Lesley in Hong Kong

Jools Holland - Enjoy Yourself

The venue was Ripley Castle, North Yorkshire.   Amazingly it was a sunny day.  It rained most of the week before this day and rained the day after - but we dropped in lucky.  This was such  relief as attending an outside music event in a field in the north of England always has a slight edge of trepidation about it.  I had visions of having to wear a black bin liner and wellies while attempting to dance in mud.

The grounds of Ripley Castle have a natural amphitheater and we arrived to find those punctual Brits had positioned themselves on most of the slope leading down to the stage with just a few spaces at the back and the sides.  Not only were we a little late we were ill equipped compared to the regulars at such events. They had brought an array of picnic tables, sophisticated garden chairs and posh Marks & Spencer's food and wine all laid out for polite consumption during the evening.  There were even candelabras.  Whereas we had a couple of borrowed foldable chair, a blanket, some cake and a flask of tea.   

It was at this point that the Hong Kong experience kicked in.  We are British and don't forget it.  We can queue with the best of them.  We can be polite and stand back and not say anything apart from a tut when in our head thinking 'tosser'.  But on this occasion our British politeness and overly reserved nature was pushed to the back of our DNA code to allow us to push our way through the seated crowd, cheerfully saying "Hello" "Excuse me" "Thanks" "Cheers" and then, without looking anyone directly in the eye, establishing our territory and marking it with the blanket and flask, folding out the chairs taking our seats in a prime position with a great view of the stage.  The tuts may have been heard but it was guaranteed that no British person would actually say anything and ask us to bugger off.

We settled into our camp.  It only took 3.5 minutes to be accepted by the rest of the crowd.  The space was claimed.  We were established!

It was early evening by the time the music and dancing got into full swing and were treated to many fantastic performances.  Starting with Joshua Radin who didn't seem to be famous in July but certainly is now and can be spotted on MTV.  A nice young man with a Paul Simon lilt to his voice.  The, the star of the show, Jools Holland came on with his plethora of musicians.  They filled with stage and the sound with variety.  They were rockin!  As is usual for Jools he has guests.  He must be mates everyone.  When Dave Edmunds came on looking grey and frankly a bit of an old hippie I wouldn't have recognized him if he was in front of me in the chip shop, but as soon as start "I hear you knocking' I was hooked and the dancing started.  What a great act.  Then fabulous and wonderful (not to mention) well endowed, Ruby Turner - amazing voice who shook us all up, threw us around a bit and then tossed us on the floor.  She can belt it outs it got dark the candles and candelabras were lit and it resulted in a lovely twinkle as we looked back, from the front as I mentioned, on the crowd.  

Jools finished with his big band sound at full belt "Enjoy Yourself" which is one of those numbers that has no ending if you don't want it to.  We just went on dancing and enjoying ourselves.  Eventually, he had to finish.

To top off the evening they shot some very  spectacular fireworks up from a field behind the stage.  We all oooed and aaaaaed naturally.  What a great gig and completely worth the ticket money of thirty seven pounds.

 

The Ghost of Neil Diamond by David Milnes

The Ghost of Neil Diamond was written by David Milnes who lived and worked in Hong Kong for many years.  I am reliably informed that he was Head of English at KGV, is now retired and living in Spain, where I imagine him sitting in his casa sipping red wine while constructing another plot line.  I was forwarded a link to Amazon and his book which took me to an extract from chapter one.  This short snippet was enough to make me buy the book and I highly recommend it.  You don't need to know Hong Kong and you don't need to be a Neil Diamond fan to enjoy it.

It all begins in a karaoke bar in Hong Kong where Neil (but not Neil Diamond) does a cracking job with Reason to Believe.  He is spotted by a not-so-honest agent who gives him his card.  As he is one of those males who finds themselves in Hong Kong with a richer and more successful wife than himself and doesn't have a job.  His time in Hong Kong is spent thinking about unfulfilled dreams and ambitions.  Our main character decides to try his hand at impersonating Neil Diamond in the clubs of Hong Kong where, he imagines, he will find fame and fortune.  His wife is appalled by this and as the higher wage earner, gives him money to leave Hong Kong and her.

He takes her money but doesn't leave.  As he stops caring what she thinks of him and soon finds out he has been quickly replaced, he takes risk and after risk to get into the club scene as the best Neil Diamond impersonator this side of...well... Neil Diamond I suppose.  He becomes very familar with ChunKing Mansions and McDonald's as well as the dishonest Chinese agent.  It made me laugh.

I found myself mulling over the characters in this book even when I wasn't reading it.  I don't know if Mr Milnes intended it to be a film but as I read it I could see it on the screen and even amused myself by appointing myself as casting director and auditioning mid-forty year old male actors to play Neil.

Give it a go why don't you?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0955650011/ref=sib_rdr_dp

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

People like happy endings and enjoy the feel good factor of an uplifting story where good triumphs over evil and everyone lives happily ever after.  So when A Thousand Splendid Suns was on The New York Times Best Seller list I thought, obviously, that it would be a good holiday read.

Spoiler alert - if you haven't read it!

Our main character is introduced, Mariam.  The poor child of a woman who was never married and whose father, out of guilt, visits her occasionally.  Otherwise she was bored to tears.  Then Mariam's mother commits suicide.  Not the best start and no happiness so far! So the guilty but cowardly father has her married off at an alarmingly early age to a fat old widower who treats her like a dog, is disappointed she keeps on miscarrying the son he craves for, and gives her more and more severe beatings as the years of their miserable marriage tick over.  Not a laugh a minute so far is it?

In the meantime, if this wasn't enough punishment and heartache for a person to stand, the setting is Kabul during every invasion, political unrest and war that Afghanistan has had to withstand over the last forty years and just when there is a glimmer of hope for the civilian population, when the Russians withdraw, the dreaded Taliban move in bringing in such a strict Islamic regime that the population, and more so the woman, are so oppressed they are paralyzed by restrictions.

Then there is a younger woman, Laila.  She is described as a much more vibrant woman, intelligent, loved by her family (well her father anyway - can't have it all ways) and in love - but then her parents are blown to pieces by a stray bomb which hits their house just when they were packing up and moving away from Kabul so she can join the love of her life in Pakistan.  Oh yes did I mention her brothers were killed in the war.  Still no laughs but she survives and is nursed back to health by the miserable Mariam and her brute of a husband who, wouldn't you know it, takes Laila as his second wife.

Laila happens to be already pregnant by the hero, Tariq, but she is told he died on his way out of Kabul to Pakistan so she agrees to be number two wife and passes off the subsequent baby girl as her husband's.  Life ticks over for the brute, the two wives who do, eventually, become friends and the daughter.  There is no domestic hharmony, the husband beats them all violently, they are poor, there is a drought and the husband's shop is burnt down so he has no work.  The women try to run away - they fail get caught and have to come back.  More beatings.   They are so poor they have to put the daughter in an orphanage so she will at least have food every day.   This has an untold physical affect on the child who screams her heart out when left and develops a stutter because of the horrible experience.  Still not many laughs.

In a fit of peak Rasheed, the wife beating husband almost kills Laila during one of the beatings so Mariam whacks him in the forehead with the edge of shuffle and kills him dead.  Hooray we all cheer.  We all want this to be the end when the women run away with the children.  But wouldn't you know it Mariam won't run, is charged and found guilty of murder where the Taliban judge is not interested in the fact that he had his hands around Laila's throat at the time.  Mariam is sentenced to death and is publicly executed in the stadium in Kabul.   Not so much as a titter by this time...

Eventually we find out that our hero, Tariq, the young boyfriend of Laila is not dead after all.  He returns to take Laila away together with his daughter and treats the son of the brutish husband as his own.  An all round good guy even though he's just got one leg (can't have everything in this story). 

There is a bit of an uplifting ending in that Laila is married to the man she loves and they are a strong family unit.  At the end, incomprehensibly, she longs to go back to Kabul because that is where she belongs...

I was utterly exhausted by the experience of reading this sad sad book.  Come on Khaled write something funny next time!

Michael Jackson RIP 1958-2009

I was utterly shocked at the news of Michael Jackson's death.  It is so incredibly sad that a man with so much talent is no longer among us.  Now we have speculation about when and where the funeral will be, who will his estate be left to, does he actually have anything to leave or is he in debt.  There are so many questions about his personal doctor and then there's the children and ex-wife...will we ever get to know the true story...

My cynical side has real doubts about whether anyone really cared about Michael Jackson.  Did anyone care enough about him while he was alive to guide him on a less self destructive route?  Was there a single person in his employ or in his family who was close enough to him to take him to one side and say 'Enough already Michael'?  Was the vast fortune just too much for one person to handle and remain sane?  I don't think so.  The music industry took it's pound of flesh and much much more from Michael Jackson and then sat back to watch him implode.  Yes, he made millions and was rewarded for his work but is a life worth that?

I am really concerned that the entertainment industry in general just do not do enough for their artists.  There are too many incidences of death through drug overdoses where actors or singers have been seen to be successful, become famous and then felt the pressure of living a life in the public eye.  They crack.  They turn to drugs to help them cope. It seems accepted in those circles.  It seems normal.  If they are lucky they survive their addiction but are no doubt damaged by the experience.  If we are not reading about an inevitable divorce we are told of a new patient in The Priory.

I think it should be compulsory for all record labels to provide a psychologist for 24 hour consultation to all up-and-coming recording artists to help them cope with a) earning vast amounts of cash b) knowing what to do with it and c) convincing them that mind altering substances are NO  GOOD!

I could add a further suggestion which would involve not actually giving the artist so much cash in the first place and, therefore, reducing the cost of Cd's, concert tickets and eliminating all tacky merchandising from the planet.  I ask the question - Is pop music really worth millions and should individuals such as Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, Robbie Williams or Amy Winehouse be let loose with wads of cash to squander on drugs and fast living when that money could be given to me - whoops - I mean, given to reducing third world debt and promoting world peace.

I can feel a Monty Python sketch coming on.  Money doesn't buy you happiness.

The Chippy, Pottinger Street, Hong Kong

The Chippy, a truly British experience.

www.chippy.com

The summer holidays are approaching and soon I will be visiting Blighty for a reminder of the culture I am deprived of.  I haven't been home for a couple of years now so the lure of midget gems, fresh Cadbury's chocolate and cream cakes with real cream in them is becoming intense.  The food hall at Marks and Spencer's and all those supermarkets with aisles big enough for 2 trolleys to pass each other with a vast amount of choice will be so lovely. 

Yesterday as a pre holiday treat we went to eat at The Chippy.  It is exactly what you imagine.  It's a chip shop.  A very British chip shop right in Central Hong Kong.  They have recreated the grease and smell of a typical fish and chip shop with a menu that wouldn't be out of place in any town in the UK.  Cod, chips, mushy peas a mug (yes a mug) of tea (Tetleys) and a slice of white bread and butter.   Fish cakes, steak and kidney pie, chips and peas and then the deserts  deep fried Mars bar.  They also offer the full all day English breakfast with black pudding. 

It is all bad but all good on the same place.  I just knew that grease was sticking to my arteries as I was savoring the scrumptious crispy batter on my lovely white flakes of deep fried cod and I knew the butter melting through the white slice as the heat of the chips warmed up the bread was raising my cholesterol levels but Lord I enjoyed it.  The big mug of tea washed all the fat away and left me feeling cleansed yet belt loosening full.

The decor was, obviously, white tiles with a touch of seaside blue dado, a wall of blackboard for the menu, rickety wooden tables all stocked with the condiments you expect.  HP Brown Sauce, Heinz Tomato sauce, salt and yes you've guessed it - vinegar.  The glass counter had pickled onions and pickled eggs on offer in large glass jars.  The only pretentious features of The Chippy in Hong Kong, which you don't often get in England, is the reading material provided for customers - The Sunday Times Magazine.   The background music was BBC Radio 2 live, via the internet. All a bit posh frankly but it's what us expats expect these days!

The whole experience made us feel comfortable and at home.  The only bad thing was knowing we were in Central and had to travel an hour back to the tranquility of Sai Kung in rush hour.  Once our clothes are washed and the smell of deep fried fat is removed we'll be fine.

 I'll be running tonight to work off those calories.

They're Happy Because

They Eat Chips

The Studio in Sai Kung is Saved!

http://www.thestudiosaikung.com/homepage.html

My previous blog about the Perky Buttock Party ended in a tearful moment because at the time of writing THE place to go for exercise in Sai Kung seemed to be doomed.  Sarah is leaving and there was the possibility of The Studio closing.

But fear not. 

A plan of action has been put into place and so I now have no excuse to stop exercising at all.  Is that a good thing?  I was wondering...but after a second of deliberation it became apparent that my perky buttocks and other more toned areas of my body will be saved as I can continue sculpting my muscles.

The even better news is that not only will the classes continue more classes will be offered.  So if you live in the Sai Kung vicinity don't be slovenly and take advantage of this friendly place to get you off the sofa and into exercise in a supportive way.  If you hate lyra, are scared of gyms but want a flat stomach and a higher bottom The Studio is the place for you.

It took me six years before I stepped inside.  That was too long.  Go now and don't delay.  I promise you'll have a good experience and want to go back for more.   The photo shows the intrepid Sarah closing a gap in the earth with her powerful thighs in superman sort of way.  You too could have those thighs!

Nipple Covers

Marks and Spencer's is a very reliable and homey shop.  You just know where you are with M&S. Their products are renowned for lasting many washes, especially their under garments. You can't beat a pair of M&S knickers.

When I was browsing the under garment section I discovered a new product. Something I had never seen before. In a small plastic pouch was 'nipple covers'. I was intrigued by this item but it was not possible to open the package in the shop so, truly believing all M&S products to be of a high standard I made a purchase.

For those of you mystified as to why a girl should require nipple covers I will attempt to throw light on the matter. You see, when its a bit cold, and your top is a bit on the flimsy side, nipples tend to pop out for the world to see. Living in air conditioned Hong Kong this happens a lot. You step inside after being out in a hot and humid 30+ degrees and out they pop.

I thought that using this new fangled item would be the answer to this little problem.

The next morning I decided to try them.  I opened the packet to find they were made from a thin 'band aid' type material in the shape of large daisies. The center of the daisy was a slightly padded circle. It was early, it was dark in my bedroom, I wasn't properly awake to read the 'How to Apply' section on the back of the packet and besides I couldn't find my glasses.

It seemed straight forward. I peeled off the backing paper and stuck them over my nipples, put the rest of my clothes on and  went to work. Never gave them a second thought.   I wasn't aware of people pointing at me on the air conditioned bus saying "Waa look at her nipples sticking out" so I presumed they were working.

When I got home after a hards days toil the first thing I did was strip off and get in the shower. Upon the removal of my clothes I remembered the hastily applied nippled covers as I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror. Best take them off now I thought to myself.

Easier said than done.  The very thin sticky cover was almost impossible to get hold of. I have nails but I couldn't just get one under the edge of the nipple covers to remove them. I showered. Tried again.  No better. I showered again and used lots more shower gel to soften the fabric (steady on now!).  Still couldn't get hold of the edge to pull them off.  They were well and truly attached to my breasts and did not want to come off.

I found my glasses and the discarded packet and read the instructions. This was not enlightening at all. It just said stick them over nipples, peel them off when you are finished.  No clues, no hints.

About half an hour had gone by since I got home and I was still naked in the bathroom attempting to remove the offending articles.  Eventually I managed to get my thumb nail under the edge of the left one and began to peel it off.  Oh my God! The pain was excruciating.  There was no way I could just rip it off quickly. I had to slowly, slowly, millimeter by millimeter pull it off and try not to pass out with pain.

I have had two children, I have ran a marathon. I know pain. But this? It was really making me feel nauseous. I came out in a hot and cold sweat and began to shiver. Perhaps I was in shock?  I am guessing that the process took about 10 minutes and it was such a relief to remove the torturous devil item from my delicate anatomy. But wait, horror of horrors - there was still the other one to remove.

I was almost crying at the thought.  I had a lie down to physiologically build myself up to the removal of the second nipple cover.

It was the same horrible experience. Sweating, shaking and on the brink of tears.

Gentle readers - do not ever buy these items. They should have a health warning written on the packaging. I definitely do not recommend them. Don't be fooled by the steady and reliable Marks and Spencer's brand.Give them a wide berth and let your nipples be free.

American Idol

For the last, I guess, five years, I have been an American Idol watcher.  To start with I thought it would do no harm.  Just a little fun that wouldn't hurt anyone.  I thought I could stop any time I wanted to.  I thought I was in control.  I thought I was strong.

I was wrong.

Gradually I began to notice that American Idol was controlling my life.  It started to affect my work, my social life, my sleep patterns.  After 3 seasons it began to dawn on me that I was addicted.  I do not use that word lightly.  Not just smitten or hooked.  Addicted.  I have become an American Idoloholic.  No matter what I do I just can't stop watching it.

Each year the auditions start around January and each year I  promise myself I would not watch the particularly humiliating round of delusional Americans being given the uncensored, harsh reality that they cannot sing.  But I am never strong enough.  The lure of humanity being made a fool of is too tempting.  Listening to Simon Cowell tell the painful truth is so satisfying.  Then it gets to the final 100, then final 36, then final 12 and after that I feel involved.  I know each contestant intimately and have established a favourite.  It is a seasonal cycle of compulsory viewing.  The addiction is strong and it just won't release me. 

You see I do feel guilty about this habit.  This high that I get each Wednesday evening and the thrill each Thursday when it's the voting off.  Oh the heartache.  Oh the relief.  A myriad of emotions from the comfort of my sofa.  Why does such enjoyment give me so much guilt.

Dear reader, it is because it is seen as a lowly tv programme.  It's not gritty or edgy, it's not current affairs or hard cutting interview.  It's just a plain old signing competition that warrants no intellectual benefit.  But now that this season is over,  and the boy Kris won and not Adam which I am gutted about but that's another blog, I am at a loss as to how to fill my Wednesday and Thursday evenings.

Then it occurred to me.  Why on earth should I feel guilty about this addiction.  This sensation must be exactly the same as following a football team.  Season after season your team turns out for it's weekly matches, and some mid-week games to keep you salivating.  Then it builds up to a crescendo at the end of the season in a mixture of emotions depending on whether your team is relegated (Newcastle!) or is the Champion (ManU).  I am no different from thousands of male football supporters who are hooked on the match each Saturday and once the season ends they don't know what to do with themselves but wait until the new season starts again.  All those male footy supporters sit around for hours discussing the fortunes of Arsenal or West Ham.  They don't feel guilty.   They are proud.

So roll on January when Ryan will be hosting the next...American Idol.  I think I'll get a foam finger and a scarf for next year!

The Studio, Sai Kung

Yesterday evening was a momentous day in the history of The Studio.  And I mean this most sincerely folks!  Sarah Woodhouse held the long awaited Perky Buttock Party at Sauce.  To make the invitation list required attendance at The Studio in Sai Kung and, most importantly, Sarah had to have been a direct influence on the aforementioned buttocks.  This was no hit or miss affair.  The buttocks were inspected, occasionally even prodded, and needed to pass the non-clenched test in order to make the grade for the party.

I was so relieved to have been deemed perky enough to attend after months, nay years, of squats and lunges under Sarah's watchful, yet demanding eye.  All my hard work had paid off.  It's official, I have perky buttocks.  Well I assume I have as they let me in the party last night!  I did hover by the doorway and read the sign "No Fat Bottomed Girls Allowed" but wasn't challenged so I headed for the bar.

There was food, Sauce did us proud.  After troughing at least 3 deep fried goats cheese yummy morsels I noticed the sign PBD.  I thought it was something to do with it's meat content at first, P for pork, B for beef, D for er... duck?  But no.  It was a warning sign meaning Perky Buttock Disaster.  Other tasty morsels had PDF (Perky Buttock Friendly) or PDA (Perky Buttock Alert).  A handy guide to the calorific content of the grub.  So I had just inadvertently eaten the food containing the most calories.  Whoops...they were great though.  Everything in moderation eh?  Let's have another chardonnay.

Sarah then took the stage (well Pilate's box) and awarded prizes to many of her trusty clients, bestowing them with honours we never even knew existed never mind be worthy of a certificate, for their varied performances in her exercise classes.  I think I shall take to blurting out expletives from now in when in moments of pain.   Instead of gritting my teeth, like us good northern girls have been taught to, it seems yelling "Oh my arse" can result in reward.  

We all got a bit emotional after.  The hankies came out.  The sad but true fact is that Sarah is leaving Hong Kong and heading for Melbourne.  By late August she will be gone.  She is looking for a buyer for her wonderful studio.  Someone to take over the goodwill and client base she has built up over the years.  So far no luck.  There was a cry for people to form a syndicate to ensure that this facility remains in place because, quite frankly, there is nothing else like it. I am living in hope that it will continue to be open and that my schedule classes will actually run for many years to come.

I really have appreciated my time at Sarah's classes (and Lindsay's if Sarah has been away).  My body has gone from saggy to perky in many areas, not only buttocks, and I truly believe that it has had an effect on keeping me sane in this heady, fast paced life that Hong Kong throws at me.  It will be a sad day if it has close.

   ANY TAKERS?

 

By the way, I don't care what anybody says, I like Sarah's taste in music!

Swine Flu

After the flurry of media attention last week we seem to be moving into a week of more low key reporting of the Swine Flu.  Last week the words 'pandemic' and  'killer' where banded about and we were led to believe that we should quit our jobs and go and climb that peak we have always wanted to do...before it was too late.

Ever the optimist I want to believe that the WHO over reacted.  I would be interested to know just how many people contracted ordinary flu and died last week.  I predict it was more that 20, being the now readjusted figure reduced from over 100.  I actually feel a bit sorry for all pigs especially in Egypt where a mass cull is going on right now!

Here in Hong Kong with our recent SARS experience the Government has implemented their Gold Standard method in dealing with Swine Flu.  After one Mexican was found to have the dreaded Swine Flu 300 guests at the Metropark Hotel, Wan Chai where he stayed, have been put in quarantine for one week.  I can think of worse experiences than having to stay in a 4 star hotel for a week although I am told that they are only receiving food from the social services and not the hotel kitchen so life is not such a bed roses within the hotel walls.  But it can't be too bad, comfy bed, Internet connection, tv, gym, corridors to stroll along.  I do wonder if they use the lift and if so do they use their fingers or their keys to press the buttons?

Reporters can be seen on the streets outside the hotel.  Goodness knows what they are waiting for?  Bodies?  I feel they will be disappointed given that the first couple who landed in Scotland exhibiting symptoms have now recovered and have gone home.  Not much a drama in the end.  The 20 people they were in contact with were not quarantined and all in all the reports indicate that the spread is declining, symptoms are mild and not many require hospital treatment.

So what will the newspapers do now?  I suppose it will be back to the giddy heights of the financial tsunami stories and global warming.  ho hum.

BREAKING NEWS   DON'T CALL THE SWINE FLU HOTLINE.....YOU JUST GET CRACKLING