The world according to.....

Presents

2011-12-22T08:39:00.000Z

I wasgoing to start by saying "I hate Christmas", but of course I don'thate Christmas, well at least not all of Christmas. There is enough to loveabout Christmas to still make it a special time of the year, even if thosethings don't have much to do with religion, decorations, santa claus or the baby jesus! Its probably easier to start with the things I love about Christmas,those are (In no particular order), time off from work, time with my family,James Bond reruns, reminiscing old times with loved ones, and the opportunityto eat and drink far too much to completely digest in a 3 month period.

The thingI hate about Christmas is or are - presents. Not just the giving, but the receiving also. I simply do not understand why we put usthrough the absolute nightmare that is buying presents for family and foe.Don't get me wrong, buying presents for young children and grandparents, or tippingthe waitresses at your regular restaurant, even slipping the office cleaner afew extra bucks can feel very rewarding, watching their eyes light up, and thegenuine thanks on their faces when they have tore open the carefully wrappedfluffy effigy of a kamikaze bird or their weeks salary in a small red envelopeare moments that cant be brought - er well obviously they can, but you knowwhat I mean.

What Ihate Is the completely ludicrous tradition of buying aunt Mildred a fruit bowl,or Brian from next door a pair of ear muffs. Why? if they had wanted those things why didn't they buy themthemselves? If I want something I save, compare prices, make a decision and,well go and buy it - it is that simple. Of course If I cant afford something I either don't have it, buy it oncredit or heaven forbid save until I do have enough money - besides thesearen't the things that your going to get as presents, and if you do, you willbe expected to have given a similar value present back, which defeats theobject! Yes I know the object of giving is not the receiving, and yes I knowthat all of the joy is in the giving and not in the receiving. Tell that to the bank manager!

Thiswhole issue of giving not to receive is a con, made up by mind bendingcommercial PR types, using a simple method to break the stalemate that is - youbuy me something , and i will buy you something. No one wants to spend money without theprospect of getting something in return, so to break the deadlock some cleversole decided that they would play the religious and sanctimonious card bysuggesting that 'it was better to give than receive" poppycock. The only people who don't care about notreceiving anything are either priests, billionaires, Jehovah witnesses or liars. Try it, one year don't buy anyone (except foryour children) a present and then watch how many you get the following year -you will be as popular as the Euro. Theidea that presents are supposed to have a emotional, pure or spiritual meaningbehind them, that we should give something from the heart is also bullshit -people want DVD's, CD's, Aftershave/Perfume, Store Vouchers, even a bottle ofthe hard stuff will suffice. Again tryit this year - make everyone a present from things you find around the house,tell them that you put a lot of thought into their gift, that you contemplatedhow much they meant to you and decided to give them your most valuablepossession, your love and your time - see how many toilet roll holders you getthe following year!

The wholeexercise has deteriorated into almost an exchange of £$20 notes,

"Here I brought you this, I hope you likeit?"

"Ohthank-you, you shouldn't have"

" Wegot you this, its just a little something"

"Ohthank-you, I wasn't expecting anything in return"

The firstthought both people have is - "Thank god we brought them something",closely followed by "did their gift cost more than ours?" , and whenyou open it you think, "Oh just what I always wanted, a Avocadopeeler", "I wish I had kept the present that I gave them, at least Icould have found a use for the Rubber Tree de-fluffier".

Ratherthan carrying on with the physical activity, I think we should come up with away of just exchanging the thought, something like this;

"Higreat to see you, Happy Christmas",

"Hi,Happy Christmas, its been ages",

"Wedecided not to buy you any crap that you didnt really want this year, but wedid think about it, and we are giving you the gift to spend the £$20 you would have spent on buying us a cocktail stickholder, on something for your self"

"Thatsgreat, and we would like to give you the gift of keeping your own £$20, to buy something for yourself"

Bothparties go away without having spend any money, without having broughtsomething destined for the Church's next tombola, and without wondering whospent the most money - perfect! Ofcourse the shops needn't worry as all of that money we had been told to keep or'give to ourselves' could be used to buy stuff we really want or need, and toensure that we did in fact buy something and didn't just fritter the moneypledge to ourselves on something frivolous like a utility bill, food or petrol,we would have to send a letter (or email - lets save those trees, so we can cut them down and put electric lights on them next year) thanking the pledger explaining what wepurchased with their pledge and vice versa. Of course you will always have some dopey uncle who would make youpledge to give yourself a couple of grand because he wanted a new Plasma TV forhis dog kennel, but you can always get your own back next year when the bankloan for your 2nd floor patio come in.

Of coursethe other aspect of present buying this eradicates is the list writing thethought preparation, and of course the requirement to traipse around the shopswith a billion other idiots. Think ofthe fuel saved, the time, the pressure and the relationships. No more worryingif the Arron jumper will fit Cousin Velma, or the fluffy pink slippers willmatch your brothers furniture, and best of all no more sycophantic gift givingto those people you cant stand.

I am notproposing you don't give gifts to those who cant give you presents back, the young,the old and the infirm - you should spend your time, energy and money on makingsure these few that cant buy themselves anything, and thus don't have to, ordon't even think about the consequences of not reciprocating.

I almost forgot - Merry Christmas....

Food

2011-12-07T04:19:00.001Z

What isit with airline food? Or more to the point why do people eat it? I know I'm probably in a minority again, butI would rather eat someone else's ear wax than chomp down on the slop that isserved up by most airlines. I guess my distaste for airline food started whilstI worked at a catering company during the summer break from college.

Apartfrom chopping wood (Work) and various other minor Saturday jobs, mytime at 'Trust House Forte in-flight catering services ltd' was my first real job,based at Birmingham International Airport (Then called Elmdon Airport), wewould prepare more than 5000 meals per day for the airlines departing from theairport. Now when I say meals, perhaps Iam exaggerating things a little. We would follow instructions laid down in abook full of pictures to show exactly which direction and how manypeas/beans/carrots or whatever was required to fit into it's little plastichome, a sort of food preparation by numbers. We would be chastised for having too many slices of cucumber, 4 segmentsof orange rather than the prescribed 3 or having confused the 300 meals for aThomson Holidays with those for a Thomson Travel Holidays flight which onlytook two olives and not 3!!

Don't getme wrong the conditions were good as was the pay, and even some of the food(albeit the 1st class menus) were pretty nice, in-fact when no one was lookingwe would hide in the enormous walk-in freezers and gobble down a sirloin steakor a juicy piece of gammon before the supervisors noticed, and before we caughtfrost bite! Oh how we laughed when someone would lock you in a room chilled tominus 20degrees and then go on a break for 30 minutes - such fun was had whilsttrying to defrost your hands in a pot of boiling vegetables. However the one lasting memory from my timethere was having to make 60kgs of Tuna Mayonnaise, chop 4 million tomatoes andbutter 40,000 loafs of bread . All ofthis put me off airline food forever.

I wasdoing it as a summer job, but many of the people who worked there were fulltime, and many of them from my old secondary school - people you wouldn't wantto share a lift with, let alone ask them to prepare you a meal. They may of well have been organisingdelivery's for DHL, assembling jigsaws or preparing walls for painting. Their culinary skills were non existent andtheir care for the consumers of the food they were cooking wasn't everconsidered. So I guess all of thisformed a fairly distinct impression on me and one that has meant that i wouldrather feast on my toe nails than devour a meal prepared with the same thoughtand passion as a car park ticket is issued.

Thereason for blogging about this is due to an occurrence on a recent flight wherethe 'flight attendant' became very insistent that I feed on her plastic tray ofdelights. My refusal (politely) toaccept the meal being forced into my face turned the wholeworld order into disarray for her, she could not and refused to understand thatsomeone would not want to eat the delicacies she was offering. After severalmembers of staff calmed her down, and explained that not everyone may want tochew on her delights, I was allowed to continue my self imposed fasting. I cant imagine that these people get somekind of bonus for force feeding passengers, but then i cant understand why i amalways the only person not to eat on a flight? It cant be hunger? I am sure most people can survive the majority ofshort haul flights they travel on without food? Is it just a standard reactionor response when someone tries to throw a plastic tray at you, and you acceptit regardless of being hungry or not? or is it a case of believing that 'youpaid for it, and therefore you will eat it?' maybe you expect there to be asurprise, and the airline has listened to its customers and kept is simple,rather than thinking exotic must mean it will be good!

I have never held to the fact that just because somethingis 'free', you should take it. I lovegood food, and insist on eating food that i enjoy, tastes good and provides anexperience rather than just 'fuel'. Airline food doesn't meet with any of these criteria, and therefore inmost cases I choose not to eat it. Theonly exception is when I am very hungry or in any normal circumstances - its thenormal time to eat (eating breakfast, lunch or dinner at the appropriate timesrather than at convenient times for the airline staff), and each time I do itis unsatisfying and results in being fuel rather than food. The other exception is of course when I am luckyenough to be travelling on a long haul flight in Business Class, real crockery,real food and plenty of alcohol all help to ensure you can at least make outwhat passes for food, which isn't bad considering it was made several days agoby people who gained a certificate in catering from the local McDonalds!

WhilstI'm here, and just to show my ranting isn't just about airline food. Why should I close the window blind on a dayflight? Don't get me wrong flying during the evening I also like a snooze, andthe distraction of laser piercing light via the crack in the thin shield ofplastic covering our only connection with the outside world can interruptthis. However when I board a plane at10.00am and fly 10 hours arriving in my destination in the afternoon(local)time, I want to feel like I haven't slept for 10 hours - so I can go to bed ata normal local time and wake up at a normal local time!

Theconversation goes something like;

"CanI shut the blind for you sir?",

"Whydo I look like I don't understand how it works?"

"Butwe would like to prepare the cabin for everyone to have a rest"

"I'mactually enjoying watching the fantastic scenery from up so high"

"ButSir many of the other passengers would like to get some sleep"

"Butit's 1.30pm in the afternoon! What's wrong with them? Are they from Mexico or Greece?"

"Siryour open window blind is stopping people from sleeping"

"Whydon't they use the eye patches you provide in the lovely little amenity packsthen?"

"CanI shut the blind for you sir?"

And so theconversation goes on in circles until one of us gives in.

Theinsistence by cabin crew to force everyone to sleep during a flight regardlessof the time really infuriates me, of course if everyone is asleep they canstick their own feet up, and don't have to pander to those on flights who feelthey own a piece of flight attendants ass, but please stop treating us all asignorant first time flyers. On a dayflight I want to stay up as long as possible, do some work, watch a movie,write a blog, but most of all catch some jet lag busting UV rays from thewindow I'm sitting next to. Just as if I was at home on a Sunday afternoonwatching a movie after a good lunch and a glass of Pinot, I may doze and nodoff for a hour - I wouldn't expect anyone to rush around and pull the loungecurtains and put a blanket over me.

Advice tothe un-iniciated, if your long haul flight means that you land in the eveningat your place of destination - try and stay awake, so that when you arrive youcan fall asleep as if you had lived there all your life, if of course youflight will land in your destination during the morning, try and get some sleepduring the flight - feeling bright and breezy for when you land will mean thatyou get to enjoy a full extra days sightseeing/business before when arriving.

Rant overtime to catch some zzzzzzzzzs

Winter

2011-11-24T06:24:00.001Z

Itswinter in Shanghai, how do I know? an obvious statement you may think since itsmid November? Well not if the weather isanything to go by, with temperatures still in the 20's and upwards, themajority of the leafs still on the trees, and with the birds that haven't beeneaten still chirping away, you could be fooled into thinking we were still inAutumn (Or Fall). If the unseasonablywarm and pleasant weather doesn't give it away - what does? Well as with thearrival of Summer, the tell tale signs are there for thoseinitiated into the workings of this country.

Firstly,you start to see people wearing their coats backwards? by that I mean thezip/buttons are on the back - arms through the arm holes and the unzipped'joint' section flapping at the back. Why? Christ knows, I would have thought you would have got more benefitfrom wearing it the normal way, zipped up to your chin to prevent drafts. But oh no, us idiots in the West have beenwearing coats incorrectly for years, the Chinese show us how its done,especially when riding bikes or scooters. I guess you could argue that the wind penetrates the gaps between thezip links? However most coats I have, seem to have corrected this with a nicelittle flap of material inside and out. Still I am sure it will catch on, and soon everyone in europe and the USwill be wearing coats back to front!

Secondly,the dogs start to get worried. In factanything with 4 legs should find a hole to hibernate in. I was at a suppliers factory two weeks ago, justa couple of hours drive from Shanghai and the 2 factory dogs were curled uplooking extremely sheepish, enjoying the mid day sun, unusually they didn't lift an eyelid when I approached them. My companionfor the day mentioned that they were probably trying to 'lay low'. At first I didn't understand and then 2seconds later it clicked - he went onto explain that it was normal for thefactory dogs to be replaced every year, normally just before Chinese New Year(CNY), and after the previous 'employees' had provided a hearty warm meal forthe factories bosses! The look on theirfaces said it all, almost as if they knew of their impending journey to the hotpot! A traditional winter dishjustified by the colder weather, it remains a favourite by many in Shanghai andthe local 'wet' markets are full of hanging carcases. Something I have wroteabout before, and something I still cant get used to, yes I know ishypocritical to distinguish between Dog, Chickens, Pigs and Cow's - but as Ihave said before i have never named a pig, took a duck for a walk or thrown alamb a stick.

Thirdly,and as with all seasons - women's fashions change. Men it seems have one outfit, and just addmore of the same or take more of the same off when the weather gets colder orwarmer. We are not burdened by suchdelicate issues as what shoes to wear with which bag, flat, heeled, ankle orknee length, matching colours, seasonal style and 'accessorising' isn'tsomething most hetrosexual male gets concerned about. The change from summer to winter fashiontrend, starts slowly. You may remember I reported the shortening length of the'hot pants' of the young Chinese girls as an announcement of summer arriving,well they will try and keep these on for as long as possible, but not beingstupid, a pair of thermal stockings underneath help ensure they keep warm ander fashionable. The girls wearing 'daisyjukes' over knitted thermals is one sign its got cold, but sooner than later,you can also see the tell tale signs of the thermals poking from behind shirts,trousers and blouses, along with the 20 layers of Michelin man clothing.

InShanghai the first sign of winter means time to dust off the long johns andthermal knickers - for everyone. I hadnever known the joy wearing a warm pair of thermals until I came to China, myfirst winter I refused to conform, citing fashion, age and the fact that themake me look even fatter than I am. Seven years later I have several pairs in various colours and almost(but not quite) regret the warmer spring weather and the need to hang up my ohso sexy long johns!

Insulation,or at least the lack of it, no central heating, single glazed windows and highhumidity all add together to make 20 degrees feel like minus 10! Despite of all of this, it seems impossibleto get warm on those cold days, unless you have a couple of spare kidneys leftto pay for your underfloor heating, you resort to living in your car with theheater on full blast, whilst grasping the steaming hot mug of grass in hot waterthrough a thin plastic cup.

Finally,although I am sure there are hundreds more. The one thing that tells me Winterhas arrived is of course the dark nights. Not the dark mornings mind, no the mornings are still blindingly lightat 5.30am, only now the night is dark by 4.30pm, add to this miserably coldweather, extortionate fuel bills, having to dress like a blimp and the acidicpuddles on the ground eating away at your leather shoes, its a wonder the dogslooked glum - sounds like they get off lightly.

Travel

2011-11-01T10:01:00.000Z

Mytravels around the world are always full of incidence, i'm not sure if its me,the law of averages or just the fact that i turn every minor issue into a minorcrisis? Either way this last journey toEurope was a good example of my own disastrous attempt to live a normal life.

It allstarted as normal with a flight out of Shanghai, I'm not sure how long it willbe before the ground staff actually think I work at the airport? But the factthat I'm known by my first name to the check-in girls, the security andimmigration staff, as well as the car park attendants - sort of gives you anidea of how often I use the bloody place? This journey in fact started beforearriving at the airport, because i had to visit the office on my way (on aSunday) to pick up my driving license, that for some reason I had left there,and knew I would need to hire a car when in the UK.

Like somedrug crazed, addictive spell, Virgin Atlantic was my weapon of choice, to showjust how much I have become obsessed with this airline, I have my own seat -yes thats right, seat 16A is mine, no debate, no alternative is acceptable,seat 16A has been my home for longer than I can remember, and longer than mostmortgages I have had. I even wrote toVirgin to ask if they would gift me the seat due to the fact that I have spentso much time trying to get comfortable in it, whilst finding it funny theyrefused even to sell me the seat, which is a shame as I would have put it intothe spare room at home and insist visitors slept in it - at least this way theywouldn't stay long and definitely wouldn't return :)

Theflight itself was fine, well as fine as sitting in a elongated tube ofpoisonous air at 40,000 feet for 13 hours can be. Even the extraction atHeathrow went without a hitch, I should have know it was all too good to betrue as I entered the Avis car rental office. You see, as an habitual traveller and renter of cars, I am considered a'privileged' or 'preferred' customer, which gives me special discounts and'offers' as well as a fast track service designed to reduce the waiting timeand paperwork synomninous with hiring a car. However this time would be different, having to drive an uninspiringblack box at an average of 20 kph in Shanghai, means that when I am in othercountries I like to hire something a bit more interesting, sporty orluxurious. My car of choice this timewas an Audi A5 Convertible that I had got at the same price as a FordMondeo. I had paid in advance, and evenknew the registration of the car that would be me chariot for the next 5 daysin Europe. That was before I met Nick,Nick was the pimple faced Asda shirt and tie wearing dip shit, who would decideto piss off a loyal Avis customer of 18 years, following a 20+ hour journey tohis small desk of responsibility.

I hadspent more hours in this particular rental office, than Nick had been in longtrousers, I knew the pattern of the wallpaper, the loose pavement stone near tobay B6 and that the drinks dispenser only worked on a Thursday of months withan 'R' in them. Still he had decidedthat the recent training course he had been on meant that he was up to dealingwith me on the same level. Of course tomy detriment he had me over a barrel, you see what I didn't know was that the little plastic identificationcard issued by the UK driver license department expired at a more regular ratethan the standard paper copy which lastsup until your 70th birthday. My argument that I had my paper license, had hiredvehicles 4 times from the very same office since my license had expired, allfell on deaf ears. A 'jobs-worth' ofimmense proportions, there was no way I would be traveling in anything otherthan my size 11 shoes from the office in Heathrow. Appealing to a betterjudgement or looking for a decision of someone more senior got me nowhere, wellin fact it got me to the hotel across the street, once I had decided thatpulverising his brain would only serve to rid the world of one more dick head,but still not result in me being able to hire a car.

Thissmall issue led to a week of reliance on public transport, I had 6 cities tovisit in as many days, 3 airports, 4 train stations and 5 differenthotels. Of course I could have tried toblag a car from another rental agency, but the prospect of someone else tellingme I wasn't good enough to hire a Fiat 127 for a few days got the better of me,and I thought my public transport project would be, er fun - how wrong can aperson be?

You seein China, you can sit on a train which is less guaranteed to be less than 3 years old, travels at 350kph for 4-5 hours and will cost you as little as £10, pay a couple of RMB more and you get a foot massage, free wifi and a petkitten to take home. You get used totrains arriving not only being on time, but in exactly the same spot as markedon the platform floor, being clean, serviced by delightful, bi-lingual, Chineseversions of 1970's Pan Am air hostesses. The story in the UK is not quite the same.

Let megive you this scenario, your a visitor to London, a self professedinternational capital city in the same league as New York, Paris, Singapore orgod forbid Shanghai. You have heard theTaxi's are horrendously expensive, so you decide to catch the train to the 2ndlargest city in the country - Birmingham, some 100 miles away. First of all you can't get a direct train,you first need to travel and transfer incentral London, which is where a service calling itself the 'London Express'comes into play, banners across Heathrow exclaim 15 miles in 15 minutes as ifits some kind of flux capacitor speed of light time machine. 15 miles in 15minutes is 60 miles per hour - Bamboo grows faster than that! The cost worksout at about £1 per mile, which would havebeen acceptable if it took you anywhere you needed to be, before gettingexcited that you are finally on your way, you then need to transfer across toEuston Station which means traversing the vampire and werewolf infestedunderground system with your 50kgs of luggage or obtaining a 2nd mortgage onyour house to pay for a Taxi. Which will save you humping your luggage up anddown vertical stairways, but will leave you with no money to pay for the finaltrain to your destination. A ticket instandard class to a city just 90 minutes away was £145, 1st class where they had seats designed for more thanjust one buttock was £250+. The whole journey would have taken 2 to 2.5hours in a car, got you to the door of where you wanted to go, and providedluxury comfort for 4-5 people plus luggage.

TheBritish government suggests it wants to get people off the roads and ontopublic transport - at those prices ajourney for a family of 4 people would have cost the best part of £1000, or the same price as a soggy cheese sandwich on oneof the trains. I am all for getting peopleoff the roads - it will leave more room for me, but given the inconvenience andcosts, I think its a long time from becoming reality, i hope that anyonevisiting for the Olympics next year realises to bring an up to date drivinglicense or several bars of gold bullion.

Visitors

2011-11-01T09:57:00.000Z

Aroundthis time of the year Shanghai is full of three types of people; Touristsenjoying the milder weather, newbie expatriates nievly full of the joys of acity that hasn't slapped them around the face yet, and family visitors joiningtheir expatriate relatives. I have been'enjoying' the later of these three during the past month, the weather inShanghai is only bearable during the very short spring and fall and its theonly really sensible time to visit for business or tourism.

Being amiserable sod, who is only truly happy in his own company, or complaining aboutother people, having strangers in myhouse doesn't fill me with enthusiasm or delight, even when those strangers arefamily. You see I left home when I was21, and spent the next 20 years travelling around the world just to get awayfrom living with family, don't get mewrong I love my family and would do anything for them, anything except havethem live under my roof. So when my better half announced that her parents would bestaying for the entire month of September I lurched for my address book to seewhat suppliers I hadn't visited for a few months.

Its hardenough for two people who love each other deeply, to live together attimes, especially at the start when every snore, belch, noisy chew and ballshuffling habit grinds on the other like bleach on a paper cut. Over time you learn to accept and ignore thecurious (to you) eating habits, the 3 hour long baths and the strange obsessionwith matching underwear. If your luckyyou get to enjoy these 'cultural' differences before you take the plunge andget married, either way love overcomes and you learn to live with most, andignore the rest. Of course when youmarry you inherit a whole army of people you didn't choose to live with, andwho's habits you didn't sign up for!

Myparent-in-laws are good, kind and generous people, a tad racist, a smidgeonbigoted and a dash homophobic but that seems almost acceptable in people oftheir age. Their not bad people, butgrew up in a different generation, with different beliefs and standards. They have watched a country change beyondtheir recognition and they have grown elderly, infirm and feeling unsupportedby a state they helped design and contributed towards, for moments exactly likethis. I am not condoning their views, just trying to understand the reasons whythey are like the way they are. Most of the time of course I don't have to putup with their views for longer than a few hours each year, family visits backto the UK are rare, and even when we do visit our time together is short, butnot this time, a month living under the same roof tugs at your patience stringslike a blue marlin tugs at a deep sea fishing line.

I amfairly liberal minded, accepting many different beliefs, religions and views ona myriad of subjects, however i love toplay devils advocate, its my favourite hobby and pushes my intellectualboundaries - especially when I'm trying to defend or offer an opinion on asubject not versed or prepared for. So when you have a couple who blame theworlds problems on immigrants, corrupt politicians, gay people and Lady Gaga I am armed with more than enoughmaterial to provide a counter view (apart from defending Lady Gaga ofcourse!). If every conversation youenter into ends in a view that you should deport everyone who isn't related tothe Queen (despite her actually being of German lineage), that HIV/AID's is gods way of ridding the world ofdrug taking, homosexual commodity traders and politicians, and that popular music culture is the reason girls getpregnant at 12, and why men no longer lay down their coats over puddles in thestreet - you can imagine that I spent 29 days of the 30 they spent with usarguing the virtues of a multi cultural, multi sexual, multi musical (I madethe last one up!) society.

All ofthese arguments led to some interesting outcomes, not least the fact that you findout pretty quickly that you are incompatible to the extend that every littlenuance grinds on you like broken glass into an eyeball. You find yourself feeling hatred for the waysomeone breaths; too noisy, too often, too shallow, too deep - at all! We would go to a restaurant for lunch ordinner, and even before they ordered I would know that they didn't like thefood. No chips, wrong shape chips, chipstoo thin, chips too fat, too spicy, not spicy enough, reaching for the saltbefore tasting, eating every last morsel on the plate and then complaining itwasn't very nice, having the same bloody club sandwich in every establishmentyou venture into, drinking too much alcohol on top of a cocktail of medicationdesigned to sedate a Sperm Whale, and getting louder and louder with each sipbefore finally professing that 'we don't really like this foreign muck!'"WHY THE FU&K DID YOU COME TO SHANGHAI THEN!!!"

The listof irritations is endless, actual conversation 1:

"wedidn't sleep because the room was too warm",

'thatswhat the air conditioning is for',

"yesbut its too noisy",

"butif your awake anyway what is the difference, if your going to be awake at leastdo it in comfort',

"noits ok we will just struggle with the heat."

'put theair conditioning on before going to bed, and turn it off when you actually go'

"Noits ok, we will be fine"

'Aarrgghhh....'

Conversation2

"Weneed a new padlock for our suitcases"

'Why?'

"Wellcustoms must have broke the one we had on our case, because it wasn't with oursuitcase when we arrived"

'That'sbecause you shouldn't really put a padlock on your suitcase, it raisessuspicion and customs have to break it to check whats in your bag'

"Yesbut our belongings aren't safe without a lock on the suitcase"

'Well Ihave flown over 100 flights in the last 3 years, and have never had anythingstolen from a suitcase - all without locks on'

"Yesbut we want a lock"

'Who isgoing to steal your underwear, knitting and copies of readers digest?'

"Butwe don't want anyone to open our cases"

'Yes butcustoms will be suspicious and definitely open your case because you have alock on it'

"Weneed a new padlock for our suitcase"

'Aarrgghhh...'

I knowits me and not them, I should learn to be more tolerant, more supportive andmore understanding. I have lived a verydifferent life, enjoying different cultures, locations, foods and experiences,making me more adventurous and open minded I guess, it has also made me freerwith my money, less protective with my belongings and having little regard forpreserving what I have earned. But none of this is personal, it could be anyone staying with us and I would havefound some small niggle to upset me, I am sure the Pope is noisy when he eats,the Queen picks her teeth after a meal and the Dali Lama's beads rattle tooloudly when he shuffles. The point is that my tolerance levels are very, verylow, and its just best to leave me alone, after all the only people whoactually come to visit us, come to see my wife or the kids, so perhaps I shouldjust leave home at this point and wallow in my own perfection? If I was more tolerant, more accepting, andless wound up like a swiss timepiece, maybe I could accept the fact that peopleinsist on 'remembering' the war, or see mayonnaise as a strange delicacy, butuntil that that point please accept my offer to book a hotel for you as themost appropriate solution to ensure you enjoy the short stay you have inShanghai.

Drink!

2011-10-18T10:28:00.002+01:00

Drink! Drink! Drink! a phrase said in a broad Irish accent made famous by Father Jack of 'Father Ted' fame, and one for a lot of us rings loudly in our heads following a stressful day, a celebration moment or just wishing to relax and unwind during dead time. Before I get started, of course I am referring to the dreaded alcohol. My desire for a cup of English Rosie Lee, Yi Bei Kafe, or freshly squeezed orange blood can be immense, but cannot compete with the compulsion for a G&T, glass of Pinot, pint of the Black Stuff or a wee dram.

Don't get me wrong, I am not an alcoholic - quite the opposite, I will go out of my way to avoid alcohol from Monday to Thursday, and only get 'forced' into downing a bottle or two of Bei Ju when suppliers or customers demand it. However by the time Friday comes around, a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio signals a weekend of rest and diet free debauchery. The need to kick off the weekend with a legal high/low is universal (I think), it certainly is in the UK, Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong and the parts of America and Canada I have visited. Places that may have been influenced by their colonial past and the British infiltration, but others without this infection I am sure copy suit - Belgium, Germany, Italy, and France must follow the pattern, I just cant speak from personal experience and confirm, after all, despite the intense British culture for getting 'plastered' at the weekend, we aren't the biggest drinkers in the world, well OK if I take the Scottish out of the equation we aren't the biggest alcoholics in the world.

So what is it about the only legalised drug that kills millions every year, and continues to make us drown our stomachs with literally gallons of poisonous liquids each day/week/month? Is it because it acts as a relaxant, a hallucinogenic, and a pain suppressant? All of the above I guess? I have never liked the taste of alcohol, well at least the first bottle! It will never taste as good or as sweet as a mango juice, or as refreshing as a cold coke, a freshly squeezed lemon juice, or a good cup of English tea, and a McDonalds’ strawberry milkshake can make your eyes roll into the back of your head, but none of these can give you the highs and lows of C2H5OH. Alcohol has the ability to turn the mildest person into a psychopathic thug, the meekest person into a streaker, and the ugliest person into a Brazilian supermodel; it’s relatively cheap, legal, easily available and socially accepted.

I was introduced to alcohol at a fairly early age, you see I was brought up during the 80's where christenings, birthdays, weddings, and funerals were all marked with partys - either in the back of a pub, or in a house, the common factor was alcohol, be it lager, cheap wine (usually German), scotch whisky or Sherry! These events were alcoholic dreams, an opportunity to drink whatever you liked, whenever you liked in whatever quantities you could get away with before driving home in your Austin Princess. As a child you were left to entertain yourself during these events, which meant pinching the trifle, wagon wheels and Smiths crisps from the buffet, whilst washing them down with whatever alcoholic drink your could find left in Aunty Morag's glass whilst she was dancing to Kajagoogoo on the dance floor. My younger brother took this one step further, once at a celebration I can’t remember (wedding/funeral/christening) he, like me spotted the enormous trays of sherry at the entrance to the dance hall. He must have been 10 or 11 at the time, the difference was he decided that drinking 2 bottles of Harvey’s Bristol Cream would be a good idea - er no! The following stomach pumps and 2 days in intensive care at the local hospital didn't deter him from a life of pushing the alcoholic barriers, he still remains the only person I know who see's 20 pints of Guinness as an aperitif!

I drink chilled white wine in the summer and a full bodied red in the winter, I enjoy a JD & Coke along with a G&T, single malt with a single cube of ice, twice filtered frozen vodka, a salted margarita on holiday or a glass of warmed mulled wine at Christmas all mixed with the odd crate of arctic lager and a chilled pint of pure black nectar (Guinness) all these make for a varied menu of alcoholic drugs that mean whatever country, season or circumstance I am easily pleased. Of course I am an alcoholic snob, and anything but French or Italian Wine won’t do, its single Malt or nothing, and why would anyone drink anything other than Russian Vodka or British Gin? Of course the ultimate is Champagne, becoming a seasoned expat it’s as frequent a drink as Pepsi or water. I have got a taste for the stuff and hope to drown in a vat of Moet one day.

All this alcohol is of course killing me from within; my binging is causing my liver to corrode and my brain to shrink small enough to be sneezed through my left nostril. So why would I keep drinking? Well I guess all of the damage is done over a long period, a timescale that you don't instantly notice. A good tailor doesn't comment on the fact that he keeps adding several inches to your waist line each fitting, and friends ensure the blimp that expands before them is only mentioned out of ear shot. You think you have it under control, a luxury you can manage, a harmless escapism and a social requirement. However all of this doesn't deter us, I am a firm believer in fate and being buried a very poor man, life has few luxuries at least let me allow alcohol to fuel my ignorance that I am attractive, I am confident and indestructible!

Politeness

2011-09-08T05:17:00.001+01:00

Politeness, a word that describes all manner of actions undertaken by one individual to another, a series of gestures, words or actions that establish respect and mutual recognition or appreciation. It’s a strange concept, one that divides us from animals and ensures our position as a higher intelligence, borne from decades of cultural development and a view that we are all equal. It was something that as a child I would have drilled into me by parents and grandparents; 'only speak when your spoken to', 'always say please and thank you', 'mind your manners', 'don't speak with your mouth full' and so on. They did this to me, as their parents had done to them, and so the journey goes. My children tire of me reminding them to say thank you to restaurant waiters or hotel porters, but still they do it, and even for my heavy metal loving, anarchist supporting, long haired teenage son, he understands the reasons behind being polite and rarely forgets.

So given all of this and believing I had a very 'normal' upbringing - Why does it seem to have gone the way of the Dodo? As someone who travels the world and interacts with literally thousands of people from all walks of life, colour, creed, intellect and 'social standing', I would like to think that I am a good gauge of society and I have come to the conclusion that politeness it dying quicker than the Nokia mobile phone. I can’t put it down to anyone country, type of person, or even situation, it just seems that generally people have forgotten that we all need to get along and being polite to one another makes the whole world better for all.

Of course some people stand out more than others, the Chinese for instance don't have a word for 'please' (Yes I know they do - but they don't, trust me), and the word for 'sorry' was made up to appease foreigners who couldn't manage a whole day without apologising for something - you will rarely hear either of these words used in general conversation, unless of course its a Laowei talking to someone Chinese. I have worked in Chinese offices varying between 10 and 200 people, and I have never, heard people who have worked together for up to 10 years say good morning or good bye - trust me, people come in, sit down and get on with their work, communicate all day, and then at the end of the shift they pack up, turn the commuter off and walk out. I force everyone in my office to come and say 'good morning' and 'good evening' to me everyday, petty? maybe - but I thought it may rub off and install some 'politeness' into the office, however they do it to me as I am the Loa Ban and I told them to - to each other? You must be joking.

The Chinese are not alone of course, the times I have stood at a building entrance recognising that there is someone either wanting to come in, or follow me out, I will open the door and keep it open for the other person to pass through first - do I get a 'thank you'?, do I fu*k. I normally stand there and shout something like "Do I look like the fu*king doorman?", or the killer one (outside of China) is the slowing down of your car and flashing your headlights to allow someone to turn right into a junction, and despite going out of your way to erode your perfectly good brake pads, and waste a minute of your valuable time, the driver of the turning vehicle looks at you as if your an idiot and fails to acknowledge your kind gesture. Words cannot express how much these simple ignorant acts (please excuse my French) piss me off, I become enraged and want to beat the living daylights out of the offender, I scream at myself that this would be the last time I offer any kind of gesture. But of course the next time an opportunity to 'do a good dead' or be 'polite' there I am holding a door open or allowing a car to turn, always with a voice in my head saying 'one good turn deserves another' or 'do onto others as you would want done to yourself'.

Sometimes I put this down to language barriers, and its obvious in some situations this may be true, but if I accidentally bumped into a visitor from the planet Zarg, or got served by a orang-utan in MacDonald’s, I am sure we would all know that I had apologised or said thank you, 90% of language is unspoken, and the body language you use to apologise or say thank you is probably the strongest and easiest to read. People do not acknowledge your deed, words or actions because they didn't understand - it simply that they can’t be bothered or simply don't care. I guess its fairly self perpetuating, when we first arrived in Nanjing, Jiangsu Province we would go weeks without seeing another western face, so as soon as you did, you would dive on them by saying 'Hi" or 'Hello", after about the 30th rejection and blank expression delivered by the foreigner abroad, you fall into the trap of simply 'not bothering' the next time you encounter a westerner, at this point it is almost always the time that you bump into someone almost normal and they quickly acknowledge your existence, just as you decide to look the other way and pretend you only understand Swahili, and so the pattern continues. Exprats are the worlds worse, the competition to have lived in the country the longest, to have endured to harshest winter/summer and been through more maids than Berlusconi at a bunga bunga party, leads them to deny all other westerners as mere tourists and also runs.

So why don't I just stop being polite? If the fact that other people not reciprocating my politeness makes me so angry, then surely if I just stop making kind gestures, offering words of gratitude or simply acknowledging another human beings exist, it would mean that I wouldn't have to get angry anymore? Well the problem here is twofold, firstly I wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing that I treated an individual badly by not acknowledging them and secondly, the delight you do get when another human being acknowledges you, lets you take a parking space, says please/thank you, or simply gives you a big smile in recognition, way far and above the opposite discomfort it causes when they don’t. Try it, give a complete stranger passing you on the street a big smile, wave a person into the space you had designated yours or hold a door open for someone you don't know - if they acknowledge your kind gesture you will feel great. Of course if they ignore it, you will feel like shit, but at least bask in the fact that you’re better than them!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Riots

2011-08-13T06:47:00.002+01:00

It seems somehow wrong of me to comment on the recent riots in England, I am no longer a UK tax payer and therefore what right do I have to condone the mindless thuggery that has spilled across the daily newspapers for the last week or so. I guess however, as I am still a British passport holder and claim a British identity I am probably more entitled than many of those deciding to bring the worlds view on my home country into embarrassment and disbelief. When your as old as me, you can remember previous 'disturbances' caused by groups of mindless bafoons - Handsworth, Moss Side, Toxteth, Chapeltown in the 80's,Salford and Briston in the 90's and even Lozells and Oldham in the 00's, . So the sight of shops and cars burning, whilst Kevin and Tracy (more like Tyrone and Chantel these days) kit themselves out in the latest tracksuit for free, isn't as surprising to me as it may be to those seeing it for the first time.

Riots in the past seemed to have had meaning, a cause or at least an excuse. Wholesale closure of an industry, communities ripped apart, segragation, discrimination, religion and separatism. Communities were forced to take sides, and arguments for and against had at least some vaugeness of credibility. Of course violense has no place in a moralistic and modern society, but passion and blind anger drove people to do crazy things compeately out of character. Whilst I am not defending any of the people involved in previous riots, for most they could have at least eloquently explained why they were there and what they were fighting for. This weeks rioting seems to be different.

Firstly, lets clear out all of the hype around the shooting of an unarmed family man in a Taxi. This guy was pond scum, a gangster, a drug dealing low life who would have spoon fed your children crack if he thought it would have made a few bob. Of course the police should never take away the right to trial, and I hope the officers in question are investigated and severly punished if they have without justification acted as vigilantes. But for this act to have caused hundreds of people to rise up and 'fight against the machine' is pure BS. This guy wasn't loved, he wasn't even known by 99% of those rioting. He was an excuse, an excuse for lazy, illiterate, work shy degenerates of a society obsessed by celebrities, easy money, and a belief that they have a right to earn there 15 minutes of fame, whilst taking from honest hard working people who hold their head in shame when seeing what has happened to their country.

I could have understood if they had attacked the financial district of London, the idiots who run the banking, insurance and foreign exchange companies deserve a wake up call. After bringing the world to its financial knees, and then continuing to pay each other grotesque bonus's that are simply not acceptable. We would have all raised a small smile if the Range Rovers, Porsche's and Bentleys had been torched, the wine bars forced to close early and these people were named and shamed in public. But this riot wasn't about that. It wasn't in reaction to the enormous efforts the government has had to put in place to keep the UK's head above water and avoid a financial meltdown. Government buildings, the police and the homes of politicians were not the focus of the rioters attacks. In fact the focus seems to have been their own community? The shops they shop in, the pubs they drink in, the public transport they use, the streets their children play on, all became targets of people reminiscent of those from films as 'Shawn of the Dead', or 'Zombieworld', but with probably a little less intelligence.

I do not see any other reason for these yobs engaging in self destruction apart from a belief that they are 'owed a living'. The desire to work hard at school, spend years in a low paid job, supporting a family whilst saving for the odd luxury (by this I mean a 'take-away', a bottle of wine and maybe even night out occasionally), educating yourself, being respectful to your elders and maybe, just maybe getting a lucky break and moving up through the ranks due to dedication and perseverance, then earning a little bit more and finally being rewarded for all of those years of hard work and honesty and being able to take your family on holiday or save for a car, a house or a TV. There is no shortcut, no quick route or magic door that can be opened for you. Gang membership, Facebook, and the state wont get you there. Neither will breaking into Lidl, Poundstrecher or Greggs the Bakers. I hope those identified are caught and severly punished, however somehow I reckon they will be slapped on the wrist, patted on the head and sent back with and ASBO medal pinned to their forehead.

For me this is the first time of observing such scenes from a distance, watching the rest of the world - watching and reading about the disturbances. In the UK, people are understandably more concerned about how the people, the businesses and the communities have been affected by a few idiots. From the other side of the world the effect is on a much wider scale. Read a number of small disturbances in Tottenham in the UK - the rest of the world reads 'London on Fire'. Read isolated incidences across small pockets of the inner city's in the UK - read "full scale anarchy" in the minds of those outside of Britain. Read Clapham, Birmingham or London in the UK- the rest of the world reads 'Civil War in England' . The UK attracts over 30 million tourist each year, bringing in 115 billion pounds and supporting 3 million jobs. In this time of insecurity around the world, would you invest in travelling to a country you had been told was experiancing serious civil unrest? Can the UK's economy really do without this money? As for the Olympics we will have to wait and see what affect this will have, but I am sure anyone who had doubts over Londons ageing infrastructure, extorionate hotel, taxi and public transport costs didn't bank on having to dodge flying wine bottles and burning police cars as well.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Holiday

2011-07-24T10:24:00.000+01:00

Just returned from a couple of weeks in Thailand with the family, two weeks of excellent weather, food and drink, so much so that I didnt find too much time to write - but plenty of time to partake in my 2nd favorite hobby - Photography.

So I thought I would share a few of my favorite photos with you - hope you enjoy.


The Beach


The Bar


The View


The Boat


The House


The Game


The Sea


The Rest


The Night

Hope you enjoy.

Licence

2011-07-05T13:33:00.000+01:00

I recently needed to renew my Chinese driving licence, a task you would have thought not worthy of a blog? I remember having to update my licence in the UK due to an address change (I keep a residence in the UK for such things), it was surprisingly simple, painless and relatively cheap. I didn't even need to leave the comfort of my living room - all done online and with the minimum of fuss and palarvour. Now whilst I didn't expect the process to be as simple in Shanghai, nothing could have alerted me to the impending nightmare process that was in front of me.

The story of how I got my Chinese Driving licence has been one of those well worn anecdotes brought up whenever in company of newbies (this is the derogatory term used by 'exprats' to describe any foreigner in China who arrived after them - even by 30 seconds), tourists or business collegues visiting this fair land. You see just because you have an international driving licence and a clean British one, you were never allowed to just jump in a car and drive here (the rules have lessened for visitors mad enough to try since the Olympics), dependant on which city you lived in, you would need to apply and take a serious of tests and examinations before being let lose on mandarin motorways! I actually think the rules were put in place to make it as difficult as possible for foreigners to drive - not out of spite you understand, but out of protection. Anyone daft enough to want to get behind a wheel here must actually be a few slates short of a roof, the safety records are horrendous, road surfaces non existent and road manners have not been invented yet. Drivers here make driving in downtown Paris, Rome or New York look like driving miss daisy.

So why did you get a licence then Paul? well I worked for an automotive company, and as the QD I needed to benchmark our own and competitor vehicles in real situations and not just on private test tracks. Also (and probably the real reason) I am a control freak, if I could jump out of the seat Im in writing this, and fly the plane - this is despite having no knowledge of how to fly a plane, I am still convinced that I could do a better job, and at least we wouldn't have had the obligatory 2 hour delay - air traffic control, pah - who needs them to give us permission, which is probably why the RAF turned me down all those years ago! I wont go into the detail of how I corruptly got my licence as I will not have a mildly amusing anecdote to tell you if we ever meet, and besides this blog wasn't about how I originally got my licence it was about how I managed to get it renewed.

My licence had been issued by Jiangsu department of transport whilst living in Nanjing, one of only a handful of licences they had issued to a foreigner, and something I was very proud of. So when I noticed it would expire in June of this year, a cold shiver rushed down my spine. I knew that nothing involving a government department would be simple and would be embroiled in subdifuge and unwritten procedures. I knew it had recently become more common for foreigners to obtain driving licences, and that obtaining them didn't necessarily require the passing of brown envelopes stuffed with unmarked RMB, however the renewal of a foreigners driving licence would be far less common. My licence originally lasted for 6 years, and the likelyhood of anyone else still being here 6 years on and in need of a driving licence renewed, must have meant they had either been in prison, or imprisoned by their Chinese wife. The majority of foreigners complete their 2-3 year company stretch before going back to the real world, and after 5 years the nasty Chinese tax man wants to grab some of that money you have stashed in property or savings from around the world, anything in-between your lungs, blood stream and kidneys have been poisened so much that fleeing is the only course of action left.

Fearing the worse I had left it until the last minute, I had ensured my helpful aide (Kency), had investigated the process as much as is possible, which in a country where job security is ensured by not telling anyone else the rules, and making decisions based upon feelings rather than procedure, was a difficult task. Documents in hand, my best shirt, tie and cheesy smile we ventured to the enormous department of road transport in the Shanghai district of Minhang. Driving licences in the UK last until you die (virtually) meaning that those who passed their test with a guy wearing white gloves walking slowly in front of their automobile, can still jump into a vehicle today, despite being blind, deaf and incontinent. In China everyone needs to renew them regulary, why? well the cynical view would be that it provides a steady income for the comunist party coffers and keeps millions (literally) of civil servants in employment. The licensing centre is spread over a dozen different buildings, and is one of the few government buildings I have come across that has a decent car park, oh and the air-com turned on - which perhaps supports my cynical view.

I guess it would be logical for me to take you through the process, but I fear this will mean I need to write several thousand words, rather than just a few hundred, so hear is the abridged version. On arriving you first need to address the reception who points you onto your next step of the process - not the whole process mind, just the next step, which was to a cashiers desk to pay for the obligatory photo, then you move to the photographer, then to another office to collect your photo, again another desk for a man to trim the photo, and onto another to be given an application, another to have the application and the photo stuck together, and with application in hand back to the reception, collect a numbered ticket and dependant on the queue wait for your number - my number was 240 places away! 3 hours later of watching road traffic accidents so gruesome they would be banned in 9 out of 10 country's, you get called to a desk. Now I guess this is where most peoples application is processed and they abruptly move onto the final stages of this red tape fuckfest. Not me.

The person at the processing desk didn't like my face, or my application - so they transferred me to another desk, this wasn't much better and despite the valiant efforts of Kency to convince the official we were told that my application was not acceptable, and I would need to travel the 5 hour journey to Nanjing for them to process. Unhappy with this flea in the ear response, we thought we would try another official sitting behind a desk, no joy there either, so onto another. Finally a symphetic ear, and after much pushing, shouting and 5 other officials giving their 10 pence worth, we were directed to yet another desk and yet another official - this guy had several more pips than anyone else, and enjoyed taking the preverbal out of me, I just smiled and gave him as much face as possible. 30 minutes later he agreed to process my application - however I would need to go and get a full physical examination and make a new application, he failed to give any reason for this, just that he felt it would 'help' my application, and that it was pointless arguing.

So onto another 14 offices (yes count them 14) to have money taken, receipts given, applications chopped and my ears, eyes, blood pressure, height? weight? dexterioty, heart beat and penis length checked (I made the last one up), I ventured back to the main reception to be handed another queue number, only 60 places away this time. One more hour and 4 more desks until I managed to get big boss to see me and process the application, he enjoyed taking the piss out of my poor chinese, and i just smiled and took it all again, until he finally approved the application and sent me upstairs to another 2 more desks for the obligatory payment and final 'chop', one more desk and I recieved a shiney new licenese in a shiney new leatherette folder A process that took 6 hours, 25 separate desk/offices, dozens of officials and a hand full of cash, at least I do not have to go through it all for another 10 years as my expiry date has been extended. Now you understand why the term 'Red Tape' was invented here - however when cutting through it you have to cut vertically rather than horizontally - my advice use public transport, get a driver or make sure you get out before you need to renew!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Ao-Yon Khaokhad Rd,Mueang Phuket,Thailand

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Ao-Yon Khaokhad Rd,Mueang Phuket,Thailand

Facebook

2011-06-19T05:33:00.013+01:00

"I hate Facebook", there we go I have said it. I may have just ostracised myself from 50% of the worlds population, but I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I HATE FACEBOOK" it was easier the 2nd time of saying.

Many of my 'friends' already know this as its something I do not keep quiet about for long, when asked "can I find you on Facebook - maybe we can 'connect'?" they usually leave with a flea in their ear and a bloody nose. Its not that Facebook is bad, or that the people on it are all bad, in fact I think as a device for sharing photos, memories, thoughts and news its quite good - a bit like email, er without the privacy or personalisation, which is why I HATE FACEBOOK.

You see the application itself is fine, the concept is fine (and much copied) the majority of people who use it are fine, as with everything its the few (in this case millions) who take the concept of 'sharing' a little too far. For example these are a few actual posts that litter my wifes Facebook account (not posted by her I have to say, as she is more of a Facebook voyeur than a practitioner).

Example Number 1

"Happy Birthday/Anniversary (delete as appropriate) to my darling husband/wife/child (delete as appropriate)"

What's wrong with this post? Well consider this - THE PERSON YOU ARE ADRESSING IS SITTING NEXT TO YOU!!! Why would anyone want to wish the most important person in their life a happy whatever over a public broadcast system rather than talking to them? Or if they have already wished them a happy whatever - WHY ARE YOU REPEATING IT ON FACEBOOK? Is it to remind all of your 'friends' that it is their birthday / your anniversary? Surely if they loved you enough they would already know and would have sent well wishes, phoned, visited, sent a carrier pigeon? and if they didn't - perhaps they didn't care in the first place, and being reminded on Facebook isn't going to change that! Do you really want friends that only remember your birthday/anniversary when you broadcast it to the world? and do you really care that they didnt remember.

Example Number 2

"Where are you?", "Upstairs, where are you?", "Downstairs, what you doing?", "Nothing, bored", "Yeah, me too".

I don't think I really need to explain why this is just wrong on so many levels - if I do need to explain to you, please send me an email and I will enlighten you to a world beyond the rooms in your house and Facebook!

Example Number 3

"Just been to a party with x,y and z", "had a great dinner with a and b"

Who cares? Tell the people you went with how much you enjoyed it, not the people you didn't. Its like saying to your 'friends' "I have a great life, and yours is shit", "I am the centre of the world and your a troll", "I am so popular, and your NOT!'.

Example Number 4

This is not so much as a post, more of a plague - Facebook games, or more specifically the invitation to "eat in an online restaurant", "feed an animal on an online Farm", or "become a neighbour in a virtual town"

Surely not, surely you want to keep the fact that you spend your life playing an online game in a virtual world a secret from the rest of society? Do you really want all of your friends to know that you were up at 3 in the morning because the virtual bread your were baking, in the virtual oven, in a virtual kitchen, in a virtual cafe has just become ready to feed the virtual patrons in your virtual world? Read that sentence again - 5 years ago people were put into mental institutions for the same behaviour.

Of course all of these examples are based on my own opinion, and I am sure that most people would disagree with my observations/comments. But lets look at the evidence gathered against Facebook by independent organisations.
Facebook is now the single largest reason for divorce in America - FACT, well sort of, of course you cant blame Facebook for screwing your wifes friends brother, whilst you were knocking off your aunts gardeners cat. But it can be cited as the reason you got caught!

Affairs have always gone on, mostly they occurred in a real world, or in peoples heads. (I always remember a college lecturer telling me that 90% of sex is 'Safe' as it occurs in the mind) but more recently they tend to occur in the virtual world, started by innocuous friends of friends introductions, or people searching for long 'lost' school chums that meant so much to them, that they lost contact with them 4 seconds after the final bell went 10 years ago, just to tell them how good your life is and how theirs sucks. All of this opportunity for opposite sexes to interrelate and communicate was going to lead to trouble. It used to be that men were the ones not to be trusted, think about it - even when behind bars with 2000 other men they find ways to be unfaithful, this hasn't changed but I think women are catching up fast and the opportunities Facebook opens up for people to 'play with fire' are vast, and unfortunately the old saying "where theres smoke theres fire" creates a generation of people using their partners activity on Facebook to believe that they must be arsonists.

You may have also read that this week that a Women has been sent to prison for 8 months for chatting to a defendant on Facebook about the court case she had been a juror in, again Facebook as a porthole should not be blamed directly. If someone who had been warned several times that she was under oath not to divulge any of the confidential discussions in the Jury room, was not only too stupid to ignore the warnings, but also to post the conversations on a public internet service, then perhaps prison is the safest place for her - before she eats her own head. Of course this could have happened without the use of Facebook, but as this blog is about how much I HATE FACEBOOK, it gets the blame for allowing someone so dumb, the facility to track down the defendants and converse with them all with only an IQ of 4 (of course you have to ask how this women ever got selected as a Juror in a £6million court case in the first place).

Any Google search on the matter reveals millions of incidents of people being harassed, conned, plagiarised, bullied, intimidated, exposed, alienated, duped and basically being naughty on Facebook. As a medium it has become more popular than the newspapers and broadcast news, the world has changed because of Facebook and apart from the ability to boast to long lost acquaintances, flirt with your grandmothers, uncles tennis coach's hamster and spend money buying nothing, from shops that don't exist to put in a home that doesn't exist either - I don't think its changed for the better. As a device for people separated by distance to share holiday and birthday snaps, along with some general updates and maybe a quick chat it works brilliantly. Posting the fact that you've "just put the kettle on", "Ordered a Big Mac", or the "dogs has flees" to the person sitting next to you or in the house around the corner its not. If you want to do this, try sending an sms, tweeting, perhaps talking to the person, or maybe even keeping it to yourself?

I guess as with everything that becomes so popular, so quickly there will always be those that knock it, don't understand it or simply just 'don't get it'. But according to recent news Facebook lost 6 million users during May in the USA alone, and another 100,000 in the UK. Is it losing its appeal? I doubt it, when you have 700million accounts I guess fluctuations of a few million up or down is just the 'natural variation' of such a large number, and I am sure it will continue to grow and grow up until the point it becomes unfashionable and the next big thing takes over - either way i will always HATE FACEBOOK.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Summer

2011-06-11T10:48:00.003+01:00

Summer has arrived in Shanghai, how do I know this? Because it's hot, frigging hot! Various other signs also tell me summer has arrived.

Firstly all the female population forget their clothes in the morning, not that i am complaining, but "daisy dukes" should be renamed "Xiangs Wangs" or similar, as they have become the Chinese national dress for the summer. Shorts so short that you don't need to remove them to go to the bathroom! If women across the world dressed the same as Chinese women in the summer, there would be a lot more traffic accidents - but not in China, despite wearing handkerchiefs around each buttock, or a see-through lace napkin dress with black underwear - nobody looks twice or blinks an eyelid, the men are all too busy rolling up their shirts just under their 'moobs' (This is called ‘Bang Ye’ which directly translates as ‘exposing grandfathers’).

Any doctors reading this please take note it you have a patient who is suffering from overheating, just roll his shirt up to just under his nipples - he will be as right as rain in an instant!

Secondly, the temperature means that the locals are sleeping more. Someone once told me that stamp collecting (philately) is the most popular hobby in China, it is in fact sleeping. If you ask someone what they did on their day off, they will say "Just rested”, “Had a quiet day" or "Not much" what they mean is they slept for 18 hours. The Chinese will take any opportunity to sleep, and go to sleep wherever they can. I will always remember at the MG factory in Nanjing the line workers used to remove the parts from the stores racking and sleep on the metal framework, it looked like a Chinese concentration camp with tier after tier of skinny Chinese worker piled on top of each other. Most factories will turn to a 2 hour lunch break from the beginning of June, this gives the workers 3 minutes for food (another favourite hobby) and 117 minutes of sleep, even the office workers get in on the act, but at least they have a desk to fall forward onto.

Thirdly, the sun wakes you up at 4.00am. For a reason beyond any that I can work out, the powers that be decided that China wouldn't follow the rest of the world and adjust the time for the summer, it would also ignore the fact that there is some 5500 km from North to South, 5000 km from East to West, it covers a latitude range of between 18° to 53° N, longitude from about 74° to 135° E, and crosses 5 separate international time zones, however it would keep to just one time zone centred on Beijing time. This all leads to Shanghai being at least 2 hours away from where it should be - in the summer dawn is at 4.00am and dusk around 7pm, which all makes for sleep deprivation in the morning and crap summer evenings - although it’s too bloody hot to stand in a garden, beer garden or not.

Finally and here is the only good news. The 'ExPrats' leave Shanghai, and journey back to Wisconsin, Seoul, and Abergavenny or wherever they call home. In a mass exodus they leave their pampered pouch with the ayi, and have their abused drivers carry them to Pudong airport. As soon as little Johnny and Mildred have finished school they pack up and 'summer' out of China, citing the heat as a good reason for their departure. I love it; the restaurants are devoid of fake everything; tans, blonde hair and Gucci sunglasses, the roads are clear of blue/silver Buick's and the streets are spared of lanky kids bouncing basketballs against my head for 8 hours a day when I’m trying to get a Sunday afternoon nap - SHUTUP!

Citing the weather is as good a reason as any to leave China, so I am not going to deride them for this, however despite the obvious, I never really understood why it felt so hot in Shanghai, was it the latitude? Its location on the coast? The pollution? but before I go into explaining why it feels so hot, I thought I would try and explain how it feels. If you imagine how you might dress on a freezing winters day, snuggled in your favourite woolly jumper, along with a thick coat, thermal socks, gloves, scarf and a hat, and then put yourself in a sauna set on max, pour some more water onto the glowing coals and lock the door. The humidity causes paper and people to droop, flowers and any animal not already dead to wilt. The air is so damp in a previous office I had a portable air conditioner in a room of about 15-20 sqm, it drained the moisture it extracted from the air into a 10litre bucket, which I need to empty every 2 hours. In the morning I open the front door to get to my car, a distance of probably 9 feet, by the 2nd step i feel like I have hit a wall of water, by the time I sit in the car I may have well gone swimming in my clothes, and that’s how it is for the best part of 4 months. Your clothes are permanently stuck to your skin, which is probably why so many decide not to bother with them.

So why does it feel like swimming in hot soup every time you escape the comfort or air-conditioning. Well I guess Shanghai's same latitude position as Marrakech and Alexandria may give it some clues. But that’s only half the story, it’s on the coast so were enjoying moisture from the sea, and probably the main reason is that we are trapped under our very own greenhouse made of pollution. As I understand it the 20-25million inhabitants and our associated cars, need for cheap electricity generated by coal fired power stations, and smoking ;), are basically creating a Shanghai micro-climate, something called an ‘Urban Heat Island’, which due to the lack of vegetation, the abundance of tall concrete buildings trapping short wave radiation from the sun, which can get in, but can’t get out – (that’s as technical as this blog gets), basically we are all living in a microwave - with a big bowl of water to add some steam, so no wonder its frigging hot!

Interesting?

2011-06-05T03:33:00.012+01:00

I came across a report in an American journal proclaiming "The Top 10 Most Interesting Things you didn't know about China" a while ago, it was full of completely biased anti China rhetoric. So I thought I would have my own attempt and removed those facts that were so obviously catered for the American audience the report served – when I say this I don’t mean that American media outlets are the only ones to slant the news in favour of government policy, fuel common misrepresentation or pander to racism and protectionism, most countries media outlets do the same, Christ I am living with a media industry so strangled by government intervention and control, that its radio and TV Show's go out with a 10 second delay (even the ‘live’ shows) so that the media Gestapo can pull the plug if they hear something even mildly subversive.
The key is having the ability to recognise that you are being herded like sheep into an alley of deceit and conformism.

Strengthening misconceptions and reinforcing outdated stereotypes are how governments keep us all in line, scared and sedate. I remember being asked to join a BBC radio 4 interview about the rise, and rise of China, naively I said “Yes”, as I thought it may be a light hearted review of the incredible successes and growth China has seen over recent years – to my surprise the commentators seemed more interested in discussing the potential threat China posed to ‘World Peace’ (whatever that is) due to it having the worlds largest army, and fastest growing navy and air force, they intimated that its global financial and physical dominance will soon grind us all into a pulp. I was shocked I have to admit, and whilst I have no doubt at all that China will soon become the most powerful country on earth, this will be done completely passively and mainly fuelled by the West’s greed for cheap goods rather than China’s appeal for world dominance. China is a country with some desperate social, environmental and economical disasters looming ahead, it is struggling enough to understand how it can manage these, let alone worry about invading Poland.

Off the soap box, and back to the blog, I want to list the Top X most ~~amazing incredible~~ slightly interesting facts that you may not know about China. The first thing to say that with a population nearing 1.4 billion people, everything is the largest, smallest, fattest, thinnest, oldest, most expensive and most contagious etc. that’s all a given, so I have tried to avoid these and concentrate on the ones that may make you say “Oh I didn’t know that?”, please tell me how I get on.

Chinese men outnumber women by 39 million, or to look at it another way, more than the population of Canada. Can imagine the school dances? For every 114 desperate teenage boys there would only be a 100 probably not so desperate girls!This is thanks to both a culture that rates boys over girls and a one child policy which drives selective abortions based on gender, which in turn leads Chinese women to abort more than 15 million children (mainly girls) each year, or to look at it another way the population of the top 10 largest cities in Canada.
Read more@ http://paulstowe.blogspot.com/2010/07/population.html

If he spent his ENTIRE YEARLY INCOME on housing, the average Beijing resident could buy 10 square feet of residential property.
A square meter of residential property in Beijing costs an average of 26,000 yuan (US$3,800), but the average per capita monthly income is only 2,000 yuan. Yet the property Market is booming and prices continue to rise seemingly uncontrollably. The government has imposed taxes on larger properties, but still those that are rich, ARE VERY RICH and have been buying vast acres of property, speculating that the growth will continue unabated.

China has enough pigs for each person in the USA, Canada, UK, France and German to have one each, and more than the next 43 pork producing countries combined

That's a lot of pigs trotters.

Chinese consume 3 million cigarettes every minute or 2 trillion every year. With 2/3rds of Chinese males inhaling their way through 30% of the worlds tobacco supplies. All of this smoking not only has an effect on the colour of taxi drivers fingers, it also leads to 1,000,000 people dying each year from smoking related disease, a figure that is expected to increase to over 3 million by 2050 as the rapid increase in smoking starts to kick in.
On May 1st smoking was banned from all indoor public places, of course most people are either completely unaware of this or couldn't care less, probably because there is no penalty for getting caught and still no legal age on buying cigarettes. The fact that the tax on smoking makes more than $30 billion for the communist party each year, some 7% of the total tax revenue for the country, maybe why the government isn't too keen to curb this form of population control just yet.

Although Mandarin is the official language, there are 292 individual languages still spoken in China. This is even more than the 175 languages spoken in the world's melting pot, America. Mandarin itself contains almost 20,000 characters, although the average Chinese person learns only about 5,000 of these in his lifetime - still this isn't proving a problem as China has more English speakers than the United States.

There are already more Christians in China than Italy, and it's on track to become the largest centre of Christianity in the world
Due to the extremely rapid expansion of Christianity in China, there are now an estimated 54 million Christians in the country comprised of about 40 million Protestants and 14 million Catholics.
Meanwhile, Italy has just 60 million people in total, of which only 79% are Christian these days. Which means Italy has 47.4 million Christians, a full 12% less than China. It's partly because 16% of Italians are now irreligious.
Moreover, China's Christian population is set to grow far more rapidly than Italy's, or even much of the world's, despite this as a percentage of the population (3%) you would find it hard to bump into one, and is probably why;

Chinese are far more likely to believe in evolution than Americans.
"Only Russia (48%), USA (42%), South Africa (41%) and Egypt (25%) remained skeptical about the scientific evidence that exists to support Darwin’s theory.
The results also show that a significant proportion of those people surveyed in the USA, South Africa and India (43%) believe that all life on Earth, including human life, has always existed in its current form.
Whereas 67% of Chinese believe that life on earth, including human life has been created by a system of natural selection.
http://www.britishcouncil.org/darwin_now_survey_global.pdf

However the main thing the Chinese believe in is money, and any one arriving at night and waking up in one of Shanghais five star hotels could be forgiven for thinking that they have landed in Rodeo Drive rather than Nanjing Lu, the streets are lined with Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Montblanc, Vesace and Cartier stores and the roads full of BMW 7 Series, Porsche Cayenne and Range Rovers. The display of wealth is incredible, for a laugh I once counted how many Porsche Cayenne's I would pass (or be passed) by on my way into the city center from my home - a journey of 17km, I counted 26! In every colour, shade and engine type. So why then is China's GDP per capita is the 94th-lowest in the world, below Angola and Libya? Well the chasm between those that have and those that don't is enormous, measured by the Gini Coefficient, China stands at around 0.48 up from 0.16 in 1978. The figure would be zero if wealth were perfectly shared out and 1.0 if it were in one person's hands.
Li Shi, an economist at Beijing Normal University and a prominent expert on the issue, said survey samples under-count poor rural migrants and the wealth of China's elite. He put the true Gini Coefficient at 0.53. That is to say that the 3000 $billionaires and 1 million, millionaires keep all of the money to themselves, only sharing what they have to on luxury cars, handbags and property!

Finally (I have hundreds more of these)
In China, an estimated 45 billion pairs of disposable chopsticks are used and thrown away annually. This adds up to 1.7 million cubic metres of timber or 25 million fully grown trees every year, or about the same area as Belgium every year - if this is the case why do I always get dirty 2nd (or possibly 3rd, 4th or 15th) hand plastic ones in restaurants?

Robbed

2011-05-23T14:31:00.001+01:00

Life isn't fair, an obvious statement and one that everyone needs to realise at an early age. We can't all be premier footballers, super models, actors or mastermind criminals. From an early age we have to deal with the boys at school who grow moustaches and muscles quicker, and I guess girls must have had to learn to put up with those girls whose breasts looked more than fried eggs at 13.

Throughout life we have to deal with what life throws at us, we learn to accept that their will always be people who look better, run faster, think quicker or learn to suck up to the boss without a conscience. You come to accept that without the use of major cosmetic surgery, Photoshop and a body double you won't look like Brad Pitt or Diane Kruger. Your hopes to become a major rock star, marine biologist, spaceman or the next Steve Jobs fade as the realisation of mundane, normality and survival are all you can hope for - if your lucky.

I accepted this years ago, im lucky, i am relatively happy. I have a good job, a loving family and enjoy luxuries that I should be ashamed of. Of course I always wanted more; my own personal dream came in the guise of looking like Don Johnson, driving a Ferrari, living on my yacht in Miami and being married to Sheena Easton (yes i am ashamed to admit to having been a big Miami Vice fan!) - now of course pastel suits with shoulder pads are out, Sheena's looking a little worse for wear and having to clean up after a crocodile seems tiring. You come to accept your lot, and whilst still having dreams, they lean more towards long holidays, kids at the grandparents and the next update from apple!

This is all fine - except for one thing.
You expect that now you have fallen into a 'Matrix' style life of controlled turpitude at least your on a level playing field, a place that everyone plays the game and the rules are clear enough for you to at least survive without feeling raped. Well the reason for this blog, was one such incident that made me feel so violated that I again wished I still held out for Sheena and a mate like Tubbs. As usual it starts with me travelling, I wont bore you with how i got there, or even why i was in the most boring place on earth - Brussels. I was travelling back to the UK before flying home to Shanghai, joined by a group of colleagues we all headed for the computerised check-in machines that fill the halls of most airports these days. However in this instance I wasn't accepted on the flight, and had to resort to actually talking to someone and trying a more traditional method of checking in, I was told that I was not booked in on this flight as I handn't made the outward bound leg of my journey.

Now this is maybe something you are all aware of? However as someone who considers himself a 'frequent' flyer, it was something I hadn't faced before. Apparently because I hadn't made the outward bound leg of a return flight, the airline had cancelled the seat on my inbound flight and I had forfeited my return flight, infact worse than that they had sold my seat on the return leg. Luckily for me the people at Brussels airline were very gracious and managed to find me a seat on the plane which enabled me to get back to the UK on time - without any additional cost. This of course is only half of the story, the real story begins when I was sitting in Brussels airport lounge, a place so devoid of character that the people who work there - don't. They talk of places that elephants go to die, a hidden place that is away from the pack and allows them to die in dignity and privacy, Brussels airport is a similar place for tired politicians, business men and airport workers. It was a Friday evening and apart from the credit card sellers the place was desolate.

Having been almost stranded in Belgium, I thought about my flight back to Shanghai. I had had a torturous itinerary, covering 6 countries in 7 days, and because of late changes and airline ticket restrictions, I needed to book an additional single flight from Shanghai to London, alongside my return booking. Having not used the second flight from Shanghai to London, I began to wonder if the same rules as my Brussels flight were in place? Surely not? I had paid the price of a small family car for the ticket, and whilst maybe an acceptable practise on short discounted short hops, they wouldn't apply the same rules on a long haul, stupid price flight - right?

Here's where my allegiance and love, yes love of an airline died. Whilst waiting on hold for 26 minutes, I was abruptly told that as I hadn't used this outward leg of my flight, my inbound leg had been cancelled and sold to another mug. But don't worry, for almost twice the price of the seat you had already brought, they would be able to find you with another seat in order for you to get home. I think I need to repeat this, I paid for a return from shanghai to London, costing around the same as the national debt of Turkey. But because I couldn't change the dates on the outward leg of this flight, I paid for an additional single fair with the same airline a few days earlier - however because i hadnt used the outward bound leg of my original flight to London, they had cancelled my booking, without a refund. Thus a return flight would end up costing me the same as one return and two single flights. This was all with an airline I have shown unfrequented love, desire and passion for during the last 10 years, I was treated with such content that I felt like I had my heart ripped from my rib gage, stamped on, set on fire and the remains fed to pigs.

The airline of course was Virgin Atlantic, an airline I had written and eulogised about in the past. it comes to something when Brussels airways, an airline that has less planes than the Switzerland airforce, and one I fly as frequently as I refuse a free drink, would 'ensure a mutually acceptable resolution was found', whereas one that I had slept with on multiple occasions, allowed to look after my children, massage my back and fly me at 30,000 feet a 1000 times treated me like a thief, a vagrant and a despicable member of society.

I have of course checked IATA regulations, witch turn out to be guidelines rather than rules or laws, and yes they clearly say that this is within the airlines rights. But surely there becomes a point when common sense and loyalty takes over rules and regulations? Whatever happened to customer service, doing the right thing and maybe even 'not taking the piss'. Forgive me for thinking that when I book a flight I book seats on two planes - one to get me there and one to get me back! I guess after all I should realise that life isn't fair.

Fake

2011-05-14T14:55:00.005+01:00

When is a fake a fake? When is it acceptable to create, buy or ‘consume’ fake products? Questions I guess people are asking themselves more and more these days? It used to be that you would only ever find copied products at dodgy market stalls, pub car parks or on a Spanish beach? These days fake goods are attainable everywhere, from the billions of products advertised on ebay, Taoboa (China’s ebay – or is ebay, China’s Taoboa?), to the guy you know at work who can get Spiderman’s Pirates of the Transformer Caribbean 3 movie on DVD.

Industry claims that fake goods cost manufacturing $650 billion dollars each year, feeds organised crimes, employs embryonic children and closes more real companies than a country investing all its gold into Barings Bank or Iceland. Whilst I agree that a lot of the proceeds go to people who are organised at creating, distributing and controlling the fake products market, I am sure Osama would have been easier to catch if he was peddling Rollex watches at a local ale house (as long as that ale house wasn’t in Pakistan of course). I guess a bit like prostitution, porn and the drugs industry it is the need that creates and fuels the market, rather than someone waking up one day and thinking that they will produce a million copies of ‘The American’ DVD as a ‘good idea’, and in the hope that a similar number of people had just returned from the moon and missed the reviews.
Where there is a need, where something sells, and where there is money to be made, copies won’t be far behind.

China takes this to a whole new level, the forgery market here probably employs more people than those making, marketing and moving the real products. Copying has lost its illegality, Counterfeiting, Copying, Plagiarism, Stealing, Pilfering, forging call it what you like, its reached levels that are now getting scary. If anyone has ever visited Asia you will have undoubtedly visited one of the many fake markets that are scattered around the major cities? It’s a tourist ‘must see’, ‘must do’, the airports here are filled with people returning back to the West with the obligatory Louis Vuiton Handbag, Omega Watch and Burberry Scarf all brought for $11.50 at the local ‘Pearl Market’.

For those of you who haven’t visited, imagine a 4/5 or 6 story shopping mall, fill it with 100,000 ten meter square booths, cram them with enough product to keep Amazon going for a millennium, and finish it off with a 1000 screaming pigmy girls - who could sell Eskimos their own snow, and still make them think they were getting a bargain. Raise the volume to jet aircraft level and the temperature to around the same, and you will get the picture. These places sell every brand you have ever heard off, and lots that you haven’t. The screams of “Watch, DVD, Bag, you want watch? Bag for the wife? Bag for the girlfriend, bag for both? Manchester United, You from America? You want watch, bag, I give you best price, best quality, you my friend, I do you good deal” will haunt me until the day I die. I avoid these places like I avoid getting into conversations about the legality of murdering an untried man on foreign sovereign soil.

Don’t get me wrong, I have previously sinned. I gave into sparkly watches, shiny belts and Abercrombie sweaters right up until the moment they started going backwards, snapped and discoloured in the wash. I still buy fake DVD’s, but before American Seals burst through my windows and ‘double tap’ me. What else I am I to do? During my many years of travelling to China, and the last 5 years of living here, I have only once seen one original DVD on sale. It was at Toys-R-Us, they had an enormous display and special area set up for the launch of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets DVD, and alongside the full size cardboard cut-outs of Dumbledoor and Hagrid, plastic figures of Harry and Hermione, Quidditch lego sets, magic kits, wands, and invisibility cloaks was what looked like an original DVD on sale for 200 RMB ($30), amazed, I stood starring at it, at one point I even leant forward to inspect a copy – the security guard standing next to it checked me up and down as if he was protecting Justin Biebers virginity, before nodding approval. It was a small shelf with only about 10 copies, but they looked real enough, watermarks, holograms the lot. Just below this shelf was a much larger one that contained around 1000 copies of the same DVD, only this time they were being sold for 20RMB ($3), copies the store manager probably ‘ripped’ the previous evening and seemed to be selling far more copies than the original thing – surprisingly!

That was the last time I saw a real DVD in China, and I don’t suppose I will see another one for a while either. When a nation has been so used to paying 10 RMB (The ones in Toys-R-Us were over priced!), how will they ever get into the swing of paying 10X or 20X street prices, or god forbid waiting for the official copy to come out?
Whilst this is all deplorable, and taking the food off Brangelina's table is not something that should be condoned, its nothing compared to the latest trend is China. Over the past 3 months I have heard of 4 fake products that have made me seriously question my reasons for staying. Recent press reports have cited the forgery of Meat, Fruit, Vegetables and Drink (Not sure what is left?), this you must remember has been reported in newspapers that have a reputation for hiding anything that may insult, unnerve, worry or slightly question China’s dominance in everything. So when it tells you ten people died, you think 10 thousand, a government building project cost 10million, read 10 billion, and so on.

The next question I guess is why and how the hell do you fake meat? Well the forgery in question is turning cheaper pork into profitable beef (instructions here), dyeing old peppers in carcinogenic paint to make it look fresh, injecting under ripe melons with coloured sweetened water, and of course the horrific lethal babies milk products that have so far murdered 6 babies and hospitalised 300,000.

The one story I did smile at simply because the biggest drinkers of this product are the government, and the police force who should be controlling it, was the forgery involved in the drink of choice Bei Ju, and one brand in particular, Mao Tai. I have written about the properties of Bei Ju before, like most spirits/liquors it has a multitude of uses, namely, as an alternative to paint stripper, petrol or arsenic. The most expensive brand is Mao Tai which enters the market at around 1000 RMB ($150) and can cost 10 times that for a more select year. The price is governed by its brand, but theoretically by its controlled production volumes. Its exclusivity means that it is not only the drink to win you business and show off with, but it is also being copied in vast quantities. So much so, that you can sell empty bottles for 700 RMB! The factory where it is made, only produces 20 million tonnes per year, however over 200 million tonnes are thought to be consumed on an average year. So the chances of actually drinking a real, authentic Mao Tai are pretty slim, you wont tell by its price either as its sold as the real thing, and you cant tell by the taste as your sensory organs are destroyed on opening the bottle. The only time you will realise it wasn’t the real thing will be when your eyes bleed and your liver finally explodes.

So back to my first questions, “When is a fake a fake? When is it acceptable to create, buy or ‘consume’ fake products?” Well in my book, copy what ever you like as long as the person buying it knows it’s a fake. The ‘Pearl markets’ in China are perfect in that from the moment you step in, you know everything on sale is fake and will probably disintegrate before you step back outside, and if they don’t then well done you.
When its not acceptable is when you think your eating beef, munching on some crispy vegetables or fruit and washing it all down with a glass of alcohol only to find out that you glow in the dark, possess x-ray vision and have the ability to lose weight quicker than a Victoria Secrets model who just gave birth. The pinnacle of this deplorable practice is the poisoning of babies milk products, which has led to an outcry and a number of high profile arrests and convictions,, however in a country where people are willing to spend time and energy in turning pork into beef I am sure this is only the tip of the iceberg.

Dog

2011-04-24T05:56:00.000+01:00

I'M BACK, I'M BACK, I'M BACK, I guess it doesn't matter how loud I say it - if no one is reading I may as well be shouting from my padded cell. I know its been a long time but i have been busy, disillusioned and lazy. I still love writing, and have been busy putting together my 2nd unpublished book. unpublished? yes, well lets face it why would anyone be interested in a book that is entitled "Sex and Gravy"? and includes references to the Royal Family, adolescence sexual desires and the lingerie pages of 1980's Littlewoods catalogue?

The truth is that I have continued to write under a pseudonym, which has allowed me to be a little freer with my views and my words of condemnation. Especially when in a country that doesn't respect the freedom of speech, and also when your a prisoner to the corporate ladder you have to be careful to avoid a complete meltdown (otherwise known as "A Charlie Sheen") - this ruins the artistic element of writing, add the threat of deportation or worse imprisonment you begin to question the point of writing anything real at all. Writing anonymously has helped me unleash a violent and unreserved side previously suppressed by the chains of conformity including one particular article that affected me so much that i almost lost my way, i gave up on life and questioned society as a whole - more about that later.

I decided to write on my own blog again, as I was asked to by people i respect, and admire, as suggested the subject matter may prevent me to not write publicly again - but here goes, and lets see what happens.
I stumbled on an article in a Chinese website that showed the following pictures, (I am providing a link as they are too gruesome to put on my blog - you have been warned)

PRESS HERE - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

The text below this and the subsequent feedback from the Chinese commentators led to me question what i thought was different between East and West, was i witnessing a divide that would take generations to bridge? Indeed the feedback from the indigenous population was mixed, a combination of those horrified by the act itself, and those horrified by the reporting of the act (rather than the act itself). What I didn't expect as I wrote for a local english/chinese publication was the backlash from the western readers, yes there was the odd criticism of the act, but far more condemnation of my seemingly out dated and misguided respect for animals.

I live in a country that believes - "if it moves, kill and eat it", and if it doesn't move just miss out the "kill" part. I have been at meals where Panda, Shark, un-born rats, Salamander and a whole host of protected species have been served up as must have 2nd course, however for some crazy, and what must be some old fashioned English reason, I have always rejected Labrador and Retriever. (Before the hate mail starts to drown me, I have never eaten Panda or Salamander, despite the insistence of my hosts) But why have I equally rejected the idea of eating Fido, or Rex? I guess having owned and loved a family Labrador, and having been around dogs all my life, i find it difficult to munch on a pouches tail. I thought the world, or at least the western world was behind me, i thought i would be acclaimed for unearthing a semi secret act that had no place in a modern society.

What I found was a requirement for me to look at my own principles and everything that makes me who I am, i was berated for considering the act only distasteful because it was in broad daylight and in public. The "dog was dead" echoed in my ears and across my computer screen. maybe I had missed the point, perhaps they had an argument? was I being sensitive to a dumb senseless animal, who if it had been killed behind doors and served up on a porcelain plate with some Mange Tout I wouldn't have blinked an eye lid?

The arguments came in thick and fast, "If you were hungry enough you would eat it..", "You justify eating Lamb, Pork, Chicken and Cows, so why not dog?", "Your only argument is that it shouldn't be killed and prepared in front of you, it is you who has double standards.." etc. etc. All of these arguments are true, and I guess they unearthed an irrational view that i held, in as much that as long as I don't see something being murdered and skinned then its OK to eat it.

The example of how sheep, cows and chickens were killed was thrown into the pot (sorry for the pun), would skinning a cow on a cross roads cause such a personal feeling of anger and outrage? and if it did - wouldn't that be a case of double standards? why is it OK to eat animals killed out of sight when those killed in public deemed unacceptable? I guess in my defense I do find it acceptable to eat pig, sheep, cow and chicken, I hypocritically have no desire to see then killed, skinned and prepared for consumption and I guess I treat them like convenience goods rather than animals. However does this view make the act in itself any better? Yes my distaste was centered around the public skinning of a family animal, I never mentioned the outcome of the skinning, and i know the eating of dead animals has gone on since the dawn of man. I would like to believe that if it had been a goat, horse or pig being skinned, I would still have been outraged - and that statement in itself has to make me question my own ethics - are they based on reality or just a modern desire not to know where my diamonds, petrol, gold or in this case meat comes from?

It is something you cant get away from in China, recent studies show that the Chinese are the biggest consumers in the world of dog, cat, horse, frog and a wide variety of unthinkable treats like Beetles, Rats, Scorpions and Locust. These foods have turned from being mere necessities to luxury items, yes used to impress visiting laowei, but more than often for general consumption. Take the lowly Cikada (Please take them, as they make an ungodly racket that can be deafening in the summer), amazing creatures they may be, and scientist have studied them for millennium to try and understand their breading habits and life cycle patterns (spending X years under ground, only to emerge to mate and then die). To me they are an irritating, noisy pest with a mildly interesting or quirky life, to the Chinese they are a child's snack, picked from the ground with a stick or shook from the tree to be boiled up and eaten as a treat, a bit like picking a blackberry from a bush, or scrumping an apple from the tree when i was a kid!

The article, and more importantly the comments I received about the article taught me little about peoples views on eating dog meat, but taught me a lot about peoples views on having an opinion. It seems that you can never be right, you can only argue a point of view, and no matter how strong your beliefs start out, other peoples point of view should make you think about your own principles, beliefs and expectations. I still think it is wrong to skin a Golden Retriever on a busy downtown crossroads, for that matter I still think its wrong to eat dog meat, but I have learned that my views are based on irrational emotions that have been developed over centuries of cultural influence, conditioning me to believe dogs were family pets, companions and dare i even say it friends!

Inspection

2010-10-28T10:11:00.002+01:00

Its been a few weeks since I last blogged, work has taken its toll and I have struggled to keep up to my once a week update. This weeks is symptomatically a couple of weeks behind, and is brought to you courtesy of another 12 hour flight with Mr Branson.

This blog is more of a infotainment piece, mainly inspired by the lack of information I found available on Google or Bing, when searching for "China Work Permit Physical Inspection", or "How to get a work permit in China", and "What does the physical inspection entail?" - I got very few usable returns, so I decided to create one myself that in a hope that it may help those poor unfortunate soles wishing to work in this god forsaken country - don't get me wrong god may have forsaken China - but to some of us its become a way of life.

To begin, I must look back - I have lived and worked in China for ever, and have never had to undergo a medical examination. Which to the majority of my compatriots is confusing, its pretty confusing to me also, I have held numerous residents permits and several work permits, in at least two provinces, each obtained without having to endure the misery or embarrassment of a medical examination. The norm. requires you to undergo the routine of a strip searched, finger up the bum cough and drop type of an entry examination (I thought). The Chinese like to put everyone through a throughly embarrassing medical examination to ensure they you do not bring any contagious diseases into their puritanical country, or at least was the answer given to me when asking the question "why?".

This is the bit that confuses and angers the majority of foreigners - how dare they think we are bringing extra diseases into a country already scorned with HIV, Hepatitis A,B and C, Rabies, Japanese Encephalitis and herpes to name but a few. Most (Well me) think it is more to do with seeing how much you catch whilst here - check them when they come in, check them when they go out scenario. A good way of gauging the interaction and 'pollution' these strange foreigners offer our population. Apparently we all have fatty livers, are overweight and exhibit a high tendency for premature death ( which is strange since we all come from countries with longer life expectancy than any province in China). Another explanation that always fits nicely, is the one that is used for countless cultural/social/regulatory indifference's exhibited by visitors to china. That is with such a large population you need to find them all something to do. This is the reason that Highway toll booths are maned (even the ones fitted with electronic tags), it takes 3 people to aid your purchase in a department store and why our gardner sits on the lawn for hours picking at the grass rather than using the lawnmower in the garage!

Anyway the reason for this post was to detail the process of examination rather than explore the reasons.

The first thing to identify is that the examination centre is in Hongqiao area (for those south of Beijing), quite easy to get to for the adventurous, an inconspicuous building you cant miss the entrance on the ground floor, met by well spoken receptionists who has seen every shape, size, nationality and deformed foreigner before. They instantly know when you haven't brought the obligatory 4 passport photos and required payment, take your number, clipboard and fill the forms in with the instructions - "DO NOT LIE", again "DO NOT LIE", although this is bollocks as I have previously said - I have obtained the required documentation twice previously without even smelling the burning plastic suppository gloves of the examination centre. still you complete the forms, before sitting in front of some surely women who converts your English into Chinese on a computer screen.

You are then ushered into a changing room - where you keep you trousers, skirts, pants on and adorn a fetching terry towelling gown sized for pigmy's and lepricorns, that barely covers your naked upper half. Hide your belongings into a locker and journey to the next office on the row of 6-8 innocuous rooms leading off the main alley. Here they will insert needles into your main blood vain, extracting 2 veils of pure Western nectar with such professionalism and panache that Dracula himself would have been proud, a jab, a suck and a plaster are the last you see of 10fl oz of bright red vampire juice.

Next the eye test, why this is such an important entry test I am not sure, but here you get the most miserable man in the world ask you to identify witch direction the capital letter E is pointing in, when asked did I have contact lenses in I playfully said "of course not" and subsequently performed brilliantly, passing with vision reserved for snippers and Kestrels. I thought my scam would have been discovered when he continued to shine a bright light in my eye to examine them, despite this he failed to notice the thin plastic dustbin lids in my eyes, which made me think that he was probably blinder than me - or just didn't care!

Next onto an examination reserved in the west for pregnant moms and drug smugglers - ultrasound, or scanning your belly with some cold gel and a strange shaped computer mouse - not sure what they are looking for but the women running it could easily play the part the wicked witch in the west. Not sure if she is trying to scan the size of your liver or read the bed sheet label beneath you, she has the bed side manner of hannibal lecture and Adolf himself would be impressed with her way of dealing with infidels.
A general examination follows, with contrastingly a man so nice he could be too nice??? He tests your blood pressure and has a good feel of your fat stomach before slapping you on the bum and wishing you all the best - the female version I am told requires a good old breast examination and search for the lost treasure of the Inca tribe - still you women will be complicated!

An X-Ray of your chest region is conducted by a couple of giggling girls - not sure if its over exposure to gamma radiation or the fact that they cant believe there luck every time they get paid to scan the insides of another dumb lowai, either way they are pleasant and don't require you to expose anything more than a smile whilst the radiation equivalent to Chernobyl drains into and out of your body.

Finally you are entertained by the electro cardiograph machine, which means being hooked up to the national grid by a couple of jump start plugs stollen from Carrefour, the equipment is akin to that used by the popular family game "operation" and requires you to clip a large grip to your ankle, one on each nipple and one in a region close to, well too close to anything. Finally you get changed back into your normal clothes and pay a bit more to have the results delivered to your home or office.

All in all it wasn't the horrendous debacle you anticipated, apart from the indignity of being pushed, prodded and shuffled from room to room the affair was tolerable, however your mind always comes back to the question why? I understand the need to control the influx of contagious diseases into a country, but since when has breast cancer or high blood pressure been contagious? There isn't a national health service like in the UK, so any required treatment wouldn't burden the state. This leaves most foreigners feeling suspicious to the real reasons behind the examination - apparently you can't fail the examination, in years gone by they would refuse a work permit to those carrying HIV, but now even this is accepted - I have been told that what ever disease or imperfection you do have is simply recorded on your work permit for all that wish to inspect it in the future - an indignity in itself I guess but as it's written in Chinese one I can, and will choose to ignore!

Suppliers

2010-09-20T07:33:00.000+01:00

I have been traveling around China again this week, and despite having believed that I had been there, done that and caught the infection. This place never ceases to amaze me with every turn. Rather than get depressed by each sweltering journey, I cheer myself up with text messages to my wife, the odd phone call to a friend and a chat on MSN. This week my messages have been short (real txt msgs sent this week):

Hot, Sweaty and stuck in another queue from hell.
At Another sh*t supplier, in another sh*t hole place.
In a foundry, somewhere in shitsville china.
(My wife suggested these should by the titles for my next 3 books)

So as you can see I haven't exactly warmed to the need to visit as many of my new supply base in as short a period as possible. Perhaps i just need to get back into the swing of it, after all I spent 4 years touring suppliers in this country, and got used to waking up in another damp, clammy and smelly hotel, enduring a conch, noodle and hot orange cordial drink breakfast all in preparation for visiting a derelict factory, in the middle of a derelict village, down a road mountain goats would struggle to traverse.

On arrival at a factory you would need to step across the ocean like puddles, past the stinking bathrooms before sitting in a vast meeting room that is either freezing cold, or baking hot (dependent on time of year), handed a paper cup full of grass cuttings and boiling water, whilst waiting for the toothless, long filthy nailed, poorly dressed general manager or owner to appear.

Following a presentation that includes borrowed slides from his brothers company down the road, every western company logo available on google images and an English translation that is more complicated than the original 400 Chinese characters on the page, we head for the factory tour....

The tour is normally accompanied by a young girl so slight that she has to avoid cracks in the pavement, not because of bad luck, but in case she falls in and can't climb out. You get the feeling that she once watched an episode of Friends on TV and was instantly promoted to the position of company English translator and font of all western cultural awareness. I would swear that she is kept in a box under the bosses table when not needed, they seem so scared, nervous and demure that shadows cause them to curl up into a ball. Your desperate to ensure she doesn't get into trouble for not understanding your question, or more importantly understanding her answer. You nod convincingly to answers that have no connection or relevance to the critical, well thought out question you just asked, you try to ask it in 15 different ways so as not to cause offence only to become more and more confused. Finally you give up and hope your bosses don't ask you the same question.

During the tour you try desperately to ignore the workers cleaning the tool under the 75 tonne press, or the welders without face guards, pneumatic drill operators without ear protection and the casting operators in sandals. The piles of your damaged and broken products lying next to supposedly good stock, the variety of raw materials when you specified just one to be used, and the seemingly identical un-branded parts being made in the room next to where your 'exclusive' components are specially prepared!
Regardless of the time, the next thing on the agenda is lunch!

I have written about some of the things I have been 'invited to sample' before, but to recap for those not familiar with lunch at a rural factory, it firstly involves finding a restaurant - you would think that the treacherous drive to dead centre of nowhere would mean it was impossible to find somewhere for lunch? Well despite feeling like your in Vandor 1 of the Curuscant System from Star Wars, you will always find somewhere to eat within a 5 km radius of the factory (normally owned by the same person), and you will know it's a restaurant by the Porsche Cayenne, BMW 7 Series and Audi Q7's parked outside, whilst the bicycles, goats, pigs and other assorted forms of transport meander past, you can guarantee several 100 thousand pounds of motor vehicles will be parked outside the local eatery, including the one the poverty pleading factory owner just drove you there in.

Semi grand affairs you imagine them being quite nice on the day they opened, which seems like it must have been 300 years ago by how the decoration and furnishings have fared. Led to a private room, the fu wu yuan will quickly turn the heating/air conditioning on and pour some more grass cuttings and hot water. I won't go into the traditions of who sits where and why as I have covered this before, but if i say that this takes longer to decide than the actual ordering of the food, you will get an idea of the complex decision making process - especially if it is a state owned company or a number of local government officials are present.
Sometimes you may be asked if you like Chinese food, or if there is anything you don't like? This is a bit like asking if you like smells? You may love the smell of freshly baked bread or ground coffee, and dislike the smell of rotting flesh or bottom burps - the question is too open ended. The same is true of Chinese food, I defy anyone to say they like/dislike Chinese food as it covers everything from Pizza to Pancreas and Soup to Sparrows Tongue (a personal dislike of mine). However it is more often than not, the rejects from the dog food selection of ingredients. It's the only cuisine in the world that can ruin roast chicken, batter beef steak and crucify crab. The desire to grind a gob full of bone before spitting it out onto the plate you eat from, whilst trying to suck the marrow from a birds toe will always leave a westerner desiring something 'ordinary'. Pushing entrails around on your plate for 40 minutes only ends when the site of Mellon dawns the rotating food table to signify the end of the meal. Never a lover of this plain, oversized cucumber in the past, it now brings a smile to my face, and a delight to my stomach, having picked at the previous 30 dish banquet I now gorge on melon as if it was my last meal, I know my hosts look at me, and in their heads ask how I can be so overweight when all I eat is a watery fruit?

Was the food ok? Are you still hungry? Would you like rice or noodles? Are the next questions that you answer politely and smile while doing so. You then jump into the car and head back to the factory to cover the points of your visit, which can include project timing and price negotiations for a new supplier, or quality and delivery issues for an existing one. It doesn't really matter as all subjects are treated the same, the owner
Pulling in his sales, quality, logistics or engineering manager as each topic is raised, not letting them talk he himself answers the questions and instructs the responsible manager as to how important the request is and that it must take his full attention - all problems have been or will be resolved by the end of the day, promises are made and commitment assured - improvements in IT systems, a new factory, new employees or new machinery are always promised at the first review, and then again at the second, third, forth - well you get the picture.
The end of the meeting comes when the owner has an important matter to attend to, and is replaced by his number two, who also seconds as the companies sales, quality, logistics and engineering manager and happens to by the owners son-in-law. Devoid of any real responsibility you quickly realize you are wasting your time and may as well head back up the jungle track to the train station or airport, this provides an adrenaline rushed experience as you dodge overladen trucks, old women on scooters and various natural disasters to meet your transport onto the next supplier.
Successful meeting? Who knows, you did manage to come away with a box of oranges, Logan berries or depending on the time of year moon cake or boiled eggs, you got a free lunch and a ride in a fancy car - not quite what you set out to achieve, but there is always next time, oh joy.

Work

2010-09-12T11:50:00.000+01:00

If like me you grew up during the eighties you will remember the song "Who wants to live forever" by Queen, well every now and again i have a similar feeling of anxiety and dread when i think about work. In my case i am not too bothered about living forever, but what i do worry about working forever.

I remember when i was much younger I wanted to earn some money for myself, especially when holidays beckoned or i needed some new clothes. My father had never seen the value in expensive training shoes or sportswear, probably because we didn't have the money, but also because he used to remind me of how he had to walk to school in bare feet on broken glass when he was small, because he couldn't afford shoes and even the glass had to be borrowed - if anything cost over $0.24 it had to come with 4 tyres and a steering wheel.
What he hadn't realised was that at school i was being ridiculed, beaten and traumatised for life by wearing Nicke' Abbibas and Pumar apparel. The chance to earn some money would enable me to buy my own clothes that didn't have "beat me senseless for wearing 'un-cool' clothes" blazoned on the back, however finding work at 14 wasn't so easy - I lived in an area where there weren't any paperboys (or girls), mainly because no one had a newspaper delivered - it was seen as POSH and frivolous, why pay someone to deliver your newspaper when you had 4 or 5 kids doing nothing in your own home, especially when fetching the newspaper for your dad might have meant he let you keep the 2 pence change - if you were lucky.

I remember once, one of my uncles (Ray) who to us lived in a posh area because they had trees, wanted someone to chop up some wood for his open fire (again posh), it was just before our summer holidays and me and Martin, my younger brother, jumped at the chance. We thought it was the perfect job. Letting a couple of juveniles cut, pull, break, smash and hammer a load of wood - and get paid for it!
Then the icing on the cake, he told us we would need to use the small chainsaw he had just brought - was this man crazy? We were known for burning anything that was flammable, smashing anything that was expensive and basically ruining anything good, and he was going to let us loose with a chainsaw.

"I want to go first - I'm the oldest" I yelled at my younger brother, who by this age was already taller and stronger than me. We argued for hours until he conceded, and our father dropped us at Ray's house, he was waiting for us with an open garage stacked to the roof with timber - Noah hadn't used as much wood when building the arc. Still we thought with a chainsaw we would make quick work of it and receive our bounty in full, er no. The chainsaw must have come from the same Chinese factory that made Christmas cracker toys, and was about as useful. We toiled for 8 hours trying to make a dent in the mountain of winter fuel, taking it in turns to slide the blunt instrument across the damp, green, knot ridden railway sleepers and 500 year old oak tree trunks. After what seemed an eternity our dad arrived to pick us up and we were released from our shackles. To get us threw the torture we had planned what we would spend the money on, a new computer game for the Sinclair Spectrum, a pair of Reebok trainers, a kite etc. Ray gave us our pay in a brown envelope, just like a factory worker might receive his weekly pay. I knew instantly it would not be enough to fulfill our dreams, even without opening it I could tell it contained coins - coins weren't good.

I learned several valuable lessons that day, firstly my uncle was as tight as a fishes arse, secondly always agree the fee upfront and perhaps most importantly that the size of the remuneration received isn't necessarily connected to how much sweat you lose trying to earn it. Since then I have lived by these rules, and looked to find a job that meant I perspired little and earned a lot, I'm still looking!
Which brings me to the point of this blog, I am fast approaching 2 anniversaries, 40 years on the planet and 22 years in full time employment (albeit for a multitude of companies). The 40 doesn't bother me, however the 22 does, why? Well probably because according to recent reports, by the time I approach retirement, the UK government will have raised the pensionable age to 70. The thought of another 30 years working feels me with dread, don't get me wrong the first 22 have been a blast, 4 continents, a dozen countries and a bewildering variety of responsibilities and experiences. But to think I have to go and do it all again plus some more - pass the razor blades now.
I can't imagine another 30 years of getting up at 6.00am,working out how to keep my well paid job, please my bosses and stay ahead of the young pretenders, I'm already tired, grey and past it. Sleep is my favourite hobby, next to snoozing and 'resting my eyes'. I long for the weekend, and dream of lazy holidays spent sleeping in the sun, afternoon siestas and late mornings, I work for free time these days, not for money.

My children, talk to me about wanting to start work and earn some money, my daughter already has her life mapped out, leave school at 16, get dad to buy her a chocolate shop and she will make millions devising new ways to form chocolate into ever more desirable shapes - she's 8 years old, and her one passion is to start work ASAP. I tell her not to leave school, college,or university until they kick her out kicking and screaming - work is for dummies, leaving school at 16 will leave you with another 54 years of work! 54 years that's more than the average life expectancy in South Africa, Tanzania or Mada-bloody-Gascar. My elder son feels the same and despite owning everything a 12 year old boy could possibly need or want, he longs to earn his own money, sounding like an old fuddy I send him to his grandad who at 60 has just retired, 5 years before the current UK age for retirement as he was fortunate to have worked for the civil service (how does that work? They make the rules that tell us we must work longer, retire later and pay more into the state pension system, then they retire on inflated pensions younger than anyone!).
My father started work at the age of 14, plucking chickens in the back yard of the butchers shop his family lived above in Aston Cross, Birmingham. He covered 46 years of employment without a single sick day and no break between jobs. He is the epitome of what society wants - a tax paying, hard working, never complaining worker ant, stuff that -become a soldier ant, directing, organising and telling everyone else what to do, or better still go for the queen ants job, work for yourself, avoid as much tax as possible, fail to pay your debts on time, and pay yourself unrepresentative wages whilst everyone else does the work, if all that fails get a government job, be good at football or marry well!

For me, I have already planed my next move. It's a job I noticed about 10 years ago whilst on holiday in Cornwall. We were staying in a holiday home called the "little house" in St. Ives which is right on the harbour wall with uninterrupted views of the bay and the small town beach. Just outside of the front door a man with skin like a hippopotamus's backside and the colour of recently varnished mahogany, sits there day in day and day out, his trusty dog lies by his side and an old women brings him a freshly cooked bacon sandwich for elevenses, a cheese and pickle roll for lunch, and a cool pint of scrumpy cider for tea. He spends most of the day sucking on his pipe and snoring, only waking to take a couple of pounds off the visiting tourists for the days hire of a deck chair or windbreak. No employees, no bosses, shareholders or worries - ah that's the life, bring it on, only do it before those civil servants make me work another 40 years.

ExPrat.

2010-09-05T07:40:00.000+01:00

So one week into my move back to China, did I make the right decision? Well the answer to that one is a resounding NO, but then the answer was always going to be a NO, Clarkson once said that people only become expats because they cant get a job in their own country, or they are pedophiles or jobless child molesters. As with many things Clarkson says I don't necessarily agree, of course many of the foreigners (a term used here to describe westerners living in Asia) fit the bill, and I would struggle to argue against his description. However there are those that find the fast pace of life, the opportunity not to conform to expectations, and lets not forget the financial benefits a strong pull over fish and chips, rainy summers and Coronation Street.

Some come to enhance their career, a few years working in Asia learning the culture and picking up the language can be seen as a big advantage as the world gets smaller, and we all start working for Chinese Government owned companies. Others come to broaden their understanding of life outside of no. 43 Acacia Avenue, send their children to international schools and explore the surrounding areas of beauty, diversity and history. The rest are here for the money, the lifestyle and the fact that the concrete ceiling in their own companies meant that going sideways 6000 miles was a shorter distance than the 3 meters to an office upstairs. Then their are those whom my posting today is about - the pseudo expats. who leave their brains, conscience, dignity and respect at immigration control on entering the country.

I could write for days on what I hate about China, the things that frustrate me, wear me down and at times beg belief. I probably have and most definitely will again write about the bizarre and sometimes unbelievable things I see, do or have done to me whilst here, but none of these compare to how much I detest the groups of westerners who feel that when they land here, that the 12 hour flight somehow took them back in time to the turn of the last century. Virgin/BA/United etc. etc. do not advertise the fact that not only can their planes provide you with a choice of 500 movies, but they also equip their planes with a flux capacitor that will transport you back to the height of colonialism.

It all starts at the airport, most of us are used to queuing for a taxi, hiring a car or even booking a hotel vehicle to pick us up after a long flight. Of course all of us would like that car/taxi to be there the moment we disembark and collect us from the foot of the airplane - however we all recognise that we don't sing in a rock group or run a country somewhere off the cost of Africa. So we endure the heat, the queuing and the stroppy assistant at the hire car check-in, in the full knowledge that there are several thousand other people in the same boat and complaining will only prolong the agony What we don't do is huff, puff and generally make a scene when our personal driver hasn't laid a bed of white rose petals to the car door, cooled the vehicle to 18.64 degrees Celsius, flown-in young Timmy's favorite chocolate bar from Switzerland and organised the police motorcycle outriders to expedite the journey home.
Go to any international arrivals lounge in Asia and you will see a straw hatted women with a dozen cases, two mobile phones, a worn out husband and a couple of adolescent children all pacing up and down, shouting into mobile phones, and generally making an arse of themselves because their driver failed to predict that their (fake) Louis Vuiton luggage sailed through the airport security putting them 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

On arrival at there company provided, over-priced, over-sized and over-the-top homes behind the tall security fences, barbed wire and security cameras, they leave their 6 stone driver to carry in their luggage under one arm and their 14 year old son under the other, they immediately usher the Ayi (Maid) to unpack the cases, wash, dry and iron the contents, poor them both drinks, draw the curtains, prepare a meal, run a bath, feed the dog, fetch some fresh lemons, help with their sons school project, top up the credit on their phones, kill the lone mosquito that found its way in behind the electrified surgically enveloped home, massage their backs and remind them to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, whilst they recover from the first class flight, the 6 weeks holiday spent elsewhere because it "just gets too hot in the summer" and spending most of the time complaining about life, their driver and their maid.

What you have to remember that these people are not some gentrified, blue blooded socialites who happen to have been posted to Asia to escape death duties on one of their estates. They are generally people who have no more class than Katie Price (Jordan), an upbringing similar to all of us who have had to share a stick of candy floss with our siblings whilst on holiday, and normally live in normal houses, with normal cars, and normal lives. Only for the grace of the ability to speak English, being born in the right country at the right time, wearing the 'correct' skin colour, and have the ability to sound as if they know what end of a spanner you should use when knocking a nail into a piece of plastic, are they given the opportunity to "be our man in China".

Wealth gives no one the right to act like Major Plum of the 4th Guards regiment stationed just outside Bugaracky in 1901 - especially when the wealth comes from an over generous multi-national company who for some unknown reason think that the 30 something Chinese engineer who graduated from Stanford, then spent 6 years working for Ford designing engine ECU's , happens to speak 4 languages, will work for 60 hours without question in any country and will only go home if you hold a gun to his head, is somehow incapable of managing a team of 5 chinese only speaking engineers making cornflake boxes - and cannot compete with their 40 something year old westerner who only ever got as far as smoking behind the bike sheds, barely speaks English without every other word ending in ***off, **nt and **stard, and claims company expenses for his wife's tennis lessons, massages and nail trimming due to the hardship endured living in a developing nation.

Some of this could be seen as jealousy, maybe it could, but I live in a nice house, drive a nice car and earn a nice wage. I do not object to anyone using a driver in China its only the crazy westerners who drive themselves (me included) in the dangerous, alien and the always congested roads. I don't even object to those who have an Ayi, sure we would all like someone to do the mundane washing up, ironing of clothes and popping up to the local market to pick up some fruit, vegetables or fresh flowers. I dont even mind when companies provide the spouses wife's with expense accounts for nasal hair bleaching treatment. What I do find disturbing is how these obvious trappings become a benchmark for all other people who work here, we all become measured by how much housing allowance we receive, how many staff we employ to arrange the flowers in our houses, and the size of our winter wardrobe budget. People are mocked for not living on the right compound, street or apartment block, they are harangued for only having one driver and disowned for not taking their Ayi on holiday with them to look after the children. All of this has created an upward spiral of decadence and bizarre 'one-upmanship' amongst expats in China. I know of 'friends' companies who have spent £60k on flights home at Christmas - for 4 people, children of 6 who have fired their drivers for being late, and childless couples who have 3 Ayi's because their house is to big for one to manage - er get a smaller house?

This is what I hate most about China, people who treat their companies generosity as a weapon against those who treat China as an adventure. They convince themselves that they do it to help the local people by 'giving something back' and that they need these comforts due to the trauma caused by missing "dancing with stars on ice" on TV at home. None of the them would send there children to Chinese schools, buy a Chinese brand car (or Chinese anything for that matter) or even fly first class on a Chinese airline, all of which provide the bulk of the money that their companies spend in China, and all of which employ more local people in value added employment. I could go onto talk about how when not being chauffeured around they let their 10 year old children drive motorbikes around roads they wouldn't normally drive Sherman tanks around themselves, how they complain when despite flapping their arms around like a demented fly swatter - the local chinese cannot understand that they wanted their eggs slightly runny not hard boiled, Or how they criticise other foreigners for leaving tips greater than $0.01, as it will increase expectations - however I will leave that for another blog in the future, as I will probably have plenty of time as I have just alienated have of my neighbours!

Bon Voyage

2010-08-27T07:39:00.000+01:00

I guess I should get the apologies out of the way first and ask forgiveness for not posting over the last couple of weeks. I had written a pulitzer winning post about my holiday in Cornwall, only to discover my daughter had deleted it from my iPad - please add a trash bin to the next update Mr Apple! Losing something you have written is like losing a friend or a relative, yes you can remarry, adopt or try DNA cloning, but it never has the same passion, the same emotion or energy. Of course you should always make several copies - but as Dr Johnson said in Blackadder the Third - "Making a copy is like fitting wheels to a tomato, time consuming and completely unnecessary".

I couldn't bring myself to re-write the account of my holiday frustrations and memories of my childhood adventures. Sitting in our lounge overlooking Carbis Bay, St Ives and Godrevy Lighthouse provided inspiration, and conjured up memories of camp site discos, hours on the beach, and glorious moments in penny arcades that the back of a Virgin Atlantic seat simply cant match.

Yes you guessed it my inspiration for this weeks blog is another long haul trip on one of Richard Bransons finest. Although this time my journey is quite different, as I am joined on the 12 hour journey from hell with my family, as we are all moving back to China. When I started this new blog, I had intended not to write about myself or my family, but more about my thoughts, my ignorance and my observations whilst returning to the UK after a 4 year absence. I never expected to be sitting here writing about the move back to a country I thought I had left for good only 12 months earlier.

Of course the move has been on the cards for some time, and discussions started some 6 months ago when I was asked to help spec. a job in China for the Group Purchasing organisation. The resulting job spec. meant that apart from the twin brother I don't have, I was also the ideal candidate, ticking every box I had helped form, led to some heated conversations with both my current boss and the family. I thought I had got the Asian bug out of my system, whilst living there I had lived life to the full and had either encountered, observed or endured all that China could throw at me. My time in Nanjing saw me tasting real China, the frozen winters and the scorching summers with little in-between, the strength and power of people thrown into similar circumstances what it is like to have true friends, and how the desires and ambitions of a few individuals can turn dreams into reality when backed by the power of the state. Shanghai was quite different and introduced me to how destructive the differing desires of the west can destroy a company when clashing with the needs of the East, the extremes of China's super rich vs the super poor, and the worse excesses of expatriates.

For all of these and many, many more the decision to embark on another 3 year secondment to China was not taken lightly, my children are growing older fast, as are their grandparents. The need for an expat posting on my CV had already been achieved, and a further 3 years would only prove to pigeon hole me even further - one recruitment expert I talked with about the move even went as far as saying that I would be virtually unemployable in the UK if I returned after another 3-4 years. My son had found girls entertaining, and my daughter had just got to know her grandparents, we had moved to a village where locals still used the pub, horse riding was a job, and Sunday bikers still hadn't found the surrounding lanes exciting yet.

Perhaps it was unfinished business? I hadn't exactly left on my own terms last time and I knew I could offer more. Maybe it was the opportunity to escape a country which has turned into a cliche of itself, with increasing taxes, unemployment and reality TV shows. Everything I love about the UK has an equally annoying counterpart. Stephen Fry Vs Katie Price, Democracy Vs the Nanny state, Proud vs Yob, Class Vs Tattoos and Nationalism Vs Racism. Of course all countries suffer from the same in varying degrees, however maybe its the small size of the UK that leads to enjoying the beautiful gardens or gallery of a stately home, whilst trying to ignore or endure the tattooed, foul mouthed, frogmela and her broad of equally revolting overweight, uncouth brain dead offspring that leads to the feeling that the country isn't big enough for the both of us! Of course there are many things I equally hate about China - but at least I can put that down to them being foreign!

So here I am, flying towards a new job in an old city, moving back to the same home and the children starting back at a school they left last year. I cant promise that it will be as exciting as previous years, I wouldn't go as far as to say that it will be as adventurous, suprising or entertaining, but I am sure that it will conjure up plenty of material to keep me writing.

Population

2010-07-12T11:32:00.000+01:00

An article in the free Newsweek magazine that accompanied me during my flight to Shanghai, inspired me to write this weeks journal. Newsweek is one of those magazines that reminds me of wikepedia, i'm never sure how true the facts, figures and numbers are? Having wrote the odd study myself, I know how much research is needed to put something together that talks about the differences across continents, countries and cultures. To get your facts correct takes months (or at least weeks) of investigation, analysis and confirmation. Yet Newsweek reals off story after story, full of facts, and figures. Either they have an army of writers, journalists and investigators or they make it up?

Either way the story entitled "The post-China world - The end of the boom is now in sight, and the ripple of slower growth will span the globe", made me think of another impeding crisis heading towards China's meteoric rise to arguably the most powerful nation in todays messed up world.

The story concentrated on the stabilisation of China's economy, slow down in growth and the similarities with Japans boom and bust economy 10 years earlier. It concedes that China's enormous population, and particularly the poor element of its vast human resource will probably continue to fuel cheap labour and cheap export for many years to come, but highlights the lack of passion for internal consumerism as a key reason why it will not be able to balance the drop in demand and competitive advantage it currently sees, as costs and particularly wages increase. True or not the story was backed up by the usual plethora of learned comments and W.H.O. Facts and figures.

The story I would like to tell is one that also suggests the demise of the country I am currently travelling to, and one that seems more like home than any other these days.
I had mentioned previously my old PA Hu Jin, a likeable character, educated in Malaysia and England he was amongst the 1st generation born as result of China's single child policy. Introduced in 1979 by Deng Xiaoping, the Policy was introduced to try and reduce the enormous population growth that burgeoned the countries development, and proved a massive drain on available resources. Growth which led to an extra 15 million people every year! *Growth between 1961 and 1980 ran at 2.2%.

The positives of the initiative are only visible on a balance sheet, it is estimated that the policy has prevented an extra 400 million joining the throngs. However to the foreign visitor, people still hang on for dear life from every nook and cranny, for example, the entire population of Toronto pass through Shanghais underground system every day, and the monthly number of children born in China is equal to the population of some of Europe's major Cities. The effect of this staggering growth leads to numbers like 15,500 new vehicle registrations in Beijing alone - every day! The numbers are mind-blowing, however without the restrictions in place, the situation would be much, much worse.

The negatives of the single child policy are evident only when you know them, and then start to look hard at the situation through the eyes of the young, the elderly, the adopted and the aborted. For every 100 female children born there are 114 males born, which is as a result of unnatural selection. The sexing of unborn babies through scans is illegal, however China has become the home of selective abortion, with more than 15 million official abortions per year (unofficial figures are much higher) or to put it into context, the population of Los Angeles aborted every year, why? Well a multitude of reasons, but mainly because they were female. Like many developing countries, China values sons over daughters, the difference in China is that due to the single child policy - you only get one shot!

The need to have a male son is not as you imagine to do with family name or male dominance in the workplace, in fact in many of the new industries responsible for Chinas incredible growth, females workers are dominant. I once visited a Japanese company called Takarta in a Shanghai suburb, where of the 3000 employees 2980 were female! specifically recruited for their dexterity, obedience and loyalty. Ever since Mao, the female worker has had as many rights as the male, in fact recent changes in employment law favour the female employee - on paper at least.

The need to procreate a male offspring is more to do with a complacency towards the state pension system. It was always expected that the senior son would take up the role of bread winner, carer and provider to his elderly parents come retirement. This was fine when you had 3 or 4 children, the odds were that one of them would outlive the parent, and one of them would be male. The introduction of a single child rule, has led to a concern that if you have a daughter and they get married - that they will be required to support their husbands family in old age, and thus leave the daughters family without a sponsor. The dependance on a son has become enormous and has led to a share increase in both selective abortion and female children being put up for adoption.

This I would suggest is one of the biggest single threats to the continued growth of China. Hu Jin is approaching 30, and his parents have just entered their 50's. They are the lucky ones, they have a son who will continue to provide and care for his/her parents long into old age. for the tens of millions who only have a single daughter, they have to hope that her husbands family are` younger, richer or healthier than them? Added together with the fact that people are now starting to live a little bit longer, and the labour market is getting tougher for the normally less educated middle to late aged employee, a vast problem dawns on the horizon.

As with all metrics in China the numbers are amazing, it is estimated that a current 134 million people are in retirement, and that this will increase to 500 million by the year 2050, and as the national pension scheme only encourages around 15% of the population to contribute, the planned shortfall is catastrophic. The overall slowing of population growth is one thing, couple this with ageing, lack of pensions system and the imbalance of the sexes all add up to a worrying future.

Nobody knows what will happen when an extra 100 million or two are added to the retirement list each year, but it is a sure recipe for civil unrest, in a country facing so many more civil liberty and unrest issues I wouldn't be surprised if this is the one that tips it over the edge!

Delay

2010-07-04T13:41:00.000+01:00

This week has been one of the most frustrating on record, all due to airline delays. It started well with my scheduled flight leaving London's Heathrow on Time last Friday, arriving early Saturday morning in Shanghai. And despite being greeted by a grey, wet an intolerably humid Shanghai my first few days went to schedule and quite smoothly for this side of Asia.

I had planed to travel to Shenzhen on the Wednesday from the newly opened Hongqiao Airport Terminal 2, I had been there during its opening week in March, and was extremely impressed by the cleanliness, efficiency and organisation - but then again after experiencing the worst of Chinese air travel - adding soft toilet paper to the toilets would have been considered an enormous improvement. I was dutifully informed at the check-in desk that flights were seeing some delay due to the volumes of air traffic, when seeking clarity on how long the delay could be, the corporate "at this time were unable to say" response always makes you wonder why you bothered asking. Not put off I quickly traversed the minefield of security and passport control - as a word of advice, don't bother taking off those watches, rings, metal hips and iron lungs when approaching the security metal detectors in China, they are set so sensitive that they can pick up the mercury content in your blood, either that or its just part of the PRC's job creation scheme. Having walked through literally thousands of metal detectors in dozens of airport I have, and have never seen anyone go through without being subjected to a full body frisk afterwards.

One change over the last couple of years in the local airports, has been the introduction of some commercial variety, with the opening of Starbucks, Costa Coffee, Burger King and McDonanld's, you now at least have the choice to clog you artery's with good old western cholesterol, rather than the Chinese fast food MSG. Pudong airport used to be one of the worst culprits with all of the concessions inside the airport being strictly controlled by the local government - which meant selling only noodles, wooden fans, noodles, chop sticks, noodles and tea. So with this in mind I headed to Starbucks for a large cup of Italian Cappuccino and a slice of New York Cheese Cake (try and find the irony there!).

One eye on the notice board I relaxed in the view that my plane would be delayed the regulatory 30 - 50 minutes, and as I was arriving the night before the meeting, any delay was eating into my time rather than the companies. Second bucket of coffee, and three hours later I started to worry that the TV screen in front of me must be broke or I had missed a Chinglish translation telling me that the flight had been canceled. I wondered down to the gate to find several hundred other hopeful passengers milling around the desk, checking watches and bawling into their mobile phones. I sent a few emails, answered some phone calls and made the next couple of hours as productive as I could, then all of a sudden movement, at first a trickle, then an awareness and finally a stampede. I gathered my things, and ran towards the scrum-down appearing in front of me. Fantastic, I thought - we would soon be on our way........er no. The stampede was actually the rush to get the free food that the airline was dishing out to quell the discord within the waiting passengers. You would have thought they were handing out life jackets on the Titanic, but yes you guessed it - Noodles.

The disappointment caused me to do what any red blooded Englishman would do - head for the bar. After my 8th bottle of TsingTao, which I insisted stayed piled up on my table - much to the waitresses dismay and disgust, we entered our 8th hour of delay and midnight. Ushered from the bar as the whole airport came to a shutdown, I depressingly walked back to the gate. Still no action, until an hour later when we were told that in fact we would be leaving soon, however we all needed to collect a new boarding pass as the seat numbering was different on the replacement plane. (The original plane must have still be in pieces with engineers scratching their balls and their heads).
Exchanging boarding cards doesn't sound like scaling the Eiger or swimming the Atlantic but the ensuing riot would have made you think that the crowd had been asked to renounce religion, hand over there first born and accept Tibetan independence. The airport security were called in at first, and them the real police. The crowd displeased with the airline staff, and had taken it upon themselves to trash the check-in desk, tear the boarding passes from the 6 stone attendant, ridicule her to tears and try and storm the plane - I watched on, jaw open, mainly concerned about the additional delay they were causing me, and the handful of other sensible (punch drunk) passengers almost to the point of despair. I squeezed through the mela and finally seated on the plane. We finally took off 10 hours later than scheduled, but feeling relieved, tired, but relieved.

We arrived at out destination Shenzhen at around 4am, the temperature was 36 degrees in the airport, with a humidity similar to that of an under water sauna. Making my way to the luggage carousel I captured a strategic slot to embrace my case and escape to hopefully a waiting car and driver. 5 minutes passed, 10, 20, 40 - if your looking for the reason why the Chinese are so slim, stand in Shenzhen airport in July, and watch the fat literally ooze out of your skin.
The ground staff started to look bemused at this point and started pointing at the conveyor, they realised it had broke and they would have to man handle the luggage to overcome the problem. I finally arrived at the hotel at 6.00am, I had a meeting at 9am and collapsed on the bed. The alarm sang out at 8am and despite my body being tied to the bed with high tensile steel I managed to get into the shower,then just time for a shave - I looked into the mirror to wonder who the pimply teenage youth was staring back at me, then a quick inspection of the rest of my body revealed that the spots on my face were not the result of some adolescence hormone imbalance, in fact I looked like a child had sat there with a marker pen and tried to cover my whole body with red ink, I would have been better off sleeping in a bath of hungry Piranha - the Mosquitoes had attacked.

The return journey wasn't much better, a four hour delay, a process of unchecking and rechecking baggage, purchasing a 1st class seat on an alternative airline to try and beat another mammoth delay to find out that this flight would also be delayed, a 50 minute wait for a Taxi in the same sauna as before, and running out of cash to pay the driver, all culminated into a longing for a western airline, with western staff and a flight home. So as I sipped Champagne sitting in my Virgin Airways flight the following day, I relaxed in the smugness one can only feel as a true Brit. Only to be quickly punched in the face as the Pilot indicated a 3 hour delay due to Chinese air traffic control - oh joy!!!

Cars

2010-06-29T08:02:00.002+01:00

Why do people drive crap cars? Now I'm not talking about the just left school rusting iron can that we all start off in, I too have been been there trying to squeeze the last drop of fuel out of what my son calls a "Nissan shitbox" ( actually I think the line is from the Transformer movie - but is still relevant, and must mean a great deal to him, as he gets a clip around the ear every time he says it, and he says it a lot!)

Like most red-blooded men I salivate over pictures of the Bugatti Veyron, or the Audi R8 Spyder , yes I know suggesting that car worship is only a male thing is sexist and old fashioned - but when you have been surrounded all your life by females who choose cars by what colour they are, if they have a pretty name, or look as if they have a smile on their face, you will forgive me thinking that women who like cars in the same pornographic way as men - must be either lesbians, transexuals or trying to impress a man, or all three! You see men like cars because we are immature, we are just big kids who think that a Ferrari will instantly make us a rock star, hide the fact that we are overweight, cover our bald spots, inflate our bank balances and lengthen our brain repository. We all want to be George Clooney, David Beckham, Mick Jagger or Jenson Button, and believe that owning a flash car is like putting on a magic cloak that instantly turns us into a Brad Pitt looking, Formula 1 driving, Glastonbury playing male porn star - doesn't it?

If you don't believe me, tell me why do car manufacturers, design, make, market and sell cars in this way? Why are billions poured into advertising penis extensions on wheels? Why does every Porsche 911 owner look like Danny De Vito rather than Pierce Bronson? And do you really think the scantily clad girls holding numbers on the race grid are there so the drivers know which car to get in? Yes more and more cars are being selected, paid for and driven by women - but most automotive PR and marketing directors are male, as are the designers, engineers, production staff, financiers and senior management. They make cars to satisfy their own manic craving for ego boosting satisfaction. If women ran the car industry we would all be driving sensible, fuel economic, environmentally friendly, practical, reasonably priced, comfortable, durable, reliable and safe vehicles that we kept for ten years and that would be just plain stupid!

Right, now I have that of my chest, and have just alienated more than half of the population, back to the topic - why do people drive crap cars? This question raised itself last night when trying to get home whilst following a Hyundai Theycouldntbebotheredtomakeanameupbecausethedesignerdiedofboredombeforefinishingthecar 1.1l Diesel, driving at 16.3 miles per hour along a 50 MPH limit route. Due to the speed I had a long time to look at the back of this vehicle which was new, and red, which is all i can remember as I might as well have been looking at a bowl of green pea soup. The car as it was new probably cost the best part of £10,000 to buy, and was worth exactly £0.64p in the nano second after the transaction was complete, which is reason number 1 not to buy something like this, reason number two is the brand, buy a Hyundai and your telling your neighbours you have terminal cancer and no longer see the value in living, either that or you couldn't afford the Golf. But what about the 5 years warranty I hear you scream, well that's like saying Aids is better than a cold because it lasts longer - why do you think Hyundai give 5 years warrant? - because that's the only way they can get people to buy them!

I'm not just having a go at Hyundai, add to the list Daihatsu, Mahindra, Geely, Fiat, Suzuki, Daewoo, Tata, Kia, Proton, Isuzu, and anything French. In fact any car that isn't Ford, GM, Japanese(excluding Suzuki), and European (excluding Fiat). . These are all going to seriously damage both your wallet, personal standing within the community and cause your kids to get beat up at school. You don't have to have lots of money to retain your dignity and prevent your children from being both mentally and physically scared for the rest of their lives. You just need to buy a car with your heart not your brain (or if your a man with your dick). Buy a second hand VW Golf, a newish Ford Mondeo, Fiesta or Focus, a Honda Civic or Toyota Yaris. if you have a bit more money get a second hand Audi A3 or the old style 3 series, and to be really extravagant go and get a high mileage Mercedes E class, Land Rover or Volvo, all of these are practical, and are at home outside Aldi or Harrods, buy them when they are a couple of years old and they will have already devalued like BP shares and are infinitely more reliable.

You will notice all of those cars are either saloons, hatchbacks or 4x4's, that is with good reason. If Diesel is the devils sperm, then People carriers and MPV's are the piles on the backside of Lucifer. They were invented by the French, just like the Guillotine, syphilis, Goneria and Gittes (which are barns for poor people, or alternatively luxury wood cabins for gullible British Tourist), and like anything French it probably started off as a joke that everyone else took seriously because they thought it must be fashionable, or "in-style", because as we know all French people exude style?

Buying an MPV is like saying "a car is just a means of transport", "driving is about getting from A to B", or alternatively it's like saying "I have nothing left to give, I am a hollow vestal devoid of emotion, pride, self esteem and self respect. I have given up hope of ever feeling emotion again and if I was a horse you would shoot me". You want lots of luggage space buy a hatchback or a roof rack, you want a high driving position buy a 4X4, you want 7 seats buy a Land Rover or a Volvo, you want lots of cubby space - stop buying so much crap and treating your car as a bedside cabinet.

Clarkson continually derides the bus lanes, saying no one ever uses them, and they should be abolished. I say let's make it law that all crap cars should be allowed to use it. At least then they can continue on their "journey from A to B" without getting in the way of those of us who still live for a short section of clear Tarmac. While we are at it, why don't we include all MPV, caravan towing and St Georges flag waving vehicles into driving in this select lane, at least then they can bask in their smugness and continue to pretend that they really couldn't care what car they drive, or what people think about them.

Calm down Paul, take 3 Aspirin and count to ten!

60000

2010-06-20T20:49:00.002+01:00

Following the euphoria of iPad heaven and the move over to Wordpress, I failed to mention that my blog(s) had also reached a milestone – 60,000+ hits or visits or people who had searched for something completely different and had Google mistakenly divert them to my ramblings.

I started the blog on the 2nd April 2007 with an account of my move from Nanjing HQ to the new MG Production facility in Pukou. (First Day in the New Factory).

I felt that this episode in MG’s long history should not have been missed and even if it was down to someone who had only ever written cheques before, the next chapter in this famous British brand needed capturing.

Since I started blogging it has been enjoyable, sometimes painful, but has almost always been done with a sense of release. However for every blog published there are another 10 sitting on my hard drive. These are the blogs about what I really think of the Pheonix Four (Five), the car with Zero ENCAP rating, my explanation for the demise of Longbridge and MG-R, the time I met the people investigating the ‘missing millions’, exploding Taxi’s, the real reason why Chinese Senior Managers have male PA’s, journalist tantrums, sharing showers with 10 other men and all about Li ShuFu, the man, the entrepreneur, the lunatic, to name but a few. The blogs will have to wait until I am either financially secure or have been entered into a witness protection program, for now they sit guarded on my hard drive waiting for me to grow a new set of balls.

One of the fascinating things about my blogs, is that I haven’t got a clue who reads them, my wife confesses to have never found them interesting – which is amazing since she has made this assessment without ever actually reading them, there isn’t enough death, blood and guts in them for my Xbox crazed son to bother with, and the rest of my extended family cant understand how to change the web page from facebook. I don’t have what you could traditionally call ‘friends’ as I have always been such a miserable bastard. So I guess it could be past work colleagues, as I have had enough of those to form an army equal in size only to Kim Jong II’s. Who reads my blog has always been a mystery to me, so I employed the help of IP technology! A little piece of software that sits on your web site and records everything about who, when, where, what and how.

The application I have been using is called ‘sitemeter’, and scarily it can hunt down whoever visits your website. I only take the free offering which only identifies new IP addresses (for those who are not network literate – this is the individual address assigned to a computer on a network) and how many times they visit, stay online etc. whilst I only see the city, state and country of my visitors – I only subscribe to the free service, god knows what you can find out is you actually pay for the search?

So now I know that people in:

USA
Allamuchy, New Jersey and Laurence, Massachusetts

Australia
Caboolture, Queensland, Brisbane, Melbourne and Ashfield NSW

Canada
Picton and Belleville, Ontario

Auckland, New Zealand

France
Limoux, Languedoc-Roussillon

And, all over the UK people have at least mistakenly ventured onto these pages, and a whole host of "location unknown" which I presume are from behind the great fire wall of China? The fact that at least someone out there reads this, makes me continue to spend the odd couple of hours putting finger to keyboard, but before I get carried away with the popularity i did some simple maths;

60,000 hits in 38 months or
1578 per month or
394 per week or
52.6 per day
2.3 per hour or
0.04 per minute

If I take away down time, the hours people sleep, all of the times I have posted, edited, looked at and read my own blog then i come up with a figure closer to 1 hit every every week - so I was right, nobody does read it!

(Just in-case anyone does - drop me a note, and cheer me up, after all it is fathers day!)

Speed

2010-06-09T17:44:00.001+01:00

The arrival of the postman these days nearly always means another bill, or a flyer from someone trying to sell you insurance cover for the pet gerbil you haven't got. since the introduction of mobile phones, text messaging, and email took over the worlds communication the art of writing with ink on paper has become the sole domain of school children and doctors, the fact that in both cases whatever written is barely illegible, probably makes most of us thankful for the cell phone, computer and printer.

It was predicted that the explosion in alternative communication would decrease direct contact with others and a drop in interaction, however talking, sharing views and exchanging ideas has increased in volumes way beyond anyones expectations, and in ways that none of us could have anticipated or even dreamed of just a few years ago.

I started traveling abroad with work about 15 years ago, and on those week long trips we were allowed a single phone call back to our families to say that we had arrived safely. more frequent interaction would have required either computers the size of your average industrial estate, or smoke, a blanket and a high mountain. Soon after this I did a stint in Georgia, USA, this involved spending 3 months or so at a time in a place just around the corner from the dark side of Jupiter called Brunswick, and aside from the initial phone call the only other means of communication was via a 56k dial up modem and email, although as we never had a computer in our home this proved fairly pointless for communicating anything other that telling work that you were still alive, and hadn't spent all of your company expenses - yet.

In contrast I am now able to tell my family when I am about to go to sleep, when i have woken up, what I had for lunch, how bad the taxi driver smelt, and how soft the toilet paper is in the hotel, in fact technology allows us all to record, display and share every second of our day to anyone anywhere in the world, as it happens, and in full colour. Whilst I can not deny helping my son do his maths via msn, as I travel in a taxi somewhere in the middle of Swaziland is useful, or that checking-in online for a flight to allow yourself the luxury of an extra 30 minutes in bed is a great treat. However i do think that this can all go too far, first we had email, then text messaging, instant messaging, blogging and now twittering.

As a blogger myself it may seem hypocritical for me to dispel twittering as a fad or a craze that doesn't have any real merit. However (although it may not always seem like it) I only use email, texts, or instant messaging if I want to tell somebody something, or conversely find something out. You could still argue that blogging in this context is pointless? I suppose, my original purpose was to let family and friends know what I was up to, However i found that I enjoyed writing and have used it as a way to capture what was going on in my life, my thoughts, ideas and at least it gives me something to do at the airport.

I don't twit, or twat or whatever the correct term is, and I don't post pictures of my shoelaces on Facebook. The idea of twittering doesn't fill me with any excitement, knowing the precise time when your next door neighbour has emptied his bowels or brought a new dishcloth, isn't top of my "things to understand before I die" list. I can see the appeal of following a 'celebrity' if that's your bag, but trying to fit my life into 120 words would be a big problem for me, and besides I have enough problems trying to make my blog interesting using 1000+ words each week, let alone making every 5 minutes seem at all worthy of publishing.

So for the moment I will still to my blog, although a couple of things will/have changed recently, the first is that I am slowly defecting to wordpress, after several years of sticking with Blogger, i have grown tired of not being able to access it in China without engaging the type of technology used by the worlds espionage fraternity. I have also had many problems with reading blogger via Internet explorer and having to revert to the more accommodating Mozilla. Which despite being superior to Microsofts offering, isn't as widely used or even known by many people.

The other event is one that I am bursting to tell, just like a small child would be when wishing to tell everyone where the last friend is hiding in a game of hide and seek, or if his brother had just kicked the football through the kitchen window and his burgeoning desire to denounce any responsibility to his parents. Some people in the press have suggested that the event I am talking about can compare with the feeling they had at the birth of their first born, how stupid - it is far more important and emotional than that, and it doesn't require feeding every five minutes, it doesn't smell like the devils armpit and isn't subject to screaming fits.

Of course the event is the introduction of my new new toy, I am writing this blog on the equivalent of Moses tablets of stone - the Apple iPad. Yes I must be crazy to buy into an unproven technology and of course this isn't as revolutionary as we may have all hoped and dreamed of during the longest labour in history, but it is pretty spectacular.

But surely it's just an overweight iPod touch? But that's like saying the Bugatti Veyron is just a faster Fiat Panda, Concorde was just a sleeker Bi-plane or Buckingham Palace is just a large house. the iPod touch and it's brother the iPhone reinvented the mobile phone market, love or hate Apple you cannot deny the impact these products have had on the industry - especially now that everyone is running to try and catch up.

I have had all 3 generations of iPhone and despite the obvious limitations have loved each one, the iPad just does everything the same just bigger and better - ask any women if size matters, and if they say no, they are trying to protect your ego!

With a desire not to sound like an Apple nerd I won't jump into a 5000 word essay on why it's brilliant, but I will sum my views into one word - speed. Any one who has lived with a windows laptop, will know that the boot-up time can feel like passing a kidney stone, as can the time to find a document, or switch between applications. I can now understand why Steve (The Messiah) Jobs couldn't understand the need to run multiple applications at once, he obviously hasn't used one of Mr Gates windows products, if you don't keep your applications all open at the same time, you die of boredom between waiting for one to open up. The introduction of running multiple applications on the next OS 4.0 may make some people happy - I just hope it doesn't kill the ipads single biggest advantage - speed!

Sleep

2010-05-23T17:05:00.001+01:00

One of life’s real pleasures is sleep, although for most its not until you have been through the ‘joys’ of parenting that you realise just how precious those 8 hours of slumber really are. Sleep can be overlooked as an inconvenience, getting in the way of our busy lives, interrupting schedules and quality time, we take it for granted and abuse our bodies by preventing what should come naturally.

As an infant you have no recollection and no control (it seems) of when you wake up and subsequently when you wake your parents up. According to research, new born baby’s sleep for 16 hours a day, reducing to 13 hours by the age of 3. I am not sure who investigates, researches and prints such tripe, but my experience suggests that babies don’t sleep - ever, and when they are awake they have some incomprehensible power to suck the energy from their parents with a force greater than that of a collapsing star!

I have suffered from mild insomnia and have therefore been used to only sleeping for 3-4 hours a day for months on end, however even this could not prepare me for the worst form of Nazi/Japanese 2nd World War prisoner of war torture, dished up by the cute bundle of love in the pink bunny suit! If you see a women or a man walking the street splattered in food, excrement, and puke, looking as if they haven’t slept for 6 weeks, with creased clothes, un-cut, uncombed hair, odd socks and grey lifeless skin – don’t worry its not an invasion of zombies its merely the result of having a baby in the family.

Things change as you grow from a baby / infant into a child, this is when your parents send you to bed when you’re wide awake, and wake you up when you’re in deep sleep – the value of sleep when your young is not necessarily recognised or appreciated. Sleep gets in the way of fun, in the way of playing with friends, riding your bike, building dens and generally enjoying life. The fact that your parents pull you out of bed with a full 5 minutes before school starts amazes most kids, as does the need to shout the time every 30 seconds just in case you never heard the 120 decibel scream the first 18 times. I do remember being a child’s (honest), and I do remember being pulled out of bed by my toenails as my parents tried to extract me from the pit of foul teenage smells. With the resurgence in vampire movies this has become even harder, my son is only 12 and thinks he is one of the Nosferatu, staying up so late we pass on the stairs – me off to work, him off to bed.

As you get older and enter your late teens, sleep is only essential for recovery from hangovers, relationship disasters, and other activities that will endanger my ‘child safe’ website status. Previously the role of university dorms, bed sits and flat shares, it has moved more mainstream family homes, as more and more ‘young adults’ stay home festering and leaching on their parents goodwill rather than risk spending a Saturday nights money on rent or mortgage repayments. Acceptable and almost expected behaviour in your own (or shared) abode is becoming the norm in family households. Including the half naked friends wandering around at all times, the drive festooned with all sorts of scrap iron dressed in spoilers and GTI badges alongside the ‘man’ of the houses Volvo, watching your utility bills treble despite spending more time away from home, and resigning yourself to the fact that you will never find any food in the cupboard despite spending the entire Royal Navy’s canteen budget each week. The dream of repossessing your home, your bed and most importantly some sleep, like the dreams of retirement have to be shelved and put back to a point where they cross and happen sometime after death.

As you hit middle age, you find that sleep is addictive, although somewhat untouchable. I crave for 8 hours deep sleep, and then find myself guilty after only 6. Panic sets in that you are being selfish and ‘sleeping’ your life away. I get out of bed at 6.00am every weekday morning, weekend, bank holiday even whilst on vacation it takes about the same amount of time for me to start to relax, as it does for the early morning start to catch the plane back. Your body becomes conditioned to rising early, and if my father is anything to go by, I have another 20-30 years of this. That is not to say you don’t grab a sly afternoon snooze once in a while, my favourite is to snuggle down on a winters Sunday afternoon following a large lunch and a copy of Harry Potter or Pirates of the Caribbean on the TV – both instant insomnia cures, not that they are bad films, just that my ability to watch a film longer than 36 seconds without snoring is legendary.

Grabbing 20 minutes on a Weekend afternoon, between flights or train journeys is like earning a bonus, buying something decadent or receiving an email from someone thought lost. Those small moments of pleasure when your snoring causes other airline passengers to ask flight attendants to check the aircraft status with for fear of a mechanical disaster, the awkward looks thrown at you from the train passenger next to you as they wipe the remains of your dribble from their shoulder, and the groans from your children as you jump up and declare that you were only resting your eyes as Hermione Granger turns Jack Sparrow into a toad.

As all of my anecdotes and stories recount my times in China, it would be wrong of me to ignore one story that links in with this blog quite well. I remember travelling with a group of senior Chinese colleagues between Nanjing and Beijing, accompanied by my trusty assistant, translator and friend (Hu Jin), we boarded the plane, took our seats and were being served noodles for breakfast before you could say “why is everyone wearing 15 layers of clothes, and asking for the cabin temperature to be increased”. Soon after breakfast the rest of my colleagues (about 8 people in all) kept their tray tables down and proceeded to lean forward and rest their heads on the trays falling to sleep soon after. I had seen this many times before in China, on planes, trains and automobile journeys. It seemed that in every possible circumstance the Chinese would take the opportunity to rest their eyes and recharge their battery’s. I put this down to a harsh life and poor diet, rather than just being lazy. What I was surprised at was my assistant’s insistence that I do likewise and sleep for the next 30 to 40 minutes despite not being tired, when asking why? I was told that taking ‘dead’ time out to sleep shows that you are being efficient with the company’s time, and that you must be working very hard at other times to need the rest. I just continued to pick the weevils out of the bread roll served with the noodles.

I can t really finish my journey of sleep through life by talking about how sleep affects you in old’er age, as I haven’t quite reached it yet. However If I read the most recent research into sleep from the University’s of Warwick and Naples I will get all the sleep I need soon. The research conducted across Europe, Asia and the US suggests that people sleeping less than 6 hours per day are 12% more likely to suffer from premature death. Looks like I had better get my head down!

Patriotism

2010-05-16T13:56:00.001+01:00

When did patriotism become a dirty word? I remember a time when celebrating your national colours, a patron saint or your national heritage was taught in schools, celebrated in the streets and sung about at sporting arenas. In England, St Georges Crosses were displayed in shop windows, on top of flagpoles and moulded into plastic bowler hats. They showed a love of the Queen, a tribute to those lost in war and a large chunk of pride for a country synonymous with stiff upper lips, self-righteousness and ‘British-ness’. The majority of people these days would rather stab themselves in the eye with a sharp stick than wear an St Georges cross hat. Displaying the national flag on ones personage has become a symbol of thugishness’, racism and ‘chaveness’.

This phenomenon seems to be fairly recent; I seem to remember that it was still ok to display a flag - during the Silver Jubilee, Diana’s ill fated wedding, celebrating Torvill & Dean winning gold, the Falklands War, Botham’s 1986-87 Ashes series, Jonny Wilkinson playing football to win the rugby world cup in 2003, and probably the last time it was respectable to support England - the 2006 European football championships. These episodes in history cut across boundaries of class, culture and social standing, those that knew nothing about Rugby enjoyed Jonny’s biceps, and millions of people celebrated the works of the 19th century composer Joseph-Maurice Ravel without even knowing it. In fact I remember proudly displaying a St Georges Cross from a flag pole at our home in Shanghai – that was until the local Gestapo intervened and demanded we take it down – the Gestapo in question were actually a family of Welshies who lived nearby and hated the fact that I hung a flag that reminded them of the English who had invaded their small hamlet in the valley’s by buying all the houses for holiday homes, either that or they just hated the English!

Of course you may have guessed that I am talking about the flag of England, rather than the flag of Great Britain, when asked abroad unusually I say that I am British first then English second. I say unusually because I understand that the Scots, Irish and Welsh will always claim they come from their respective enclave before (if at all) saying that they are British.

Our neighbours have always come across as more patriotic than the English and I am not so sure if this denigration of a country’s flag as happened to our neighbours? Not the most independent or unbiased of newspapers, The Daily Mail recently published a survey that showed the English as the least patriotic people in Europe, I am sure the survey was intended to spur on public feeling and the headline grabbing sentiment certainly made me read on, what it actually goes onto say is that most people are concerned about displaying their patriotism for fear of being thought of as racists.

Adopted by the BNP, xenophobic pit-bull terrier breeding, lager swilling, tattoo wearing, beer gut spawning, shaven head wearing, Sun newspaper reading, football hooligans, and all other far right crack heads. The cross of St George has become associated with all that’s wrong with England and distanced from all that is great. In 2008 St George's Day parades were banned by local authorities in Bradford and Sandwell in the West Midlands on the grounds they could cause trouble or were 'unhealthy' and 'tribal'.

It seems that being patriotic is not a desired virtue in modern England, as with politics leaning too far left, too far right or even having a strong opinion is frowned upon. Patriotism shows passion, a strong strength of feeling, and belonging, living with principals, history and a sense of knowing where you have come from.

Perhaps this is why patriotism is out of favour, like British politics everyone is now too scarred to say what he or she mean, take affirmative action or make difficult decisions, too worried that it may harm their chances from getting into office. But then is this so surprising? Putting yourself up for government is like attending a job interview, you seek to understand what the interviewer is after, and alter your answers accordingly, reading the situation is key, and how far your willing to abandon your beliefs, ethics and standards is I guess a measure of how much you want (or need) the job, as much of a measure of your principals.

Which brings me onto the recent political farce in the UK, despite one party receiving a resounding majority – that is a majority in everyone else’s definition of the word, we cant decide that it should govern alone. So now we have to have a yard sale of policies to try and gain a coalition between both sides of the force. Akin to a coalition between George Bush and Sadam Hussain, Hitler and Ghandi, or Kate Perry and Lily Allen, it should never happen and wouldn’t unless the protagonists were power hungry, job seeking hypocrites who would dance with the devil in order to get what they want. Still we may at least get a Bank Holiday for good old St George as stated in both party’s policy documents – or will we?

Grappa

2010-05-01T15:10:00.002+01:00

Monday meant my first flight since the Icelandic Volcano fiasco, not sure whether the removal of the restrictions on flying were due to a shift in the wind, reduction in tectonic activity or simply Willie Walsh convincing the faceless authorities that if they didn’t lift the ban soon – there wouldn’t be any airlines left to fly any as they would have all gone out of business. The flight itself was the normal encasement in aluminum, steel, fuel and flammable seats, sitting next to someone who believed they have paid for the whole row and saved showering until they landed, today’s destination Venice. The company I work for has some fairly prosaic plant locations around Europe, one that isn’t, is located just an hours drive from Venice in a small town called Bassano del Grappa, famous for its covered bridge the Ponte degli Alpini, its cathedral and of course its proximity to the Grappa mountains which the Italian national drink Grappa gets its name.

Grappa seems to be brewed from the residue of diesel refinerarys, mixed with turpentine and caustic soda. Like most national drinks; Irelands - Potcheen, Greeces – Ouzo, Chinas – BeiJiu and Scotland’s – Irn Bru. They all taste similar to licking the inside of a petrol tank – whilst it’s on fire. Not sure why they become national drinks, perhaps its similar to why the Beetle or the Mini became national cars – they were cheap, easy to make, readily available and would probably cause blindness, rotten livers and ultimately death – a great way of controlling population growth. Whatever it is they are forced onto weary travelers until they empty their wallets and the insides of their stomachs.

I had visited our Bassano plant several times before, but had started to think that it was located deep in a valley or even in a cave. Having only ever visited in the winter months, I would arrive at night to a hotel 50 yards from the entrance to the factory, and leave via Taxi to the airport the following night. Such is the glamour and delight of international travel, you rarely get an opportunity to enjoy the places you visit, and the only local culture you savour is normally the inside of a Taxi cab, hotel room or works canteen.

I was there for a conference in which I would give a presentation on a topic, that if you had asked me to give say 10, 5 or maybe even 1 year ago I would have laughed at you, shot another peasant and moved on.
The subject has become something that I find myself feeling more and more interested and passionate about, at first I thought it was a virus or I had been subject to some kind of subliminal experiment, my mind seems to have been warped, my beliefs torn and shattered. Everything I held dear to me has been turned upside down and inside out.

At heart I am a result of, and a rabid follower of consumerism, I collect cars, computers, watches, homes and air miles like most people collect socks. I had no interest in how many 4 year olds it took to skin kittens, so that I could have my favorite trim on the seats in my 14-litre Gas Guzzler. The sweat shops of Vietnam, where one armed lepers pick the individual hairs from warty toads, to provide warty toad flavored drinks to westerners never kept me awake, nor did the fact that they slept on razors, whilst being whipped with the tails from those pussycats made me donate to charities set up to look after their orphaned children. However, here I was preparing to give a speech on a Corporate Ethics and Social Responsibility. Had I gone mad? Had I caught some kind of disease? Had all my indiscretions come back to haunt me? The times I had thrown good food away, left the TV on whilst asleep, and buried my right foot firmly into the car mats whilst watching the MPG meter go into single figures, had they started to prey on my conscience? Or had I turned into the world’s greatest hypocrite?

Well I am not sure which it is but I genuinely feel that I (we) have an obligation to ‘do our bit’, and whilst profit, EBITDA and shareholder value keeps Warty Toad flavored drinks on my kids table, it shouldn’t be at the detriment of those one arm lepers. Not only do I find myself at the recycling plant each Saturday, I am now writing about ethics and even addressing a bunch of what could be considered as the most ecologically inept, 'rip-the-shirt-off-your-back' purchasing buyers, that would shanghai their own mothers to a Nigerian pirate if it meant cutting the price of a part by 0.00001 grouts. I wont write too much more at this point as revealing my tree hugging, sandal wearing, Mother Teresa worshiping ‘outage’ has made me feel light headed and need of a lie down – or could that have been the Grappa?

News

2010-04-18T15:20:00.003+01:00

Three issues dominated the headlines this week, all of them fairly big stories and each significant for different reasons. The largest of the stories was of course the ongoing war between the UK and Iceland, not content with emptying what was left in our children’s piggy banks they decide to perform the single largest act of Eco-terrorism the world has ever seen. The grounding of the entire UK airspace for over 3 days (so far) has only ever happened twice before, once during 9/11 and during the second world war – when let’s face it the only planes flying then were painted green and had Browning machine guns bolted to their sides. The unpronounceable volcano (Eyjafjallajökull) which translates as “up yours international airlines” has decided to retaliate for the millions of tons of CO2 spewed put by airlines each year and the melting the glaziers that entomb the country.

The second big story was the inaugural Televised political debate between the three main parties contesting this year’s election in the UK. At this point I have to admit that I have never voted before, which I know is deplorable and would cause all of those that died for democracy and fended off the Nazi’s all those years ago to be spinning in their graves, but since Margaret Thatcher’s era – what is the point? Not since the ‘Iron’ ladies days have we had any variation on a theme. Political parties have merged, policies have become mirrored and the leaders have morphed into clones.

Gone are the days when one party stood for the Gentry, One stood for the workers and one stood for the trees. Their policies were divided into more money for the rich and keep the dirty rotten foreigners out; higher salaries for clip board holding union officials and keep the dirty foreigners out, and more land for the trees and vegetables rights. These days it is hard to identify differences between the parties, the old face of socialism, communism, conservativeness, fascism, liberalism and capitalism have all morphed into parties politics that bend with public opinion, relying more on Big Brother style polls, public relation campaigns and hair gel.

This week’s televised debate has done nothing but dilute the differences between the parties even further. The fact that viewing figures were comparable with ‘X-Factor’ or ‘Big Brother’, could be seen as a positive move in engaging more peoples interest in politics, however we all know that the reasons for watching were more to do with seeing if Gordon Brown ‘s facial twitch was still as pronounced , or would the Botox under David Camerons eyes droop at the last minute. The potential for one of the 3 contenders to swear on national TV, drop a bullock, or be belittled by their opponent was too much of a temptation to be missed.

In reality what we found was 2 and a half men professionally groomed, rehearsed and surprisingly respectful of each other – but then why wouldn’t they be? To be respectful is to walk down the middle line; to criticise or disagree strongly would be to object to at least one potential voters view. To be a contender you need to support everyone’s football teams with a passion, like all kinds of food, have no allegiance over Coronation Street or Eastenders, and see the virtues in Lady Gaga’s lyrics. Oh and also support constraint whilst seeing the need to invest, making harsh decisions albeit protecting jobs, reducing emissions, but not stopping progress and supporting basic values whilst recognising independence – basically you need to have more faces than a Deltoidal Hexecontahedron (look it up!).

Which is why the only differences we now have is how they look, and what this debate has done has refined politics into facial features rather than policy, just imagine if it was Tony Blair instead of Gordon Brown! We would have been introduced by three individuals from the Satchi and Satchi school of politics, each groomed within an inch of their lives, hair gelled millimeter perfect, teeth shiny enough to advertise tooth paste and ties so straight they must have been painted onto their crisp white shirts. This isn’t so much of a debate, more of a beauty pageant. Not surprising then that Dicky Clegg won hands down over corny Cameron and Bland Brown, forget politics show us those dimples.

The final piece of news had a traumatic effect on me and millions like me, news that caused suicidal tendencies to surface and moments of extreme depression. For over a year reports emerged that would change our lives, at first it started with rumors on the internet, these developed into accusations and counter claims, sneak peeks and spy shots. After all of this the messiah of modern day technology finally announced the second coming on January 27th 2010.

Steve Jobs put is all out of our misery and announced that Apple would launch the iPad in April. Ever since the birth of my iPhone, I had longed for her to have a brother or sister, the announced pregnancy in January meant a birth in April; this led to sleepless nights, anguished days and untold accessory preparation. Then as the delivery came closer we heard that they had got the conception date wrong, and we wouldn’t be receiving our little packages of technological joy until the end of May.

Too much to bear I hurried to find an importer and scoured eBay. Sure there were plenty of them for sale, it wasn’t the Jack Sparrow sellers that but me off, nor the over inflated prices, but the thought of leaving the handling of something so precious to Fedex or Parcel Force caused the most concern. This led to only one alternative, I would have to travel to the states to collect and hand deliver back to the UK, of course the price would be extreme, but the use of all of those airmiles collected would mean it was only time that would be given – and after all what price can be put against delivering a new life? So decision made, time booked off, cash prepared ...... yes you guessed it those bloody Icelandic's!

Dreams

2010-04-11T10:50:00.063+01:00

Through the medium of television, cinema and books we all know that the American dream is an ethos centred around the virtues of an “all men are created equal” philosophy, it goes on to emphasize that the pursuit of happiness, life and liberty cross all boundary’s of sex, colour or creed and that we are all born equal.

I guess from around the word, America is seen as the land of opportunity, a land where success has no limits and streets are paved with gold. Where a poor 2nd generation immigrant can become president and ruler of the free world – or something like that.

The American dream is centred on home ownership, as is the British Dream of ’A man’s home is his castle” Although to be honest I am not sure what a ‘British’ dream is? As an ethos, it probably doesn’t have the same basis as an American dream; but as an aspiration I guess it’s about owning a corner shop, becoming a train driver or playing football for the team of your choice Vs becoming a barrister, classical musician or ‘something’ in the City whichever path you achieve or desire is still firmly divided by which school you went to, and what family you were born in to – as well as colour, creed and sexual denomination.

Of course there are always the examples that break the rules, and those of us who try to ignore precedents and prejudice, but anyone who thinks it no longer exists is either a naive plum sucking, white, male, public school taught toff, who is eighteenth in line to the throne of Hampshire or a politician or both.

Discrimination is still rife, be it class, colour, creed or what football team you support. The one thing we hold onto is that the belief that despite where you come from, you can make a difference by where you live. The right side of the river, a certain street, school catchment area, postal code or even council tax bracket can enable you to at least rub shoulders with the upper echelons of society – albeit with a couple of caveats, the first – whilst you can live next door, you will never be adopted – regardless of how much money you have, how deep your St Tropez tan is or how big the ‘rims’ on your shiny new car are. When your relatives arrive in their 1986 model Serra, sporting florescent pink boob tubes ripped jeans and a bottle of Black Tower, the neighbours curtains will twitch and mumbles of “this area has gone downhill” will echo across the manicured lawns and wrought iron entrance gates. Perhaps this first point isn’t really unexpected and has been well documented before, what I didn’t expect was the second foe par made by those with enough money (or credit!) to find access behind walled community’s, discrete hamlets and secret enclaves of prime real estate.

On my return to the UK, the thought of buying a property filled me with dread. I had spent the last half a dozen years renting accommodation in China, and to be honest thoroughly enjoyed it –no maintenance, a wide choice, limited commitment and need to tie up half the national debt of Greece at exorbitant rates of interest. So when looking to move back to the UK and not knowing what was going to happen next in my life, I decided to rent rather than conform to buying a property.

The pressure to buy is everywhere, I don’t necessarily believe in conspiracy theories and wouldn’t suggest that our crazed obsession with making a financial commitment to a faceless banking organisation that will invest your life savings into a scheme for milking sparrows, then require you to sell a kidney, a left toe and your first born so that they can continue to slalom down the black run at St Moritz on gold skis, is all part of one gigantic government George Orwell inspired conspiracy to keep us all working 600 hours and eat boiled liver 6 days a week.

My parents worry that I will end up on the street if I don’t buy quickly, and every friend, foe and stranger will go at lengths to tell me that renting is dead money and that I am an evil father for not providing a ‘permanent’ home for kith and kin. This leads me onto what is the 2nd downside of renting, I am considered a second class citizen, a lower life, a lesser being. When moving into my million pound former footballers abode, I felt proud, important and like I had finally made it. I had a gravel drive, a house name rather than a number, bits of wrought iron, even a fountain. The ceilings were low; beams were exposed and taps gold plated.

Friends would be invited to cocktail evenings, and lesser relatives not informed of our new address, the feeling was amazing – until... we received a visit from the Lady of the Manor, with a bottle of expensive wine and with a nose so sharp you could open letters with it. Along with her welcome gift came a – “I understand your just visiting us, and only renting – how long before you leave and buy somewhere?” said with such distain that all of the pride and delight of moving to a new home instantly disappeared, ever since I have been made to feel as welcome as a puss ridden facial boil on prom night. She is not alone, mention the fact that you are renting and you’re treated as an escaped paedophile, which once raped a horse and swore at the Queen mother.

I put the fact that people were aggressive to my bizarre decision to rent over buy, because they were jealous. I had a bank account full of unreleased cash from the house that I had sold some years earlier, my weekends weren’t spent with tirelessly trying to peel, plaster, prime, paint and preserve homes that they had mortgaged the next 25 years wages on, and I was able to take a choice of home based on how glamorous, ostentatious and individual it is rather than how practical, sensible or conservative it was. Not worrying about resale value, appreciation, depreciation and who would pay the mortgage if another baby came or if I lost my job is a fantastic relief of stress, anguish and fear.

However, before everyone runs out, sells their home, deposits the money in a not so high interest account and moves into a national trust managed 16th century castle. Beware, it has its downsides, choice is limited due to our passion with buying property, landlords vary between Sweeney Todd and Peter Mandleson, and when you read “security deposit”, read “one off payment never to be seen again” based on the fact that you will have worn the thread out on the carpets by half a nanometre, and have therefore waived any right to reimbursement.

But worst of all you will receive a recorded letter through the post at some point, for me it was yesterday when I was informed that my landlord wanted to sell his property and I would need to vacate by the end of the month.

Perhaps buying is a good idea after all.

Easter

2010-04-03T11:54:00.059+01:00

Whilst living in China I wrote about the varied and sometimes strange local festivals and celebrations that occurred during the year. These included such delights as ‘Tomb Sweeping Day’, ‘Dragon Boat Day’ and of course Chinese New Year. So I thought it only right and proper to write about the reason why I am sitting here at home in the UK feeling rather sick – Easter.

If you were a visitor to the UK during this period you would be forgiven for thinking....

Easter is a festival to celebrate the creation of probably the most important, widely worshipped and infinitely desired icon of popular culture – chocolate. At this time of the year millions of people purchase billions of pounds worth of cocoa based products to celebrate the foundation of the church of Chocolate. A religion spanning thousands of years with origins based in central Mexico and the Aztecs. Born of the Cacao tree it was hailed as “The Food of The Gods” (Theobroma cacao in Latin), a product with powers to heal, to cure, to invigorate and to ultimately corrupt.

"The divine drink, which builds up resistance and fights fatigue.

A cup of this precious drink [cocoa] permits a man

to walk for a whole day without food."
Montezuma II

(1502-1520)

John Cadbury

The word of Chocolate soon spread across the oceans, across cultures and into the hearts of millions, its addictive quality’s quickly corrupted and consumed populations. Disciples sprang up everywhere, including John Cadbury, Milton Hershey, Franklin Mars, and Henri Nestle (Founders of Cadbury, Hershey, Mars and Nestle respectfully) they all increased its popularity through propaganda and the creation of ‘Chocolate Churches’ or confectionery stores. Soon we would all become devout followers.

The creation of chocolate effigies in the shape of coins, eggs, bars of gold and stars are used at various periods of the year to remind us how important chocolate has become. We cease work, school and play to celebrate chocolate, we share amongst friends and family, offer as presents and symbols of love, lust and affection. Movies, Books and videos are created in its name, it is all consuming and drives children to hunger, parents to despair and dentists to the sports car dealers.
Easter is one such time that we celebrate the greatness of chocolate, formed into egg shapes to represent new life, we gorge ourselves on high calorie, high sweetness brown parcels of delight.

The tradition started early in the 19th century and was perfected by John Cadbury in 1875. Mr Cadbury born in 1801 in Birmingham, to Richard and Elizabeth Cadbury, become a disciple for millions of children and adults. From humble beginnings, with doubters, and critics, he came to inspire Roald Dahl to write the ‘bible’ of the Chocolate world – ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, a book expelling the virtues of chocolate excess and worshipped by chocolate lovers across the world. Millions of people travel thousands of miles to visit the Mecca for chocolate, Bourneville in Birmingham. A shrine to Cadbury, his family and the divine teachings of this great man, here are some facts and figures to consider:

* On average, each person in Britain eats approx. 10.2kg of chocolate per year.
* The UK chocolate market was worth £2.36 billion in 2009
* Approximately 80 million chocolate eggs are sold annually in the UK.
* The most popular chocolate egg worldwide is Cadbury's Creme Egg, they first went on sale in 1971, and now sell over 200 million each year.
* Easter chocolate sales make up 10% of Britain's annual spending on chocolate.
* £280million was spent on Easter eggs in the 4 days leading up to Easter 2008.

Proof indeed that the tradition of celebrating chocolate at this time of the year is still strong, and that our devotion to this biblical product does not wane even after thousands of years of human development.

Of course some would say that Easter is about the resurrection of some bloke called Jesus – but try telling that to a seven year old!

Bikers

2010-03-29T08:21:00.004+01:00

Trying to catch this weekends Formula 1 race in Melbourne hasn’t been easy due to the time difference between the UK and Australia, and the fact that it was my wedding anniversary. Spending a romantic weekend in the Cotswold’s whilst avoiding hearing the result on the News was a massive challenge. Fortunately driving around the idyllic Midlands villages with the Radio off, and avoiding pubs with the TV on, meant that I missed the result before getting a chance to see it in all its antipodean glory.

Despite the race being full of incidents, excitement and intrigue I decided to write about my experience in some of the most beautiful villages in the UK if not the world, or at least they would be if it weren’t for a few minor details.

We stayed in the White Hart Royal in Moreton in Marsh, which earned its Royal title due to the once King Charles I sheltering in the inn following the battle of Marston Moor in July 1644, so you would imagine a building with such patronage and cultural importance would be a perfect setting to soak up the history and authenticity of the last 360 years, and you would be right and er wrong as well. Yes the hotel had meter thick walls made of the best Cotswold stone, ceilings so low that you need to kneel to change a light bulb and floors so uneven that the addition of alcohol wasn’t required for that ‘stop the boat rocking’ experience. However there was something wrong, something not quite right, it took me ages to put my finger on what made the whole place seem unauthentic, dull and dare I say it – lacking character. Like so many public buildings these days it had been attacked by the most destructive force know to man, something more threatening than global warming, Bin Lardin or Simon Cowell – the dreaded health and safety executive.

The once character filled, exposed beamed, leaded windowed, crooked walled, damp filled, wood rotted rooms, have now been filled with illuminated exit signs, smoke detectors, sprinkler devices, fire extinguishers, anti slip pads, dehumidifiers, smoke blankets, and warning signs sucking all sense of character out of every last priest hole. You can throw as many four-poster bed’s, coalscuttles, iron baths, muskets and coat of arms at a place, but a poorly placed health and safety poster will ruin it all. I recognize that Health and Safety is useful for those that struggle with the concept of self control, self preservation and don’t realize that hanging your head out of a moving train whilst it passes under a bridge or juggling chain saws – may not be a good idea, but do we really need to protect a building that has survived 3 century’s, a dozen kings and queens, every major modern invention, 2 world wars, and the black death, all without the need of a Health and Safety lecture, or a‘Mind Your Head’ sign?

Following a fantastic stay in Moreton, we decided to move to the village of Bourton on the Water, a place so cute, quaint and chocolate boxy that you could feel that you have stepped back into the land of Miss Marple, Wuthering Heights or Wind in the Willows. With its shallow stream dividing the villages yellow stoned buildings, which are peppered by craft shops, teahouses and ye, olde bars and inns. A victim of its own success and never quiet it’s a focal point for foreign and local visitors alike, parking is at a premium as is a seat in one of the dozens of cream tea emporiums. The people seated drinking pots of Earl Grey, Ceylon and English Breakfast, whilst eating fruit scones and Cucumber Sandwiches are the expected blue rinsed octogenarians and Bikers! Yes you did read correctly, Bikers, or Bikeys as their called in Australia. Hundreds of multi coloured leather condom wearing two wheeled demons.

I thought that those that wish to dress in skin tight leather, donned highly polished helmet’s and straddling throbbing twins or 4 pots at weekends, congregated at rufty tufty ‘mens’ pubs, seaside towns or local land marks. I hadn’t realised that they all met down the local cream tea parlour!

As we sat down to watch the world go by, the children played pooh sticks from the foot bridge, the Barbour clad men and women walked their springers, and the Japanese tourists capturing another gigabyte of photographs, any resemblance of silence was broken not by the tweet of the birds, but the roar of CBR’s, Moto Guzzi’s Kawasaki and Suzuki’s.

Dozen after Dozen of middle-aged men and women roared into the village, wearing their brightly coloured size 18 spandex, beer guts stretching the leather seams to a point of explosion, parking on any spare corner of footpath, before unveiling helmet hair from hell then settling down to a nice mug of Darjeeling and a slice of Victoria sponge.

It’s not quite the picture of rural England I had come to expect, and I don’t have a clue what the foreign visitors make of it all. I guess the money that they spend keeps these villages alive, however I do wonder how long it will be before the bikers drive out the rest of the visitors away or probably more likely those Health and Safety executives will deem that wearing tight fitting leathers and driving 2 wheeled engines after 2 slices of carrot cake far too dangerous and ban them, perhaps those in charge of the illuminated exit signs aren’t too bad the after all?

Recruitment

2010-03-20T15:14:00.004Z

When did it become necessary to find a job, or recruit by using an agency? I remember a time before Internet Job Sites, or recruitment agencies, a time when companies placed job vacancy notices on billboards outside the factory gates, adverts in newspapers, with careers teachers and even on school or university notice boards. People found employment this way, and businesses found employees, it seemed to work well, local people found local jobs with local companies. Word of mouth, friends of friends and family connections ensured a steady market for both talent and roles, of course this lead to some nepotism and ‘jobs for the boys’, but also ensured that when you hired someone, you at least knew their parents, brothers, sisters or friends and thus they were more likely to come recommended by people who you respected or trusted.

On the downside of course the ‘talent pool’ as its called in HR speak, became fairly shallow and people were squeezed into roles because of their DNA, Chromosomes or School Chums rather than their experience and abilities – still Britain built a Great Empire on this basis, conquering more than half of the known world, establishing democracy, a legal and schooling system emulated and copied by the whole world, all based on a buddy society.

Of course this process still remains strong within the civil service, financial and government sectors to name but a few. Whilst those of us not benefiting from the public schooling, correct blazer and tie wearing gold card membership into these professions, may feel an element of resentment towards those that do, I cant help feeling a sense of pride and security when I hear a ‘proper’ English accent on the TV exclaiming that the British Government will do everything in its power to blah blah.

As an aside I was once in the presence of some media types over dinner in Beijing, who were deriding the current British Ambassador to China, as a pompous, public schooled ponce and that what the foreign office needed was some real people, some earthly individuals who had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, made their way the hard way and knew how real people felt. They suggested that I should seek a career in this direction, and that I knew more about the cultural differences, business restrictions and opportunities affecting British businesses in China than any double barrel named toff from Oxbridge would. Whilst I may have agreed with the later part of the comment, I exclaimed that I personally felt secure, and proud that the person in charge of representing my country had a plum the size of a grapefruit in his mouth, had endured (or enjoyed!) years of beasting from the older boys, and was slightly barmy. I couldn’t imagine anything worse that finding myself locked up in a foreign cell in some hellhole, only to be met by the local foreign office representative who greeted me with a broad regional accent!! These people and their ever so stiff upper lips, are as essential as the Queen, bad public transport and wet weather – without them England would be – well America!

Anyway back to the main topic – recruitment. I have had to endure years of interviewing both as interviewee and interviewer. I must have spent months asking tedious and crass questions, and listening to even more tedious and crass answers. All of this when lets face it if you haven’t made your mind up by simply reading someone’s name on the top of their CV, you certainly have after the first 15 seconds of actually meeting them. Rarely do you change your mind during the interview because of the response to a question or perspective on a an issue – yes I know that you will say that is ridiculous and I should be ashamed, but all I am pointing out is what everyone else does, and lets be honest what is natural. You knew who your friends would be before you found out that they had a fetish for naturism or a flatulence problem, and now that you do know; you still send them a birthday card. Of course I am generalising and there are those odd occasions where your preconceptions are challenged, which is why you go through the interviewing exercise rather than just reviewing peoples names.

The real point of this blog, was to ask the question “what purpose do recruitment agencies provide?” I have to admit to mildly despising them, if estate agents our the backside of the universe, then recruitment agents are the enema – there I have said it, got it off my chest and probably doomed myself to a torrent of abuse from angry of Basildon. However before I go on I have to admit that amidst a sea of inept sycophants, there are those who float to the top and actually listen to the client/job seeker and try to provide an understanding for both a clients and a candidates needs.(Lord Search & Select, Wetherby’s, and UK Sigma are 3 that spring to mind as being both professional and personal and would thoroughly recommend – and not just because they know where I live! ). The rest suck in poor, sometimes desperate job seekers by advertising jobs that don’t exist for clients they haven’t yet won, and then pitch candidates to companies who hadn’t realized they needed a new director of international and domestic battery charging, with a degree in modern art and twelve years experience of lollipop tasting.

Having been on both sides of the table, trying to find work and trying to find employees the service levels from agents is incredibly varied and unfortunately the bad ones have a detrimental affect on those who treat it like a profession rather than a telemarketing job. When I left college I worked for a Chartered Surveyors, which at the time was a pin stripe profession and I rubbed shoulders with people who had names like Charlie, Byron and Robert, then the estate agents took over and destroyed any professionalism and respect the industry had. Sadly I can see this happening to the recruitment profession, unless they can find a way of dissuading the cowboys from taking over. I realize that they are ‘only providing a service’, but please, please, please sort yourselves out and find a way of controlling those that wish to diminish and degrade an otherwise modern day essential part of business, oh and if you do get any good jobs please don’t hesitate to contact me!

Weight

2010-03-12T23:12:00.007Z

I guess this isn’t a topic that most men freely talk about, we don’t have weight problems we have clothing shrinkage issues or at worse admittance to a bit of middle age spread. Normally the domain of all women’s magazines, journals and TV shows weight gain, loss, obesity, anorexia, bulimia, binging, compulsive eating and starvation along with diets ranging from Atkins, Cambridge, Cabbage Soup, Detox, fruit, meat, liquid, solid, air and of course the ‘dust’ diet are discussed as regularly as the changing size of Jordon’s breasts, “how to spice up your love life” and dealing with the menopause.

Men’s magazines (not the top shelf versions) on the other hand talk about the changing size of Jordon’s breasts, football, gadgets, the changing size of Jordon’s breasts, Formula 1, erectile problems (whatever they are), the changing size of Jordon’s breasts and new advancements in Breast enlargements.
Unless you buy a journal dedicated to looking like one of the cast from 300 or one intended for guidance on how to shave your chest and pluck your eyebrows in preparation for a drug induced evening of topless rave dancing - you’re not going to find much in the way of guidance on getting back into a merely obese status rather than a morbidly obese one.

I have to say that for the first 30 or so years of my life I couldn’t put weight on even if wanted to. A day started with a good old English, followed by a mid morning snack of two or three packets of crisps, your 5th cup of sweet tea, half a packet of chocolate digestives in time for fish, chips, curry sauce and half a loaf of buttered bread. This set you up for 10 pints (15 on a weekend) of Guinness, a pack or two of pork scratchings and a midnight visit to the local Indian or Chinese. I have memories of getting home after a night on the town, and demolishing 10 strawberry jam filled donuts before bed and the only weight Increase I would incur would be as the hair grew on my head.

It’s only been the last 3 to 5 years that the merest thought, sniff, or advert on the TV can cause the pounds to pile on. I can’t even drive past a MacDonald’s, KFC or Pizza hut without putting on enough weight to qualify for a support bra these days. Just writing about food has caused my chins to multiply and the desk chair beneath me to break under the strain – Christ knows what may happen if I actually ate some Junk food. It’s become so bad that I have had to categorise what I eat into two elements, food which is bad for me potentially cause\ing my spleen to explode, and...... air - I have even resorted to controlling my breathing, just in case someone identifies that air is worth 15 calories per litre.

I have tried everything to get the dial on the weighing scales to go backwards, well almost everything, well ok almost nothing. I simply can’t be doing with eating boiled cabbage water for breakfast, lunch and dinner; life is just too short to spend it worrying whether about the ‘Tran’s’ fat content of a cucumber slice or the carbohydrate levels in a Ryvita. Don’t get me wrong I have stopped drinking alcohol, eating chocolate, crisps and cookies during the week, now I just stock pile them and gorge myself at the weekend! Strangely my diet isn’t working!! I guess I have to accept that I need to throw away my favourite 10 year old jeans, give up dreams of wearing Lycra and resolve myself to baggy jumpers and elasticated waist trousers.

There are lots of theories as to why weight is gained as we grow older, complacency, gravity, and a slowing down of metabolism. However I put it down to eating too much, drinking too much and under taking all the exercise of a comatosed sloth. I get out of breath these days licking a stamp, or combing my hair. Please don’t get me wrong I have tried exercising I event went out and brought some trainers, got the white socks, and invested in some expensive high tech. exercise equipment, which now reside as useful clothes horses and apparatus for stubbing my toes on when going to bed. I want to get out there and train for a marathon, I used to row for a Dragon Boat team and going even further back swim at quite a high level, but now I consider changing gear a form of exercise (and I drive an automatic!).

Statistics tell us that more people are injured on exercise equipment or whilst jogging, swimming and cycling than watching the TV and eating a takeaway – so in the interest of preserving my health, that’s exactly how I am going to control my weight, stay safe and blame it all on the wife shrinking your clothes!

Getting Old

2010-03-08T21:57:00.006Z

I guess this Blog was inspired by a colleague of mine who just ‘celebrated’ his 30^th Birthday, the celebrated bit is in exclamation marks, as to him this seemed the end of the world, the end of his ‘youth’ with the next stop on the runaway train called life being incontinence pants, Zimmer frames and mumbling loudly about ‘the kids of today blah blah’. As I approach what could be considered a major milestone in my life, his depression, dismay and disbelieve that life had anything to offer past the 20’s made me think about how I feel as I leave the 30’s.

Candidly I exclaimed that age was just a state of mind, and that I was comfortable with death. I had achieved what I wanted, experienced enough for more than 2 lifetimes, and was content that my time on the planet hadn’t been wasted. My only regret if the grim reaper suddenly decided that my time was up, would be the fact that I never got the chance to see my daughter walk down the aisle, my son graduate with first class honours from Oxford (although that could take several reincarnations), the birth of a grandchild, the intense pride and emotion that can only be achieved by fatherly (or motherly I assume) at your children realising a dream, finding love, passing their driving test, getting the lead part in a play or winning at the chosen hobby/pastime/sport. If my time was to come early I would feel robbed of these delights that no matter of personal achievement, excitement or gratification could replace.

This struck up two questions for me, firstly how can anyone be so depressed at just 30 years of age, and secondly did I really mean what I said? Have I really got to a point in my life that I only live my future through my children? Have I given up on myself? Am I so devoid of personal ambition? Have I lost all selfish wishes and desires?

To answer my first question, I have to think back to when I was 30, and how I felt. But this didn’t work, I have been fortunate that my life has gone at a pace similar to that of a blue bottle fly, 1 second a human hour, 1 hour a human day, 1 day a human year, even at 30 I had achieved a lot of what I had wanted and more than I expected, of course my young arrogance and ambition desired more, and to have been struck down would have left me angry and feeling robbed, but depressed at 30 – never.

I always remember being told that at twenty I was arrogant, at 30 I was now considered confident, by doing nothing but age, I had developed from a young, pimple faced inexperienced child, into an ambitious, confident and respected future player – something I believe only age and perhaps experience could have given me. For me getting older allowed me to gain more respect, experience, and self confidence which in turn allowed for greater opportunities and the chance to experience even more, for me a self perpetuating cycle

I think most people eventually see it as part of life and as you age you learn to accept it and seek out the benefits that come with getting older – and actually enjoy the process (OK just me again then?). Then there are those who simply deny it, or worse believe they can prevent it.

For me growing older is an adventure, just like visiting a new country, starting a new job? It comes with some benefits, opportunities, and experiences. Of course it also comes with its challenges and unanswered questions, like why do we suddenly grow hair in places that we have never needed to grow hair from before? Why does the affects of 10 pints of beer the night before take twice as long to recover from? Why does going to the toilet become a moments rest and relaxation, rather than just an almost unconscious activity of inconvenience? All part of the mystery of aging – but dare I say it is as interested as getting your first spot, that first time someone notices a hairy spider has crawled onto your top lip, or the moment of consciousness that girls and their bits make the world go round, and not fast cars, computer games, drinking until your sick and smoking behind the school bike sheds.

The second question I asked myself is intrinsically connected with the answer to the first , once you have realised that there is more to life than designer clothes, mock Tudor council flats and jewel encrusted nose rings, you concentrate on the real pleasures in life – your child’s first steps/smile/words, hearing a glowing report of your children’s school performance, receiving unconditional love from your children (even if they may be thinking it will get them a bar of chocolate or the rights to stay up 1 hour later!), going to places you had seen in movies and noting how small/dirty/disappointing it was in reality, comfy shoes, drinking with friends on an afternoon, sleep and quiet moments to name but a few. This doesn’t mean to say you haven’t give up on flying to the moon, swimming the Atlantic or bungee jumping into a bubbling volcano, it just means that when you compare the things that you have done, that you thought would make you happy. With those that you had no expectation of happiness the latter tend to result in a much deeper satisfaction. Craving the latest phone, fast car, and white sand beach holiday can provide happiness, but not nearly as much as a warm house, nice meal and the love of a family after a long hard journey home.

Given all of that ask me the same question closer to my 40^th!

Up In The Air

2010-02-27T18:38:00.005Z

It has been said that I bare a striking resemblance to George Clooney - well OK, it has never been said, but if you look at the things we have in common you might say that we were separated at birth, brothers from different mothers or clones. Look at the facts; we are both male, we both breath air, speak English and have grey hair how could we be more alike?

OK So the only things we have in common are also shared by about 2 billion other English speaking middle aged, grey haired homo sapiens, I guess what I have more in common with is the character he plays from his new movie "Up In The Air", if you haven’t seen it, it’s about a middle aged grey haired man who breaths air and speaks English - oh and he has a job that takes him all over America carrying out the dirty work for lazy organizations by firing unexpected workers of unconnected companies. In an ‘un-typecast ‘ and truly original role for George (spot the sarcasm) he gets to live his ideal bachelor lifestyle, jetting between towns, cities and across states in first class, whilst staying in 5 star hotels along the way.

I am sure the film is more to do with the idiosyncrasies of modern life, how society holds back people’s intimate desires and traps them in a lifetime of turpitude and authoritarian purgatory. However for the majority the film is all about Clooney’s ability to make a woman’s clothes fall off by just smiling at them, he has the charm of an Italian Piazza and the mysteriousness of the world financial system, any women who can resist him must be made from stone or gay, but probably both.

So again I hear you ask what have you in common with either character. nothing really, what I am referring to is the mechanism for the story, the constant traveling that Ryan Bingham (Georges Character) does, and how he collects airline and hotel loyalty cards like most people collect extra pounds over Christmas and how this leaves him isolated and detached from the real world.

If Clooney’s character is the David Beckham of the Sky, then I am probably more like a current Paul Gascoigne, he plays in the Premier Division, whilst I try to stay up in the Vauxhall Conference division and from going barmy. Or at least I think I am, my travel last year goes something like this:

London to Shanghai (Return) – 5 Times
London to Hong Kong (Return) – Twice
London to Sydney & Melbourne (Return) – Twice
London to New York (Return) – Once
Internal Flights in China – 10+ Including, Shenzen, Beijing, Guangzhou, Taizhou
UK to Mainland Europe – 6+ Including Italy, Germany, Holland

This on top of around 50,000 miles of driving on 3 different continents, a dozen train journeys, a couple of ferry’s and the odd bike ride (admittedly the bike riding probably doesn’t count as it was on an exercise bike). So I guess I have earned the title as a frequent traveler - not quite Judith Charmers, but more than average. In fact if anyone wants to offset my carbon footprint and pay for me to stay at home for a few years, It may enable us to turn the world’s thermostat down a notch or two.

So I have established my credentials as a regular flyer, but what about Ryans obsession with collecting air miles, loyalty points etc. well, as sad as it sounds I am Guilty as charged, be it Virgin Atlantic Flying Club, Marriot Hotels, A-Club, Flyblue, BAA Worldpoints, Luthhansa or Starwood Points I am hooked. Like any addiction it starts small, manageable, discreet, then before you know it your traveling hundreds of miles out of your way, staying at hotels in the wrong side of town, hiring cars in country’s only the military would attempt to drive and buying your fifth Montblanc pen at duty free - all with the purpose of gaining those extra few air miles, accumulated those all important status points or just because you want to flash your Gold/Platinum/Diamond encrusted/moon dust sprinkled loyalty card.

To give you an example on a recent trip to the US, I booked Purple Parking Valet service at Heathrow(Virgin Air miles), Spent a couple hundred pounds at Terminal 3 (BAA points - which can be converted to Virgin Air miles), Flew Virgin (of course), Hired a vehicle from Avis (Virgin partner company more air miles), stayed in 4 different Marriott hotels at various destinations throughout the US and Canada (Virgin Partner company), and on my way back picked up my pre-booked duty free (yes you guessed it, by pre-booking you get extra airmails!). The Oxford English dictionary identifies the term "addiction" as used in many contexts to describe an obsession, compulsion, or excessive psychological dependence", so I guess I should be worried!

I am not alone, to help me with my addiction I found a website dedicated to helping other Virgin Atlantic 'users', http://www.v-flyer.com/however after several visit I quickly realized this was a 'pushers' den, a air mile dealing fraud, rather than help me with my compulsion it promoted and encouraged my dependency.

I find myself craving the lounge facilities in terminal 3, the chicken tikka, free flowing champagne, and grabbing a handful of boiled sweets before getting back on a plane. Seeing flashes of red from the corner of your eye and wondering if it’s a Virgin company that will earn you more miles, buying wine from the Virgin wine club, travelling on Virgin trains and dressing up as an air hostess at the weekend... er well not quite that far, but who knows where this may lead?

I decided that I needed to seek help; I needed to wean myself away from this dependency. Who could I see? Who could I turn to? I tried self help books and scoured the selves of Amazon and borders - but no one seems to recognize this addiction. I decided that I needed to come off the drug slowly, and turned to a substitute - I tried Nectar but found it unrewarding, Texaco points - but they only led to more air miles, I joined BMI flying club but after several trips wanted to swim across the channel rather than fly. I have almost given up, and have decided to write about my problems in an attempt to see if anyone out there can help, and by sharing hope that at least one other person does not fall foul of this cruel (yet strangely enjoyable) form of addiction. For contributions to help me with this crippling addition please feel free to send me cash or cheques, air miles are of course also accepted!