Save a Cow Today Day

People - watch out! When you’ve reached a certain age, time starts rushing by so quickly. Today I was invited to HK International Arts Festival without even knowing that was what it was before I was standing in the convention centre looking at art. (I knew it was art because two of the guys there wore suits with short trousers - and bow ties.) I could have sworn it had only been a few months since the last arts festival, like last October, and then it turned out to be a whole year. I give up.


So that meant it’s also been a whole year since the last Count A Cow-day on Lantau, I figured, and sure enough, on Sunday we’ll be turning out in herds to count the bovine population of this beautiful island; every water buffalo, weird neck-cow and weird hanging chin-cow will be counted and registered in Lantau Buffalo Association’s annals.

We need people, so please come to Pui O School this Sunday at 8.30, wearing sunscreen and carrying the normal paraphernalia. You’ll be given an area through which to roam and a form to fill in, the association needs to know the state of the cows, the number of calves they have and how they behave. (That I can tell you right now: They stand around, eating. Then they chew the cud. Then they lie down for a bit. And in the case of water buffalo: They roll around in mud, then nip around a nearby river to swim.)

But aren’t they wild - feral? You ask. Why count them? Can’t they just be allowed to roam freely as before, uncounted?
You’ll be interested and maybe shocked to know that these peaceful and magnificent animals have many enemies, primarily in the shape of villagers (the cows are big and scary! They poo! And they slow down the traffic by several seconds each time they cross the road!) and by the Agriculture and Fisheries Department (we can’t have animals walking around. This is Asia’s World City! Where else do you see cows walking around? Among peasants, that’s where.)

Was it two years ago (probably five according to my warped sense of time) that the Ag and Fish decided to “move” 17 water buffalos from Pui O - by sedating them stacking them on top of each other in a truck? 16 died. So, according to my friend Tania, we must carry out the counting because “we need to do & do it right to get numbers accurately, then we know who or what gets nabbed, culled, BBQ-ed , in trouble etc and which buff who lives where & with what herd. ”

So make this Sunday your Save A Cow Day. Roll up, roll up. You were going hiking anyway, so why not combine it with something supremely useful?

Mooooooo!

Nothing Surprises Me

Well, hardly anything. Little. Not much. But this! That the Americans allow the country’s enemy number one, muslims, to build a 13 storey mosque right across the street from where the bearded bastards killed 3,000 people less than nine years ago, in the name of the “religion” they will now preach in that mosque - that surprises me.

Yes, it’s unbelievable.

Unbelievable! Are the Americans going the way of Europe, prostrating themselves in front of the very people who want nothing but to destroy everything about western culture? I thought the world’s policeman would be a little more gung-ho.

Do they realise what the mummified, beard down to knees throwbacks to the early middle ages are going to talk about in that mosque? How the infidels must be brought to heel and crushed, that’s what. Then they’re going to whine a little about how they don’t get enough respect from the non-believers, before changing the topic and advising men on how to best beat their wives. (I’d unwrap the burqa first; draped in one of those sacks the wife is unlikely to feel a thing even if the husband does use a stick or whip, as he is encouraged to do by the koran.)

And then on Fridays after prayers, the streets of New York will be swarming with “youths” (euphemism in Britain and France to describe young muslim men) eager to set cars and buses on fire, and beat up and rape locals.

According to European media, this particular phenomenon has nothing to do with islam of course, nothing to do with what the imams preach; it’s just that “youths” tend to feel particularly “dispossessed” and “marginalised” on Fridays. And “restive,”

Come on, Americans! You can do better than that.

A Wedding at Sea

Wah and double wah: This was the sight (and sound!) that greeted me as I hastened to Tsim Sha Tsui ferry pier last night for a wedding party on board - a junk! No, not a pleasure boat but a real, Chinese junk with sails and everything.

The first thing I heard as I sprinted past the Cultural Centre as fast as my high heels could carry me (slowly) was the haunting sound of a lone bagpipe, expertly handled by the excellent Chris Lee, HK’s leading bagpipe-player. The bride’s father is Scottish, and it wasn’t only he who had to fight back tears as the mighty tones filled the outdoor cathedral of the ferry pier.

A large number of people had assembled to view the spectacle “chisin gweilo having a weird party” and most of the people I shook hands with, enquiring as to how they knew the couple, were in fact just curious onlookers. The security guard who inevitably came rushing up to stop the music (no, the organisers hadn’t applied for a licence for live bagpipe performance in a public place with/for a party of/to the benefit of more than ten people of a height of or below 185 centimetres) was sent packing and never came back.

As we put out to sea, dance music filled the atmosphere, and not any dance music! No, although most of the guests were in their late twenties and early thirties, it was eighties’ music and therefore immensely danceworthy. In fact, when young people of today’s music, trance (or something) came on, nobody danced. At all!

No, back to Squeeze, Prince, yes even The Doors and The Supremes we went, the deck resounding to dozens of feet trying to keep their balance in the rather choppy waters. The good thing about dancing at sea: You don’t really have to dance; the boat does it for you.

I suppose it wouldn’t be a wedding Brit style without the bride showing off her garter and knickers, and whoa! A lot has happened in female underwear since I last saw a live pair of knickers in the showers at high school …

Talking of which. As we hopped and bopped across the deck planks, I couldn’t help thinking that if it had been this couple celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary with their peers, everybody would be sitting sedately around the boat tables, discussing property prices and the problem with finding good servants. As it was, I, for one, spent 75% of the wedding party dancing, the rest drinking, eating and talking about interesting things with interesting people. And I think more than half of the 40 or so people on the boat that day kept it to a good 82% of dancing, laughing and being in love with love and life.

Dear newly married couple, young people of today and dearly beloved: Please don’t go the way of most couples and become totally boring! Keep dancing and keeping up with current affairs. Keep your sense of humour and absurdity. Don’t work for The Man. Don’t let go of eighties’ music. Keep talking to people you aren’t married to at parties. And L: Keep showing off your knickers. They deserve many airings.

Two Fathers

The Dutch! Aren’t they marvellous?

This song made me think about my two British dude friends in Beijing who have just had a daughter, by surrogate mother-cy. I wonder if, when that girl is a teenager, she’ll stand up and sing about her two fathers in front of a Beijing audience?

I think the two guys are super brave. Both in their fifties, and then start with an infant, knowing nothing about … but hang on. Nobody does. No new parents know anything about parent-hood, actually, straight or not.

Still, one moment you’re sitting there drinking white wine as a couple, the next there’s this thing there born two weeks early and screaming! Scary. At least they didn’t have to give birth to her.

(Still. They live in China. China!

Girl: ” Yeah, I have two fathers. What was that? Yeah, both foreigners, yeah. British. Cool as, or what?”

But a lot will have changed in that country in ten years, right?)

Symbolic Shape(s)

Wah! Suddenly it’s been ages since my last confession. Father forgive me for I have sinned: I’ve been writing in other forums. Fora?

And struggling to reinvent my house to be one of more perfect live-ability. I spend so long going to and from the bloody thing each day, that it might as well be the way I want it. Tiled roof terrace, here we come!

Talking of live-ability: Yesterday it rained again, and I had to get the bus again. These two frequently occurring factors of my life made me think about the nature of bus-stops in Hong Kong, primarily, of course, sleepy backwater Pui O.

You can see a typical Lantau bus stop in the photo above. Ironically, or ridiculously, it looks, when seen from the side, exactly like the handle of an umbrella. Yes, that is ironic. I think the roof- like structure is supposed to protect people from falling water. Water falling sedately and with little venom, in a straight line from above to below.

However, anyone who has spent longer than five minutes in Hong Kong would know that the rain we get here seldom behaves like the ideal rain designers imagine when they sit looking at a piece of paper in some office.

I reflected on this yesterday as I stood at the bus stop in the photo on top of the bench to at least keep the top of my head dry, turning my umbrella this way and that to keep it from being torn to shreds by the gusts of wind.

Hong Kong rain doesn’t fall straight down from above. It comes hurtling at you from one side, then abruptly screeches round the corner to attack you from the other side, and then, with little time to pause, from the back. Then some SUV comes tearing down the road, taking care to drive closer to the pavement, aiming for the biggest pool of rainwater as it passes the bus stop, so you can be drenched from below as well.

Bus stops in other countries, at least the countries I have been to, have roofs, back walls and, more often than not, side walls. It appears to be that they are designed to protect people from the vagaries of weather.

Interestingly, those are countries where rain and snow generally just come down in a more or less straight line and with not too much force. Why can’t we have bus stops which actually protect people from precipitation?

I mean, now that the government has shown its willingness to spend taxpayers’ money to keep construction companies in clover on stuff everybody needs, nay, keeps begging for repeatedly, namely more railings and concreting of country paths (with loudspeakers going “please hold the handrail”) - why can’t it go a tiny little hog (not the whole hog! That would be asking too much) and give us some useful bus stops that actually give some shelter?

But I shouldn’t complain. For here is the glorious result of a construction frenzy that’s been going on in, yes, same sleepy backwater Pui O, for the last two months:

Well? What do you think? Knowing where you are at any given moment; in fact, knowing where you live at all times, so easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle of modern life, must take precedent over keeping yourself dry and your umbrella un-ripped. Even I understand that.

And the shape of the thing: A boat on waves but safely elevated above the real water? Two government officials staring into the past while sitting on a pedestal? Who knows. It’s open to interpretation.

Here’s one such interpretation: The government will keep spending your money on totally useless crap and will stop at nothing in its incessant quest to do so.

Donatio-mania

Heh! Interesting. Remember the Sichuan earthquake? I know, there have been so many disasters after that, so nowadays the two words only appear together in connection with “things that happened in 2008.”
I remember my shock and nausea at the time, and how I even donated money. I thought I’d better give it to a charity I already support by autopay, World Vision. (How I regretted it when I realised they are a Christian organisation, but never mind - each year I get a report on how well “my” kids are doing and how they both go to school, etc. Seems that WV don’t preach christianity but actually act it.) So, all is well there - and then I read just a few weeks ago about the all the money pouring into Sichuan at the time, helping everyone … except it didn’t. No, the central government took it to use it as it saw fit.

In the quake-hit towns, thousands of people are still living in “makeshift homes,” waiting for meagre handouts. No surprise there, really.

The million or so people displaced to make way for the Three Gorges are also still waiting; the fantastical sums set aside by the government for that particular group’s seamless shift to a new and better life having mostly ended up in local cadres’ pockets.

So when the Qinghai earthquake happened, I thought: Bugger it. I’m not paying for some beer-bellied bastard’s new house and four-wheel drive. Yep, that’s what I thought, and I’m standing by it. And I’m not giving a penny to the poor starving millions in Africa either, famine, flood and drought or no.

For if not even our trusted, caring and sharing central government can find it in their hearts to share the wealth with their own put-upon masses, how can we expect the regimes of Sierra Leone, Somalia and Chad or whatever, to even think of doing the right thing?

An article in this week’s Sunday Morning Times proved me right. In her book War Games, The Story of Aid and War in Modern Times, Linda Polman says that instead of helping people by our endless donations (and through supporting the steady stream of celebrities being photographed in stylish safari gear, holding black infants and shedding a tear) - our need to massage our completely irrational bad conscience is causing us whiteys to actually increase the bloodshed and misery in those countries.

“Humanitarian Aid” has become a huge business and milking-cow for greedy and unscrupulous Mickey Mouse-regimes all over the world. In for example Sierra Leone, according to the book, “the 2001 announcement that [the country] had once again been named the world’s poorest country was the occasion for a festive gathering in Freetown.”

It goes on to show that the big NGO donors never actually (dare to) check out what the donations go to - like Hong Kong government departments they know that they must show that money is being spent on no matter what, to be eligible for an even bigger handout next time.

So it’s actually in those countries’ leaders interest that the population keeps being poor and frequently massacred; if no bloodshed and devastation, no aid - therefore no income to prop up their armies.

If you look at the amount of money well-meaning westerners have spent on aid to for example Africa since let’s say 1970, (all right, I don’t have the exact number) you’d think that many of those countries would now be up and running with enough for everyone. Instead it seems most of the countries are sinking deeper into misery, corruption, war and lack of basic essentials.

Meanwhile western countries like Britain are still donating huge sums of money every year to China, the world’s now second largest economy. Or third - whatever: If they’re doing so fantastically well, why do they still insist on receiving handouts?

This misplaced bad conscience for something that some people’s great-great grandfathers did when they didn’t know any better, has got to give way to realism. Pouring money into so-called third world countries obviously isn’t working. If it was, they wouldn’t be third world anymore.

It’s time we stopped patronising adults around the world by thinking only we know how to take care of them. We don’t. It’s not working. This relying on handouts is actually keeping people in servitude. It’s like communism; when everyone gets paid the same no matter if they’re working or not, it creates an entitlement-minded society which, again, for example China, only snapped out of when the country turned to raw capitalism.

The Chinese people have done quite well for themselves after they were forced to stop relying on the government to take care of them. Surely other countries can do the same. All the countries in Europe have at one stage been desperately poor. Only those countries’ inhabitants’ hard work and insistence on a better, more democratic leadership have brought them to where they are today.

By stopping the handouts, awful a it may seem for our vulnerable consciences, we could actually be forcing a lot of people through what may at first seem to be callousness, to take care of themselves.

Character-building

Yesterday the following delightful email clattered down into my inbox:

Hi Cecilie,

I�™d like to start learning to learn Chinese characters. What I need is a sort of crash course perhaps. Something that helps me start. It�™s ridiculous not to be able to read the language. I don�™t know how long I�™ll stay in Hong Kong, but it�™s starting to be unbearable not to know.

I�™ll be slightly less busy with work between 10th May and the end of June before it all starts again in August. So I�™ll have between 7 and 10 Monday or Tuesday afternoons/evenings free, starting in two weeks’ time. I can find some free time between 4:30 and any time in the evening.

I�™d be happy to join a group if there isn’t too big a gap in levels, or take one-to-one lessons since it�™d only be for a short period of time.

Let me know if it’d be possible, when, for how much etc.

Have a good day,

Elise (Ah Lei)

See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

No, actually, recently I’ve had a few victims (students) who want to learn the characters, and quite rightly too! What other language in the world do people start learning without having a clue about how to read and write it?

So maybe you’ve taken lessons before, the first lesson starting with the teacher saying something like: “So now you’re going to learn Cantonese it’s just a street language completely useless you should learn Mandarin instead and anyway you’ll never learn to read and write it it’s too difficult for you.”
In what other language does the teacher actively discourage you from learning it?
And in what other language will you find a dictionary that has only the sound of the words, not how to write them?
Insane? Welcome to the world of Canto.

But people, reading and writing really is a piece of cake. And now you can join the above Elise, lovely French girl, in learning Chinese characters. two crash courses of 2 hours each. That’s all you need, I promise. Wanna?

I’ve had several students who felt they were lagging behind, not making progress, not being able to speak and understand as well as they wanted to and turning into nervous wrecks when faced with Chinese people addressing them in Canto.
A few weeks of Chinese characters and: Wallop! New confidence, great strides in comprehension and speaking ability and: Can find their way around on the mainland as well as in Japan and to a certain degree South Korea.

Four hours is all it takes! Then, if you don’t like it, you can just stop.

But you will like it.

First Two, Then One … Then None?

Just when you thought Saudi Arabia couldn’t get any more ridiculous (at least if you have half a gram of brain cells to rattle together) out comes another cleric, imam or whatever, to prove that the Saudis far out-weird the North Koreans in way of thinking not fit to be around humans:

The one-eyed burqa, also known as “The Cyclops”.

Well, you could see it coming, couldn’t you. At least if you have two eyes.
Soon it’ll be the “no eyes, feel your way from the house to the market and back to the kitchen” burqa. And if you fall into a manhole or off a cliff, well, that’s just Allah’s righteous punishment for you having the nerve to be born a woman.

(You’d think Allah, being so powerful and that, would have made sure there weren’t any women at all, filthy things, and that men could have sons by scratching their beards or something.)

Some apologists in the west and indeed some of these trussed-up slaves to ever-more chauvinistic men themselves keep bleating on about how “liberating” the burqas are; how free they make women!

I wonder what’s so liberating about not being able to breathe, to see nothing except what’s right in front of you and to choke on your own sweat. Not to mention the chronic vitamin D deficiency, the injuries from stumbling and getting caught in stuff and not being able to run or move freely. There’s a reason we normal women gave up the crinoline and the corset more than a hundred years ago.

Also - is it biologically correct for women to wear the same outfit as all the other women, every day, everywhere?
Personally I leave a party if another woman there is wearing the same … oh, I don’t know, watch, as me. Social death!

Poor slaves. But you know, it’s Saudi Arabia. They will live in the year 1201, and there’s nothing we can do. And frankly, I don’t really care.

What I do care about is when the Saudi ideology is exported whole-sale to my country and forced upon the people there. It’s already happening. And Saudi oil money is pouring into western companies and universities, slowly forcing those institutions to change their policies to suit misogynist, childish, peevish, hysterical, humourless, medieval muslim sensibilities.

Volcano Victim

Is a huge cloud of tiny little stones emanating from inside the earth more polluting than the fumes emanating from thousands of planes? Or less?

That’s what I’ve been asking myself during the last few days, ever since the news broke of that Etnajökull-thing. I thought perhaps it would be good for Europe not to have all those planes circling above all the time.
I knew of the casualties, of course. A guy who used to live on Lantau, for example, whose biggest claim to fame in my book was that he once fell 30 floors in a lift (he got into the lift of some high-rise on the 39th floor and suddenly dropped to the 9th, before the lift-stopping action kicked in) told me another weird story when we shared a taxi the other day:
His wife and son were supposed to fly over to HK from Ireland. Because of industrial action at the Irish Embassy in London, his wife couldn’t get her passport for another four weeks.

I thought that would be the point of his story, (embassy staff taking industrial action so people can’t get their passports???) but no: The wife had sent the seven year old son to HK by himself, safe in the hands of Cathay.
Then the volcanic eruption happened and since then the son has been living in Frankfurt with Cathay staff, having a whale of a time. The last thing my friend heard from his son was that they were all going to Belgium together. So all good for that particular boy, who has found a new life with Cathay.

I had a good chuckle at that story, thinking how lucky I am to be living here in Hong Kong, unaffected by fickle Icelandic weather conditions. Then this evening, all hell broke loose:
I went to the excellent newsmonger’s down by the Discovery Bay ferry pier to get my weekly dose of journalists who can actually write: The Sunday Times.
Scream! Wail! No planes from London therefore no Sunday Times!!! The world has come to an end.

So I picked up a copy of Apple Daily instead (Sunday Times - Apple Daily: A short leap) and on the front page was a story about a street in Mongkok; Ap Tsai street, scene of two different acid-throwings and one fruit knife attack.

This time a “mask-wearing four-eyes, about 5 foot 4″ had thrown “one big and four small cats” from a height. ( the 9th floor, according to the photo.) And yes, they only had one life between them, those poor cats. The photo showed them dead as doornails, covered in lime and being scooped into a bag by a government official.

Now, I’m as much against acid-throwing as the next man, but throwing cats to death? That’s really going too far. What’s next; grannies? There’s something seriously wrong going on in this town. And I suspect there is no connection between the volcano eruption and the cat-murdering either. That four-eyes is just one sick mother.

The thing is: Because of idiotic government scare-mongering, anybody can walk around town wearing a mask, and not be thought weird. We should think about that.

More From Post (apocalypse)Man Pat

I’m currently writing a book so have to be a little lazy with the postings for the time being, and anyway there’s so much delightful stuff out there just gagging to be shared. And following the line of thought above: Although you may know lots about islam, and even, like Pat Condell, know more than you would like, here’s a titbit I’m sure you didn’t know:

No, I don’t mean that figure-revealing clothes on women cause earthquakes. Everybody knows that! No, I mean I’m sure you didn’t know that more islam can make these earthquakes go away. All we have to do is wrap women in tarpaulin from top to toe - while they’re still alive!

I bet those people in Sichuan and Qinghai will breathe a sigh of relief now that they know the solution to their problems.