Jakarta... piss and blood!

Ok, so I know I haven't blogged in a while and have completely broken my blog-a-day rule. In my defence, I've been packing up my flat and then travelling to Jakarta (complete with 6 hour stop off in Singapore). All the while dealing with the virus from, if not hell, then at least the lower reaches of limbo. Put it this way- nothing solid has gone through my system in a week. I've definately lost weight, I just wish I had enough energy to remember where I was...

Oh yeah, Jakarta. That's where I am. Dani arrived this afternoon and we are now in the coffee shop of the hotel doing our respective internetting. The promised internet within the rooms turned out to be a myth but at least we can get wifi here. So far I like Jakarta, I feel like it's got the potential to be a kick-ass city. I just need to get a grip on what I'm doing here. That begins with a meeting with all the people involved in the project tomorrow and then the project itself on Monday. We are working with women with HIV- ex drug-users, sex-workers and transgendered sex workers and will be helping them make a film about issues that affect them. My role in all this is basically Dani's gimp (we've joked before that I'll be holding the boom), I'll be aiding and supporting in anyway possible. Then, the final 3 weeks we are here we're attempting to make a film though the people who are supposed to be helping with this leg of the project haven't been so helpful. We'll just have to see what happens.

If I'm honest, I'm not really feeling up to all the challenges the next few weeks will throw at me. I'm sure it's just because I'm ill and miserable- you know how bowel interferance depresses me. I just need to get this bug out the way and I'll be ass-kicking and supersexy fabulous again. Such will be the relief to be back to normal I know I'll feel like I can take on the world. I'm just having trouble getting my excitement levels up right now.

Anyway, to bed soon. It's only 8pm but I feel knackered! Tomorrow we have the meeting and I've got to go over what I'm doing with Dani in the morning. Need to have my serious, professional head on. No time to think about poo.

Today I have: Been very glad to see Dani, enjoyed pasta, watched far too much Discovery channel.

An ideal weekend...

The perfect Hong Kong weekend should contain several things. It needs at least one long boozy brunch/lunch somewhere fabulous. It needs at least one long boozy evening with friends. It needs an utterly random activity and some time for a nice snooze. Some would say it needs hiking or a junk trip. Neither of those are really my bag. I do not hike. I amble. And as for junk trips, well it is nice to be on a boat all day but I'm a pretty weak swimmer, have no desire to get on a wakeboard or a banana boat and can no longer hack the drinking. If I'm gonna be surrounded by pissheads all day I'd rather do it on dry land. That way I can fuck off and go shopping when my sobriety gets too frustrating.

If we apply my own definition to this weekend then there's no denying it's been a great one. Yesterday I had the random thing (Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry!!!!) and the leisurely drinks with friends on the Fringe rooftop. I also had a great lunch. Today, I had the boozier version though. My darling friend Nimmi, who is letting me stay in her beautiful apartment when I'm back here in September took me to Zuma in the Manderin Landmark for brunch. It's posh, uber-posh. I don't really go anywhere posh. I feel intimidated by classy restaurants and designer shops, like I'm going to get to the door and bounce out like an uninvited vampire, unable to pass over the threshold while the immaculately groomed staff blast me with their withering disdain. (Incidentally, I also get like this in sports shops. The last time I bought trainers, my discomfort led me to grab a cute addidas pair with silver flowers on within ten seconds rather than face the air-pump-max-nike-running-power-surge-shock-absorber-gel-breathable-mesh gauntlet. Also I always fear the staff will look at me and snort 'You don't do sport' and snigger openly till I leave their lithe, atheletically-dressed presence.)

Anyway, Zuma is on the 6th floor of the Landmark and we were sat on the outside terrace. It was a warm day, but thankfully not so hot that eating and moving were unbearable. The tall buildings all around provided a nice bit of shade and even though we were right on Queen's Road we were high up enough that the honking horns, beeping road crossings and the general noisy surge were all softened by distance and drowned out by the chill-out music coming through the speakers. Unfortunatly, being a posh venue there were the usual Brit expats braying into their champagne, the girls on their iphones tossing their artfully styled highlights, the guys in deck shorts, leaning back in their chairs guffawing, replete with the all the confidence and obnoxiousness too much money can bring. All the guys uniformly had Edward Cullen/Jedward hair. I'm mildly alarmed. Is this look on trend now? Will I get home to find all the previously hot men have coaxed their hair upwards to look like electricution victims? How do you have sex with someone whose gel-hardened hair is apt to poke you in the eye when you change positions? People of Britain, please tell me this is only a fashion among the posh boys? If the sparks, chippies and brickies are at it when I get back I'll be weeping.

As ever, I digress: Despite the fact Nim is only over in Mid-levels and has been here since October we've probably seen each other in the flesh under 10 times. She works for Standard Chartered and they keep her nose the the grindstone and what with teaching and burlesque and writing... well, life gets in the way. So when I do get to sit down and see her it's like my everyday life is on pause. For a few hours I don't have to do anything, just catch up, laugh and gossip. There can be few nicer feelings than sitting with one of your oldest friends, sipping a cool Bellini with the warm air on your skin.

After too many Bellinis and a lot of sushi I came home and napped. And snoozed. And dreamt. For about 5 hours until my flatmate Becca woke me up as I'd promised to print off some documents for her. She is now staying in HK with our company and, weirdly, my old flatmate Clare is coming back to HK to work with our old company. And the way the flat-sharing works, they'll probably be living together. The randomess of life. I'm looking forward to coming to visit them in Metro Harbour when I return in September.

September... ah, it seems like a long awaited holiday. But first there is all the hard work of Jakarta. Fly out Wednesday evening. Not even 3 days to tie up all my loose ends and attempt not to sob as I take off. Wish me luck.

Today I like: Wonderful Nimmi, veggie sushi, Bellinis, snoozing.

The incomparable wonder of Sharron Fast...

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I've got half an hour before I run out the house for a few drinkies this evening so I thought, better blog NOW or end up with pissed rantings later.

Today is basically an ode to my dear friend Sharron, who has given me many beautiful clothes, shoes and handbags, including some still with the tags on and a fake Balenciaga which someone mistook for a real one. Seeing as I'm unsure of even how to spell Balenciaga I am impressed by this.

Today, Sharron also took me and our friend Ramesh to a talk at the uni where she works entitled 'What, Why and How Writers Write'. The four panallists included the lovely Stephen Fry who signed autographs and posed for pictures and who laughed heartily at a quip I made about shoes. I am more pleased with this than I would have been had the talk been on 'What, Why and How Irishmen shag' and the panellist Colin Farrell (who would then subsequently admire my shoes and demand I walk over his back in them). That's just how I roll these days.

Anyway, the wonderous Mr. Fry was very inspirational on writing. Frederick Forsyth, who was also on the panal, said he wrote for the money, would stop writing once he amassed enough money and didn't get writer's block because he was doing a job and being paid for it. Hmmmmmm. Stephen on the other hand was much more artsy fartsy and mentioned P.G. Wodehouse's cure for writers block which is apparently to swear a lot. That's what I like to do myself so this pleased me. Obviously screaming 'FUCKSTICKS!!!' at the top of your voice (while trying to find Ghanan things to do in Hong Kong) is what writers do. He also stated his belief that writer's wrote 'because they have to', and that the two main things a writer needs is to overcome their self-conciousness and to be willing to put in the labour needed to produce writing. I definately agree with him on those two, not so sure if I 'need' to write. I'd love to be that artistic and dramatic but I think the only need I have for writing is as a valve to my brain; otherwise the thoughts all jam up in there and drive me mad. (Oh God, that makes me sound psychotic...)

Incidentally, there were two other panallists. The first being discussion chair, Sir David Tang of 'Shanghai Tang' fame (a sort of Chinese Laura Ashley, a lot more upmarket and expensive but similar in terms in the way they market conservative clothes that attempt to reflect the national identites of their countries but end up being something a posh mum would wear). Sir David was a fierce chairperson, telling people with poorly thought-out questions that they were stupid and offering a potted description of anyone who put their hand up; 'Yes, you the man with the weird moustache', 'Yes, the chubby boy'. Needless to say my hand stayed down as I found him rather terrifying but I did conclude that the BBC's Question Time would be a lot more fun with him as a presenter.

The final panallist was an historical biographer, Andrew Roberts who looked like a dry Conservative pary back bencher but was actually very witty and engaging, particularly when telling how he had received two death threats. The first time, the police dusted for fingerprints on his letterbox and were only able to ascertain that his cleaning lady wore rubber gloves. The second time, he received a threat stating 'death to the Jew Andrew Roberts'. The man had kindly left his name and address on the letter so Andrew turned it into the police, not before pondering whether to write back a note to the man patiently explaining that he wasn't in fact Jewish.

Anyway, then we went for a yummy lunch at Life, the organic vegan cafe where I had eggs bendict and Sharron the most delicious veggie burger in the world. The humble veggie burger is usually the desperate choice of herbivores everywhere as in a lot of restaurants it's only thing us non-meat eaters can have. Consquentially, when you go to an actual, yummy, we-can-have-everything-on-the-menu veggie restaurant you avoid the veggie burger. Been there done that. Boring! But I can only say this was the most delicious, tongue teasing veggie burger I have ever had. Light yet filling, moist not soggy. I have no idea what was in it but I'll be back for one of those in September... To top it all off, while I was in the loo, Sharron did that sneaky thing your mum and her best friend do and paid the bill while I was having a wee as this was 'my going away lunch'. I am spoilt!

Finally, she's taking a suitcase full of my crap back to the UK for me at Christmas, which has saved my ass because, as I type this very blog, I still have too much stuff and not enough time to get it the hell out of my flat!

Basically, it's been a brilliant day. Thanks Fasty.

Today I like; The inspiring Stephen Fry, veggie food, my new 1950s style dress courtesy of Sharron, listening to my ipod on he MTR, ignoring my shit everywhere by going for a drinkie with friends at The Fringe.

Today I don't like; All the things I still have to do before I go to Jakarta- aaaaaaaaaaagh!!!!

I'm not going to do one of those countdowns but...

...four fricking days till I leave the flat. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!!

Today has been a better day. I got loads of organisation done and now have things packed into blue case (coming home), dark blue case (going to Jakarta), white box (posting back to England) and red bag (erm... in another box?!). My orignal amibiton to send nothing home has been thwarted due to my vast clothing collection. I never knew I had this much?!!! I've already got rid of seven bags to the clothing bin and two bags to friends. But I still have outfits I need for work, burlesque, casual times... pretty dresses! So many pretty dresses and we all know it's impossible to throw those out, even if you only wear them once a year. I knew I should never have gone to Sharron's swap party. But she has so many great clothes! And now they are mine, mine MINE and will hopefully arrive on my doorstep in England within 3 months... it'll be an early Christmas!

Speaking of Sharron, I really must go to bed as I'm meeting her early tomorrow to go to a talk on 'What, Why and How writer's write'. An ideal topic for me right now, and even more ideally one of the panallists is Stephen Fry!!!! I think I may collapse in the presence of so much fabulousness! He's super smart! And tall! And I loved him in Jeeves and Wooster when I watched it with my Auntie Patty! And QI! AND HE'S GENERAL MELCHETT! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Damn, I must sort out all this shit I own though, posting home the HUGE box of clothes is (if I've worked out the post office rates correctly) going to cost me about £150. And I may have to send another home... and I'm really worried my cases are overweight. That's OK for going home (erm... another box?!!!) but for Jakarta I'm having to take 3 laptops, 3 camera's and my clothes for the trip. I'm not taking too much but even so, my case feels like an elephant's coffin.

And where is all this money coming from to pay for the overweight cases and the boxes home you ask? Simple. That magic wand known as the credit card. So I will be entering the country with no money and credit card debt but soon I will have fabulous clothes. Fabulous, fabulous clothes.

Today I have: Tidied and made a terrifying list of things still to do before I go to Jakarta, had random panic attacks with Becca about how much stuff we have left to do (she leaves on Monday), watched 'Date Movie' (it was on TV!) and 3 episodes of Sex & the City while frenzidly cramming my life into boxes.

Having a St. Mary...

It has been another bad day.

Today I have been the very defination of the term highly strung. I'm worried about everything, leaving Hong Kong, all the things I have to do before I go, getting to Jakarta, working in Jakarta, coming back to Hong Kong, going home. And when I am worried like this I fixate on unlikely and terrifying scenarios which distract me from dealing with the everyday horrors at hand and instead leave me curled up in a foetal position on my bed. Scenarios in which I forget one little thing and it leads to my total downfall/imprisonment/death by my own stupidity. And even if I manage to fall asleep I will have stressed-out nightmares. I want to go home. I want my mum.

In the cavern between Grant and Phil there is now a huge nervy knot and the huge nervy knot sends worries to my brain, tightens my chest which makes it impossible to breath calmly and makes my skin itch. You know how stress (and tomatoes, and oranges, and feathers) makes my skin play up. And it's so comforting and such a relief to SCRATCH even if it does leave my wrists and hands a little bloodied. There's a certain satisfcation in seeing them all scratched up also, like I deserve it for being so crazy over nothing (I think there's actual science behind this, right? Stress releases histamine, histamine makes you itch, scratching relieves the itch/stress?). That's probably as close as I'd ever come to self-harming, considering my almost comedic fear of inflicting pain on myself.

Outside my window, I can see the warm lights of a passing minibus and all the people tucked up in there cosy against the rain seem a million miles away from me and my crazy crazy stressness. It doesn't help that I've been trapped at home today by the black rain and not seen a soul. Or indeed that the rain has given Hong Kong such a doomed, apocalyptic air which hasn't aided my fevered imaginings. I have spent too long inside my head today.

But although I may sound like a nutbag I have solutions. Firstly, I have sleeping pills which I know of old are one of the few things that will calm me. There is no point trying to sleep naturally when I'm like this. Secondly, I have many meditations on my ipod. Sadly one of them has a man who sounds like a scary pedophile on it; the first time I listenined to that one I got the shock of my life when his voice kicked in after the initial plinky plonky relaxation music. Especially as he first gave a few deep breaths which made it sound less like a meditation exercise and more like an obscene phone call. (HA! I am feeling better, I made a joke!) Thirdly, I have writing and thoughts are so much less scary when you can put them on the screen, they diminish in size when they're not circling around and around in my brain like so many psychotic vultures.

When I was at uni (the first time!) I felt like this approximately... oooh, every 15 minutes. And I didn't really tell anyone I was having all these bonkers stresses and that made it this big, dark, shameful secret, like I couldn't cope with everything because I was a useless gimp and that was BAD BAD BAD. Now I know, it's OK to feel like you can't cope sometimes. And to admit it is to chase the stupid monster away with it's tail between it's legs. BOO! I am not scared of feeling bonkers any more. And just admiting to feeling a little bonkers, makes me feel... well, less bonkers. It's ok, deep breath, I'm just being a little daft because there is a lot of scary change happening and I have spent too much time on my own today.

Tomorrow is another day and this time it WILL BE. I have far too much to do to be anything other than organised and capable. It's get your shit together time.

Shit. Bugger. Blog. Forgot.

It has not been a good day.

For no particular reason. Actually I had a great stroke of luck today but I ended up spending most of it asleep for some reason. And too much time on my own which always leads to crazy spiralling and worries. There is lots to organise at the moment and that's something that always brings out the worrier in me. Expecially since I've just wasted a day sleeping and having nightmares.

Of course a day like today brings about the perfect conditions for my bi-yearly 'Maybe it'd be nice to have a man in my life' feeling. It comes from just feeling a bit empty but also stressy and in need of a hug. Then I remind myself there are plenty of people in my life to hug, ones who are far less likely to try and take my life over, or control me, or to leave me for someone more attentive and less bonkers.

So there we go. Boyfriend, no. Hugs, yes please. Tomorrow is another day.

Extracts from the diary, 2008

Rummaging through my room, I just found my 2008 diary. Entries stop abruptly after March, proving the saying 'good girls keep diaries, bad girls just don't have the time'. Ha! I've decided to type up the entires below. One because they are my first few days in HK and very important to me, it was great to rediscover them again. And two, beacuse writing is all about being open; opening up your heart and being brave enough to say what's in there and not hiding and cringing and thinking everyone will hate you if they see the real you.

One more thing. There are rare occasions when I think it might be nice to have a boyfriend. Usually when I'm feeling crap about myself and need someone to tell me I'm not a useless mutant. As a terminal singleton I have a saying for these times; Be your own cheerleader. This is the function the diary has. I write down the good things I have done to remind myself I am capable and OK, so if it sounds a bit like a wanky self-help book that is why!

Thursday March 27th 2008

Dear Diary,

This is such a stupid time to be awake stressing. Still, it's a good time to text home but I feel like if I tell anyone my anxieties then I'm not living up to being 'adventurous' and I'll be letting everyone down by being so crap so early on. I don't feel very fabulous and let's face it, being fabulous is going to be hard to sustain the whole 16 months!

Honestly, I need to calm the fuck down and be more open and accept that it is ok not the be the Queen of Hong Kong- I've only been here 4 days!!! I put too much pressure on myself. Must remember to step back and take a deep breath:

If one person does not like me it doesn't mean I am friendless and unlovable.

If I have a bad day at school it doesn't mean I am a crap teacher, ergo a crap human being.

I am loveable, I am fine just as I am.

Getting upset and missing home doesn't mean I can't cope!

Other people's success at work and socially doesn't make me shit. It's not a competition, stop comparing yourself.

It's early days. Feel crap but do positive things too. e.g. There's another English-speaker coming to the gym induction, befriend them!

Remember, you have stripped on a stage in roomful of people and everyone had a great time, you've completed a really tough TEFL, you've opened your heart to people, loved them and been hurt and still lived, you've left uni with no damn degree AND been accused of stealing on the same day and you've got through it to become valued and trusted, you finally got your damn degree. YOU CAN DO THIS!

Plans: Go to Fringe club.
Go onto internet; look up meditation classes and Time Out HK

It may sound proper naff but... ACCEPT YOURSELF.


Friday 28th March 2008

Dear Diary,

I have had a GREAT day. I didn't get up till late but FORCED myself kicking and screaming out the apartment. I got the 12B to Mong Kok and did my first trip on the MTR- yay! Wandered round central, found the Fringe club,had a cool glass of white wine on the terrace, looking up at all the MASSIVE buildings (they're everywhere?!!!) and called Ad and Bethan for chats. Then I got lost, went on the internet in Pacific Coffee and went back to the Fringe and saw The Pillowman. Awesome and I proper fancied the lead actor in it (Irish!). On the way back I got completly lost between the Fringe and the MTR and ended up looping round and round lots of noisy bars and chaos. A little frustrating, but I managed to get the MTR back to Mong Kok and I got the 12B home- NOT a cab!

Back at the flat, I met Kristine's fella Brett (Brent?) who promised to take ups Irish bar-hopping. Kristine is going to try and get me Sevens tickets (would be SO cool if she could!) Going to see The Vagina Monologues at the Fringe on Sat then out drinking with Bethan and Jess. This is all good and positive!

Things to do tomorrow:

Buy towel, bug spray, purple t-shirt, top up mobile, shave legs

Internet: look up performing arts in HK, look at expat websites, meditation/yoga, British/Irish embassy; social and events stuff to explore?

Look in HK mag for more stuff.

Must go to bed, Kristine's got Brett staying over so maybe I need find my earplugs?! ;o)


Much love, 2008 Mel xxx:o)!

The Salivary Excretions of the Swiftlet

In between drinking, napping and churning out shit blogs I have been a-pondering. The blog on crying (or lack there of, instead opting to remain an emotionless void) and various comments on it got me thinking. And there was something else that got me thinking too. But then I forgot it. So instead of phillosphising,I shall just tell you the events of my day. Then phillosophise about them.

Basically today consisted of sleeping, then getting my ass in gear to go meet the teachers from my kindergarten for a posh buffet dinner in a hotel in Hung Hom. I managed to get a little lost in Hung Hom station- well it's BIG for Hong Kong!- but luckily some of the teachers had waited to greet a sweaty, panting and flustered Melly as she skidded towards them on the tiled floor at rate of knots. The resturant had a great view of the Hong Kong skyline. Sadly, most of Hung Hom was in the way but wisely they had built the resturant high enough so that when you were seated you couldn't see the boxy concrete buildings below, only the dazzling skyline of the island. The buildings snaking up towards The Peak looked precariously perched from that angle, one false move and they'd all clatter into the harbour like dominoes. Not that you could see the harbourfront, so I suppose a couple might have gone that way and we'd never have noticed.

It' a funny thing, but at school-related occasions the teachers, headmistress and principal sit at one table and the teaching assistants and the sum sums at another. (The sum sums are our 'aunties'. They cook, clean,fix stuff, take the kids to the toilet... pretty much do everything except perform nuclear fisson). It's not like they don't get along, obviously each class teacher spends more time with their assistant than they do with any of the other teachers and everyone loves our sum sums. I suppose it must be a heirachy thing, and though it may seem a bit daft to extend to a casual night out, in HK everyone knows their place. Mine was to teach English; teach and not point out any obvious problems, merely to let them occur and play dumb. To do anything as radical as to bring a problem to the attention of the higher-ups would be frowned upon because you were pointing out a mistake they had made and so highlighting their imperfection which as a mere pleb you had no right to do. Also, you were causing them hassle. Hassle they had to fix. It is far better to let something quietly go a little wrong than make a noisy fuss to get it perfect.

Anyway, as the token white chick (and occasional loveable bufoon) I got a place of honour next to Miss Ma, my principal. She's always referred to herself as my 'Hong Kong mother' but now I'm no longer under her employ I'm allowed to call her 'Kimmy Mummy'. In her role as my adopted mother over the past two and a half years she has seen to it that I've eaten a lot of cake, lent me her umbrella many times over as I always seem to forget mine when the universe schedules a pissdown, and told me I am fat. Miss Ma: 'Miss Melissa, your legs very thin' Me: 'Thank you Miss Ma' Miss Ma: 'But your stomach very fat! Ha ha ha!'. This is just the Chinese way, and it's done with love, just a part of the Asian mother repetoire so you must take it with good humour. Over-sensitive types, do not move to Hong Kong.

I digress slighly. So the buffet was magnificent and included many yummy western veggie things like mozzerella, olives, chips etc. It also included some of my new Asian favourites like inari and vegeteble tempura. Our teachers were damned if they were going to quit early and disobey the instruction to eat any less than all they could. Most of them demolished 3 plates of seafood, a bit of salad, a plate of mini-cakes and some ice cream while my Buddha belly struggled to cope with a plate and a half of yummies followed by a scoop of mango sorbet. How do they do it? They are all so skinny and beautiful and despite the fact they are my age or older they all look as fresh faced as the recent school-leavers who were celebrating their graduation out on the balcony. There must be something in the DNA. So why has no one found out what it is and started marketing it? They'd make a fortune!

I did manage to force down some Bird's Nest Soup for the first time this evening. For those not in the know, this isn't a cute name for something innocuous, it's actually made of, y'know, bird's nest. Or rather, it's made by taking the nest of the bird (the cave swift usually), which has been stuck together by gooey spit and dissolving it in water, giving it what Wikipedia describes as a 'unique texture' and I would describe as perfectly bearable as long as you forget what it is you are drinking. No birds are harmed in the making of this soup by the way (unless you have the soup with the blood mixed in- euwwww), the spit is just a by-product like milk. Even so, I'm not sure I'll be knocking it back too often. For one its terribly, painfully sweet. For the other, it is a ludicriously expensive delicacy, a kilogram of white nest costing up to 2000 US dollars (Wiki again). Two grand for bird gob!

Lucky little me then had lots of pressies given to her. Kimmy Mummy got me some green tea. Quote: 'I go to Shenzen to buy. Chinese green tea very expensive in Hong Kong, much cheaper in Shenzen'. (There's that Hong Kong honesty again!) My friend Katherine (Miss Ho) got me a very cool notebook with 'Shoeaholic' on it and seven facemasks, one a day for a week. Just enough time to do those before Jakarta rolls round. Wing (Miss Lam) and Tracy (Miss Ho) got me my name in Chinese characters painted calligraphy style- how cool is that?!! My Chinese name is Ma Lai Shan incidentally, although the first syllable is where my Chinese surname should go. I'm not sure you could pimp Coghlan Chinese-style though, or condense it into one syllable, besides Ma is Kimmy Mummy's surname so adopting it for my Chinese surname makes me part of her family.

Chris (Miss Cheong) who is probably the teacher I'm closest to bought me a very cool wallet and keyring from a funky design shop called G.O.D (Goods of Desire). The pattern on them is called Ya Ma Tei, named after the neighbourhood near me and depicts the old-school flats about shops, with their peeling white paintwork and laundry on bamboo sticks. I'd already purchased the pillowcases in that pattern as a souvenir so was made up to have further accessories. She also gave me a mobile phone holder, which was designed to look like a bustier dress, very burlesque. Odd she should get it so spot on, maybe burlesque leaks out my pores no matter how hard I try to hide it.

I think one of the reasons Chris and I are friendly is because we are the only unmarried teachers on the staff. I have no idea how she's managed to survive the constant 'Have you got a boyfriend, get nice boyfriend, MARRY' enslaught, when I've only had it for two years, not a whole lifetime and already I'm pig sick of it. Funny thing is though, she HAS got a boyfriend. She'd been mentioning 'a friend' who lives in London recently then told me at dinner today that he was her boyfriend but to keep it a secret. Why? Apparently he's in accounting, I'm betting he'd be earning more dollar than guys on the same level here which would mean he was an excellent catch by HK standards. Even if he's Quasimodo it's far better to have any boyfriend at all than to be single (Hong Kong is much like how my mother describes the late 1950s/early 60s) I don't know, we shouldn't mock, she must have her reasons for this secrecy. Maybe there's something really wrong with him. Maybe he won't buy her Louis Vuitton.

Finally, this being HK, I had to pose for an endless series of pictures with the teachers and all that smiling and giggling gave my jaws a happy ache. In our final group shot, everyone crammed in and Katherine ended up hugging me with her head on my chest. 'Very soft' she proclaimed. Then Miss Chan jokingly pulled her top down a little to mirror my cleavage, so I did the same. 'Oh Melissa!' Katherine exclaimed 'You are so open!', neatly veryfing my decision to run two facebook profiles as correct. If only she knew exactly HOW open, eh?

Today I have: Remembered with amusement my friend Ben's suggested deadpan response to the next guy who tries to chat me up by boasting he's a banker: "How unique". Invented my own new adage: "Love is like syphillis- you catch it via sex and both are apt to send you mad eventually"

BAH.

For a girl who can't drink anymore I seem to be starting many blogs with 'ugh I'm tired and I've had a drink so I can't write and... zzzzzzzz...' and here is yet another one. I've eaten a lot today. I had four cocktails which, nowadays is about all I can take without passing out into a coma.

Stream of conciousness: Last night I had torturous dreams about getting rid of our sofa, then as soon as I got rid of it another one appeared. And a dining table. And lamps! I had all this furnaiture I couldn't get rid of- why why why why WHYYYYYYY?!

I have to make a big long list of all the things I have to do. I have ten days until I leave for Jakarta. I have packing and research and life to organinse.

This is less a blog, more just pointless. I have to sleep now. Goodnight!

Today I like: Creamy pasta, lots of pudding, cocktails, floating resturants.

Today I dislike: Massive boats with posh people on them.

Today's Life Lessons

Things I have learnt, things I have been reminded of, the wisdom of Zoolander.

1) There is no age-appropriate filter on my mothers worry levels. Repeating 'I KNOW, I'm 29!!!!' over and over is just more pissing into the wind.

2) My favourite chess piece is the cow.

3) If Sharron's getting rid of her clothes, you will definately need to send a box of stuff back to the UK.

4) I want to be Milla Jovovich.

5) Half of the world's population is water and the other 96% is wheat.

6)The spare key to Sharron's flat is like Zoolander. It's blue steel and it can't turn to the left.

7)Even the funniest film can be reduced to monotony when narrated by Ben Stiller.

8)Liz makes excellent guccamole.

9) I cannot spell gwuk-a-mole-ey.

10)It doesn't matter if you napped for four hours in the afternoon and then just hung out with the girls in the evening, you will still be too tired to come home and write a decent blog.

Today I have: Done a lot of tidying and a lot of laundry, gained beautiful new clothes including nine west shoes, a Missoni dress and a John Galliano top, watched Zoolander for the 57th time.

Funny in my tummy...

I didn't get homesick when I came to Hong Kong. At least not in the way I expected. When I left, my friends Ad and Caz came to the airport with me. They gave me two envelopes. A yellow one to read on the plane and a blue one, to open 'in case of a blue day'. The yellow one was, bless them, full of words of love and encouragement. And I'm pretty sure Ad called me poohead at one point. As the plane took off, London got smaller and smaller until it was obliterated by the usual blanket of low-lying cloud. I shed one tear only, swigged down two anti-histmines with some wine in lieu of a sleeping pill and slipped into a coma.

I'd assumed that I would open the blue envelope on a day when I was particularly homesick, but homesickness never happened in the way I expeceted. I thought it would
involve violently sobbing into my pillow wailing to any poor sods listening that I wanted to go home and that life (sob!) was (sob!) SO UNFAIR! (sob, sob, sob!). Then I'd reach for the envelope, read Ad and Caz's soothing words and emerge from my bed chamber a tear-dampened phoenix, ready to embark on another round of shots in at the Fringe club, play rehearsals and educating small persons.

Instead, sometimes I'd feel a bit funny. Very small and like I wanted to hide away, grumpy and disconnected from my surroundings. One time I was ranting about the diabolical girl/guy situation over here and realised, wait a minute, THIS is homesickness. Homesickness is not about regretting being here, or snotting all over your pillow. It's nothing so dramatic. It's about having a five minute muh when you get off the phone with someone from home then popping on the kettle for some calming green tea. Or bitching about stupid litle things, like the eggs here tasting gross compared with the ones in the UK and the lack of decent hummus. I was never going to wail that I was unhappy here; anytime I have been unhappy it's just been, y'know, life. It's not Hong Kong's fault. I've always known that coming to here was the best damn idea(and deatour) I've had.

Remember how I mentioned I didn't cry when I left school? Yesterday, some of the other teachers and I said goodbye to our friends Sara Beth and Liza who fly out of HK for good today. Then today us Vixens gathered for lunch to say goodbye to our Jen, who's going home for the summer. And now the funny feeling is starting to kick in. This is the first round of goodbyes and there are going to be more. From other people who are leaving, from me when I leave for Jakarta in July and BIG ONE when I come home to the UK in September. I hate this bit. It was the same when I left the UK. If I have to get going, I just want to BE GONE. And avoid the difficult weeks of feeling sad and small and smooshy.

I think my subconious has got used to all the goodbyes and the comings and goings over my time in Hong Kong and has developed ever more sneaky coping strategies. The old one used to be just sleeping though anything that made me feel sad or uncomfortable (otherwise known as the St. Mary's years). I think this time though, in order to keep me going through packing up and Jakarta and saying all those goodbyes my brain and emotions have decided to'check out' in advance. So I've got no tears to cry, but I have got that funny empty feeling. That 'I want to be a hermit' feeling (beacuse to go out and be social means acknowleding that it might be one of the last times I see someone and that means I'm going and gaggggggh!)I suppose it's just the grown-up version of sticking my fingers in my ears and going la la la la.

So I imagine what's going to happen is this; I will remain curiously emotionless as I do the rounds of goodbyes. This is odd, for me, a girl who cried every five minutes during the first Sex & The City movie, and had to turn off Charlotte's Web right at the beginning as I think something bad happens to the piggies?! But I will accept the deadened empty feeling and recognise it as a coping strategy that is out of my hands. So if I don't cry when I say goodbye to you, please don't be offended. And please don't punch me in the flange to bring the required tears to my eyes. Rest assured, when as the plane leaves the HK tarmac and the tough face is no longer needed I'll be bawling and hiccuping like a small child. And then it's time to reach for the blue envelope.

Today I have: enjoyed the rain break but come on, only typhoon one? LAME. Washed all my pretty dresses. I am now waiting for them to dry so I can wear one tonight or else I'm going out in my jammies.

Sleepiness and Funny Friends...

Yup, still snoozy. Got home after my last day at school today and fell into the deepest sleep until it was time to wake up and stagger to sushi like a zombie. I didn't have to teach today but all the smiling I did as I posed with teachers, children and their parents exhausted my jaw (out of practice...) and I think that may have spread over the rest of my body. It's strange. I haven't cried at all when I said goodbye to my kids. AND I WILL NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN. I didn't cry as I left my room even though I WILL NEVER TEACH IN THERE AGAIN. I'm not sure whether this is a healthy acceptance of change (as befits my new grown-up attitude) or if I'm in severe denial and will snap at some point soon, wandering round the city in my PJs, sobbing everytime I see a small child. I can't wander round in my work uniform as I've already thrown it in the clothes recycling bin. Harsh or what?!!

Anyway, this evening my friend Leeann told me of a great saying an ex of her's coined. He once said to her 'you're not arm candy, you're dick candy'. Dick candy, I like that. So here below (beacuse I am too lazy to be properly creative this evening) is a list of my favourite phrases, as coined by various friends and aquaintences:

1) 'Jilling off': My friend Katie's term for female masturbation, in contrast to 'Jacking off'

2) 'Morning Dew': Again from Katie. In contrast to 'Morning Wood'

3) 'He'll come to a sticky end': Obviously not inveneted by my friend Rose but she put a different interpretation on it (think about it)

4) 'All mouth and no trousers': Another different interpretation to the traditional one, and sounds about perfect to me.

5) 'I'm having bacon today, bacon's good for you': BGSers will recgonise this classic Mr. Geale quote, said apropros of nothing in the canteen queue.

6) 'Drink your wine, there's sober kids in Africa': And there are. So drink up you inhumane bastard!

7)'You know where you are with a bastard' My motto for my love life. And yeah, that's served me really well!

Ah, I can only make it as far as lucky seven. MUST SLEEP! PLease add more/remind me!

Today I have: remained surprisingly dry-eyed as I said goodbye to my kids, eaten more pizza than is safely reccomended, SLEPT!

Coming out the closet...

Well howdy doo!

Remember the other day I said I'd come to an important love life decision? Well now I'm having an early night and am not too knackered to go into detail I shall spill. As you may know, over the years I have cultivated a bit of a cheeky image. I won't say all out-slutty. More tart-with-a-heart. Like Kat Slater but without Shane Ritchie (there are some depths to which even I would not sink). It used to be that if there was a hot guy on the periphery I'd be shagging him. Or working out a way to shag him. Or at least luring him into one of my many lairs (also know as the alleyways of Southwark, Bexley and more recently, Wan Chai). Sex has always been an important part of my personality. I favour the kinky. I make the double entendres. I wear the slutty clothing.

But not anymore. My sex life has sort of... tapered off. I get less ball action than an England player. If I keep on at this rate, I'll be able to raise some dollar by selling my virginity on Ebay. However... I can't say this lack of sex has all been down to accident. After all, while I am no Megan Fox (and even Megan Fox isn't Megan Fox without the lighting, airbrushing etc) I'm not total gargoyle. If I was going out looking for it every weekend I'd get a poke once in a while. So tht leads to the explanation and following important announcment. After years of playing the saucy minx I am coming out of the closet to say:

I DON'T CARE ABOUT SEX ANYMORE!!!!!

HA! I've said it. And I'll say more 'THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN LIFE THAN SEX!!!!'

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So there we go. I have come out the former-minx closet. No really, not bothered. Hot guy? Pah! Keep him, I've got some Indonesia research to do. Colin Farrel covered in hummus? Sorry Colin, you can't tempt me. And this is why;

1) I am really run down and lack energy at the mo and so the va va voom has drooped.
2) The guys here are very much in demand, often by girls who are willing to look constantly beautiful and say and do anything to please them. In that environment, even the nicest guys turn into assholes. Assholes I don not want to have sex with.
3) Plus the assholes are less likely to go for a gal in a plaid shirt, jeans and ballet pumps when they can have a Hong Kong doll. And for me, that just makes it easier to drop out the competition. Hey, I know I'm fabulous and so I compete for no one. Their loss.
4) The older I get, the more confident I am about what I want in bed. And what I want in bed is a little... varied. To put it delicately (and to give but one minor example), there are some areas into which a one night stand does not get access. Only guys who get regular access earn the VIP pass.
5) But on the other hand, I'm not really ready for a relationship either. There's lots of stuff I need to do before I settle on a firm direction for my life and I suppose I can't really expect a guy to trail around forlornly after me while I work out what I'm doing.

For me, it's a shameful thing to admit. Especially nowadays when everyone's bisexual (it would seem you can't even get onto Big Brother now unless they think you're up for some same sex action), trysexual, transexual, pansexual. We're happy to talk about anal, femal ejactularion, dildos and butt plugs. Chirpy light-hearted comedy dramas are made about posh girls becoming prostitutes (much to my horror and disdain). But the last great sexual taboo? Acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, sex isn't that important to you. That yes, it is possible to go without some for bloody ages and look! I'm still the same person. I am as sexy or non-sexy as I was before. I can still string a sentence together. I have not grown a ladybeard. LIFE IS JUST THE SAME!

Actually I take that back: Sex IS important to me. Bloody important. And I am now old enough to say 'Sod it if people think I'm a weirdo for not getting any but I am holding out for QUALITY not quantity!'

I am not going to have sex with anyone UNTIL I find someone I know is a guarenteed good shag. It doesn't have to be love or a relationship. What it has to be is respectful and a guy I can trust so I can get back to doing all those dispicable, disgusting things that make me so happy.

Today I have: Said goodbye to my N1s, K1s and K2s and felt strangely alright about it leading me to believe I have no soul, been pondering what play I will write for a friends theatre company showcase; Do I do the monologue with the 70 year old Southern Belle with a nasty secret, of the story of a man in love with a dolphin. Votes in...

I am too tired to write. So there!

Dammit. I forgot I had to blog. I knew there was something left on my to do list, lurking in the back of my mind, biding its time like a serial killer and then BAM! just as I was about to go to sleep in came the blog reminder. Ugh and theres nothing to write about of course. Apart from the fact that I keep having amusing ponderances during the day now and I think 'ooooh, I must remember that and put it in the blog' but of course I forget and you are subjected to this drivel.

Well no more! I'm going to sleep now. I've been editing and printing up lesson plans and then wrapping up little pressies for the teachers since 8pm! It's time to go. Decent blogging soon, I promise.

Today I have: been substituting the phrase 'Act like you know, gewilo' in 'Here come the Hotstepper, hugging my kids- last day with the N1s, K1s and K2s tomorrow. 2 and a half years, can you believe it?!!!

Snooze is the word...

Pah! Sleepy and snoozy and my aircon seems to be broken which means it won't turn off (and no, it's not the batteries in the remote, I checked those, I'm not that technically incompetant). At least my room is nice and cool but I'll have to turn it off sometime. And what if I can't get it back on? Disaster! Then I may as well go to bed in a full wetsuit and that way hasten my death by drowning in my own sweat.

Well I was going to do my love life blog today (oh, it's all theory, nothing to tell, you're not missing a damn thing!) but see 'sleepy snoozy' above. Instead I shall mention that I went to a high school production of Grease today, sorry, 'Summer Dream' (for copyright reasons). Although the copyright problem didn't stop them using all the songs from Grease and character names too. Seriously, you've not experienced the true Grease phenomenon until you've seen a cast of Chinese teenagers joyfully singing 'The chicks will cream' and 'No customer would go to you unless she was a hooker'. I'm pretty sure those flew under the director's radar. The director incidentally was called Hans. Just Hans. One name like Prince or Madonna. He went to Griffth University. Jen and I had no idea where that uni is so we decided to rename it Gryffindor instead. Ah bless, the kids though. They did very well and much better than any attempt I could ever make at acting in Cantonsese. Were I case in a Cantonese play, my role would have to consist entirely of instructions to stand-up, sit-down, be quiet and turn your chairs around. Haysan is the word!

And now, after that brief interlude, sleep. Goodnight! xxx:o)!

Today I have been: Frantically doing the lesson plans I should have done AGES ago, posed for about a million photos as the token white chick at school prize-giving, drunk three vitasoy malted soymilk drinks (can't get enough), heard with sadness about El Pulpo Paul's retirement.

The evils and delights of technology...

A technological motherfucker of a crash just wiped out a whole post. And it was amusing and, I like to think, just a smidge insightful. Well, I can't be arsed recreating it now. Fuck you Windows, thank God my vibrator works better than this.

That leads me to a small aside from the erased blog, as I was pondering why my last two leaving dos (from the Globe and yday's Bday/Leaving do fest) have ended with me receiving sex toys as gifts. Not that I'm complaining mind you. I love my Rampent Rabbit Deluxe with its 3 speeds, revolving metal balls, vibrating ears, laser, tea and coffee making machine and vertical take-off capacity. And my pearl handcuffs are so sexy, beautiful and fabulous and I'd coverted them for a long while. It's ironic really, seeing as I NEVER GET LAID! But at least I have the equipement when the time comes.

Ah, but I'm not worrying so much about getting laid now. After a while (a long while!) the urge lessens unless someone specatacularly hot wanders into your line of vison. But even then I'd like him to make all the effort. My lust muscles (I mean that as a metaphor for my lustful urges not... y'know...) have got lazy. When they're exercised all the time then they're eager to leap into action on any fit bit, but currently they're the equivalent of the 'before' section on a Gillian McKeith show, where some obese bloke tucks into chips and lard in front of Men & Motors while Gillian berates him for not eating mung beans and bullies him into going for a poo. Thats what my lustful urges resemble right now. A fat chav.

But I came to a very important love life decision a while back and, along with my career decision it's making me feel a little becalmed. And tomorrow I shall bore you all with the unecessary details of my love life plans (and I use those last two terms at their absolute loosest). TTFN!

Today I have: enjoyed sushi with some favourite friends, eaten a dirty chocolate truffle ice cream, seen a man wearing one green croc and one red croc- KILL IT!!!!

29

I slightly broke my one-blog-a-day rule yesterday. I started but then my eyelids drooped and I was off to sleep, happily curled up like a snoozy kitten. That’s what happens when it’s 2am and you’ve had a joyous evening of friends, boobycake and handcuffs.
So below is what I wrote, plus the conclusion. And tonight shall come another blog! You lucky, lucky people!

How do you react to your birthday? I refuse to believe anyone passes this yearly reminder that one day we will all be dead- or 40, much the same thing- with a total lack of neuroses. Despite loving and enjoying my birthday as a great excuse to get all the people I love in the same room I do have the occasional bday-related wibble. The first is the deep dark terror that, maybe in all reality, no one actually likes me. And there I’ll be, sitting in a darkened room listening to something dirgy and depressing by Coldplay or Radiohead, in a shiny paper hat, blowing one of those noisemakers forlornly, alone alone ALONE because everyone’s forgotten I exist and those that remember don’t really care that much. It’s a similar feeling to the first day of school, when you were terrified you might have trodden in dog poo and for the next 14 years of your life no one would come near you because you’d be stinky smelly dog poo girl.

The other big birthday related fear is aging of course. The fear that time is running out to do all the things you want to. You can’t help but have a quick shoofti around and measure your achievements against your contemporaries. X has got a fabulous career; shouldn’t I have a fabulous career? Y is married with 2 kids, shouldn’t I be doing that? Z just bought a brand new (insert name of swanky car here as I don’t know one) and I can’t even drive! And why are all my friends named after letters?! Then you slump into depression, noting that your only achievements thus far have been once getting a dress for free because you turned up to a shop in your underwear and finally working out how to do your blusher so as to give the illusion of cheekbones.

And now we shall mention ‘The Big 3’. The Big 3 are the sorts of things X, Y and Z have. A Career. A Serious Relationship. A House/Flat That I Own. And much as I may kid myself that I’m 17 and so far too young for all these things, I’m not. I’m (GULP!) 29. And at 29 society says the Big Three are the things for folks to have. Sometimes only one, sometimes two, sometimes all three, the over-achieving bastards.

It may not have escaped your attention that I have none of these things. I have nipple tassels, a poor diet and a very messy room. I have a Hello Kitty make-up bag, an aversion to exercise and a collection of retro, pulp-fiction novel-cover style drinks coasters. And this makes me wonder, have I failed at the game of life? Should I cringe from the more grown-up and hide away in the garden shed when visitors come?

And usually I can’t help but worry, ‘does everyone think I’m a weirdo who’s too daft for a career, too bizarre for a relationship and too irresponsible to have a house of her own’ (yes, yes and YES!). Perhaps I should get just ONE of The Big Three? That might give me a safe cover story and keep the villagers from forming a torchlight procession to my (rented) flat.
But I reached the scary landmark of 29 yesterday without too much panic. See, I think I’ve settled upon a career direction. And although my love life is implausibly bad and my financial planning disastrous I’m pretty happy. The early twenties are for shaking it up but I think my late twenties (and coming to HK during that time) have let me settle comfortably in my skin. Not that there isn’t time for craziness and doubts and wrong turns and experiments. But I think I’m fairly content with who I am and where I am in life. None of this HK diversion was on the map (I was supposed to be going to Bangkok) but it’s all worked out beautifully. So if I am too daft/bizarre/irresponsible for then long may I continue to be so! And wherever I’m going and what I’ll be doing, well, that’s where I’ll end up, won’t I? And I’ll just have to concentrate on making it fabulous.

Yesterday I was: supping my favourite passion fruit cocktail, enjoying listening to the Rocky Horror Show soundtrack, generally having a lovely birthday so thank you to everyone who messaged/attended/ate boobycake.

Disadvantages of the Bloggist regime

The main disadvantage being that, according to my unusually stringent rules and self-discipline I HAVE to write a blog, even though it's gone 2am and I have once again had a little drinky poo. Apparently, my art (ahem!) suffers when I drink. You would think that a little inebriation would loosen the tongue, make the words flow and quell the inhibitions that can make your writing sounds stiff. Instead I just revert to a stream-of-conciousness five year-old. Although that technique worked remarkably for Virginia Woolf. Did that kid ever get to the lighthouse?

So stream. of. conciousness.

Today I spent all day typing. Researching stuff for Jakarta makes me way happier than info on riots and torture should. I think I want to be a UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women when I grow up. Or a cowgirl. The evening was spent at an outdoor bar with more fantastic views of skyscrapers and high rises. High Rises and Low Morals. That would be a good chapter for the Hong Kong story. Along with Even the Dead Wear Designer. I drank too much and fell asleep at the bar. Invented a new massage technique where I motorboated people from behind to mixed results. There were strange blue shots. We had a lady taxi driver. She gave us melon candy. In the gardens of my building was the biggest moth in existance. It was the size of a bat. It flew up at me and I squealed like a piggy and flapped my arms around like a particularly fey morris dancer. The security guards from block 6 were staring through the glass at me as though I was some kind of enormous twat. I am not some kind of enormous twat.

Today I liked: Spending 7 hours researching riots in Jakarta in 1998, being told by one of my kids parents that he talks about me to her at home, (nearly had a squish because of this) eating pizza this eve though I'm allergic to tomatos, the tunage at the bar, so many long forgotton classics- don't stop moving to the funky funky beat!

Ugh. This is taking real effort to write. Because it's 1am and I'm tired and I've had a little drinky drinky drinky. But I'm determined not to quit this writing programme with my usual excuse of 'can't be arsed'. Even though I just had a mini brain snooze and forgot ho to spell 'determined'.

It's been a lovely day; Birthday Party day at school so lots of happy smiling children and cake. Much cake. A swaps party with all the teachers where I gave away lots of books and dvds and came away with a dress, a top, 3 books and, bizarrely, a bridesmaid's dress. Then a potluck dinner at my friend Anna's flat just over the road from me. A short stroll across Tai Kok Tsui and I was up on her 43rd flood balcony, most of Kowloon spread out before me and a view all the way to Nina Tower in Tsuen Wan. Behind Kowloon, Lion Rock and the hills to my right and to my left the docks, the sea and Stonecutters bridge. The whole view flooded by the lights of the highrises, the tiny cars, the streetlights and even, a rarity for Hong Kong, 13 stars in a clear sky. It's something I'll miss, the way it's such a huge varied city all squished into one place and yet you can look out over half of it and pick out the different neighbourhoods, see how close together it all is and how many people are crammed into each little pocket. Ah, I could attempt to wax lyrical on this forever. Instead I will finish with my favourite event of the evening;

Anna and I were having an intense chat about my trip to Jakarta and all the research I've been doing lately. I was going through some of the info I've picked up on Indonesian politics when she remembered she may have a book that would be of use to me. She walked over to her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, and scanned the shelves. Pausing to think, she then reached up and took down a hardback book of average size. She handed it to me. Now maybe I'm a smidge childish, but when I read the title of this serious tome I almost doubled up with laughter, tears streaming down my face.

It's title? 'Lords of the Rim'.

Today I have: been eating A LOT of cake, been trying to create order out of chaos with my Indonesia notes, hugged a lot of children, found new favourite drink- vodka and pink lemonade!

Yes I'm doing this everyday now. It's called discipline.

Or at least I'm trying to be disciplined. Actually, tonight blogging is just a displacement activity as I don't want to get back to the HUGE pile of articles and notes I have to read for my Jakarta trip. Go ahead, ask me anything on Indonesian politics between 1945 and 1998, I can and will bore the arse off you.

Instead onto today’s pondering: Beauty. In Hong Kong, image and looks are all important and women get ridiculously dolled up whether they're going on a date, to work or to the chiropodist. And in other weird news, I see so many women wearing tights under their trousers here. Why? It's so HOT!!! And your legs are already covered! At the weekend, I saw a woman doing her yoga stretches in jogging bottoms and, underneath, sheer black tights?!! With trainers!! Can anyone think of a logical reason for this?!

But I digress... effort. It's not just a local Hong Kong doll phenomenon, expats get up to it too. I remember going for lunch with a friend one Sunday, nowhere posh, just wearing jeans and a tee and when I looked across at the two girls lunching to my left there couldn't have been a greater contrast. Seriously, they must have thought I was a homeless. They were in dresses, hair perfectly coiffed, full make up, nails manicured and sky high heels. I looked at them and thought 'Thank God I don't have to get dolled up like that just to lunch with a friend'. Not because I kid myself I'm a stunner without all that stuff but because if that's the standard one has to attain to be considered acceptable then long may I fall short. Who'd want to have to keep that up day in, day out?

In order to just to pass muster here you have to do all that stuff and more so I find it easier to just opt out of the competition. I'm happy to look just a little bit rough at all times rather than waste all that time, effort and dollar on something as pointless as my appearance. Besides, if I put all that effort in I'd want serious results. I’d expect to look like Angelina Jolie, not just a scrubbed up version of me, thank you very much.

Also, what worries me is something I like to call the 'Lost' phenomenon. Close your eyes (actually don't, keep reading!) and think about all the grooming/beauty/fashion procedures that you rely on to maintain your appearance. Do you go for facials? Waxing? And for you men, are you always clean shaven? Do you dye your hair? Ladies, do you always wear Spanx pants under your clothes? Do you stick to a stringent diet? Never let the world see you without your make-up?

Now that you've made a mental list of those, imagine you are marooned on an island. Perhaps with all the people in the world you'd least like to run into when you're looking rough. Now think how long you're going to be on that island. Maybe for the first few days you're fine... your make-up wears off a little, maybe your French manicure chips. After a couple of weeks you'll have hairy legs, even if you normally wax, and your natural hair colour will be starting to show. Oh, and your teeth! Forgot about that didn't you? Imagine the state of them! And no hair brush! Pretty soon everyone on your island will start to resemble Prehistoric Man and when the rescue boats finally come to get you they'll take one look at your gummy grins and ingrown leg hairs and flee screaming back to civilization and organic seaweed detox scrubs.

Which begs the question, how did the Lost characters manage to all stay looking fresh from the salon? Their constant glamorous appearance was the most unrealistic aspect of the show and that’s saying a lot. Were they only on the island long enough for Evangeline Lilly's hair to get a bit tangled? Maybe it’s all explained by the Limbo thing. (And really Lost writers, isn't ‘Limbo’ just another version of that famed Primary school plot device 'It was all a dream?'). Maybe they weren’t in limbo. Maybe it was a L’Oreal advert.

So there's my excuse. I will not put that much effort in not because I am lazy but because in the event of a desert island shipwreck I will be able to cope effortlessly with looking rough while the other women will run screaming from any reflective surface and then presumably die of thirst. Then I will get all the men.

And finally, there’s a small feminist point to be made here. Even though guys are under greater pressure to look good nowadays and there’s a very lucrative male beauty industry they still don’t come under as much scrutiny as us women. So while I love getting glammed up when I choose to I also demand the right to wander round looking as rough as I so please. Have you seen some of the guys out there? Some of the guys who think they’re hot? My mother frequently tells me ‘Always look nice, you never know who you might meet’. I say, better to look your worst, then if he likes you you’ll know he’s a keeper.

Today I have been mostly enjoying: Will Smith’s greatest hits, Kettle chips and Philadelphia, Indonesian politics and hugs from 5 year olds. I’m going to miss those little fuckers.

The trouble with writing... (and other twattishness)

I sit down in front of the screen or the page and suddenly... nothing to write. It's all well and good casually dropping 'It's all good material for the novel' in after every anecdote but what if, really, there is nothing to say? This is why I'm blogging. In an attempt to write casually, to keep typing and maybe, once every 500 pages, sneak up on something that's worth noting down. Otherwise, I shall spend the next ten years staring at a piece of paper trying to come up with a golden nugget of wisdom or inspiration and instead doodling ying-yangs and swirls like I always do.

As this is the FIRST BLOG EVER (insert excited exclamation marks here) I'm a little low on inspiration. However, I'm always up on snarky, bitchy social commentary and had to pop this titbit in...

There's a facebook friend of mine (not REAL friend I hasten to add) who runs a socialite website over here in HK and who recently has taken to updating her FB status with 'I'm having a party at my place tonight, my real friends know the address, come on over!'. Pretentious, toi? What are the rest of us, the 1000 or so Facebook friends she has made to promote her business supposed to think? Oh no, we're not exclusive enough to make the party guest list? Does she gleefully expect that 1000 people who pressed the 'add friend' button once because they vaguely recalled her at a Ladies' Night in Wan Chai will now reach for the nearest blunt object and beat themselves senseless to block out the pain?

And why advertise it on Facebook if you know who you're inviting? Presumably you have your real friends' phone numbers, yes? Unless of course you want to put out a press release on how fabulous your life is. Of course, I only have myself to blame for adding this doofus as a friend. But in my defence I wail 'I did it for the Vixens!' Well now I'm no longer Vixens' Mamasan I can have me a nice lil' Facebook bonfire...

Ah, all this bitching about the schmoozers of HK has cheered me up slightly as I was feeling very sad about leaving. But it's nice to dwell on one thing I definitely won't miss. Hong Kong has this crazy small town/big city collision and that combined with occasionally appearing in magazines, having people recognise you on the MTR or being let into clubs because you know people (I couldn’t resist putting this in as ALL of these have happened to me actually, ha ha, but that’s just HK oddity for you, it’d never happen to me back in the UK!) conspires to make anyone with an ego think they're Victoria Beckham. A (real) friend has an acquaintance who once actually said "I have all the friends I need and our group is very exclusive''. Yeah, exclusively twatty. And that is what happens if you're over here too long.

But of course, the irony is setting up a blog (and previously having done my columns) is behaving a teeny bit like an egomaniac myself. Please take me out and shoot me if I develop any signs of advanced schmoozitis. (Latin: Schmoozitis Twattius. Symptoms include needing a designer handbag, obsessively updating your Twitter account and repeating ad infinitum how Lady GaGa borrowed a tampon off on you in the toilets at Dragon-i)
In other, real life news: Today I have been mostly listening to 'Oldster by Xilin River' by Sa Dingding, which I highly recommend. I also came across this Byron quote 'I am ashes where I once was fire' which is a very beautiful way of saying 'WTF did I see in that pillock?!!' don't you think?

Until the next one xxx:o)!