  reply. 


A  restaurant  called  "Cafe  de  Bore"  was  recently 
encountered  in  Japan  by  Jo  Anderson.  "I  resisted  the 
temptation  to  see  if  it  lived  up  to  its  name,"  she  said. 
Jo  also  came  across  a  place  called  "Cafe  de  Cancer." 


A  Chinese  restaurant  at  the  airport  in  Chengdu, 
Sichuan  province,  has  gone  one  better  than  fast  food. 
The  large  colourful  neon  light  over  the  front  door 
proudly  beams:  PASTFOOD.  Accurately,  no  doubt. 
(Spotter:  Paul  Mooney) 


On  the  "Western  breakfast"  section  of  the  menu  of 
Ming  Kei  Fast  Food  of  Quarry  Bay,  diners  find  "Fried 
Egg,  Slated  Crap  and  Shredded  Chicken  in  soup"  for  just 
HK$16.  (Spotter:  Ann  Li.) 


Seen  on  the  function  board  at  the  New  World 
Harbour  View  hotel  in  Wan  Chai: 

"Proctor  and  Gamble 

"Hazardous  Chemicals 

"Buffet  dinner." 

(Spotter:  Rosie  Brough.) 


Emblazoned  on  the  the  drinks  list  at  La  Piazzetta 
restaurant  in  Tsun  Wing  Lane,  Hong  Kong:  "List  of 
Alcoholics". 

"My  name  isn't  there,"  grumbled  Fred  Fredricks, 
who  saw  it. 


In  Taipei,  Steve  Whorf  chanced  upon  an  eatery  called 
"Unconscious  Restaurant".  One  suspects  the  real 
implication  is  "half-witted  proprietor". 


Every  day,  a  minion  goes  around  the  gentlemen's 
toilets  in  the  Hong  Kong  Country  Club  filling  all  the 
urinals  with  ice  cubes.  Heaven  knows  why  A  whisky 
drinker  commented:  "The  stuff  now  goes  from  being 
pure  scotch  on  the  rocks  to  once  again  being  pretty 
much  pure  scotch  on  the  rocks  in  about  20  minutes." 


Chapter  18:  Hutch  life  and  fatal  tights 


This  is  the  warning  notice  on  a  Kenwood  toaster  given 
by  Chase  Manhattan  credit  card  centre  to  customer 
Denise  Tsang:  "Do  not  leave  your  toaster  unattended." 

Why?  What  does  it  do?  Stroll  around  your  house, 
poking  around  in  your  lingerie  drawer? 

Yes,  it  is  one  of  those  modern  products  that  you 
need  to  have  -  just  for  the  instructions  or  the  name. 


Name  of  a  brand  of  of  women's  tights  in  Seibu  depart- 
ment store:  "Fatal". 
(Spotter:  Cathy  Gritz.] 


Brand  of  brassiere  spotted  in  Marks  B  Spencer: 
"Padded  Balcony". 

I  can  only  assume  that  the  imagery  has  been  chosen 
because  balconies  are  large  items  that  stick  out  hori- 
zontally from  upright  structures. 
(Spotter:  Andy  Ram) 


Karen  Koh  saw  some  shoes  in  Central  with  the  brand 
name  "Marcos".  No  prizes  for  guessing  who  the  target 
consumer  is. 


Chris  Sanda,  of  Mid-Levels,  found  a  new  brand  of  den- 
ims at  the  Temple  Street  Night  Market  in  Mongkok: 
Cross-Dressing  Jeans.  "I  think  there  will  be  a  limited 
market  for  these,"  he  said. 


Paul  Claughan  of  Stanley  noted  his  local  supermar- 
ket was  offering  "this  week's  special:  pioneer  baby 
spittoon,  $26.90" 

"They  start  them  young,"  he  commented. 


I  note  that  Wellcome  supermarket  [owned  by  the 
Jardines  group)  in  the  Landmark  (owned  by  the 
Jardines  Group)  in  Central  (owned  by  the  Jardines 
group,  more  or  less)  is  selling  a  new  product:  opium- 
scented  incense  sticks. 
Going  back  to  their  roots. 


A  brand  of  watch  has  been  launched  in  Hong  Kong 
called  Time-Spirit  Concealed  Diamond,  which  has  a  gem 
out  of  sight,  on  the  back  of  the  watchcase. 

Spotter  Rob  Christie  reckons  this  is  not  going  to  be  a 
big  seller  I  agree.  A  more  saleable  name  would  be  Time- 
Spirit  Whopping  Great  Sparkler  You  Can  See  Miles  Away. 


Mike  Martin  popped  into  the  Hong  Kong  Trade 
Development  Council's  Design  Gallery  and  found  an 
interesting  ecumenical  item  on  sale:  a  Christmas  bunny 
dressed  up  like  Santa  Claus  -  the  name:  "Rabbi"  the 
rabbit.  Right  costume.  Wrong  religion. 


Vinda,  a  Hong  Kong  maker  of  pocket  paper  handker- 
chiefs, is  starting  to  market  a  brand  of  toilet  tissue,  I 
noticed  yesterday  Perhaps  they  could  sell  the  stuff  to 
Indian  restaurants,  and  then  it  would  be  Vinda  Loo  Paper. 


New  Ning  Honq  Diet  Tea  is  an  amazing  product.  The 
more  you  drink,  the  slimmer  you  get.  The  blurb  on  the 
side  says: 

"The  poem  'Never  regret  when  you  are  getting  slim, 
often  remember  the  Ning  Hong  Diet  Tea'  has  been  uni- 
versally acclaimed." 

Funny.  I  don't  remember  reading  that  in  the  Oxford 
Anthology  of  World  Poetry. 
(Spotter:  Mike  Yalden.) 


Yes,  it's  the  perfect  magazine  for  a  community  where 
everyone  lives  in  little  boxes.  I  am  referring  to  Hutch 
Life,  Hutchison  Telecom's  new  magazine  for  users  of 
pagers  and  mobile  phones.  This  is  the  group  that  called 
its  now-disbanded  cable  television  unit  HutchVision.  It's 
a  good  thing  the  company's  early  British  telecommuni- 
cations system,  called  Rabbit,  failed.  We  would  have 
had  a  corporate  unit  called  RabbitHutch. 


Label  on  packets  of  Sesame  Cereal,  made  by  Shui 
Heung  of  Hong  Kong,  spotted  by  Sana  Mulji:  "It  con- 
tains much  Protein  and  all  kinds  of  Vitamins,  suitable 
for  all  apes." 

I  think  they  mean  they  consider  it  suitable  for  barbar- 
ian races  which  are  low  on  the  evolutionary  chain,  Sana. 


Nicholas  Reynolds  went  to  IKEA  in  Causeway  Bay  to  buy 
an  item  of  furniture  listed  in  the  catalogue  as  a  "Lack" 
table.  Why  give  an  innocent  table  such  a  negative  name? 

"They  didn't  have  one  in  stock.  They  didn't  have  one 
when  I  went  back  there  on  three  separate  occasions  in 
the  following  month,  and  they  also  didn't  have  one  at 
the  other  IKEA  stores,"  he  said. 

So  now  he  knows. 


Seen  at  Park'N  Shop  in  Discovery  Bay:  "Boy  Cow 
Cheese".  Boy  cows  don't  produce  milk.  Sounds  like  a 
load  of  bull  to  me. 
(Spotter:  Norman  Wingrove.) 


An  American  firm  called  SmithKline  Beecham  is  sell- 
ing boxes  of  instant  Horlicks  with  English  and  Chinese 
packaging  carrying  the  medical-sounding  words: 
"Recommendation:  drink  three  times  a  day." 
The  name  of  the  "doctor"  who  made  this  prescription 
is  curiously  absent.  Could  it  be  that  he  works  in  their 
marketing  department? 


Name  of  a  brand  of  toilet  paper  in  Hong  Kong:  "Good 
View".  Pieces  of  toilet  paper  have  short,  unhappy  lives, 
and  I  very  much  doubt  if  enjoying  a  good  view  is  ever 
really  on  the  cards  for  them. 
(Spotter:  Colin  MacKay.) 


Boffins  in  Japan  have  solved  the  smoking  problem.  If 
you  can't  stop  yourself  puffing  the  weed,  all  you  have 
to  do  is  buy  a  packet  of  Vita  Cool,  I  hear  from  Jean- 
Louis  van  der  Velde.  The  producers  of  Vita  Cool  claim 
that:  "If  you  dip  the  butt  of  the  cigarette  into  Vita 


Cool  when  you  smoke  a  cigarette,  surprisingly  80  per 
cent  of  nicotine  will  be  transformed  into  vitamins... 
With  a  pack  of  Vita  Cool,  you  can  smoke  as  many  as 
300  cigarettes." 


Some  Hong  Kong  women  are  opting  for  Clarins  Bio- 
Ecolia  "perfecting  cream".  This  has  instructions  in  vari- 
ous languages  telling  you  how  long  to  leave  it  on. 
English:  "Leave  for  5  to  15  minutes." 
German:  "3  bis  15  Minuten  einwirken  lassen." 
Dutch:  "3  tot  5  minuten  laten  inwerken." 
From  this,  the  clever  reader  can  work  out  that  "5"  i 
German  is  "3"  and  "15"  in  Dutch  is  "5". 


Fred  Lul  of  Multi-Plan  Optical,  Tsim  Sha  Tsui,  is 
sending  out  a  letter  to  clients:  "People  say  their  spec- 
tacle and  contact  lens  can  get  not  satisfied. 
Complaining,  lens  fell  out  while  you  walking  down  the 
street,  nose  gets  hurt...." 

He  must  be  selling  jolly  heavy  contact  lenses. 

One  recipient  of  this  wonderful  letter,  Wayne  Beer  of 
Swiss-Sure  Co,  commented:  "Nothing  worries  me  more 
than  unsatisfied  spectacles  and  contact  lenses." 

But  despite  the  offbeat  missive,  Fred  really  does 
offer  an  innovative  service.  Multi-Plan  is  now  providing 
Hong  Kong  people  with  bulletproof  lenses.  They  will  be 
very  useful  for  triads  and  similar  people  during  periods 
of  gang  warfare. 

Triad  leader:  "I'm  going  for  a  walk.  Might  shoot  a 


few  people,  get  a  pizza.  You  want  anything?" 

Deputy:  "Not  safe,  boss.  Sun  Yee  On  gangs  plan  to 
gun  you  down." 

Triad  leader:  "Mo  mun  tai,  I've  got  my  new  Multi- 
Plan  bulletproof  specs  on." 

Deputy:  "But  what  if  they  shoot  some  other  part 
of  you?" 

Triad  leader:  "Damn,  I  didn't  think  of  that." 


Women  in  Hong  Kong  are  rushing  out  to  buy  a  hugely 
expensive  new  Clinique  skin  cream  called  Moisture  On- 
Call.  I  have  one  of  those  at  home.  It's  called  a  tap. 


It's  tricky  thinking  up  names  which  cross  international 
barriers.  But  Japanese  business  people  rush  in  where  oth- 
ers fear  to  tread,  quick  to  use  their  limited  knowledge  of 
English  to  add  international  labels  to  their  products. 

Lester  Lim  of  Peregrine  passed  me  this  list  of  gen- 
uine brand  names  and  descriptions  used  by  Japanese 
firms.  Some  of  them  are  not  as  off-the-wall  as  they 
sound.  Pocari  Sweat,  for  example,  is  designed  to  replace 
liquid  you  lose  by  perspiring,  and  Lester  reckons  it 
tastes  like  sweat. 

Liver  Putty  (Japanese  equivalent  of  Spam) 

Chocolate  Sand  Cookies  (sandwich  cookies) 

Cookie  Face  (cosmetics  brand) 

My  Fanny  (brand  of  toilet  paper) 

Salad  Girl  (another  cosmetics  brand) 

"Skin  clock  for  those  wishing  to  become  a  dog" 

(title  of  a  calendar) 


Naive  Lady  (another  brand  of  toilet  paper) 

Strawberry  Crap  Dessert  (ready-to-eat  crepes) 

Hawaiian  Plucked  Bread  (bread) 

The  Goo  (soup) 

Pee  Pee  Pot  (a  tea  kettle) 

Pork  with  fresh  garbage  (pork  with  cabbage) 

Specialist  in  Deceased  Children 

(slogan  for  a  pediatrician) 

Hot  Piss  (name  of  an  antifreeze  spray) 

Catch  Eye!  (title  of  a  mail  order  catalog) 

Finest  Moldy  Cheese  (just  what  it  says) 

My  Pee  (nappies) 

VD  Facial  Cream  (stands  for  Visible  Difference) 

Nail  Remover  (actually,  nail  polish  remover) 


For  political  incorrectness,  I  still  think  you  cannot  beat 
the  globular  confection  that  they  used  to  sell  at 
Daimaru  Japanese  department  store  in  Causeway  Bay, 
called  "Chocolate  Negro  Balls". 


Chapter  19:  Blocks  and  blockheads 


Those  smart  Hong  Kong  business  people  wouldn't 
throw  away  money,  would  they?  The  answer  is:  Yes, 
they  do  it  all  the  time.  They  suffer  incalculable  losses  by 
inflicting  incredibly  crass  names  on  their  property 
developments. 

Who  would  want  to  live  in  Greenish  Court,  a  tower 
which  conjures  up  images  of  unhealthy  complexions? 

An  understated  banking  friend  had  to  overcome 
huge  embarrassment  before  he  could  force  himself  to 
sign  a  lease  for  a  flat  in  MacDonnell  Road  named 
Wealthy  Heights. 

Corruption-swoopers  at  the  Independent 
Commission  Against  Corruption  are  groaning,  having 
found  they  have  to  move  from  one  building  with  "car 
park"  in  its  name  to  another 

Similarly  unglamorous  is  the  Yau  Ma  Tei  Car  Park 
Building  in  Kowloon,  where  you'll  find  the  office  of 
Anna  Hoffman  and  her  colleagues  at  the  International 
Organisation  for  Migration.  This  building  has  a  major 
highway  running  right  through  the  middle  of  it.  The 
road  enters  the  building  at  a  level  equivalent  to  four  or 
five  storeys  above  ground. 

It  is  interesting  that  another  resident  of  the  block  is 
the  Traffic  Control  and  Surveillance  Division.  I  can  only 
assume  they  have  a  hole  drilled  in  their  office  floor  for 
the  purpose. 

An  ex-resident  of  the  building  is  the  Environmental 
Protection  Department,  which  is  interesting,  considering 
Yau  Ma  Tei  has  some  of  the  worst  pollution,  and  specif- 
ically radon,  levels  in  the  territory. 

Does  the  department  know  something  their  former 
neighbours  do  not?  Very  likely 


Why  do  Hong  Kong  places  have  such  awful  names? 
Business  people  here  are  good  at  throwing  up  build- 
ings, but  much  less  talented  at  the  poetic  reflection 
and  linguistic  skills  necessary  to  come  up  with  a  name 
that  sounds  right. 

So,  instead,  buildings  get  labels.  There  used  to  be  a 
commercial  building  on  Hong  Kong  Island  called 
Commercial  Building. 

There  still  is  a  place  called  Witty  Commercial 
Building  in  Yau  Ma  Tei,  and  Cheerful  Commercial 
Building  in  Kowloon  Bay  One  supposes  these  are  the 
"intelligent  buildings"  one  reads  about. 

Possibly  the  most  idiotic  office  name  in  the  whole  of 
Hong  Kong  is  the  soulless  construction  in  the  King's 
Park  area  called  Adjoining  Building.  What  will  they  do  if 
the  place  next  door  is  ever  pulled  down? 

On  the  east  side  of  Tsim  Sha  Tsui,  there  is  a  tower 
called  Prat  Commercial  Building  ("prat"  or  "pratt"  is  a 
still-used  Anglo-Saxon  word  meaning  "buttock"  or 
"buttock-like  person".)  If  the  post-handover  government 
wants  to  re-zone  the  various  industries  in  Hong  Kong, 
this  may  be  a  good  place  to  put  all  the  forex  salesmen. 

The  Far  Eastern  Economic  Review  did  a  brief  survey 
of  ultra-boring  building  names  in  Hong  Kong  recently, 
and  came  out  with  the  following: 

The  main  building  at  the  Queen  Mary  Hospital  in 
Pokfulam  is  called  Main  Building,  and  the  new  clinical 
wing  is  called  New  Clinical  Wing. 

There  is  a  building  in  Central  called  Central  Building, 
near  a  tower  called  Central  Tower. 

A  Tin  Hau  skyscraper  is  called  Sky  Scraper. 

A  hi-tech  industrial  centre  in  the  New  Territories  is 


called  Hi-Tech  Industrial  Centre. 

However,  this  tendency  is  not  limited  to  Hong  Kong. 
In  the  Philippines,  Price  Waterhouse  can  be  found  in  a 
multi-storey  building  called  Multi-Storey  Building. 

Incidentally,  if  you  are  a  fan  of  Roadrunner  or  Bugs 
Bunny  cartoons,  you  will  be  interested  to  know  that 
there's  a  place  in  Hong  Kong  called  Acme  Building,  in 
the  Jordan  area.  Whenever  a  cartoon  character  buys 
anything,  from  a  stick  of  dynamite  to  a  grand  piano,  it 
always  comes  labelled  "Acme",  which  has  been  coined 
as  an  all-purpose  bland  commercial  name  for  Toon 
Town. 

Some  office  names  in  Hong  Kong  are  so  banal,  they 
sound  like  they  come  from  a  book  for  tiny  tots.  All  the 
names  in  the  following  paragraph  really  exist: 

"One  day,  Peter  Building  said  to  Mary  Building,  Let's 
go  and  visit  my  friend  David  House.  But  when  they  got 
there,  they  found  that  David  House  was  being  renovat- 
ed so  they  went  to  see  Alfred  House  instead." 

Peter  Building  and  Alfred  House  are  in  Central,  Mary 
Building  is  in  Tsim  Sha  Tsui  and  David  House  is  in 
Jordan. I  suppose  if  Peter  and  his  friends  wanted  to  go 
really  upscale,  they'd  go  to  see  William  Mansion  in 
Mid-Levels  (speaking  of  boring  names). 

Reader  Steve  Davy  found  a  shop  in  Hong  Kong's 
Little  Manila,  the  shopping  centre  in  World-Wide 
House,  Central,  called  Surplus  Shop.  And  guess  what?  It 
was  empty.  Truly  a  surplus  shop. 

Still  on  the  subject  of  shops,  there's  a  florist  in  Hong 
Kong  called  A  Florist.  And  yes,  it  is  listed  in  the  business 
telephone  directon/  under  'A'. 

At  20  Des  Voeux  Road  you'll  find  the  Unicorn 


Trading  Centre.  "Just  the  place  if  you  want  to  exchange 
your  old  unicorn  for  a  new  one,"  said  Fred  Fredricks, 
who  spotted  it. 

Going  back  to  Discovery  Bay,  there  are  nine  Green- 
something  buildings,  I  hear  from  Mary  Newman,  who 
lives  in  Greenbelt  Court.  Other  residents  live  in 
Greenmont,  Greenwood,  Greendale,  Greenland  (!), 
Greenfield,  Greenburq  and  even  Greener/.  Not  yet  used: 
Greenback,  Green  Banana,  Green  Card,  Green  Monkey 
Disease,  Green  Wellie  Brigade,  Greenfly,  Greed. 

My  personal  favourite  example  of  "label  masquerad- 
ing as  name"  is  a  reasonably  good  vegetarian  restaurant 
I  frequent  in  Stanley  Street,  Central,  the  name  of  which 
is  Vegetarian  Restaurant. 

This  place  is  full  of  uniformed  waitresses,  each  of 
whom  bustles  around  with  a  name  tag  attached  to  her 
bosom.  All  the  name  tags  are  identical,  and  say: 
"Waitress".  This  usefully  differentiates  them  from,  say, 
"Potted  Plants". 


Chapter  20:  Mean  business 


Muhammad  Boota  popped  into  a  toy  shop  at 
Chungking  Mansions  in  Kowloon  to  find  musical  gad- 
gets shaped  like  dogs  available  at  a  special  "sale  price" 
of  HK$15  each.  He  went  back  again  a  week  later  to 
find  the  sale  had  finished.  The  items  were  back  to  their 
normal  price  of  HK$10  each. 

You  have  entered  the  strange  and  bizarre  world  of 
Hong  Kong  commerce. 


In  a  shop  called  Hats  ft  Caps  in  Discovery  Bay,  Anju 
Gill  spotted  an  old  cliche  given  a  new  twist  by  a  curious 
decision  about  where  to  position  the  words  and  spaces: 

"If  you  want 

"To  get  a  head 

"Get  a  hat." 
So  they  give  you  a  free  head  with  every  hat,  do  they? 


Marco  Polo  magazine,  the  journal  of  Cathay  Pacific 
Airways  business  class  travellers,  advised  them  that 
"Telephone  check-in  was  previously  only  available  to 
passengers  departing  on  the  same  day  It  has  now  been 
extended  to  include  the  previous  day  as  well." 
Recipient  Peter  van  Es  of  Repulse  Bay  was 
impressed:  "So  they  can  now  check  you  m  for  a  flight 
you  have  just  missed." 


A  Hong  Kong  policeman  was  quoted  as  saying  that  he 
was  desperate  to  make  an  arrest  because  he  had  not 
caught  a  criminal  for  almost  a  month.  I  never  realised 
there  was  a  quota  system  for  crimes.  What  happens  if 
we  all  behave  ourselves  for  one  month?  Do  they  arrest 
10  per  cent  of  us  at  random? 


How  come  the  Hong  Kong  government's  clampdown 
against  "love  hotels"  is  being  handled  by  Tim 
Stephenson  of  the  Home  Affairs  Department? 

Surely  it  should  be  the  Hotel  Affairs  Department? 


Michael  Adkins,  having  a  HK$15  omelette  in  Brown's  of 
Exchange  Square,  Hong  Kong,  asked  for  a  glass  of  water. 
He  was  offered  a  tiny  bottle  of  mineral  water  at  HK$25. 

"Can  I  just  have  tap  water?"  he  asked, 

"We  don't  have  tap  water,"  replied  the  waitress. 

"How  do  you  clean  the  dishes?"  he  asked. 

That  stumped  her. 


Businesswoman  Roberta  Hilburn  Chan  bought  a  copy 
of  M.  Scott  Peck's  spiritual  masterpiece.  The  Road  Less 
Travelled,  at  Kai  Tak  airport,  where  she  found  it  dis- 
played —  with  books  on  Exotic  Travel. 


A  full-size  pagoda  was  made  in  China  and  shipped  to 
Prague  by  businessman  Ken  Geissler.  His  contact  in  that 
eastern  European  city  went  to  the  airport  to  meet  four 
Chinese  workers  hired  to  assemble  the  structure. 

The  four  men  came  through  the  arrival  gate  and 
approached  the  man  they  were  meeting  —  but  their 
heads  were  all  tilted  to  one  side,  as  if  they  were  suffer- 
ing from  terrible  stiff  necks. 


"Have  you  got  muscle  spasms  in  your  neck?"  he  asked. 
"No,"  one  of  the  workers  said.  "You're  holding  the 
pla  card  with  our  names  on  upside  down." 
(Contributor:  Robert  Dunlop.) 


Page  one  of  Siam  Commercial  Bank's  1995  annual 
report  features  the  following  words:  "HRH  Princess  Maha 
Chakri  Sirindhorn  graciously  presided  over  the  suspicious 
occasion  of  the  opening  of  Siam  Commercial  Bank's  Head 
Office  on  Rutchayothin  Road  on  January  29,  1996." 

Spotter  David  Wu  commented:  "It's  pretty  unusual 
for  a  bank  to  suggest  that  it  is  up  to  monkey  business, 
but  I  appreciate  the  warning." 


Seen  on  Des  Voeux  Road,  Hong  Kong  (spotter  Jens 
Weitzel):  two  workers  in  green  shirts  emblazoned  with: 
"Confidential  Waste  Management". 

What  exactly  do  these  people  do?  Break  into  your 
trash  can  at  the  dead  of  night? 


Women  in  Hong  Kong  are  refusing  to  use  fraud-bust- 
ing credit  cards  which  carry  photos.  "I  may  change  my 
hairstyle,"  one  told  bank  staff.  In  three  years,  only  35 
per  cent  of  Citibank's  Hong  Kong  customers  have 
agreed  to  take  photo-cards. 

A  typical  experience:  Customer  buying  fur  coat  hands 
over  Visa  card.  Shop  assistant  fails  to  hide  slight  snigger. 
Customer  storms  out  of  shop,  hands  card  to  passing 
fraudster,  goes  home  and  orders  card  with  no  picture. 


Sef  Lam  of  Via  Vai  Travel  was  at  a  travel  agency  semi- 
nar in  Hong  Kong,  when  an  agent  asked  whether  it  was 
morally  okay  to  accept  a  HK$5,000  cash  kickback  from 
a  travel  insurance  company. 

The  official  advice  given:  If  your  company  does  not 
mind,  pocket  the  money.  Otherwise,  report  the  giver  to 
the  ICAC. 

Ethics?  What  does  that  mean?  Isn't  that  a  place  in 
the  UK? 


I  see  from  the  Hong  Kong  Governnnent  Gazette  that  a 
Japanese  company  called  Kabushiki  Kaisha  Watanabe 
has  lodged  an  application  to  register  "Vincent  Van 
Gogh"  as  a  trademark.  This  is  a  truly  brilliant  idea.  I'm 
going  to  register  "Leonardo  Da  Vinci"  today  and  demand 
the  Louvre  hand  over  the  Mona  Lisa. 


Simon  McCrum  of  the  Union  Insurance  Society  of 
Hong  Kong  sent  me  a  furtive  note:  "Dear  Lai  See, 
now  that  my  house  guest  has  left,  and  is  well  out  of 
range  6,000  miles  away,  I  thought  you  might  be 
interested  in  his  business  card.  'Export  Manager  for 
British  Beef  must  be  the  world's  least  enviable  post 
these  days." 


Giordano  fashion-shop  has  launched  its  winter  collec- 
tion with  posters  all  over  town  saying:  "Catch  the  win- 
ter chills."  If  that's  what  happens,  their  coats  can't  be 
much  cop. 


Reader  Alan  Wright  reckons  I  should  give  a  Truth  in 
Advertising  Award  for  Park'N  Shop.  It  is  selling  Yvecourt 
brand  red  wine  with  a  label  proclaiming  it  to  be 
"Bordeaux  rough". 


A  female  reader  boarded  a  Lauda  Air  flight  to  Vienna. 
A  flight  attendant  handed  her  a  pack,  with  the  words: 

"For  your  inflight  comfort." 

The  first  thing  she  pulled  out  was  a  condom. 

Hey,  they  do  have  a  good  time  up  there. 


A  children's  fantasy  book  called  Ludwig  and  the 
Chewy  Chunks  Cafe,  written  by  some  non-entity  or 
other  (okay,  it  was  me),  is  displayed  in  a  book  shop  in 
Central  alongside  Hong  Kong's  Best  Restaurants.  Well, 
they  are  both  about  eateries. 


Seen  in  a  Taiwan  bookshop  filed  under  Agriculture; 
fioofs.  (Spotter:  Sef  Lam.) 


Seen  in  Bookazine,  Hong  Kong:  How  To  Moke  An 
American  Quilt  \r\  the  section  headed  Interior  Design 
and  Crafts. 


"Have  a  look,  but  I  want  them  back,"  a  Nokia 
spokesman  joked. 

As  the  event  drew  to  a  close,  there  was  a  hurried 
count  of  the  phones.  Uh-oh.  The  doors  were  shut  and 
staff  asked  for  all  the  phones.  The  phones  were  eventu- 
ally returned  and  reporters  released. 

Of  course,  they  should  have  just  dialled  the  number 
of  the  missing  phone  and  seen  which  reporter's  satchel 
rang.  Then  the  other  reporters  would  have  had  a  story. 


Seen  in  a  razor  factory  in  Guangzhou:  A  big  sign  that 
read  "Safety  First". 

Next  to  it:  An  equally  large  sign  that  read 
"Quality  First". 

"Well,  which  is  it?"  asked  spotter  Paul  Ellis. 


There's  a  little  blurb  about  Kroll  Associates  (Asia)  in 
the  newsletter  produced  by  the  Hong  Kong  branch  of 
the  Australian  Chamber  of  Commerce.  It  says:  "The 
range  of  services  offered  by  Kroll  includes  business 
intelligence  analysis,  due  diligence,  asset  searches,  liti- 
gation support,  extortion..." 

If  they  really  do  the  last  of  these,  I  don't  think 
they'll  have  much  luck.The  extortion  field  in  Hong  Kong 
is  already  pretty  crowded.  [Spotter:  Andrew  Cameron.) 


There  was  a  tricky  moment  at  the  Nokia  press  briefing 
at  the  Mandarin  Oriental  hotel.  Several  new  mobile 
phones  were  handed  to  reporters. 


Your  Humble  Narrator  is  not  saying  that  journalists 
are  laid-back  job-hoppers,  but  the  following  genuine 
application  letter  was  received  by  my  office  from  a  for- 


mer  employee.  "Greetings  from  sunny  Phuket,  which 
happens  to  be  my  latest  domicile  after  I  got  run  out  of 
Singapore.  I  am  heading  up  to  Hong  Kong  before  the 
end  of  the  month  to  try  and  replenish  my  dwindling 
financial  resources.  I'll  be  in  Hong  Kong  for  about  a 
month  and  I  promise  I'll  show  up  for  work  this  time." 


people  called  up  with  tales  of  five,  eight,  and  even  ten- 
hour  lunches. 

But  the  title  went  to  a  newspaperman  ennployed  by 
another  Hong  Kong  newspaper.  He  went  to  lunch,  got 
drunk,  failed  to  return,  and  was  sacked  in  absentia,  thus 
never  returning  from  lunch. 


Some  good  excuses  to  use  for  missing  work,  especially 
in  yuppie  communities: 

1.  I  can't  leave  the  flat  because  my  mobile  phone 
is  sick. 

2.  I'm  phoning  from  a  traffic  jam  in  the  tunnel 
which  I  entered  last  night  trying  to  get  home  yesterday 

3.  My  amah  didn't  turn  up  this  morning  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  dress  myself. 

4.  I  read  the  fashion  pages  of  the  newspaper  over 
breakfast  and  discovered  that  my  clothes  are  no 
longer  "in". 


Tony  Giles  was  watching  the  spinning  globe  graphic  on 
BBC  Newsroom  yesterday  when  he  noticed  something. 
Their  planet  Earth  is  turning  the  wrong  way,  from  East 
to  West. 

This  caused  him  to  dismiss  conspiracy  theories  about 
the  Beeb.  "They're  reporting  from  a  different  planet, 
anyway,"  he  said. 


This  columnist  once  did  a  survey  to  see  who  in  eating- 
mad  Hong  Kong  had  taken  the  longest  lunch.  Several 


Eric  Lockeyear,  when  company  commander  of  the  Blue 
Berets,  lectured  his  young  inspectors  on  the  need  to 
cover  personal  traits,  character,  personality  and  perfor- 
mance of  duty  in  their  reports  on  their  men. 

One  report  read,  in  its  entirety:  "Eats  well,  sleeps 
well,  and  makes  up  the  numbers." 

Eric  asked  for  more  information. 

He  received  it  back  with  three  words  added:  "Works 
when  cornered." 


Is  your  life  in  danger  from  your  business  dealings? 
Think  your  wife  might  do  you  in  when  she  finds  out 
about  your  mistress  in  Shenzhen? 

No  problem.  Just  sign  up  with  Diners  Double  Care 
Plan,  a  new  insurance  service  for  potential  murderees 
offered  to  Hong  Kong  people  by  Diners  Club. 

Most  insurance  companies  specify  that  your  benefi- 
ciaries get  a  lump  sum  "in  the  event  of  accidental 
death"  to  use  the  formal  terminology  Stranger  drives 
over  you  by  accident  —  you  get  cash.  Spouse  drives 
over  you  after  a  tiff,  he  or  she  gets  not  a  cent. 

But  it's  different  at  Diners  Club.  Its  policy  specifically 
pledges  to  make  a  special  cash  payment  "in  the  event 


of  death  from  non-accidental  situations".  You  -  well, 
your  spouse  or  partner  -  will  get  an  instant  cash  sum 
to  help  out  with  immediate  expenses.  Useful.  It  costs  a 
lot  to  flee  to  Taiwan  or  hire  Johnnie  Cochran  as  a 
defence  lawyer. 

Hong  Kong  businessman  Ian  Dubin  was  peering  at 
this  offer  with  interest.  "So  if  I  decide  it's  all  too  much 
to  bear  and  top  myself,  I  still  collect,"  he  mused.  "Or 
better  yet,  if  I  decide  my  significant  other  is  too  much 
to  bear,  I  can  insure  her  and  do  her  in." 

Tempting  stuff.  If  I  were  the  insurance  seller  at 
Diners  Club,  I  would  ask  some  pretty  tough  questions 
on  the  application  form,  such  as:  "Does  your  spouse 
laugh  maniacally  at  you  from  time  to  time  while  finger- 
ing sharp  kitchen  instruments?" 


John  Philp  arrived  in  Hong  Kong  from  Australia  and 
decided  to  stay.  He  tried  to  cash  in  the  return  part  of 
his  ticket.  Singapore  Airlines  confirmed  that  he  was 
entitled  to  a  refund  —  and  then  told  him  to  go  back 
to  Australia  to  pick  it  up. 

But  if  he  went  back  to  Oz,  he  would  have  to  use  the 
ticket  for  which  he  was  seeking  a  refund,  and  .  .  .  well 
you  see  his  problem. 

"My  God,  the  power  of  your  column  is  incredible!" 
he  enthused. 

After  a  newspaper  item  written  by  this  writer,  the 
airline  officials  sent  John  his  cheque. 

And  it  only  took  two  years.  The  power  of  the  press! 


Chapter  21 :  The  perfect  crime.. .not 


Rank  amateurism  is  lowering  the  standards  of  Hong 
Kong's  criminal  classes.  Your  slick,  cerebral,  white-collar 
criminal  is  no  longer  running  the  show.  It's  all  have-a- 
go amateurs  these  days,  and  the  result  is  that  our  court 
cases  are  even  more  bizarre  than  ever.  A  quick  glance 
through  the  recent  crime  files  provides  ample  evidence. 


extortioner",  perhaps? 

The  same  man  pleaded  guilty  to  writing  "triad  [Chinese 
mafia]  poems"  on  four  occasions.  Again,  the  lawyers  infu- 
riatingly  failed  to  go  into  detail  about  what  the  poems 
were,  leaving  us  to  surmise  the  form  and  content. 
"Is  this  a  chopper  I  see  before  me. 

Its  handle  towards  my  hand?" 


Only  in  Hong  Kong  could  police  crack  a  salad-traffick- 
ing ring.  Do  you  remember  the  1995  case  in  which  a 
"vegetable-stealing  syndicate"  allegedly  stole  celery, 
lettuce,  and  carrots  to  order  for  restaurants? 

A  20-year-old  defendant  admitted  guilt  in  this  par- 
ticular "green  movement"  at  Cheung  Sha  Wan  market 
in  August. 

A  prosecutor  asked  the  judge  to  view  the  case  as  sig- 
nificant enough  to  be  considered  under  the  Serious  and 
Organised  Crimes  Ordinance.  The  judge  took  this  request 
with  a  pinch  of  salt,  not  to  say  a  splash  of  vinaigrette. 


There  was  the  classic  "moon  cakes  for  votes"  case, 
a  political  scandal  that  somehow  lacked  the  grandeu 
of  Watergate. 


A  man  named  Chan  Chi-ming  was  jailed  after 
demanding  protection  money  from  two  undercover 
police  officers,  and  then  painstakingly  writing  out 
receipts  for  them  to  use  as  evidence  against  him. 

I  wonder  what  the  receipts  said?  "HK$1,500 
received,  with  thanks,  your  friendly  neighbourhood 


One  of  the  saddest  recent  cases  was  that  of  Wong 
Fuk-tim,  41,  who  was  arrested  on  a  boat  and  charged 
with  being  an  illegal  immigrant.  Police  made  it  clear 
that  illegal  immigrants  were  not  wanted  in  Hong  Kong. 

Wong  made  it  clear  that  he  did  not  want  to  be  in 
Hong  Kong,  and  was  in  fact  quite  clearly  in  a  boat 
heading  back  to  China. 

As  he  was  led  off  to  the  cells,  even  the  judge 
agreed  that  this  was  an  odd  case.  Wong  did  not 
want  to  be  in  Hong  Kong.  Hong  Kong  did  not  want 
him.  But  the  law  requires  that  he  be  locked  up  -  in 
Hong  Kong. 


This  is  not  to  say  that  the  underworld  elsewhere  does 
not  have  its  share  of  heroic  failures. 

Who  can  forget  the  criminal  who  raided  a  meat- 
packing warehouse  in  the  United  States  and  escaped 
with  a  cargo  of  1,000  cow  rectums?  I  have  often  won- 
dered how  the  poor  fellow  got  rid  of  them.  I  assume  he 
had  to  stand  on  street  corners  in  New  York,  whispering 
to  likely  passers-by:  "Psst!  Wanna  cow  rectum?  Below 
market  price." 


Then  there  was  the  case  a  friend  told  me  about  in  St 
Albans,  in  Southeast  England,  in  which  a  German 
defendant  was  being  tried. 

"Is  there  anyone  in  the  gallery  who  could  act  as  an 
interpreter?"  asked  the  judge.  A  man  raised  his  hand 
and  was  invited  to  the  side  of  the  dock. 

The  judge  said:  "Would  you  ask  the  defendant  his 
name  and  address?" 

The  volunteer  said  to  the  defendant  in  a  B-movie 
German  accent:  "Vot  is  your  name  and  vair  do  you  liff?" 

The  result  was  six  months  in  prison  for  contempt  of 
court  -  for  the  interpreter,  not  the  defendant. 


Judging  by  the  few  I  have  known  (not  in  the  Biblical 
sense),  this  girl's  attitude  to  money  is  unique  among  Hong 
Kong  nightclub  hostesses.  How  does  she  make  a  living? 


There  have  been  cases  where  the  sheer  nerve  of  the 
criminal  wins  our  grudging  respect. 

Anyone  in  the  property  sales  business,  for  example, 
must  feel  a  little  admiration  for  Raymond  Chan  Ka- 
chun,  30.  He  pleaded  guilty  in  August  last  year  to  sell- 
ing the  25th  floor  apartment  of  a  building  that  was 
only  21  storeys  high. 


Offbeat,  yes.  But  for  sheer  volume  of  difficult-to- 
believe  cases.  Hong  Kong  is  still  well  ahead. 

For  example,  police  found  a  man  threatening  to  jump 
from  a  balcony  at  a  Tai  Po  housing  estate  last  year. 

They  persuaded  Yu  Hon-keung,  40,  to  come  down, 
and  asked  him  why  he  was  so  unhappy 

Yu  said  It  was  because  he  was  terrified  that  his  part- 
ner would  reveal  to  police  that  he,  Yu,  was  actually  the 
Dreaded  Lift  Robber.  Oops. 

The  courts  jailed  him  for  three  years  on  January  5, 
1996. 


But  most  cases  involve  sad  losers.  Possibly  the  most 
pathetic  recent  criminal  case  in  Hong  Kong  was  that  of 
Yeung  Yuk-kit,  20.  She  was  a  young  woman  who  robbed 
a  pedestrian  on  Cumberland  Road,  Kowloon  Tong,  in 
May,  1995. 

She  and  an  accomplice  took  HK$1 7,400,  a  watch,  a 
gold  necklace  and  a  bracelet. 

But  Yeung  left  behind  her  wallet,  which  fell  out  of 
her  shirt  pocket  into  the  victim's  handbag.  This  is  the 
only  mugging  case  I  have  heard  of  in  which  the  mug- 
ger's wallet  is  transferred  to  the  victim. 


A  memorable  case  from  the  South  China  Morning  Post 
in  February  1996  began  thus:  "A  nightclub  hostess  who 
pocketed  her  lover's  watch  when  he  insulted  her  by 
offering  her  money  after  sex  was  cleared  of  theft  by  a 
High  Court  judge  yesterday" 


Other  memorable  recent  cases,  from  Hong  Kong  and 
elsewhere: 


Hong  Kong  accountant  Chu  Ying  was  caught  leaving 
a  supermarket  with  a  HK$8  tin  of  mackerel  in  her 


trousers.  She  pleaded  absent-mindedness.  Crown  pros- 
ecutor Victoria  Hartstein  said  that  if  you  put  a  tin  of 
fish  down  your  trousers,  you  l<now  about  it.  The  Crown 
won  the  case. 


Gregory  Rosa,  25,  of  Rhode  island.  United  States, 
was  charged  with  a  spate  of  vending  machine  rob- 
beries in  January.  He  tried  to  post  his  entire  US$400 
bail  in  coins. 


A  man  suspected  of  robbing  a  jewellery  store  in  Liege, 
Belgium,  said  his  alibi  was  that  he  was  occupied  break- 
ing into  a  school  at  that  time.  Police  arrested  him  for 
breaking  into  a  school. 


A  Hong  Kong  medical  secretary,  30,  stole  HK$230,000 
by  fiddling  listings  of  equipment  ordered  at  the 
Department  of  Anaesthesia  and  Intensive  Care  at 
Chinese  University  Carrie  Wong  Oi-lan  was  caught 
when  she  listed  a  karaoke  machine. 


Chan  Wing-kwong,  22,  carried  out  an  armed  robbery 
in  a  lift  in  Tai  Po,  and  escaped  with  the  grand  sum  of 
HK$7,  or  slightly  less  than  one  US  dollar.  He  was 
caught  because  he  had  chosen  the  lift  of  the  building 
where  he  lived,  and  his  victim  recognised  him  as  a 
neighbour. 


Two  men  in  Kentucky,  United  States,  tied  a  chain  from 
a  cash  machine  to  their  truck  and  then  drove  away  The 
cash  machine  stayed  put.  The  bumper  came  off  the 
truck.  The  men  fled  from  the  scene,  leaving  the  bumper 
behind  -  with  their  vehicle  licence  plate  still  attached. 


Ho  Kong  construction  worker  Yeung  Chishui  was 
charged  with  possession  of  an  offensive  weapon.  He 
argued  the  27-centimetre  knife  was  actually  a  type  of 
umbrella.  He  was  sentenced  to  15  months,  well  out  of 
the  rain. 


A  man  walked  into  a  Circle-K  store  in  a  major 
American  city  and  asked  for  change  for  US$20.  When 
the  assistant  opened  the  till,  the  customer  snatched 
$15  and  ran  out.  He  left  the  20-dollar  bill  behind. 


All  the  people  above  ended  up  behind  bars,  but  I'm  not 
in  favour  of  an  overly  harsh  interpretation  of  the  law. 

Police  officers  know  there  is  a  "grey  area"  in  which 
they  can  exercise  their  discretion  in  dispensing  the  law. 

So  I  am  deeply  disappointed  in  the  recent  news  that 
officers  from  my  island  seized  a  cargo  of  250  karaoke 
machines  from  a  mainland  cargo  boat. 

Hey  guys,  come  on.  If  they  want  them,  let  them 
have  them! 


Chapter  22:  The  truth  about  Santa  Claus 


All  the  statistics,  financial  and  business  information 
in  the  following  story  are  true.  Whether  the 
characters  in  it  exist  or  not  is  something  for  the 
reader  to  decide... 


He  should  have  looked  like  a  bum,  a  bag-man,  a  wino 
or  any  other  New  York  misfit  as  he  walked  dejectedly 
down  a  trench  of  brown  slush  in  the  middle  of  42nd 
Street,  a  string  of  yellow  taxis  emitting  curses  in  four 
languages  behind  him.  But  some  hard-to-identify  quali- 
ty about  the  old  man  caught  the  attention  of  passers- 
by  watching  from  the  kerbs.  "He  didn't  look  like  a  store 
Santa  Claus,  you  know,"  said  Milly  Kablinski,  14.  "He 
looked  like  kinda  how  the  real  Santa  should  look."  Her 
comments  were  echoed  by  dozens  of  observers,  ranging 
in  age  from  three  to  71. 

Perhaps  it  was  that  his  white  beard  looked  real, 
despite  being  stiff,  half-frozen  and  full  of  ice  crystals. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  physique,  since  the  bulging  costume 
seemed  to  be  filled  out  by  a  real  stomach,  rather  than 
the  usual  cushions.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sad,  sincere  smile 
that  he  flashed  at  people  who  stopped  to  greet  him. 

Whatever  it  was,  large  numbers  of  people  —  most- 
ly children  —  started  following  him  as  he  trudged  past 
the  New  Victory  Theatre  and  climbed  into  a  podium  at 
the  edge  of  Times  Square  on  that  fateful  Christmas  Eve. 
That  was  when  he  made  the  announcement  that  shook 
the  world:  "My  name's  Santa  Claus,"  he  said.  "And  I'm 
turning  myself  in." 

The  full  story  came  out  a  few  hours  later  in  an  inter- 
view on  the  Larry  King  Shorn  on  CNN.  Mr  Claus,  who 


admitted  entering  the  United  States  on  a  passport 
bearing  the  pseudonym  Kris  Kringle,  told  the  show's 
producers  that  he  would  only  agree  to  be  interviewed 
by  children  aged  13  or  under. 

Two  11-year-olds,  Melissa  Wong  and  Charles  Petrie, 
both  of  0  Henry  School  on  17th  Street,  were  roped  in 
to  do  the  interview  at  short  notice. 

"I  cannot  go  on  living  a  lie,"  declared  Mr  Claus  dra- 
matically "There  are  so  many  untruths  told  about  me, 
and  I  thought  I  had  better  come  clean." 

"But  you're  real,"  said  Charles. 

"Oh,  I'm  solid  enough,"  said  the  old  man,  patting  the 
front  of  his  substantial  torso.  "It's  all  the  other  stuff 
which  isn't  true.  The  Toy  Kingdom  at  Number  One, 
North  Pole.  The  team  of  50  magic  elves  who  make  the 
toys.  The  reindeer-based  distribution  system.  It's  a  load 
of  baloney" 

"Really?"  said  Melissa,  her  legs  swinging  excitedly 
from  side  to  side.  "There's  no  Toy  Kingdom  at  the  North 
Pole?"  She  leaned  so  far  forwards  in  her  seat  that  she 
momentarily  slid  off  the  front. 

Santa  Claus  spoke  conspiratorially  as  he  helped  her 
back  on  to  her  seat.  "Well,  if  you  really  want  to  know. 
They  don't  come  from  the  snowy  wastes  at  all.  They 
come  from  the  sub-tropics.  The  vast  bulk  of  them  come 
from...  Hong  Kong." 

"Hong  Kong,  Japan?"  said  Charles. 

"Hong  Kong's  not  in  Japan,  dorkbrain,"  scolded 
Melissa.  "It's  in  Singapore." 

"Yep,  Hong  Kong,"  said  Santa,  immediately  looking 
more  relaxed,  now  that  his  secret  was  out.  "I  have  sev- 
eral toy  production  centres,  but  the  biggest  in  the 


world  is  Hong  Kong,  in  the  Far  East,  where  I  have  554 
individual  toy-making  operations,  making  LIS$2  billion 
worth  of  toy  animals  and  US$564  million  worth  of 
dolls.  I  haven't  even  been  to  the  North  Pole  in  years." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then  Melissa 
jumped  slightly,  signifying  that  a  producer  had 
squawked  into  her  ear-piece  that  she  should  ask  more 
questions. 

"Er  —  and  what  about  the  elves?  Are  they  in  Hong 
Kong,  too?"  she  said. 

"There's  no  team  of  50  magic  elves,  for  a  start.  There 
are  tens  of  thousands  of  toy-making  operatives,  and 
most  of  them  live  in  Guangdong,  China." 

"China,  Japan?"  asked  Charles. 

"China's  not  in  Japan,  goofball,"  snapped  Melissa. 
"It's  in  Taiwan.  How  many  toys  do  you  send  out?" 

Santa  picked  up  a  file  marked  "Hong  Kong  Trade 
Development  Council  Research  Department"  and  started 
peering  through  it.  "I'll  tell  you  exactly.  In  1994,  my 
Hong  Kong  team  sent  out  HK$69  billion  of  toys  to  the 
children  of  the  world.  That's  about  $9  billion  in 
American  dollars.  It  goes  up  about  10  per  cent  a  year." 

"Gee,"  said  Charles,  the  awe  showing  in  his  voice. 
"That  must  be  an  awful  lot  of  toys." 

"It  sure  is,"  said  Santa.  "Of  course,  they  range  from 
little  plastic  animals  of  half  a  buck  or  less,  to  working 
child-sized  automobiles,  costing  hundreds.  If  you  aver- 
age them  out  to,  say,  US$12,  that's  about  800  million 
toys." 

Both  Charles  and  Melissa  were  dumbstruck  by  this 
news.  During  the  silence,  viewers  could  just  about  hear 
the  tinny  voice  of  the  apoplectic  producer  screaming 


into  the  children's  earpieces.  Melissa  was  the  first  to 
recover.  "Have  you  got  them  on  you?  Can  we  see  them? 
Where  are  they?" 

"They're  all  around  you,"  said  Santa.  "Almost  exactly 
half  of  them  come  to  the  United  States.  Have  you  seen 
toys  labelled  Mattel,  Fisher-Price,  Hasbro,  Tyco,  ErtI, 
Universal  Matchbox,  Playmates,  VTech?  In  your  toy 
boxes  at  home,  do  you  have  Barbie,  Snoopy,  Garfield, 
Ninja  Turtles,  Jurassic  Park  toys?" 

The  children  nodded. 

"All  from  Hong  Kong,"  said  Santa. 

"Did  you  bring  any  Hong  Kong  elves  with  you?"  This 
was  Melissa. 

"We  don't  call  them  elves,  we  call  them  staff.  And 
most  of  the  actual  toy  assembly  isn't  done  in  Hong 
Kong  any  more.  In  the  old  days,  both  the  toy-making 
department  and  the  distribution  department  were  in 
Hong  Kong.  Today,  nine  out  of  10  Hong  Kong  toys  are 
made  in  Guangdong,  China,  before  being  sent  over  the 
border.  They  all  get  distributed  from  Hong  Kong." 

"Yeah,  I  know,  by  the  reindeer,"  said  Charles.  "Donner 
and  Blitzen  and  Randolph  and  all  those  guys.  I  saw  the 
movie." 

"It's  not  Randolph,  you  pinhead,"  said  Melissa.  "It's 
Rupert.  Rupert  the  red-nosed  reindeer." 

Santa  was  sitting  back  in  his  chair  saying  nothing, 
but  slowly  shaking  his  head. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Melissa.  "It  isn't 
Rupert?" 

The  old  man  smiled.  "There  aren't  any  reindeer.  I  had 
to  retire  those  guys  years  ago.  According  to  the  stories, 
I'm  supposed  to  deliver  presents,  by  reindeer,  on  Christmas 


Eve.  But  I  have  at  least  800  million  children  waiting 
around  the  world.  If  you  estimate  Christmas  Eve  as  lasting 
12  hours,  that's  0.000054  of  a  second  per  child.  Not  pos- 
sible, however  hard  I  worked  the  reindeer.  The  animal 
welfare  people  would  have  my  guts  for  garters." 

"So  how  do  you  do  it?"  asked  Charles. 

"Logistics,"  said  Santa.  "To  put  it  in  a  nutshell,  the 
team  hold  this  mammoth  toy  fair  called  the  Hong  Kong 
Toys  and  Games  Fair  every  January.  I'm  expecting 
23,000  toy  distribution  specialists  from  110  countries  to 
visit,  and  sort  out  what  toys  are  going  to  be  sent 
where.  Then  we  spend  the  rest  of  the  year  sending 
them  out  to  all  the  countries  of  the  world." 

Melissa  had  a  question.  "Do  all  the  toys  go  to  kids 
like  us?" 

"That's  an  interesting  question,"  said  Santa.  "And  the 
answer  is  this,  no.  Until  recently,  most  of  them  did  go 
to  Western  kids.  But  I'm  having  a  huge  number  of 
requests  now  from  Asian  kids,  especially  China  and 
Japan.  And  I've  also  had  lots  of  orders  from  here." 

He  pointed  at  the  globe  which  formed  part  of  the 
studio  setting.  "See  this  place  here?"  He  pointed  to 
South  America.  "Do  you  know  what  that's  called?" 

"Sure,"  said  Charles.  "Denmark." 

"That's  not  Denmark,  you  geek,"  said  Melissa.  "That's 
the  Falkland  Islands.  That's  where  Mrs  Thatcher  lives." 

"This  is  called  Latin  America,"  said  Santa.  "My  offices 
in  Hong  Kong  have  been  getting  orders  for  millions  of 
dollars  worth  of  toys  from  children  here,  particularly 
from  Brazil  and  Paraguay  That's  good  news  for  my 
Hong  Kong  staff." 

"I've  got  a  question,"  said  Charles. 


"You  don't  have  to  put  your  hand  up,  you're  not  at 
school,  you  dweeb,"  said  Melissa. 

Charles  dropped  his  hand  and  said:  "Do  you  keep  a 
list  of  all  the  toys?" 

"I  do,"  said  Santa.  "It's  a  book  called  Hong  Kong  Toys, 
published  by  my  partners  at  the  Hong  Kong  Trade 
Development  Council.  I'm  ver/  proud  of  it.  It  was  listed 
in  the  Guinness  Book  Of  Records  as  the  biggest  periodi- 
cal in  the  world,  ever.  The  January  95  edition  has  2,012 
pages,  each  one  filled  with  pictures  and  details  of  toys." 

The  two  children  literally  started  to  drool  at  this 
news,  Charles  dribbling  on  to  his  chin. 

"Wow!  Can  I  have  a  free  one?" 

"Sure,"  said  Santa.  "You  can  have  one  each."  He 
reached  into  his  pocket  and  took  out  two  small 
envelopes.  "Hong  Kong  Toys  is  now  out  on  CD-ROM." 

The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  became 
ruminative.  "Funny  how  no  one  realised  that  Hong  Kong 
was  the  Toy  Kingdom.  I  guess  I  must  be  pretty  good  at 
being  discreet." 

It  was  warm  under  the  studio  lights,  and  Mr  Claus 
had  accidentally  let  his  red  jacket  flap  open. 

There,  on  the  inside  pocket,  were  four  words  that 
didn't  mean  anything  to  the  children,  but  registered  to 
the  viewers  watching  on  Cable  TV  from  half  a  world 
away  in  Hong  Kong:  "Sam  The  Tailor,  Kowloon." 


Christmas  triggers  memories. 

Teacher  had  a  facial  twitch  triggered  by  stress.  This 
morning  it  was  vibrating  so  rapidly  it  looked  as  if  she 
had  a  washing  machine  hidden  in  her  clothing.  A 


rolling,  voluminous  mountain  of  silk,  she  could  easily 
have  done  so. 

"I've  got  to  go  out  and  run  a  few  errands,  children," 
she  said,  her  palpitating  face  revealing  her  guilt.  "A 
couple  of  older  children  will  look  after  you  and  help  you 
organise  the  nativity." 

The  scene:  A  small  school  in  Kuala  Lumpur.  The  date: 
1963.  The  players:  A  group  of  five-year-olds  in  a  mostly 
Asian  kindergarten. 

Our  minders  decreed  that  the  boys  should  paint  the 
scenery  while  the  girls  could  do  the  interior  of  the  lowly 
cattle  shed.  But  what  sort  of  scene  should  it  be?  A  child 
called  Josiah  had  been  to  Israel,  and  msisted  that  it  was 
hot  and  sandy,  like  a  desert. 

"No,  it's  not,"  I  said.  "What  about  the  Christmas 
trees?  And  the  snowmen?  They  would  all  melt." 

None  of  us  had  seen  snow,  but  we  had  all  seen 
Christmas  cards,  and  the  class  agreed  that  Bethlehem 
was  an  arctic  place,  lined  with  snow-capped  fir  trees. 
"Jesus  used  to  walk  in  a  winter  wonderland,"  said  a  boy. 
"It  says  so  in  a  hymn." 

"Right.  Just  hear  those  sleighbells  jingling,  ring-ting- 
tingling  too,"  I  said,  quoting  another  hymn. 

The  best  artist  in  the  class  was  a  boy  called  Guna,  so 
he  was  commissioned  to  draw  the  outlines  on  the  stage 
backing  while  the  rest  of  us  slapped  white  paint  on  it. 
In  the  centre,  he  drew  a  large  igloo. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Josiah. 

"It's  an  igloo,"  replied  Guna.  "That's  where  Jesus 
lives." 

Josiah  argued  strongly  that  Jesus  lived  in  a  stone  build- 
ing, not  an  igloo,  but  we  had  stopped  listening  to  him. 


Thinking  about  this  as  an  adult,  it  occurs  to  me  that 
Asians  really  ought  to  be  able  to  instantly  and  closely 
identify  with  the  Christmas  stor/,  which  is,  after  all,  a  tale 
of  a  poor  family  living  close  to  animals  in  a  hot  country. 

But  instead,  we  grow  up  with  an  absurdly  mixed-up 
mish-mash  of  stories  with  influences  from  the  Holy 
Lands,  Germany,  England  and  America. 

I  do  not  blame  the  West.  We  got  this  from  our 
teachers,  most  of  whom  were  local  people  who  had 
never  been  out  of  the  country.  They  lived  under  the 
delusion  that  Christmas  was  necessarily  associated  with 
cold  weather.  This  was  despite  the  December  tempera- 
ture outside  being  a  searing  34  degrees  Celsius. 

Christmas  was  visually  represented  by  snow-covered 
pine  trees,  in  defiance  of  the  fact  that  outside,  the  sun 
was  as  hot  as  it  was  over  the  stable  on  the  original 
Christmas. 

But  back  to  the  classroom,  where  the  girls  were 
organising  the  interior  of  the  igloo.  "It's  got  a  manger,"  a 
little  Chinese  girl  called  Su-mei  said  confidently. 
Unfortunately,  no  one  knew  what  a  manger  was,  so  pur- 
suit of  that  line  of  enquiry  ended  as  soon  as  it  began. 

A  little  boy  whose  name  featured  the  letter  'a'  an 
incredible  number  of  times  (it  was  something  like 
Ramachandarama)  went  over  to  the  girls  and  said: 
"Chestnuts  roasting  on  an  open  fire.  Jack  Frost  nipping 
at  your  nose."  He  said  it  was  a  verse  from  the  Bible. 
Rambutans  served  as  chestnuts,  and  a  rubber  plant  was 
pressed  into  service  as  a  Christmas  tree.  A  desk  acted  as 
a  table  for  Jesus'  Christmas  dinner. 

What  animals  were  present  at  the  original  nativity  in 
Bethlehem?  Several  of  us  knew  the  answer  to  that  one. 


Reindeer,  of  course,  stupid.  These  we  saw  as  a  type 
of  bullock  with  coat-pegs.  We  knew  the  name  Rudolph. 
A  child  with  an  American  parent  said  there  was  an 
important  subsidiary  character  called  Frosty  the 
Snowman.  But  was  a  snowman  an  animal  or  a  person? 
Such  an  important  question  had  been  missed  by  our  so- 
called  educators. 

Other  animals  present  at  the  nativity,  in  our  version, 
were  gollywogs,  which  were  not  considered  politically 
incorrect  in  those  days.  Dark-skinned  children  were 
picked  as  gollywogs.  While  having  my  gollywog  make-up 
applied,  I  heard  the  children  agree  on  the  most  important 
human  characters:  Jesus,  Mary,  Joseph  and  Santa. 

One  child  was  adamant  that  there  was  an  old  man 
called  Scrooge  in  the  story,  who  was  always  saying 
"Bah,  hamburger."  Half  a  dozen  girls  of  the  frilly  sort 
were  pressed  into  service  as  angels.  I  cannot  remember 
the  names  they  were  given,  other  than  Gloria,  Hosanna, 
and  X.  Chelsea. 

The  scene  I  describe  may  be  more  than  three 
decades  old,  but  similar  confusion  exists  in  the  minds 
of  Asians  today.  You  have  heard  the  tale  of  the 
Japanese  department  store  which  prepared  a  display  of 
Santa  Claus  crucified. 

Gail  Maidment  of  Small  World  playgroup  in  Hong 
Kong  told  me  that  she  once  told  a  Japanese  mum  to 
dress  her  little  darling  as  an  animal  for  the  nativity  play 
The  woman  complied  enthusiastically.  On  the  day  of  the 
play,  Gail  had  to  explain  to  the  mother  that  the  Bible  had 
no  record  of  the  baby  Jesus  being  visited  by  Donald  Duck. 

As  for  Christmas  dinner  —  well,  a  bland  meal  of 
turkey  and  potatoes  was  a  change,  but  I  think  many 


Asians  feel  strange  not  having  their  daily  bowl  of  rice 
and  spicy  accompaniments. 

An  Indian  restaurateur  I  know  in  Hong  Kong  put 
turkey  curr/  on  his  menu  one  Christmas  —  and  found 
his  eatery  full  of  munching  Westerners.  I  was  much 
happier  there  than  a  few  hundred  metres  down  the 
road,  where  there  was  a  McDonald's  outlet  full  of 
Chinese  and  Filipinos  scoffing  Big  Macs  for  their 
Christmas  dinner. 

As  the  Malaysian  Scrooge  would  have  said:  "Bah, 
hamburger." 


Chapter  1 :  How  to  take  jokes  through  Immigration 


They  were  already  laughing  when  I  walked  into  the 
room.  Perhaps  laughing  is  the  wrong  word.  They  were 
having  a  debilitating  attack  of  hysterics.  One  of  my 
friends  was  silently  clutching  his  stomach  and  the  other 
was  making  weird  ak-ak-ak-ak  noises  and  jerking  as  if 
he  was  having  convulsions. 

It  was  funny  just  to  watch  them.  I  felt  my  cheeks 
and  the  corners  of  my  mouth  twitch  upwards,  and  I 
started  to  snigger,  too. 

What  was  the  joke?  That's  just  it. 

It  doesn't  matter 

Scientists  have  discovered  that  laughter  is  genuinely 
infectious.  That's  not  just  a  figure  of  speech.  You  CAN 
"catch"  laughter.  And  no  medical  insurance  covers  it. 

Let  us  have  a  serious  talk  about  an  unserious  topic. 

Anyone  with  a  professional  interest  in  humour  will 
observe  a  small  incident  of  laughter  proving  mfectious 
like  the  one  mentioned  above,  and  one  word  will  spring 
to  his  mind:  Buboka. 

Buboka!  I  say  the  word  like  an  incantation  every 
time  I  find  myself  employed  to  make  people  laugh. 

This  is  a  small  district  of  what  was  then  Tanganyika, 
a  country  in  eastern  Africa,  known  for  having  suffered  a 
laughter  epidemic.  A  teacher  made  a  joke  in  a  Buboka 
classroom.  The  remark  itself  was  quite  banal  (humorists 
all  over  the  world  can  take  comfort  ever  more).  But 
what  followed  was  distinctly  odd.  A  couple  of  children 
started  laughing  at  it,  in  the  convulsive,  screaming  way 
that  only  the  very  young  can.  This  proved  highly  infec- 
tious, and  soon  the  whole  classroom  was  roaring. 

The  shrieking  sounds  began  to  filter  through  the 
walls  of  the  school,  and  other  classes  started  chuck- 


ling. Eventually,  everyone  in  the  building  -  pupils  and 
teachers  -  were  rolling  around,  and  totally  incapable 
of  doing  any  work. 

Lessons  were  adjourned,  and  even/one  went  home. 
The  children  continued  to  hoot  with  merriment  as  they 
arrived  home,  and  the  parents  could  not  help  but  smile 
at  the  sight  of  their  offspring  falling  down  and  picking 
themselves  up,  in  throes  of  helpless  laughter. 

The  mothers  and  fathers  started  to  chortle.  The  next 
day  so  many  adults  were  howling  with  uncontrollable 
laughter  that  no  one  could  go  to  work.  The  entire  village 
spent  the  day  whooping  for  no  apparent  reason  -  because 
by  this  time,  no  one  could  remember  the  teacher's  original 
remark.  The  peals  of  laughter  continued  for  two  weeks, 
during  which  time  it  spread  to  neighbouring  villages. 

I  know  this  sounds  like  a  story  from  a  children's 
book,  but  it  is  actually  a  case  recorded  in  the  Central 
African  Journal  of  Medicine.  The  Buboka  people  began 
to  suffer  from  general  exhaustion  and  the  Red  Cross 
had  to  be  called  to  give  them  drugs. 

The  case  was  studied  by  psychologist  Robert  Holden, 
based  in  Oxford,  England,  who  told  reporters:  "There 
have  been  similar  incidents  in  Africa,  but  this  was  the 
longest  laughter  epidemic  on  record." 

Perhaps  we  shouldn't  be  surprised  at  it.  The  Dalai 
Lama  has  long  considered  laughter  to  be  the  first  inter- 
national language.  "If  we  use  the  basic  human  tech- 
niques of  a  smile,  and  a  generally  happy  attitude,  that 
means  of  communication  is  beyond  words,"  he  said. 

Many  Asian  political  figures  have  started  injecting 
amusing  lines  into  their  speeches  in  recent  years.  Some 
deliberately 


One  of  the  best  known  is  Joseph  Estrada,  vice-presi- 
dent of  the  Philippines.  His  humorous  lines  started  off 
as  apparent  malapropisms.  Why  did  he  favour  a  certain 
restaurant?  "I  like  the  ambulance." 

When  teased  about  his  word  mix-ups,  he  said: 
"Better  to  stop  using  English.  From  now  on,  I'll  just 
speak  in  the  binocular." 

But  one  is  tempted  to  think  that  some  of  the 
"slips"  are  conscious,  such  as  the  time  he  explained 
why  he  could  always  remember  names:  "I  have  a 
pornographic  memory." 

Chris  Patten,  Hong  Kong  Governor  from  1992  to 
1997,  once  faced  a  ballroom  of  local  business  people 
after  a  grand  meal.  He  pointed  to  the  media  table  and 
waved  his  officially  prepared  speech  at  them.  "As  far  as 
you  lot  are  concerned,  this  is  what  I  said,"  he  declared. 

Then  he  delighted  his  audience  by  telling  funny  sto- 
ries instead.  One  of  his  favourite  anecdotes:  "A  senior 
British  official  was  being  posted  to  the  Far  East,  so  he 
had  some  bilingual  cards  prepared  giving  his  name  and 
title:  'Sir  John  Snooks,  Permanent  Secretary'.  When  he 
arrived  in  the  orient,  he  got  very  strange  looks  as  he 
handed  the  cards  around.  So  he  asked  his  interpreter  if 
there  was  any  problem  with  it.  She  looked  at  it  and  told 
him:  'Well,  there  may  be.  What  it  actually  says  is:  'Sir 
John  Snooks,  Eternal  Typist'."' 

The  wise-cracking  leader  told  Your  Humble  Narrator 
that  there  are  serious  reasons  why  political  leaders 
should  make  people  laugh.  "Humour  is  exceptionally 
important  for  anybody  with  power  -  self-deprecating 
humour  in  particular,"  Mr  Patten  said.  "First,  because  it 
stops  you  becoming  irredeemably  pompous,  and  second, 


because  it  keeps  you  in  touch  with  reality" 

Mr  Patten  used  his  skill  to  good  effect  in  Hong 
Kong,  where  his  phrases  came  across  as  good- 
natured,  compared  to  the  repetitive  remarks  uttered 
by  Chinese  officials. 

But  he  said  he  suspected  that  their  apparent  short- 
comings in  the  humour  department  could  be  blamed  on 
their  system,  where  officials  are  required  to  rigidly  fol- 
low party  lines.  "I'm  sure  in  the  locker-room  situation  - 
-  not  that  I  have  ever  been  in  a  locker  room  with  any 
of  them  -  the  officials  are  just  as  humorous  as  people 
anywhere,"  Mr  Patten  said. 

Indonesia's  Minister  and  State  Secretary  Moerdiono 
gave  a  stern  warning  on  the  limits  of  humour  to  a 
gathering  of  400  comedians  in  Jakarta  in  1994.  Comics 
should  refrain  from  making  ethnic  or  religious  jokes, 
however  funny  they  may  be,  he  said,  because  such  jokes 
may  prove  "fatal"  to  the  nation. 

Careful.  There  are  some  places  in  Asia,  where  it  is 
said  a  man  can  literally  laugh  his  head  off. 

Fortunately,  these  are  becoming  fewer  in  number. 
Even  China  seems  to  be  lightening  up.  Deng  Xiaoping 
said  in  reference  to  rumours  of  his  death:  "I  must  have 
died  five  or  six  times...  but  I  am  still  not  dead,  so  I  must 
be  a  fain/.". 

Young  people  may  think  the  concept  of  the  "comedy 
sketch"  was  invented  by  Monty  Python.  Nope. 

In  China,  in  the  Zhou  and  Gin  periods  of  the  first 
millenium  BC,  Chinese  comedians  specialised  in  "xiang- 
sheng"  (literally,  acting-mime)  which  can  be  translated 
as  comic  dialogue.  This  theatrical  art  underwent  a 
revival  in  the  Song  and  Jin  dynasties,  between  the  10th 


and  the  13th  centuries,  and  again  this  century. 

Here's  an  excerpt: 

B:  How  old  are  you? 

A:  One  year  older  than  last  year. 

B:  And  how  old  were  you  then? 

A:  One  year  younger  than  now. 

B:  Well,  I  can  see  you  know  a  few  tricks. 

How  many  people  are  there  in  your  family? 

A:  As  many  as  there  are  toothbrushes. 

B:  And  how  many  toothbrushes  are  there? 

A:  One  each. 

Yes,  okay,  so  it  is  not  The  Dead  Parrot  Sketch,  but  it's 
recognisable  as  a  comedy 

Possibly  the  oldest  pan-Asian  "humour  centre"  in  the 
region  is  the  Travellers'  Tales  column  of  the  Far  Eastern 
Economic  Review,  which  has  been  collecting  examples 
of  wit  from  around  the  region  since  1961. 

This  exposed  the  manufacturer  of  men's 
underpants  in  the  Philippines  which  went  by  the 
brand  name  "Hang-it-Out",  the  chain  of  Japanese 
restaurants  called  "My  Dung",  and  thousands  of 
other  absurdities. 

Several  journalists  have  edited  the  column,  including 
the  present  writer.  But  since  most  of  the  tidbits  in  the 
section  are  sent  in  by  readers,  a  trawl  through  the  old 
archives  provides  a  barometer  of  what  the  intelligentsia 
in  Asia  find  amusing.  Western  expatriates  were  the 
main  contributors  in  the  early  years.  Today,  half  the 
material  comes  from  Asians. 

Political  correctness  has  also  crept  in.  In  the  1960s, 
spelling  errors  were  a  mainstay  Today  the  material  is 
edited  to  remove  the  most  blatant  examples  of  linguis- 


tic chauvinism,  and  the  main  tales  are  "amazing-but- 
true"  stories  of  life  in  Asia. 

Much  of  what  makes  people  laugh  is  unintentional 
humour.  For  example,  making  a  circle  with  your  finger 
and  thumb  means  "good"  in  some  cultures,  and  "bot- 
tom-hole" in  others.  When  the  film  Top  Gun  was  shown 
in  Brazil,  audiences  hooted  with  laughter,  because  every 
time  something  good  happened,  Tom  Cruise  would  flash 
the  "bottom-hole"  sign  to  his  partners. 

Are  there  jokes  peculiar  to  certain  cultures? 
Probably  although  most  are  unique  only  because  they 
are  on  word  play  in  a  particular  language.  But  there  are 
certainly  examples  of  jokes  which  focus  on  peculiarly 
Asian  situations. 

This  was  told  to  me  by  an  Indian  in  Hong  Kong: 

One  Chinese  girl  gossiping  to  another:  "I'd  never 
slept  with  an  Indian  guy  before,  but  he  said  he  would 
give  me  a  present.  The  next  day  I  got  this  note  saying 
that  he  had  arranged  for  someone  to  deliver  an  Indian 
washing  machine  to  my  flat.  I  hurried  home  and  there 
it  was  —  a  rock." 

This  came  from  a  Sri  Lankan: 

Q:  What  did  the  elephant  say  to  the  naked  man? 

A:  You  breathe  through  that? 

From  a  Singaporean: 

"This  city  is  so  healthy  we  had  to  kill  someone  to 
start  a  cemetery." 

Not  only  does  the  growing  supply  of,  and  demand 
for,  humour,  brighten  up  our  lives,  but  doctors  believe  it 
is  good  for  our  health,  both  mental  and  physical. 

Or  as  American  writer  Mar/  Pettibone  Poole  said  in 
1938:  "He  who  laughs,  lasts." 


Chapter  2:  What  a  wonderful  world 


Your  breakfast  buffet  features  curried  noodles.  Your 
newspaper  is  filled  with  crime  reports  about  men  who 
kidnap  young  women  to  sing  with.  Your  chambermaid 
gives  you  investment  advice.  These  are  all  little 
reminders  to  the  world  citizen  that  he  or  she  is  in  Asia. 


Sign  seen  in  a  hotel  in  Itaewon,  Seoul:  "Hotel  is  not 
responsible  for  the  interaction  of  ugly  morals  between 
guests  and  employees." 
(Spotter:  Anthony  Campbell.) 


At  the  Vista  Hotel  in  Tokyo,  Ross  Evans  found  a  mes- 
sage: "Welcome  to  put  up  for  tonight  at  this  hotel. 
Please  stay  at  your  home." 

He  said:  "After  putting  up  with  the  Vista  for  a  night, 
I  was  more  than  happy  to  comply  with  the  second  part 
of  the  message." 


Seen  on  a  Jakarta  hotel  doorknob:  "Please  place  this 
door  knob  hanger  outside  your  room  before  11  pm  if 
you  wish  to  have  a  newspaper  delivered  tomorrow 
morning.  If  you  are  staying  longer  than  one  night,  your 
newspaper  door  knob  will  be  placed  outside  by  the 
evening  room  attendant  from  the  second  night 
onwards.  If  you  wish  not  to  be  disturbed,  please  place 
this  doorknob  outside  prior  to  the  evening  turndown 
service.  Leave  this  door  knob  in  the  holder  if  you  do  not 
want  a  newspaper  delivered." 

Well,  I  hope  that's  perfectly  clear. 


A  friend  of  mine  found  Wild  Swans  by  Jung  Chang, 
a  saga  about  three  generations  of  a  Chinese  family, 
in  an  Australian  bookshop  filed  under  "poultry 
farming". 


From  a  1996  tourist  brochure  for  Sri  Lanka: 
"Different  religious  and  ethnic  groups  live  side  by  side 
in  total  harmony." 
(Spotter:  Dominic  Biggs.) 


A  South  Korean  talking  into  a  mobile  phone  walked 
straight  into  a  tree  and  killed  himself  The  Korea  Times 
quoted  a  Pusan  police  spokesman  as  saying  he  had 
seen  many  car  accidents  caused  by  mobile  phone 
users,  but  that  it  was  the  first  known  pedestrian 
mobile  phone  death. 

Let  that  be  a  lesson  to  all  of  us. 


Tommy  Lillqvist,  at  an  airport  in  Japan,  decided  to 
check  the  time  of  his  departure  on  the  board:  "17.65". 
No  wonder  the  Japanese  have  a  higher  rate  of  produc- 
tivity per  hour. 


When  Templeton  fund  managers  were  launching  theii 
latest  fund  in  Singapore  this  week,  they  described  their 
new  style  as  "bottom  up,  hands  on". 
Now  this  I  gotta  see. 


Following  the  success  of  Sailor  Moon  videos  and 
Dragon  Bo// Z  cartoons  on  the  local  market,  the 
Japanese  are  sending  out  their  latest  kid-vid  series. 
Recently  arrived  in  Hong  Kong  is  a  set  of  videos  about  a 
cute  cartoon  pig,  entitled  Boorin  1,  Boorin  2,  Boorin  3, 
and  so  on,  up  to  Boorin  14.  I  can  see  these  being  big 
sellers  in  the  international  video  market,  can't  you? 


touch  screens  to  perform  all  the  usual  banking  services. 
A  head  appears  on  a  video-conference  screen  and  talks 
to  you.  It's  really  cool. 

Coming  next:  Virtual  bank  robbers.  Someone  wheels 
in  a  television  set  showing  an  armed  man  every  couple 
of  months. 


Sign  seen  in  a  Singapore  market  shoe  shop  by  Graeme 
Defty  of  Standard  Chartered  Bank:  "Buy  two,  get  one 
free."  Ideal  for  people  with  three  legs. 


Ian  Bolton  of  Tsuen  Wan  recently  returned  from 
Boracay  where  he  stayed  in  a  hotel  in  which  guests 
were  told:  "Please  wash  your  feet  off  with  sand  and  dirt 
before  entering  the  swimming  pool." 


P.A.  Bolin  of  Kowloon  lost  50  per  cent  of  the  cash  he 
put  into  the  JF  India  Trust  in  the  past  couple  of  years, 
and  decided  to  take  out  the  rest,  to  blow  on  a  good 
meal  or  something.  A  transaction  advice  arrived  saying 
that  the  sale  went  through  on  April  22  and  the  cheque 
will  be  sent  to  him  —  on  May  20.  How  do  the  India 
Trust  managers  move  money?  By  bullock? 


Standard  Chartered  Bank  has  opened  24-hour  virtual- 
reality  banking  faciiitiesat  Tanjong  Pagar  and  Scotts 
Mall  in  Singapore.  You  go  into  a  people-free  room  and 


Joyce  Laurence   of  Hong  Kong  bought  a  Philips  video 
cleaning  tape.  "Press  play  and  leave  for  10  seconds,"  the 
instructions  say  in  English,  French  and  German.  Press 
play  and  "funzione  per  20  secondi",  they  say  in  Italian. 
Her  husband  Andy  was  curious  as  to  why  Italian  videos 
were  twice  as  dirty 

Must  be  something  to  do  with  Italians'  hot  Latin  blood. 


The  shareholder  mentality  has  come  to  Asia  -  and 
how.  Antics  at  the  annual  meeting  of  Kelvinator  of 
India  were  brought  to  my  attention  by  Gary  Greenberg 
of  Peregrine  Asset  Management. 

About  500  shareholders  turned  up  and  blocked  the 
meeting  in  New  Delhi  for  almost  two  hours.  This  was 
not  because  they  disagreed  with  any  of  the  resolutions 
-  it  was  because  the  freebies  were  not  up  to  scratch. 

First,  they  turned  their  noses  up  at  the  function 
room,  a  military  auditorium.  Shareholders  felt  it  should 
have  been  in  a  five-star  hotel,  said  Rajendra  Bajpal, 
reporting  for  Bloomberg. 

One  shareholder  told  the  meeting:  There  is  no  water; 
there  is  no  tea;  and  last  year's  gift  was  a  blot  on 
Kelvinator's  name. 


Worried  by  the  seething  crowd,  executives  formed  a 
quick  huddle  and  decided  to  give  each  shareholder  a 
portable  food-warmer  and  a  pen.  This  was  not  a  good 
idea  because  the  previous  year's  gift  had  been  a  pen, 
which  shareholders  had  complained  didn't  work. 

The  audience  then  started  battling  with  security 
guards.  Chairman  J.R.  Desai  decided  to  adjourn  the 
meeting  until  next  month  and  tried  to  leave. 

Shareholders  changed  their  minds  and  said  they  would 
accept  the  gifts  rather  than  wait  for  another  meeting,  and 
that  he  might  as  well  go  ahead  with  his  resolutions. 

When  he  started  to  read  them  out,  the  crowd  shout- 
ed that  it  was  too  boring  to  do  them  one  at  a  time.  "All 
passed,"  they  hollered. 


Dr  James  Oliver  noticed  the  title  badge  on  a  staff  mem- 
ber at  St  Theresa's  Hospital  in  Kowloon  was  "menial  staff." 

It  reminded  me  of  the  common  job  description  one 
finds  in  India:  "Peon".  One  wonders  how  job  application 
letters  from  such  people  read? 

"Dear  Sir  or  Madam,  after  a  year  as  an  Utter  Nobody, 
I  was  promoted  to  Lowly  Peon,  and  then  became  General 
Dogsbody  for  two  years.  I  thus  feel  ready  to  face  the 
challenge  of  being  Vice-President,  Menial  Duties." 


the  fact  that  the  country's  only  electric  chair  was 
destroyed  by  fire  in  1986. 

Richard  Hawkins  of  Wan  Chai  ordered  an  enormous 
meal  at  the  famed  Alorcha  restaurant  in  Macau  and 
found  he  and  his  party  could  not  finish  it.  So  they  took 
the  last  item,  a  barbecued  chicken,  away  with  them  in 
a  doggie  bag. 

They  entered  the  casino  hall  at  the  Hotel  Lisboa, 
where  the  "heavy"  guarding  the  door  inspected  their 
bags  and  informed  them  of  a  house  rule  they  had  not 
known  about:  the  chicken  could  not  enter  (there  was 
no  sign  on  the  wall  expressly  forbidding  the  entry  of 
poultn/). 

Richard  decided  to  sacrifice  the  bird.  He  binned  the 
chicken  and  entered  the  casino.  On  a  whim,  he  glanced 
around  -  just  in  time  to  see  the  same  guard  taking  the 
chicken  out  of  the  dustbin  and  scuttling  off  through  a 
doorway  with  it. 

Do  they  not  feed  the  security  staff  or  something? 


So,  Lisa  Leeson  has  applied  to  join  Virgin  Atlantic  as  a 
flight  attendant.  I  wonder  if  she  realises  that  if  Virgin  wins 
a  Singapore  air  route,  it  will  be  going  to  Changi  airport, 
not  the  prison  of  the  same  name,  where  her  husband  is. 


At  the  time  of  writing.  President  Fidel  Ramos  has  just 
signed  into  law  a  bill  which  allows  courts  to  use  lethal 
injections  to  kill  criminals.  I  hope  he  checked  that 
there  were  syringes  in  stock.  The  Philippines'  congress 
reimposed  the  death  sentence  in  1993,  but  overlooked 


You  know  how  posh  hotels  try  to  prevent  you  nicking 
the  bathrobe  by  putting  a  price  on  it?  Well,  Luca  Ebreo 
stayed  at  the  Grand  Bay  Hotel  in  Zhuhai  and  found  a 
list  in  his  room  which  was  remarkably  comprehensive. 
There  were  82  items  on  it.  These  included  the  Queen 


sized  bed  (4,500  renminbi,  which  is  about  US$540),  the 
sofa  (4,000  rmb),  the  door  lock  (3,000  rmb),  the  wash 
basin  (1,200  rmb),  and  the  bath  (6,000  rmb).  You  can 
even  take  the  toilet  away  as  a  souvenir  of  your  happy 
stay  for  a  mere  2,500  rmb,  although  Luca  did  not  spot 
anyone  in  the  lobby  actually  strolling  out  with  one. 


Title  of  a  set   of  paper-folding  instructions  published 
by  Natsumesha  Co  of  Japan:  "How  to  make  an  organ." 

The  ingenuity  of  the  Japanese  never  fails  to  amaze  me. 
(Spotter:  Tony  Nedderman.) 


One  man  has  been  sentenced  to  death  and  five 
accomplices  given  20  years  in  jail  in  Vietnam.  The  six  of 
them  made  67  million  dong  in  fake  currency,  in  a 
forgery  operation  which  started  in  1993.  Split  six  ways 
this  is  equivalent  to  US$1,000  each.  Anyone  who  coun- 
terfeits dong  doesn't  need  jail.  They  need  maths  lessons. 


Cathay  Pacific's  Marco  Polo  magazine  tells  the  tale  of 
frequent  flier  Kazuko  Takahara,  who  went  into  the  bar  of 
her  hotel  in  Frankfurt  and  asked  for  a  "dry  martini".  She 
received  three  cocktails  (and  no  doubt,  amazed  glances 
that  a  petite  Asian  woman  could  down  so  much  alcohol). 

The  German  word  for  "three"  is  "drei". 

Ms  Takahara  was  just  about  to  decline  the  drinks, 
when  something  occured  to  her  and  she  stopped  herself 
getting  into  even  more  trouble.  The  German  word  for 
"no"  is  "nein". 


Chapter  3:  The  long  run 


There  was  ice  in  the  air.  It  was  a  chilly  Friday  in 
Beijing,  but  there  was  bright  sunshine  in  the  hearts  of  a 
group  of  runners,  stamping  and  snorting  and  stretching 
their  limbs  like  thoroughbred  racehorses. 

The  authorities  in  China  know  how  to  put  a  bit  of 
pomp  into  mass  events,  and  they  had  done  a  fine  job 
on  this  breezy  October  day  for  the  1996  Beijing 
International  Marathon. 

Some  10,000  school  children  in  colourful  uniforms 
lined  up  in  the  Workers'  Stadium,  where  the  race  would 
begin  and  end.  Military  bands  played  thundering 
marches.  The  Minister  of  Cultural  Affairs  was  wheeled 
out  to  greet  the  competitors. 

Some  300  of  the  runners  were  doing  the  full 
marathon  of  43  kilometres,  or  26  miles.  Of  these,  there 
were  only  20  Western  faces.  These  naturally  attracted 
attention  because  of  their  scarcity  value. 

Stuart  White  of  Hong  Kong  was  excited,  especially 
after  being  interviewed  by  the  Reuters  news  agency 
Like  all  amateur  runners,  he  had  focused  on  the  really 
important  things:  flashy  new  running  shoes  and  a 
designer  stopwatch. 

The  only  nagging  worry  at  the  back  of  his  mind  was 
that  they  were  all  being  treated  as  star  athletes,  and  he 
knew  that  he,  for  one,  was  an  amateur,  albeit  a  keen  one. 

Still,  he  was  looking  forward  to  doing  the  circuit  and 
taking  the  final  steps  back  into  this  magnificent  audito- 
rium, to  be  greeted  by  thousands  of  cheering  people. 

But  no  time  to  think  about  that  now. 

Thwack!  As  the  starting  gun  sounded,  he  mused  that 
this  really  was  marathon  runners'  heaven.  Tarmac 
pounders  such  as  himself  were  treated  like  gods.  Tens  of 


thousands  of  people  lined  the  streets  of  Beijing  to  cheer 
the  competitors  on,  and  the  atmosphere  was  wonderful. 

The  first  hour  or  so  was  the  usual  bone-shaking  blur. 
It  was  only  after  they  had  stamped  the  streets  for  a 
foot-blistering  25  kilometres,  with  18  still  to  go,  that 
things  began  to  change. 

Stuart  and  several  other  runners  were  plodding  on 
manfully,  but  the  main  pack  of  more  experienced 
sprinters  was  a  good  40  minutes  ahead. 

Suddenly  a  lorry,  bellowing  toxic  fumes,  roared 
passed  them.  Workers  aboard  proceeded  to  scoop  up  all 
the  distance  and  directional  signs  for  the  race. 

Oh  no.  The  runners'  eyes  widened.  How  would  they 
know  where  to  go? 

Stop!  But  the  lorry  sped  on  and  away,  taking  away 
all  clues  as  to  the  route  the  runners  should  take. 

The  course  organisers  then  decided  to  pack  up  the 
all-important  water  stations,  just  as  the  runners  who 
really  needed  a  drink  came  thumping  by. 

The  traffic  situation  returned  to  normal,  and  the 
marathon  men  had  to  include  a  new  activity  into  their 
race:  keeping  alive. 

It  was  cold.  They  quickly  became  dehydrated.  Cars 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  kill  them  at  every  crossroads.  It 
had  become  marathon  runners'  hell. 

Then  they  realised  another  official  vehicle  was  fol- 
lowing. Now  this  one  was  a  bus,  sweeping  up  all  the 
stragglers  behind  them,  whether  they  wanted  to  end 
their  runs  or  not. 

The  vehicle  reached  the  foreigners.  Aiyeeeah!  What 
to  do?  Foreigners  can't  talk,  and  they  are  notoriously 
difficult  to  handle.  Safer  to  let  them  be. 


So  they  allowed  Stuart  and  two  other  waiguo  ren  to 
continue. 

The  runners  realised  they  faced  a  serious  problem. 

How  would  they  know  where  to  go? 

It  was  The  People  to  the  rescue.  As  the  runners 
reached  a  junction,  a  spectator  on  her  way  home  point- 
ed out  the  correct  route.  At  the  next  corner,  more  spec- 
tators smiled  and  told  the  runners  which  way  to  turn. 

The  people,  courteous  and  smiling,  became  sponta- 
neous route-markers,  all  the  way  around  the  city  All  of 
a  sudden,  the  possibility  of  finishing  the  race  returned. 

One  toothless  old  man  voluntarily  escorted  them  for 
some  five  kilometres  on  his  Flying  Pigeon  bicycle. 

Unfortunately,  not  all  the  directions  were  correct, 
but  they  were  close  enough.  "It  would  have  been  easy 
to  take  advantage  of  three  tired,  pathetic  gwailos,  and 
send  us  marching  off  to  North  Korea,"  Stuart  mused 
afterwards.  But  no  one  did. 

Finally  after  three  hours  and  41  minutes,  they  col- 
lapsed into  the  Worker's  Stadium.  The  pollution  that 
hung  in  the  air  had  blackened  their  faces  like  those  of 
cartoon  characters  who  get  blown  up. 

The  stadium  was  empty  Not  a  single  schoolchild  or 
worker  in  sight.  No  champagne  or  flowers.  But  the  run- 
ners still  felt  triumphant. 

To  this  observer,  Stuart's  story  says  more  about  the 
character  of  China  than  all  the  economic  analyses  put 
together.  In  the  long  run  (take  that  literally  in  this 
case),  the  inefficiencies  of  an  old-fashioned  bureaucra- 
cy are  outweighed  by  the  resourcefulness  and  warmth 
of  the  Chinese  people. 

Incidentally  the  foreigners  in  this  particular  joint 


venture  found  they'd  run  an  extra  five  kilometres.  How 
did  they  manage  to  complete  it,  with  no  water? 

Stuart  said  afterwards  that  they  were  feeling  really 
dehydrated  when  they  ran  their  40th  kilometre.  They 
turned  a  corner  and  came  upon  a  dishevelled  fruit-sell- 
er, trying  to  make  a  few  fen  by  selling  fruit  from  the 
countryside.  The  poor  man  stared  at  the  pitiful  sight  of 
the  former  capitalist  imperialists,  stumbling  along  the 
road.  In  the  true  spirit  of  socialism,  he  stepped  into  the 
road  and  gave  each  of  them  a  gift  of  an  orange,  free  of 
charge. 

It  tasted  better  than  Dom  Perignon's  finest. 


Chapter  4:  Twin  peaks 


Bras  are  on  everyone's  lips  these  days,  if  you'll  excuse 
a  sartorially  inelegant  metaphor.  Bra  wars  have  been  set 
in  motion  by  a  massive  advertising  and  promotion 
splurge  in  Asia  by  the  producers  of  the  Wonderbra.  This 
is  a  54-piece  bra  that  promises  to  turn  a  34-inch  bust 
into  a  36-inch  one. 

The  Wonderbra  display  which  has  opened  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  Japanese  department  store  Sogo  in 
Causeway  Bay,  Hong  Kong,  includes  a  changing  room  "for 
the  hordes  of  style-conscious  shoppers  who  can't  wait  to 
see  the  impact  of  this  essential  fashion  accesson/  on 
their  figures,"  according  to  the  company  spokeswoman. 

Wonderbra  is  made  by  the  Sara  Lee  Corp,  a  United 
States  firm  hitherto  famed  worldwide  for  making  those 
big,  spongy  cakes  that  you  find  in  supermarkets.  What 
the  connection  is,  one  can  only  guess. 

This  coincides  with  the  news  that  Hong  Kong  bra- 
maker  Top  Form  is  in  financial  trouble.  They  usually 
issue  one  of  the  most  popular  annual  reports.  This  is 
because  the  company  feels  the  need  to  have  large  num- 
bers of  illustrations  showing  the  skimpy,  lacy  product 
"in  situ".  But  not  this  year.  The  only  figures  in  the  finan- 
cial document  are  numbers. 

One  theory  is  that  the  increase  in  Asian  breast  sizes 
has  caused  problems.  In  the  1980s,  the  top  selling  bra 
in  Asia  was  34-A.  By  the  end  of  1993,  the  standard 
bust  had  grown  to  34-C. 

This  makes  a  significant  percentage  increase  in  raw 
materials.  The  semi-globular  nature  of  the  expansion 
means  that  20  small  pieces  of  material  need  adjusting. 

They  could  perhaps  find  a  new  market  by  taking  a 
couple  of  tips  from  Triumph,  I  hear  from  reader  Steve 


Aldred.  Steve  helped  the  Hong  Kong  office  of  Triumph, 
an  international  bra  and  frilly  bits  company,  with  a  pro- 
motion in  1995  in  which  each  day  a  diamond  ring  was 
given  to  customers. 

The  stunt  was  so  popular  that  among  the  bra 
"users"  who  turned  up  to  collect  their  rings  were  two 
men.  "Nobody  followed  up  to  find  out  their  cup  size," 
Steve  said. 

Innovation  in  the  actual  garment  could  be  an  alter- 
native answer  to  Top  Form's  problems.  Alicia  Kan  of  the 
Economist  Intelligence  Unit's  Hong  Kong  office  told  me 
about  a  bra  made  under  the  Social  Form  brand  and  sold 
in  the  Philippines.  It  has  a  built-in  space  for  carrying 
cash  or  trinkets. 

They  come  in  A  and  B  sizes  only  I  assume  this  is 
because  a  double-D  with  a  lot  of  money  would  become 
rather,  er,  high  profile. 

I  mentioned  this  over  breakfast  to  a  male  companion, 
who  warned  of  a  problem.  "The  wearer's  boyfriend  may 
be  rather  disappointed  to  discover  a  boring  wodge  of 
cash  instead  of  what  he  expected  to  find  there,"  he  said. 

I  replied  that  this  may  be  true  elsewhere,  but  proba- 
bly not  in  Hong  Kong. 

Incidentally  did  you  see  the  news  item  which  said 
managers  of  a  Russian  industrial  plant  haven't  been 
able  to  pay  workers  in  roubles,  so  are  paying  them  in 
bras  instead?  The  unusual  salary  was  offered  by  the 
Enikmash  machine-building  plant  in  Voronezh,  the 
Komsomolskaya  Pravda  reported. 

The  company  had  traded  some  of  its  industrial  prod- 
uct for  a  shipment  of  Chinese-made  bras. 

It  is  hard  to  picture  anyone  getting  Russian  mam- 


maries  into  tiny  Chinese  brassieres.  I  wonder  if  this  how 
the  word  "bust"  originated? 

But  to  be  serious  and  businesslike  on  the  subject  of 
the  female  upper-retaining  garment  for  a  moment,  I  am 
informed  that  there  exists  a  New  Zealand  farmer  who 
has  been  appealing  for  bras  to  support  his  tomato  crop, 
which  has  been  bulging  out  more  than  usual  lately. 

The  Russians  could  send  their  Chinese-size  bras  to 
Wellington,  where  they  would  presumably  be  eminently 
suitable  for  the  farmer's  purposes.  It  may  be  the  start  of 
a  revolution  in  tomato  grading. 

"I'll  have  a  kilo  of  36C  tomatoes,  please." 


Chapter  5:  Miracle  on  platform  two 


Business  consultant  Steve  Creighton  recently  made  a 
business  trip  to  Tokyo.  Japan  is  a  strictly  cash  society, 
and  he  was  carrying  a  large  wad  of  more  than  a  million 
yen  in  Japanese  banknotes  -  the  total  was  worth  more 
than  US$13,000  -  stuffed  in  the  pocket  of  the  case  of 
his  laptop  computer. 

After  clearing  customs  at  Narita  airport,  Steve  went 
to  the  Japan  Rail  Sobu  line,  to  catch  the  last  train  of 
the  evening  to  Yokohama. 

Already  worn  out  from  the  flight,  he  absent-minded- 
ly left  the  computer  -  and  the  mammoth  brick  of  cash 
-  on  the  station  platform  as  he  boarded  the  train.  He 
was  halfway  to  Tokyo  before  he  froze  in  horror  and 
realised  what  he  had  done. 

It  was  too  late  to  get  another  train  back  to  Narita, 
and  by  the  time  he  got  to  a  payphone,  the  airport's  lost 
and  found  switchboard  had  closed  for  the  evening. 

What  a  nightmare. 

Laptops,  which  inevitably  come  in  small  black  cases 
and  are  carried  in  addition  to  one's  normal  luggage, 
are  incredibly  easy  to  leave  behind.  They  are  also  easy 
to  purloin. 

There  was  one  other  occasion  in  which  Steve  had  let 
this  same  computer  out  of  his  sight  and  it  had  disap- 
peared. He  was  on  a  Philippine  Air  Lines  flight  to  Hong 
Kong  when  he  left  it  on  the  seat  and  went  to  the  toilet. 

Returning  a  few  minutes  later,  it  was  gone.  When  he 
asked  the  passengers  around  him,  they  referred  him  to 
the  stewardess,  who  said:  "I'm  sorn/  sir,  I  think  one  of 
our  staffs  has  stolen  your  bag." 

Well,  at  least  she  was  honest.  On  that  occasion,  the 
laptop  was  promptly  returned  -  after  all,  you  can't 


exactly  make  a  clean  getaway  when  you  are  6,000 
metres  in  the  air. 

The  Japanese  habit  of  demanding  all  transactions  be 
in  cash  is  the  cause  of  much  heartache.  Aera,  a  Tokyo 
news  agency,  reported  in  1994  that  wads  of  cash  are 
found  on  trains  11  times  a  day  on  average,  adding  up  to 
one  billion  yen  (about  US$9  million)  a  year  on  the 
trains  of  the  East  Japan  Co  alone. 

The  tradition  is  also  the  cause  of  much  traffic.  On 
the  10th  and  20th  of  each  month,  business  people 
drive  to  the  offices  of  their  associates,  clients  and  sup- 
pliers, to  cement  relationships  by  exchanging  large 
amounts  of  money 

One  businessman,  trying  to  bribe  a  politician  with 
about  400  million  yen,  had  to  have  it  wheeled  into  the 
man's  office  on  a  trolley. 

Toshio  Miyaji,  president  of  a  chain  of  electronics 
stores,  told  a  New  York  Times  reporter  last  year:  "I  feel 
very  lonely  if  I  have  less  than  one  million  yen  in  my 
pocket."  That's  eguivalent  to  US$9,260,  or  HK$72,000. 

There's  a  remarkable  orderliness  about  Japanese 
society  which  means  that  lost  bundles  of  money  are 
often  recovered. 

Other  valuables  are  also  left  behind  on  trains. 
Toupees  and  false  teeth  are  found  regularly.  A  finger  in 
a  jar  was  once  discovered  in  a  subway  train.  No  doubt 
there  was  some  sentimental  Yakuza  member  some- 
where sniffing  over  the  loss.  Gangsters  cut  off  their  fin- 
gers, or  each  other's,  in  fits  of  machismo.  Plastic  sur- 
geon Mitsuo  Yoshimura  in  Fukui  has  been  running  a 
thriving  little  business  transplanting  gangsters'  toes  on 
to  their  hands,  to  make  up  for  missing  fingers.  Of 


course,  they  look  a  bit  funny  and  one  has  to  hope  no 
one  smells  your  hands. 

Dogs,  cats  and  other  pets  are  also  frequently  found 
forgotten  in  railway  carriages.  This  is  surprising,  since 
the  Japanese  pamper  their  pets  to  a  remarkable  degree, 
spending  US$2.4  billion  a  year  on  pet  food  and  toys.  A 
cable  radio  broadcaster  in  Osaka  has  been  offering  a 
pet  channel,  with  music  for  animals.  A  Japanese  study 
of  cat  brainwaves  reveals  that  they  particularly  enjoy 
the  music  of  The  Carpenters,  which  will  surprise  no  one. 

But  I  digress. 

Let  us  return  to  the  horrific  events  of  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day  in  the  life  of  our  visitor  to  Tokyo. 

After  a  sleepless  night,  Steve  Creighton  made  the 
three-hour  trip  back  to  Narita  to  prayerfully  ask  staff  at 
the  lost  and  found  office  whether  his  bag  had  been 
handed  in. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  train,  and  something  on  the 
ground  caught  his  eye. 

The  laptop  computer  bag  was  sitting  on  the  station 
platform,  entirely  untouched,  in  the  precise  spot  on  the 
platform  where  he  had  left  it  the  night  before. 

It  is,  as  I  say,  an  orderly  society. 


Chapter  6:  St  Mary's  Trucking  Service 


The  payroll  robbery  in  the  Philippines  was  meticulous- 
ly planned.  Fifteen  men  were  involved  in  an  operation 
which  took  just  180  seconds  from  beginning  to  end. 
The  villains  arrived  at  the  scene  of  the  crime-to-be  in  a 
dirty  white  Toyota  Corolla,  two  motorcycles  and  a  sil- 
ver-grey van,  at  9.15  am  on  a  Tuesday. 

The  bikers  spun  round  to  act  as  look-outs.  Counting 
each  second,  the  other  13  men  entered  the  premises  of 
Ren  Transport  Co,  a  garbage  hauling  firm  in  Banlat 
Road,  Quezon  City 

Armed  with  three  M16  Armalites  and  an  AK-47,  the 
raiders  disabled  the  security  guards  and  raced  down  the 
corridors  to  where  they  knew  the  cash  office  was. 
Clearly  they  had  had  inside  information. 

The  first  intruder  crashed  through  the  door  and 
waved  his  gun  around.  "Dapa  kayong  lahat,"  he  shout- 
ed, ordering  staff  to  drop  to  the  floor.  Cashier  Susan 
Cruz  and  her  colleagues  complied  instantly 

"We're  not  here  to  kill  you.  We  just  want  the 
money,"  spat  the  raider. 

Ah.  Oh  dear.  That's  when  they  were  told  the  bad  news. 

They  were  too  early 

Er,  the  payroll  is  delivered  at  10.15  am. 

10.15?  Not  9.15? 

That's  right.  10.15. 

The  villains  fled.  Their  entire  booty,  to  be  split  between 
the  16-strong  team;  some  petty  cash  and  two  radios. 

So  much  for  the  theory  that  everything  in  the 
Philippines  runs  late. 


What  a  fascinating  place  the  Philippines  is.  The  four 


worlds  of  business,  the  underworld,  the  establishment, 
and  the  church  are  all  interlinked  in  bizarre  ways. 
Corruption  is  inevitable  in  a  place  where  a  policeman 
gets  the  salary  that  First  Worlders  pay  a  domestic  ser- 
vant. A  chief  financial  watchdog  gets  the  salary  of  a 
Hong  Kong  factory  worker.  As  a  result,  there's  a  lot  of 
unsavoury  stuff  going  on. 

Rolando  Abadillo,  a  former  police  torturer  turned 
businessman  and  politician,  was  assassinated  on  June  13. 
One  would  not  normally  applaud  the  murder  of  a  human 
being,  whatever  his  background.  But  Filipino  columnists 
are  less  scrupulous.  "This  has  not  exactly  been  a  regret- 
table incident,"  enthused  Teodoro  Locsin,  editor  of  the 
Philippines  Free  Press,  unable  to  hide  his  glee. 

Mind  you,  it  does  happen  elsewhere.  When  Andely 
Chan  Yiu-hing,  a  film  industn/  executive  and  Sun  Yee  On 
triad  member,  was  murdered  in  1993,  a  Hong  Kong  police 
spokesman  said:  "This  rather  solves  a  problem  for  us." 


Your  Humble  Narrator  wrote  a  column  while  in 
Manila,  sitting  at  an  "Authentic  French  Bakery". 
Although  much  of  the  country  remains  poor,  Manila  is 
starting  to  look  like  richer  Asian  cities,  filled  with  slick 
shopping  malls  and  "international"  restaurants. 

How  authentic  is  this  French  restaurant?  They  are 
serving  adobo-flavoured  croissants.  Enough  said. 


A  tour  firm  called  Traveller  International  in  Ermita  is 
offering  a  34-day  pilgrimage  for  US$7,290.  Buyers  are 
taken  to  many  places  "straight  out  of  the  Bible!" 


As  well  as  the  predictable  Bethlehem  and  Jerusalem, 
the  itinerary  includes  Lourdes  in  France,  Fatima  in 
Portugal,  and  Vatican  City  in  Italy.  I'm  not  sure  which 
edition  of  the  Bible  they  appear  in. 

The  sales  bumpf  says:  "See  the  stains  of  Jesus  blood 
which  He  shed  on  the  cross  perfectly  preserved  under 
glass  up  to  now. 

"Stand  on  the  very  spot  from  where  Christ  ascended 
into  Heaven. 

"View  the  manger  where  Christ  was  born  on  Christmas 
Eve  2,000  years  ago." 

If  Christ  was  born  on  Christmas  Eve,  whose  birthday  is 
Christmas  Day? 


Round  the  corner,  the  Kou  Bansei  Dispensary  in  Manila 
was  selling  a  pill  called  Sexvitan-B,  under  the  slogan: 
"No  more  sexual  function.  No  more  impotency." 

A  cure  for  impotency  may  be  useful,  but  "no  more 
sexual  function"?  Isn't  this  throwing  out  the  baby  with 
the  bathwater? 


Many  firms  in  the  Philippines  are  trying  to  attract 
local  women  to  send  to  Hong  Kong  to  be  domestic 
helpers.  Overseas  Employment  Centre  Ltd  of  Makati,  in 
its  ad,  boasts  that  it  is:  "The  only  agency  that  gives 
Chinese  cooking  lesson  upon  arrival  in  Hong  Kong." 

Yes,  learn  how  to  cook  two  years'  worth  of  Chinese 
meals  in  just  one  easy  lesson. 


At  Clark  Field,  former  US  air  base,  patriotic  Filipinos 
are  getting  rid  of  street  names  such  as  Mitchell,  O'Leary 
and  Anderson,  which  are  Western.  They  are  replacing 
them  with  "locaT'ones  such  as  Manuel,  Jose,  Ramon  and 
so  on,  which  are  Spanish  names.  Go  figure. 


Businessman  Kenneth  Yu  of  Metro  Manila  must  have 
ambitious  export  plans  for  his  mineral  company.  Why 
else  would  it  be  called  the  Martian  Steel  Corporation? 


A  motorcycle  rider  crashed  into  the  back  of  a  10- 
wheeler  truck  in  Laguna  a  few  days  ago.  Benjamin 
Fortunato,  42,  needed  urgent  help  -  and  discovered 
that  he  had  been  injured  right  in  front  of  a  hospital. 

He  was  rushed  inside,  but  the  hospital  allegedly 
rejected  him  because  he  did  not  have  cash  to  pay  the 
deposit.  He  was  taken  to  a  second  hospital  which  also 
refused  to  admit  him. 

He  died  outside. 

Reporters  were  unable  to  get  comments  from  the 
managements  of  the  two  hospitals. 

The  first  was  called  the  Amante  Emergency  Hospital. 
The  second  was  called  Divine  Mercy  The  victim's  name 
translates  as  "Mr  Lucky". 


The  other,  and  much  more  pleasant,  side  of  business  in 
the  Philippines  is  that  you  get  people  running  business- 
es which  are  completely  normal  -  except  that  they  are 
dedicated  to  saints. 


These  are  real  company  names  I  came  across  in  two 
days  of  doing  business  in  Manila: 

St  Mary's  Trucking  Service; 

Saviour  Providers  Employment  Agency; 

St  Anthony's  Drugstore; 

Sacred  Heart  Employment  Agency; 

Holy  Steel  Manufacturing; 

St  Augustine's  Realty  and  Development  Corp; 

A.  De  Jesus  Customs  Brokerage; 

Saint  Mark  Movers; 

and,  believe  it  or  not:  Holy  Rosary  Kiddie  School. 


Chapter  7;  The  lion,  the  rich  and  the  war  refugee 


This  writer  has  long  had  a  soft  spot  for  Singapore.  This 
is  strictly  classified  information,  since  it  is  considered  a 
seriously  uncool  position  for  a  foreign  journalist  to  take. 
But  I  have  an  unusual  point  of  view,  since  I  first  arrived 
in  the  Lion  City  in  1960  as  a  two-year-old  refugee. 

It  is  certainly  possible  to  find  bad  things  to  say  about 
the  place,  but  then  that  is  true  of  every  country.  The 
good  news  is  that  Singaporeans  are  developing  a  sense 
of  humour,  and  have  become  more  self-critical  recently. 

Most  of  the  city-state's  problems  -  the  ones  that 
get  discussed  -  are  not  big  ones.  "After  littering,  incon- 
siderate car  parking  and  other  anti-social  behaviour 
had  been  elevated  to  a  national  level,  we  had  the  'mad 
free  textbook  rush',"  the  Straits  Times  said.  Shocking 
stuff. 

Or  consider  this.  "Some  Singaporeans  still  behave  as 
if  they  were  in  the  Stone  Age,"  Prime  Minister  Goh 
Chok  Tong  said.  "They  litter  the  common  areas  or  park 
motor  vehicles  indiscriminately  And  they  vandalise 
library  books." 

I'm  not  sure  which  Stone  Age  he  is  talking  about.  In 
the  one  in  my  history  book,  primitive  hominids  hunted 
sabre-tooth  tigers,  and  there  was  relatively  little  in  the 
way  of  car  parking  and  library  offences.  But  the  fact  is, 
most  countries  would  love  to  have  Singapore's  prob- 
lems, because  most  are  so  trivial. 

And  the  place  is  changing.  There  are  still  older  peo- 
ple who  are  hostile  to  outside  influences.  But  the 
younger  people  have  the  same  liberal,  freedom-loving 
characteristics  as  their  counterparts  everywhere. 

Singaporean  friends  the  other  day  were  picturing 
what  would  happen  if  one  of  the  few  remaining  old- 


school  types  was  on  duty  at  the  immigration  desk  of 
Changi  Airport  during  the  time  of  Jesus's  second  coming. 

Immigration  officer:  "I'm  sorry,  Mr  —  er,  Christ,  but 
you  cannot  be  coming  into  Singapore,  looking  like 
that-laah." 

Jesus;  "I  am  returning  in  glory  to  claim  the  faithful." 

Immigration  Officer:  "Maybe  so,  but  we  don't  like 
long-hairs  and  such  hippy  looks.  And  those  sandals  - 
no  good-laah.  You  have  foreign  publications  in  your 
bag,  is  it?" 

Jesus:  "I  bring  a  new  revelation  from  on  high." 

Immigration  Officer:  "Well,  no,  we  are  not  all  that 
keen  on  having  too  many  international  media,  not 
favoured,  you  know." 

Jesus:  "Salvation  is  mine  alone." 

Immigration  Officer:  "I  am  not  denying  it,  Mr  Christ, 
but  maybe  it's  better  you  go  to  Hong  Kong  first,  get  hair 
cut,  nice  Bally  shoes,  Tsim  Sha  Tsui  tailor  suit,  mobile 
phone-laah  -  and  then  come  back,  we  let  you  in.  You 
don't  mind  me  suggesting  this,  is  it?  Next  please." 

In  1996,  the  Singapore  Government  announced  a 
plan  to  spend  S$5  billion  on  an  underground  network 
of  84  kilometres  of  road  in  the  heart  of  town  -  already 
a  futuristic  metropolis. 

It  seemed  astonishing  enough  when  I  first  visited  it 
in  1960,  and  marvelled  to  see  incredibly  tall  buildings, 
some  a  mind-boggling  10  storeys  high. 

My  family  fled  from  government  forces  in  Sri  Lanka 
on  a  dark  night  in  1960,  and  our  flight  dropped  us  off 
in  Singapore,  then  a  sleepy  fishing  port  which  was  part 
of  Malaysia.  We  were  two  adults,  two  children,  a  tod- 
dler (me)  and  a  babe-in-arms.  We  couldn't  afford  a 


hotel  or  a  taxi,  so  we  seemed  destined  for  a  night  on 
the  streets. 

Then  my  father  announced  that  he  had  had  an  idea. 
We  winced.  These  were  always  dangerous.  "Check  into  a 
cheap  hotel,  and  they'll  want  cash.  Check  into  a  good 
one,  and  they'll  let  us  sign  for  everything,"  he  said. 

We  heaved  our  bags  down  the  driveway  of  the 
Goodwood  Park,  a  five-star  palace  of  terrifying  luxury, 
and  my  father  imperiously  demanded  that  we  be  housed. 
They  housed  us  in  their  largest  room.  On  the  same  basis, 
we  didn't  have  cash  for  a  taxi  -  so  we  piled  into  the 
limousine  that  he  hired  with  his  signature. 

(When  my  father  needed  a  visa  to  go  somewhere,  he 
made  his  own,  stamping  his  passport  with  an  official- 
looking  chop  which  said:  "Republic  of  Amnesia"  They 
didn't  have  a  word  back  then  for  my  father's  cheeky 
methods.  They  do  now:  chutzpah.) 

Looking  back,  I  realise  that  such  antics  either  work 
or  get  you  sent  to  jail.  Fortunately  my  father  managed 
to  find  a  job  before  the  bills  became  payable,  and  we 
escaped  the  debtors'  prison. 

In  1995,  35  years  after  my  first  visit  to  Singapore,  I 
returned  -  and  naturally  headed  to  the  Goodwood  Park 
hotel.  The  only  difference  was  that  the  generations  had 
moved  on.  Now  I  was  the  adult  at  the  reception  desk, 
and  I  had  a  two-year-old  running  at  my  feet. 

It  was  good  not  to  be  a  refugee.  But  the 
Singaporean  economy  had  also  moved  on. 

We  still  couldn't  afford  to  check  in. 


Chapter  8:  Death,  where  is  thy  funnybone? 


Chip  Weber  is  a  small  businessman  working  in  Asia, 
with  his  favourite  homes  being  Hong  Kong  and  the 
Philippines.  The  40-year-old  runs  his  own  sports  coach- 
ing company,  doing  the  paperwork  and  the  training 
himself.  Good-natured  and  smiling,  you  would  never 
believe  his  secret  obsession. 

Death. 

For  some  reason  he  cannot  explain  even  to  himself, 
the  American  is  fascinated  by  unusual  fatalities  and 
bizarre  accidents.  He  has  been  cutting  relevant  stories 
out  of  newspapers  for  years,  and  is  working  on  a  book 
on  the  oddest  such  incidents  of  recent  years.Here  are 
some  raw  and  unedited  examples  of  the  reports  Chip 
has  collected  from  around  the  world: 


Police  said  they  were  investigating  the  death  of  a 
man  who  was  killed  after  being  hit  by  a  turnip  that  was 
thrown  from  a  passing  car.  The  attack  apparently  was 
carried  out  by  a  gang  whose  members  toss  vegetables 
at  random  at  people.  Another  man  suffered  stomach 
injuries  after  being  hit  by  a  cabbage,  police  said. 


Russell  Berkley  claims  his  love  life  went  down  the 
drain  when  someone  pulled  a  plug  in  a  hospital 
whirlpool.  His  left  testicle  was  sucked  into  the  pipe 
with  the  water  "I  know  it  wasn't  more  than  30  seconds, 
but  it  felt  like  forever,"  said  Berkley 


A  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  a  portable  toilet  off  the 
fourth  floor  of  a  building  -  and  crushed  a  construction 
worker  to  death  ...  The  portable  potty  had  been  placed 
on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  building  for  the  convenience 
of  the  men  working  there  .  .  .  "It  was  a  tragedy  but  it 
could  have  been  worse,"  said  a  co-worker.  "Fortunately 
no  one  was  using  it." 


A  Continental  Airlines  worker  died  on  Wednesday  from 
injuries  sustained  when  a  DC-10  ran  over  him. 


A  soft  drink  machine  robbed  a  teen  of  his  change, 
then  toppled  over  and  killed  him  when  he  tried  to  get 
his  can  of  soda  pop  out. 


Doctors  removing  a  young  man  s  appendix  were  sur- 
prised when  the  real  cause  of  his  pain  wriggled  into 
view  -  a  two-inch  long  red  worm  that  he  had  eaten 
with  his  homemade  sushi. 


A  body  that  was  discovered  in  the  chimney  of  a  bar- 
becue restaurant  was  identified  as  that  of  a  handyman 
reported  missing  three  years  ago  ...  .  Witnesses 
described  the  body  as  "smoked". 


A  tornado  picked  up  a  40-year-old  woman  in  a  rural 
Chinese  village  and  carried  her  almost  a  third  of  a  mile, 
and  then  dropped  her  safely  back  to  earth,  the  state  run 
China  News  Service  said  Friday  And  like  any  worker  wor- 
thy of  the  state,  she  cheerfully  plodded  back  to  the  fields 


after  the  flight.  "Yang  Youxiang  experienced  an  air  adven- 
ture," the  news  service  said.  "She  crossed  the  Jiuda  River, 
and  was  carried  for  500  metres,  then  landed  slowly." 


n't  turn  up  at  the  hospital,"  Dominic  Conlin,  manager  at 
East  Grinstead  Hospital,  Southern  England,  said. 


A  man  apparently  engrossed  in  music  from  his  headset 
stereo  while  walking  along  railroad  tracks  in  the  town 
of  Sylmar  failed  to  hear  an  approaching  train  and  was 
struck  and  killed,  authorities  said. 


A  rodeo  group  must  compensate  a  woman  injured 
when  a  bull  jumped  three  fences  and  charged  into  a 
bathroom,  a  judge  has  ruled. 


Jan  Lavric  got  up  from  a  wheelchair  and  walked  after 
receiving  a  blessing  from  the  Pope,  but  he  says  it  was  no 
miracle.  Some  nuns  at  a  Vatican  audience  thought  other- 
wise, but  a  slightly  embarrassed  Lavric  said  from  his 
home  in  the  English  Midlands  yesterday  that  he  had 
never  been  disabled.  "I  just  found  an  empty  wheelchair 
and  sat  down  in  it,"  said  Lavric.  "Suddenly  a  nun  wheeled 
me  off,"  the  Pope  entered,  and  "what  was  I  to  do?" 


An  Inglewood  woman  trying  to  frantically  to  put  out 
her  blazing  Christmas  tree  was  enveloped  in  flames  and 
killed,  authorities  said  yesterday.  Tammie  Brown  was  26. 


A  woman  who  thought  she  was  having  sexual  rela- 
tions in  the  dark  with  her  husband  told  police  she 
realised  it  was  a  rapist  when  he  fled  her  bedroom 
through  a  window,  police  said  Thursday.  "She  didn't  feel 
right  about  it,  and  when  he  climbed  out  her  bedroom 
window,  she  knew  something  was  wrong,"  said  detec- 
tive Pattle  Wasielewski. 


A  man  running  through  a  hallway  of  a  downtown  sky- 
scraper was  unable  to  stop  himself  and  fell  39  floors  to 
his  death  by  the  momentum  of  his  speed  through  a 
glass  window,  officials  said  yesterday.  The  victim  was 
identified  as  Reginald  Tucker,  29,  a  lawyer. 


A  British  hospital  is  hunting  for  a  man  who  had  an  ear 
grafted  on  to  his  leg  after  it  was  bitten  off  in  a  brawl. 
Patrick  Nean/'s  ear  was  so  badly  damaged  in  the  fight  last 
year  that  it  could  not  be  immediately  restored  to  its  right- 
ful place  and  was  temporarily  sewn  to  his  right  thigh.  "He 
was  due  to  have  it  stitched  back  onto  his  head  but  he  did- 


An  experienced  parachutist  filmed  his  own  two-mile 
death  plunge  after  he  fell  or  jumped  from  an  airplane 
with  a  video  camera  mounted  on  his  helmet,  apparently 
without  realising  he  did  not  have  a  parachute,  investi- 
gators in  Louisburg,  North  Carolina,  said.  Officials 
declared  the  death  of  Ivan  Lester  McGuire,  35,  of 
Durham,  to  be  an  accident. 


A  300-pound  woman  nearly  smothered  her  husband 
by  sitting  on  him  during  a  dispute,  police  said.  The  man 
was  hospitalised  yesterday  in  critical  condition  and  the 
woman  was  in  custody.  The  man  had  threatened  to  get 
a  gun  during  an  argument  Friday  when  his  wife  pushed 
him  to  the  ground  and  sat  on  his  head  and  chest,  cut- 
ting off  his  breathing,  police  Capt  Joseph  Purpero  said. 


A  woman  passenger  survived  a  fall  of  three  miles  from 
a  Soviet  airline  and  then  won  US$50  compensation  - 
for  the  loss  of  her  baggage. 


A  former  suicide  prevention  volunteer  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  life  in  prison  for  trying  to  kill  a  former  hotline 
caller.  Superior  Court  Judge  Allen  Fields  sentenced 
Frank  Snyder,  calling  it  "one  of  the  most  bizarre  cases  I 
have  ever  seen". 


Chapter  9:  The  cult  of  Benny  Hil 


He  was  fat  and  ugly  and  lived  humbly.  His  television 
show  was  cancelled  in  1989  because  his  boss  said  it 
was  "sexist  and  outdated".  He  died  alone  in  1992.  Is  this 
the  story  of  a  failure? 

No  way.  Benny  Hill,  a  British  comedian,  has  become  a 
world-wide  money-spinning  phenomenon.  This  is 
despite  the  fact  that  much  of  his  material  was  adoles- 
cent humour,  or  jokes  about  British  politicians  forgotten 
even  in  Britain. 

Today,  his  shows  are  being  broadcast  daily  all  over  the 
world,  and  he  would  be  listed  among  the  richest  men  in 
the  UK,  if  he  were  alive. 

But  one  die-hard  fan  had  heard  a  rumour  he  found 
bizarre:  The  show  was  being  regularly  transmitted  in 
Communist  China.  Benny  had  been  gaining  a  cult  fol- 
lowing behind  the  bamboo  curtain. 

Steve  Creighton,  Asia  business  consultant  and  Benny 
Hill  maniac,  had  to  find  out.  "We  have  a  confirmed 
sighting  in  Shanghai,"  a  business  contact  in  China  had 
said.  Steve  was  on  the  next  plane. 

As  the  aircraft  flew  north,  the  Hong  Kong-based  con- 
sultant threw  his  mind  back  to  the  last  Asia-Pacific 
sighting  of  his  idol.  It  had  been  in  Macau,  three  years 
earlier.  He  had  been  working  in  Tokyo  at  the  time,  but 
thought  it  a  small  price  to  fly  to  Hong  Kong  for  the 
weekend,  take  the  ferry  to  Macau,  and  rent  a  hotel 
room  for  the  one  hour  necessary  to  see  Benny  make  his 
characteristic  salute  in  a  new  country. 

As  the  programme  drew  to  a  close,  he  had  felt  a  surge 
of  energy  all  around  him.  Psychosomatic  reaction?  No. 
The  typhoon  of  the  decade  was  striking  the  Portuguese 
enclave.  Steve  raced  from  the  hotel  onto  his  ferry, 


which  promptly  sank  in  the  storm. 

Sure,  it  had  been  a  bother  to  be  thrown  into  the  sea. 
Okay,  being  plucked  to  safety  by  the  coast  guard  had 
been  tiring.  Yes,  being  rushed  to  hospital  by  ambulance 
was  time-consuming.  But  he  was  happy  He  had  seen 
Benny  in  Macau. 

But  this  time  it  was  different,  he  mused  as  he  sat  on 
the  Shanghai-bound  flight.  Steve  was  skeptical  that  the 
programme  would  be  bought  by  the  authorities  in 
China.  He  could  believe  it  about  Hong  Kong,  where  all 
the  stars  are  fat  and  silly.  But  the  Celestial  Kingdom, 
socialist  paradise  of  Mao? 

Other  fans  thought  differently.  He  fits  well  into  China 
and  Asia,  claims  UK  programme  salesman  Peter  Davies 
of  Thames  Television  International.  "He's  strangely 
moral.  After  all,  he  never  gets  the  girl." 

Other  countries  with  non-British  cultures  which  had 
bought  the  show  included  Cuba,  Iceland,  and  the  Ivory 
Coast,  Africa. 

After  Steve's  plane  landed  in  the  most  populous  coun- 
try in  the  world,  he  began  showing  a  piece  of  paper 
with  "Banni  Xi'er"  written  in  Chinese  characters,  to 
every  person  he  could  find.  There  were  a  lot  of  people 
to  be  found. 

No  reaction.  He  went  to  a  disco  and  showed  the  name 
to  young  people.  They  had  never  heard  of  him. 

He  went  to  the  Foreign  Language  Institute  and  round- 
ed up  25  professors  of  English  Literature  and  Culture. 
They,  surely,  would  know  about  Benny  —  their  job 
titles  promised  it.  But  again  he  drew  a  blank. 

As  a  last-ditch  effort,  he  stuck  a  Benny  Hill  tape  into 
the  video  recorder.  Instant  recognition.  "Aah,  The  Fat 


Man.  He's  got  a  tape  of  The  Fat  Man,"  said  the  profes- 
sors, suddenly  filled  with  glee. 

With  their  help,  he  made  enquiries  at  the  Television 
Broadcasting  Authority  of  Shanghai,  but  was  told  that 
The  Fat  Man's  show  had  been  cancelled  just  the  week 
before. 

One  student,  however,  had  a  tip  for  him.  The  show 
was  being  broadcast  in  her  home  town,  a  waterfront 
settlement  called  Nantong. 

A  few  days  later,  he  found  himself  standing  on  a  dis- 
tant pier  at  3  o'clock  in  the  morning,  looking  for  a 
brother  he  couldn't  possibly  recognise,  to  go  and  watch 
TV  with  a  family  he  didn't  know. 

The  brother  picked  him  up  and  took  him  to  their  fami- 
ly home.  The  following  day  they  had  a  grand  pre-Benny 
party  Steve  taught  the  family  the  Benny  Hill  salute, 
Fred  Scuttle  mannerisms  and  other  bits  of  pop  culture 
from  the  programme. 

Then  came  the  moment  for  Benny  to  appear  on 
Nantong  television.  Nothing.  A  programme  about  excit- 
ing developments  in  farm  machinery  appeared  instead. 

"Not  worry,"  said  grandmother.  "Channels  often  run 
behind  schedule.  Banni  Xi'er  on  after  one  hour." 

They  waited  an  hour.  And  another.  And  another. 

The  next  morning,  depressed  and  dejected,  Steve 
headed  for  the  ferry  pier  to  take  him  back  to  Shanghai. 
Grandfather  ran  up  to  him  clutching  a  newspaper.  "Oh, 
I  think  we  make  a  mistake.  Banni  Xi'er  not  on  Channel 
4.  On  Channel  3." 

It  was  good  to  know  that  the  great  man  was  being 
broadcast  in  China,  but  Steve  was  deeply  disappointed 
that  he  could  not  report  back  to  other  Bennyhiliacs  that 


he  had  actually  watched  the  show  in  the  last  great  bas- 
tion of  communism. 

As  the  domestic  flight  from  Shanghai  to  Guangzhou 
neared  cruising  altitude,  the  inflight  video  monitor 
spluttered  to  life. 

"Xlfang  Minxing  Yike,"  it  said.  Famous  Stars  of  the 
West. 

He  could  not  believe  his  eyes. 

Somewhere  in  the  clouds  over  Hangzhou,  a  familiar 
fat  face  flashed  up  on  the  screen.  And  saluted  him. 


Chapter  10:  Kids  make  nutritious  snacks 


Picture  the  scene.  We're  in  a  sliockingiy  untidy  office 
in  Fleet  Street,  London,  circa  1985.  Your  Humble 
Narrator  is  staring  at  the  grizzled  old  editor  before  him 
and  the  words  of  a  song  flash  through  his  head:  "Hold 
me,  love  me,  hold  me,  love  me,  ain't  got  nothin'  but 
love,  babe,  eight  days  a  week." 

The  words  of  the  Beatles'  song  did  not  sum  up  my 
feelings  towards  the  crabby  old  man,  as  death  by  torture 
would  have  been  preferable  to  even  briefly  touching  him. 

No,  they  referred  to  my  discovery  of  the  working 
system  imposed  on  the  newspaper  business  by  the 
trades  unions.  You  got  a  day's  pay  for  every  seven  hours 
you  are  in  the  office.  Headline  writers  were  getting 
eight  days'  pay  for  five  days'  work. 

The  unions  had  also  ensured  that  work  took  as  long 
as  possible  -  they  had  banned  computers,  so  all  the 
writing  had  to  be  done  with  scratchy  ballpoint  pens  - 
yes,  right  up  to  the  mid-1980s.  Zak,  the  Daily  Express 
news  editor,  knew  I  never  refused  an  offer  of  work,  and 
my  personal  best  was  11  days'  pay  for  one  week's  work. 

So  for  seven  or  14  hours  at  a  time  (or  sometimes 
more  -  I  once  did  28  hours)  we  sat  there,  dreaming  up 
headlines  one  after  the  other. 


lenge,  since  space  is  always  tight,  punctuation  is  rarely 
allowed  -  and  sub-editors  love  to  top  each  other's 
attempts  at  wordplay 

The  concept  of  the  humorous  headline  had  alleged- 
ly been  invented  by  the  UK's  Guardian  newspaper, 
which  titled  a  report  of  a  church  fire  with  "Heated  one 
day  at  the  organ." 

The  London  tabloids  and  a  few  US  newspapers  (such 
as  the  New  York  Daily  Post]  picked  up  the  habit  and 
turned  it  into  an  art. 


A  classic  British  headline  from  the  war:  "Eighth  Army 
Push  Bottles  Up  Germans". 


From  the  crime  pages:  "Police  Shoot  Man  With  Knife". 


An  example  of  a  headline  given  a  double  meaning  by 
the  lack  of  a  hyphen  or  a  comma  is  this  one,  seen  in  a 
UK  newspaper: 

"Want  a  woman  vicar?" 


Tutor  castigated  for  spreading  communism  while 
teaching? 
"Black  Marx." 

Welfare  scrounger  spotted  working  for  firm  fixing 
leaks  in  welfare  payment  office? 
"Fiddler  on  roof" 

Choosing  what  to  put  in  a  headline  was  always  a  chal 


Puns  are  found  even  in  political  news,  such  as  this 
headline  from  an  American  newspaper  in  the  1980s: 
"Reagan  Wins  on  Budget  But  More  Lies  Ahead". 


Your  Humble  Narrator  once  placed  a  trivial  snippet  on 
his  newspaper  page  about  a  middle-aged  woman  with  a 


hangover  at  the  Grand  Hyatt.  "What  can  I  get  you?" 
asked  the  waiter.  "A  bucket  to  be  sick  into,"  she  jokingly 
replied.  He  brought  a  silver  channpagne  bucket  on  a 
stand  and  placed  it  by  her  chair. 

The  headline  was  "Sick  bag."  Fortunately,  the  star  of 
the  story  (and  her  lawyer)  failed  to  spot  the  double 
entendre. 


Here  are  20  gems  from  a  huge  collection  by  Fritz 
Spiegl,  a  well-known  UK  media-watcher: 


The  jargon  used  in  business  pages  often  leads  to 
bizarre  statements.  At  the  time  of  writing,  Bloomberg 
has  just  titled  an  electronic  news  item;  "Investors  Are 
Going  Bottom-Fishing  in  Thailand". 


The  South  China  Morning  Post's  sports  editor  tells  me 
a  report  about  Arsenal  manager  Terry  Neill's  fears  about 
lanky  defender  Willie  Young  was  headlined:  "Neilt  has 
problems  with  big  Willie." 


Meat  shortage:  MPs  attack  minister 

Queen  sees  Fonteyn  take  10  curtains 

Man  who  received  trousers  loses  appeal 

Ex-alderman  dies:  one  of  eight  axed  by  Tories 

MPs  cheer  Bill  on  homosexual  behaviour 

Councillor  had  to  go  in  a  hurry 

Foot  to  head  joint  body 

Our  women  lick  male  sportsmen 

Mounting  problems  for  young  couples 

Man  in  Thames  had  drink  problem 

Girls  plump  for  new  university 

Newly  weds  aged  82  had  problem 

Councillors  to  act  on  strip  shows 

Spotted  men  stealing  salmon 

Minister  to  stand  firm  on  fish 

Neutron  bomb  talks 

Fish  talks 

His  Gas  Comes  From  A  Hole 

No  Water  —  So  Firemen  Improvised 

Women  who  smoke  have  lighter  children 


A  title  which  made  sense  to  regular  sports  readers,  but 
amazed  others:  "British  Girl  Has  to  Scratch". 


Churchgoers  all  over  Hong  Kong  must  have  delightedly 
cut  out  the  front  page  headline  of  the  South  China 
Morning  Post  (about  US  politician  Winston  Lord)  to 
place  on  their  bulletin  boards: 

"Lord  dismisses  nuclear  threat." 

Amen. 


Journalists  love  to  collect  headlines  with  intentional 
or  unintentional  double  meanings,  or  which  state  the 
obvious.  Many  readers,  including  Ed  Peters  of  the  New 
Territories,  sent  me  this  list  of  real  headlines  from 
American  newspapers: 

1.  Police  Begin  Campaign  to  Run  Down  Jaywalkers 

2.  Safety  Experts  Say  School  Bus  Passengers  Should  Be 
Belted 


3.  Drunk  Gets  Nine  Months  in  Violin  Case 

4.  Survivor  of  Siamese  Twins  Joins  Parents 

5.  Farmer  Bill  Dies  in  House 

6.  Iraqi  Head  Seeks  Arms 

7.  Is  There  a  Ring  of  Debris  Around  Uranus? 

8.  Prostitutes  Appeal  to  Pope 

9.  Panda  Mating  Fails:  Veterinarian  Takes  Over 

10.  Soviet  Virgin  Lands  Short  of  Coal  Again 

11.  British  Left  Waffles  on  Falkland  Islands 

12.  Lung  Cancer  in  Women  Mushrooms 

13.  Eye  Drops  Off  Shelf 

14.  Squad  Helps  Dog  Bite  Victim 

15.  Shot  Off  Woman's  Leg  Helps  Nicklaus  to  66 

16.  Enraged  Cow  Injures  Farmer  With  Ax 

17.  Plane  Too  Close  to  Ground,  Crash  Probe  Told 

18.  Miners  Refuse  to  Work  After  Death 

19.  Juvenile  Court  to  Try  Shooting  Defendant 

20.  Stolen  Painting  Found  by  Tree 

21.  Two  Soviet  Ships  Collide,  One  Dies 

22.  Two  Sisters  Reunited  After  18  Years  in  Checkout 
Counter 

23.  Killer  Sentenced  to  Die  for  Second  Time  in  10  Years 

24.  Never  Withhold  Herpes  Infection  From  Loved  One 

25.  Drunken  Drivers  Paid  $1000  in  '84 

26.  War  Dims  Hopes  for  Peace 

27.  If  Strike  Isn't  Settled  Quickly,  It  May  Last  a  While 

28.  Cold  Wave  Linked  to  Temperatures 

29.  Enfield  Couple  Slain:  Police  Suspect  Homicide 

30.  Red  Tape  Holds  Up  New  Bridge 

31.  Deer  Kill  17,000 

32.  Typhoon  Rips  Through  Cemetery:  Hundreds  Dead 

33.  Man  Struck  by  Lightning  Faces  Battery  Charge 


34.  New  Study  of  Obesity  Looks  for  Larger  Test  Group 

35.  Astronaut  Takes  Blame  for  Gas  in  Spacecraft 

36.  Kids  Make  Nutritious  Snacks 

37.  Chef  Throws  His  Heart  into  Helping  Feed  Needy 

38.  Arson  Suspect  is  Held  in  Massachusetts  Fire 

39.  British  Union  Finds  Dwarfs  in  Short  Supply 

40.  Ban  on  Soliciting  Dead  in  Trotwood 

41.  Local  High  School  Dropouts  Cut  in  Half 

42.  New  Vaccine  May  Contain  Rabies 

43.  Man  Minus  Ear  Waives  Hearing 

44.  Deaf  College  Opens  Doors  to  Hearing 

45.  Air  Head  Fired 

46.  Old  School  Pillars  are  Replaced  by  Alumni 

47.  Bank  Drive-in  Window  Blocked  by  Board 

48.  Hospitals  are  Sued  by  7  Foot  Doctors 

49.  Sex  Education  Delayed,  Teachers  Request 
Training 

50.  Include  Your  Children  When  Baking  Cookies 


As  for  great  duff  headlines  of  our  time,  an  American 
newspaper  called  the  Collinsville  Herald-Journal  ran  a 
headline  in  February  1996  which  said:  "Economist  Uses 
Theory  to  Explain  Economy". 


Other  stultifyingly  obvious  headlines,  include  the  fol- 
lowing, which  were  collected  by  people  in  the  news 
business  in  the  US  in  1996: 

"Whatever  their  motives,  moms  who  kill  kids  still 
shock  us"  [Holland  Sentinef). 


"Survey  finds  dirtier  subways  after  cleaning  jobs 
were  cut"  [The  New  York  Times,  November  22). 

"Larger  kangaroos  leap  farther,  researchers  find"  {The 
Los  Angeles  Times,  November  2). 

"Light  meals  are  lower  in  fat,  calories" 
(Huntington  Herald-Dispatch,  November  30). 

"Alcohol  ads  promote  drinking" 
{Hartford  Courant,  November  18). 


"How  we  feel  about  ourselves  is  the  core  of 

self-esteem,  says  author" 

{Sunday  Camera,  Colorado,  February  5). 


It's  only  when  you  see  a  really  dull  headline  that  you 
appreciate  what  a  good  sub-editor  does.  While  writing 
this  essay,  a  news  report  arrived  on  my  desk  from  the 
Hong  Kong  Government  Information  Services.  The 
attention-grabbing  title:  "Urban  Services  Department 
Remains  Government  Department". 


"Malls  try  to  attract  shoppers" 
{The  Baltimore  Sun,  October  22). 

"Official:  Only  rain  will  cure  drought" 
[The  Herald  News,  Massachusetts,  September  4). 

"Tomatoes  come  in  big,  little,  medium  sizes" 
[The  Daily  Progress,  Virginia,  March  30). 

"Man  run  over  by  freight  train  dies" 
[The  Los  Angeles  Times,  March  2). 

"Court  rules  boxer  shorts  are  indeed  underwear" 
[Journal  of  Commerce,  April  20). 

"Biting  nails  can  be  signs  of  tenseness  in  a  person" 
[The  Daily  Gazette  of  Schenectady,  New  York,  May  2). 

"Lack  of  brains  hinders  research" 
{The  Columbus  Dispatch,  April  16). 


The  best  headlines  are  those  which  create  a  startling 
image  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  who  doesn't  know 
quite  what  was  intended.  A  favourite  of  mine,  from  a 
US  newspaper: 

"Prosecutor  Releases  Probe  into  Undersheriff'. 


The  humorous  tradition  remains  alive  and  well. 
Remember  the  recent  story  about  the  Scottish  Roman 
Catholic  bishop  who  ran  away  with  a  woman?  The 
Sunday  Express  told  readers:  "Shamed  Bishop  Seeks 
Missionary  Position." 


Anyway,  so  there  we  would  sit,  in  that  Fleet  Street 
office  all  the  hours  of  the  clock,  making  up  wild  puns.  It 
was  fun,  but  it  was  also  gruelling.  Newspapers  are 
printed  every  day,  including  Christmas  Day  and  every 
other  holiday,  and  the  offices  are  open  night  and  day.  It 


was  tough  getting  any  time  off  at  all. 

I  can  recall  tPie  first  time  I  had  to  say  no  to  an 
offer  of  work  by  Zak.  The  old  Daily  Express  news  edi- 
tor was  filling  in  the  work  roster,  and  had  left  spaces 
for  me  to  work  the  worst  shifts  as  usual  when  I  broke 
the  bad  news  to  him. 

"I'm  not  coming  to  work  on  Saturday,"  I  said.  "I'm 
getting  married." 

He  didn't  even  look  up.  "What  time  you  getting 
married?"  he  growled. 


I  got  married,  went  to  Asia  on  honeymoon,  and  never 
went  back  to  the  Doily  Express.  But  as  I  stormed  out  of 
that  office,  I  remember  recalling  a  headline  printed  in  the 
Liverpool  Daily  Post  about  the  time  the  explorer  Sir  Vivian 
Fuchs  planned  a  journey:  "Dr  Fuchs  off  to  South  Ice". 


Oops.  In  the  journalistic  columns  on  which  this  book  is 
based,  I  printed  a  picture  of  a  quaintly  worded  sign 
banning  "bench-idlers"  from  a  park  in  Hong  Kong.  I 
wickedly  suggested  that  it  referred  to  the  judiciary,  who 
of  course  spend  their  few  hours  of  work  lazing  around 
on  benches  in  courts. 

With  atrocious  timing,  I  found  myself  the  following 
morning  in  the  dock  at  the  courts  in  Western  District, 
for  late  payment  of  business  registration  fees. 

Perhaps  the  judge  won't  have  read  it,  I  prayed. 

Magistrate  Polly  Lo  gazed  at  me  with  one  of  those 
stern-but-fair  expressions  that  beaks  surely  practice  at 
home  in  their  mirrors. 

"Are  you  the  person  who  writes  in  the  South  China 
Morning  Post?"  she  asked. 

Damn,  I  thought. 

"Yes,  Madam,"  I  said.  "And  I  am  standing  here 
regretting  a  rude  reference  to  the  judiciary  I  put  in  yes- 
terday's newspaper." 

"I  didn't  read  it,"  she  said. 

Phew.  Two  minutes  later,  the  hammer  came  down,  I 
was  HK$650  poorer,  but  a  free  man. 

A  rare  example  of  a  writer  delighted  that  most  peo- 
ple have  much  more  important  things  to  do  than  waste 
their  time  reading  his  bilge. 

But  thanks  anyway 


/l-^i^i^ 


:^^.- 


^.  Hong  KoHR  ^"""riM:.^.!'^ 


SWNOONL.RI 


Goodbye  Hong  Kong,  Hello  Xianggang 


byNury  Vittachi 


The  Crown  Colony  of  Hong  Kong  is  no  more. 

It  has  been  replaced  by  Xianggang,  the  Mandarin  name 

for  the  super-city  on  the  coast  of  China.  You  thought 

daily  life  in  the  territory  was  surreal  before. 

But  the  fun  has  just  begun. 

Top  Asian  journalist  Nury  Vittachi  talies  you  on  a  side- 
splitting tour  through  the  bizarre  last  days  of  an  imperial 
colony,  and  ushers  in  what  promises  to  be  a  wild  new  era. 


You  can't  make  this  stuff  up 

This  essential  guide  to  life  in  modern  Asia  includes: 


Weird  dining  experiences  such  as  the  "Hazardous  Chemicals 
Buffet  Dinner"  and  the  restaurant  serving  "Fried  Vegetarians"; 


Boggling  sights  from  around  Asia,  including  Japan's 
"Cafe  de  Cancer"  and  Taiwan's  "Happy  VD  Clinic": 


Wonderful  Hong  Kong  names  such  as  Acne  Chan, 
Motor  Fan  and  Arsenic  Lo; 


Praise  for  Nury  Vittachi's  ( 


"SCURRILOUS  AND  OUTRAGEOUS" 

The  South  China  Morning  Post 


"VERY  CLEVER" 

The  Japan  Times 


"I  LAUGHED  OUT  LOUD" 

Dr  Judith  Mackay 


Amazing  businesses,  such  as  Moronicus  Ltd  and 
Puking  International; 


Incredible  'dumb  criminal'  tales,  including  the  salad-trafficking 
ring  and  the  man  who  sold  the  25th  floor  of  a  21 -storey  building; 


Plus  all  those  bits  you  meant  to  cut  out  from  the  newspaper 
but  never  got  around  to.