Moving... finally!

After an overly-extended period of tapping away, I have resisted several urges to give in to my frustration of taking my eyes out with a spoon, or spewing forth in a blind rage around Hong Kong Island because I couldn't get the mo-fo to work.

But now it does.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the blogosphere, please indulge me, and update your bookmarks as Wanbro makes the move off Blogger, having won his very own domain from which to go forth and pass comment on anything that may please, amuse, irritate or enthuse:

www.wanbro.com/blog is the new address that everyone's talking about.

There's still much to do on it, but at least this way I can continue to pass judgment on all those events that just can't wait - as well as those highly inconsequential stammerings I splutter out now and then.

Appropriately maybe, I am leaving Hong Kong in a week's time - for a quick breather back in UK, before heading to Beijing where I'll be studying at University for a while, in a highly transparent scheme to avoid joining the London rat race just yet...

So... deep breath... this will be my last post here on Blogger... until it all goes tits up on the Wordpress version and I'm forced back here, tail in between my legs. So please keep reading!

True Friend??

Just got an email from a friend up in Beijing, a request for no doubt the first of many aid packages I'll surely be requesting come September. However, this wasn't the usual requests for such hard to find goods as Marmite, Tampons or Kit Kats - but underwear.

I've been enlisted to purchase:

"half-dozen pair of knock-off (but good-quality) brand name boxer briefs (note: i don't want boxers and i don't want briefs). blue, grey, or black."

Classy guy. I like how he stipulates the exact colour and style, as well as they fact that they must be cheap fakes. Nice.

He admits to a 'style gap across the Atlantic', but insists I must take along a chick to help in the great selection, since:

You're a man and thus less knowing of what truly appeals to women.

I guess you know when you've really made a close friend when they can trust you to choose their underwear selection for the Autumn '04 season...

Nothing homoerotic here either, just one desperate Canadian whose tighty whities aren't perhaps as whity as they once were... Of course, if he had a sense of humour, he'd see the funny side of the new Bossini male thong range, wouldn't he?

Pack...unpack...pack...

Unpacking always takes forever, and there's no reason why it should really - I only had a backpack with me, but I've still got the odd wet t-shirt festering in a zipped-up pocket I really should have dealt with by now.

The irony is that tomorrow I have to start packing - heading up to Beijing for a few days to find a flat, also having to lug as much stuff as possible up there too else I'll have to pay some extortionate amount for movers, and I really don't have that much stuff. Oh, the larks of packing.

I don't actually have much of a clue how much it costs to send stuff up to China from HK - are we talking hundreds or thousands of dollars? I only have books, clothes and the odd guitar, so not weighed down too much by Chesterfields or fake-leather sofas, as much as I'd like to be.

Back in Black

Well, ok, not really in black, but it sounds a liiiittle better than my just saying 'I'm Back'. Got a load of things to sort out this week, as I've just realised that I leave Hong Kong for good in 10 days' time. I have to sort out all my shit, say goodbyes, and even hit up to Beijing for a couple of days to find somewhere to live - now I really need that like a hole in the head.

Still, now being officially unemployed - I have a load more time to do all the above in. I feel fantastically lazy sitting here in my boxers tapping away, not even having to feel the slightest bit guilty why I'm not sitting in the office willing the clock to hurry-the-fcuk-up. I can go and take a walk, read the paper, make coffee, wash my mould-gathering clothes, hell, go back to sleep if I like.

Bet I'll be bored by 4 o'clock...

Saigon

Well, somehow I survived the ghetto night train from hell, replete with a squatter toilet that mysteriously filled with vomit every hour, and windows that were kept wide open to allow the rain, wind, and open sewer smells to flood into the compartment throughout the night. But as I say, I made it, and aside from the time I took the train from Edinburgh to Bristol a few years ago on New Years Day, spending the entire trip in the crampt train toilet as I couldn't stop being ill after excesses of the night before, it has to be the worst train ride of my life.

Arriving in Saigon, you really do get a very different vibe from the other Vietnamese cities I've visited on the way down here. Actually, it's been really interesting to notice that pretty much every place I've stopped has been pretty unique in character: the bustle of colonial Hanoi, rammed into the narrow streets trying to accommodate street hawkers, tourists, shops of every distinction and a million and one motorbikes; the glorious panoramas and sweet air of the towns in the mountains, when you could see past the thick cloud cover; the mind-blowing scenery in Halong Bay. It's hard to imagine this is the same country, down here in the South, where I'm writing this right now. It seems an age ago since sampling my first authentic pho in Hanoi a couple of weeks ago, the diversity of the country, the people, the cities, the scenery is hard to overestimate.

Saigon, or Ho Chi Minh city, if you will, has a definite capital city feel to it - even though the actual capital is the old North Vietnamese hub of Hanoi. Here the roads are wider, cleaner, there are more people, more cars, more luxury shopping malls, more top hotels, more of the top tourist sites. It still gives off a certain French-ness with the architecture - the shuttered, painted windows, the iron gates, the tiled rooves - and aside from the abundance of our Gallic tourist friends, this city has a definite European character along the same lines of Singapore or Macau, although the officials wandering around in their olive-green uniforms with red epaulettes throw in a certain Chinese-ness to the melting pot.

After passing out in the hotel for a good few hours, hunger forced me to go and investigate, despite my better judgement that staying by the hotel pool would be a far better way to spend the afternoon. 10 minutes later I was striding past the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Opera house - neither of which would look out of place anywhere in Italy - except the former still hasn't replaced the stained-glass windows that were smashed during the war.

Still, still, still everybody is trying to sell me something, although thankfully I appear to have left the old ladies with their buckets of bananas back in Hanoi. The motorbike dudes and cyclo (like a pedal-powered rickshaw) drivers are as insistent as ever, and counterfeit just about anythings can be picked up from the street corner without too much hassle.

Eventually made it down to the Saigon river ("Boat trip Sir, you take boat trip!") - sadly not quite as picturesque or as romantic as the name suggests, the raw sewage again made me think twice about whether I wanted to spend the afternoon cruising a foot or so above the fetid water or not.

Time for a few jars in Underground themed bar, very weird seeing maps of the tube again, in the very last place you'd imagine them. Cue a steaming bowl of pho, and ready to hit the sack - although why why why I let anyone talk me into ordering a bowl of beef flank, trip and innards with my noodles, I really don't know. I blame lack of sleep.

Nha Trang

As always happens, time's running out just as you're getting in the swing of enjoying yourself. Time, on the other hand, seems to pass excruciatingly slowly if you're waiting for Vietnamese dial-up modems to load a page - something guaranteed to put you in a royally awful mood despite being within an arm's reach of a fresh coconut and the warm sun feels good on your face. There can be few things as frustrating as sitting in front of a blank computer screen as sweat trickles down your cheek, flies buzzing around your legs and all you can think of is how much those mosquito bies itch, and the likelihood of whether I've caught Dengue Fever.

However, after a tedious, tedious 12 hr bus trip last night, it doesn't seem all that bad now. Through some logic unbeknown to myself, our friendly driver, after yelling at me for not producing my ticket quickly enough, decided to stop for dinner at 11.30pm, and again for a quick breakfast at 4am. Any illusions of sleep were thus quashed at the earliest opportunity.

Long distance trips are as a rule uneventful, although a good chance to think a few things through, before getting annoyed that everyone else around you has managed to get to sleep, while you're just wiiiiide awake.

Our stop for dinner kept me vaguely amused however, upon reading what delights they had in store for travel-weary overnight busfolk. In the end, it was a toss-up between "Instant Noodle with beep" or "Instant noodle with Park" - opting for the former just to hear the waitress scream it to her Mum in the kitchen out the back. Couldn't help but snigger as my order of beep was taken.

I don't think I've ever waited so long for an instant noodle - half an hour later I was still as hungry as the dog next to me, scratching itself and doing the whole big-eye routine to the group of French guys. Faithful to sod's law, just as the bowl arrived, the driver announced we'd be on our way. Instant noodles aren't great at the best of times - beep or no beep - but when you're trying to wolf it down before Mr Yelling Driver leaves you stranded in the middle of Vietnamese nowhereland, it's not great cuisine.

Anyhow, sleep starved but pleased to have arrived, we pulled into Nha Trang, which I'd heard pretty good things about. And quite right too. I guess this is how Phuket was about 20 years ago - before the titty bars, the mulletted Germans and guys cruising for young boys rocked into town. The beach is wonderful, the water turquoise and clean, and the green mountains in the distance give it that Maui vibe. It still feels very Vietnamese, however, ie it hasn't been taken over by restaurants serving 'International Food', or advertising the fact that they have the best Bratwurst in town.

One big bowl of Pho from a roadside stand later, I was on the beach, cold beer in hand. Life is good once again. However, note to self: never close your eyes for 'just one minute' lying in the hot sun after having minimal sleep the night before. Woke up 2 hours later having been given a solid beating from the sun, but was so tired I fell asleep right away again, having just been able to turn over in my sleep and beer coma so that by the end of the day my whole body was a deep pink.

Next, cue the little lady selling fresh seafood from buckets walking along the beach - talked us into just caught lobster, prawns, scallops, crab, for some ridiculous price. Cold beer, fresh, cheap seafood, no hawkers trying to sell you crap t-shirts - this is the life.

Sadly, time is running out, and next stop is Ho Chi Minh city, but it seems so much more exotic if I say I'm taking the night train to Saigon. Which I am... I wonder how much sleep I can muster this evening??

Hoi An

Ok, well here I am now about half way down the length of this incredible country, can't quite grasp how big it is... Certainly nobody ever told me before I booked myself on two overnight bus journeys and two overnight train journeys. All a/c free, of course, and not a stick of deodorant in sight.

Anyhow, feeling particularly decadent this afternoon, after having found a sweet family-run tailor shop who can create pretty much anything I ask for for ludicruous prices. Wasn't really looking for anything, but am about to go and pick up a fantastically camp cream/white suit, (getting in the whole colonial idea a bit much maybe) some pin-stripe black trousers, and three shirts. All made in 24 hours - for the fraction of the price it'll cost you in HK, Singapore, or even Shenzhen. Plus you get pampered by Vietnamese chicks who tell you that their granny fancies you. Great for the ego.

But, my friends, none of this would be complete, or as much wanton spending were it not for my hand-made blue suede shoes. Oh yes, oh yes. Just because I can. Not sure I can wear them with anything I possess, but surely it's one of those life rites you have to go through - how can anyone pass up the opportunity to have some blue suede shoes made? Life feels great right now as a result.

Cheated a little bit on my way down by grabbing a plane from Hanoi to Da Nang - (used to be the 3rd busiest airport in the world during the war, supposedly - which is madness when you think about it). Nearly didn't make it though after enlisting the help of the frikkin slowest and most inept taxi driver in the whole of South East Asia - I shit you not. This dude in Hanoi was deliberately taking every longer route possible, was being overtaken by the swarms of shitty motorbikes on the main drag to the airport, and was driving painfully, excruciatingly slow. Sadly, my Vietnamese isn't quite up to being able to berate him for his pathetic driving ability, but I also didn't think it would help our cause that much either - we were at the mercy of his souped-up Honda and unpredictable motoring whims.

All was going to plan, if somewhat snail-paced, when the police decided to close the entire road to the airport - in both directions. Prime Minister of Myanmar was in town, apparently, and to show respect you clearly have to bring the city's traffic to a standstill.

So with a broad grin he pointed to the policemen, undid his seatbelt, and turned the radio up loud to bombard us in the back with Vietnamese Hit parade. I was having a serious sense of humour failure as I watched the taxi-meter tick....and tick....and tick....and tick....

Made it with about 5 minutes to spare, although a group of heavily made-up middle aged Italian women kept the plane from taking off on time, presumably on some cosmetic surgery tour of Asia judging by their dodgy facelifts and bright orange or purple hair.

Anyhow, Hoi An, where I find myself at the moment, is a true delight. The French colonial atmosphere gives it a real charm, the walls washed with yellow and blue gleam in the intense sun, as bright pink and purple flowers tumble over them from the cool courtyards behind. The pace of life is so slow it's going in reverse- and it feels just so relaxing. Aside from the fact that everyone is trying to sell you something - people on every street corner hawking even water, of all things - it is a great break from the madness of Hanoi and the forceful selling mode of the hill tribes.

It's just so easy to get carried away buying and buying and buying here - when you can get an awesome tailored suit for US$30, it's hard to say no - and that's even before you get illusions of getting shoes made in a ridiculous colour.

Next stop is party town on the beach, Nha Trang, before ending the trip in Saigon where I've got another couple of freebie nights in a posh hotel where I can chill my boots for a while. Perhaps time for another cold one before the bus tonight. Fantastic.Ok, well here I am now about half way down the length of this incredible country, can't quite grasp how big it is... Certainly nobody ever told me before I booked myself on two overnight bus journeys and two overnight train journeys. All a/c free, of course, and not a stick of deodorant in sight.

Anyhow, feeling particularly decadent this afternoon, after having found a sweet family-run tailor shop who can create pretty much anything I ask for for ludicruous prices. Wasn't really looking for anything, but am about to go and pick up a fantastically camp cream/white suit, (getting in the whole colonial idea a bit much maybe) some pin-stripe black trousers, and three shirts. All made in 24 hours - for the fraction of the price it'll cost you in HK, Singapore, or even Shenzhen. Plus you get pampered by Vietnamese chicks who tell you that their granny fancies you. Great for the ego.

But, my friends, none of this would be complete, or as much wanton spending were it not for my hand-made blue suede shoes. Oh yes, oh yes. Just because I can. Not sure I can wear them with anything I possess, but surely it's one of those life rites you have to go through - how can anyone pass up the opportunity to have some blue suede shoes made? Life feels great right now as a result.

Cheated a little bit on my way down by grabbing a plane from Hanoi to Da Nang - (used to be the 3rd busiest airport in the world during the war, supposedly - which is madness when you think about it). Nearly didn't make it though after enlisting the help of the frikkin slowest and most inept taxi driver in the whole of South East Asia - I shit you not. This dude in Hanoi was deliberately taking every longer route possible, was being overtaken by the swarms of shitty motorbikes on the main drag to the airport, and was driving painfully, excruciatingly slow. Sadly, my Vietnamese isn't quite up to being able to berate him for his pathetic driving ability, but I also didn't think it would help our cause that much either - we were at the mercy of his souped-up Honda and unpredictable motoring whims.

All was going to plan, if somewhat snail-paced, when the police decided to close the entire road to the airport - in both directions. So with a broad grin he pointed to the policemen, undid his seatbelt, and turned the radio up loud to bombard us in the back with Vietnamese Hit parade. I was having a serious sense of humour failure as I watched the taxi-meter tick....and tick....and tick....and tick....

Made it with about 5 minutes to spare, although a group of heavily made-up middle aged Italian women kept the plane from taking off on time, presumably on some cosmetic surgery tour of Asia judging by their dodgy facelifts and bright orange or purple hair.

Anyhow, Hoi An, where I find myself at the moment, is a true delight. The French colonial atmosphere gives it a real charm, the walls washed with yellow and blue gleam in the intense sun, as bright pink and purple flowers tumble over them from the cool courtyards behind. The pace of life is so slow it's going in reverse- and it feels just so relaxing. Aside from the fact that everyone is trying to sell you something - people on every street corner hawking even water, of all things - it is a great break from the madness of Hanoi and the forceful selling mode of the hill tribes.

It's just so easy to get carried away buying and buying and buying here - when you can get an awesome tailored suit for US$30, it's hard to say no - and that's even before you get illusions of getting shoes made in a ridiculous colour.

Next stop is party town on the beach, Nha Trang, before ending the trip in Saigon where I've got another couple of freebie nights in a posh hotel where I can chill my boots for a while. Perhaps time for another cold one before the bus tonight. Fantastic.

Sapa

Have a few moments now to sit down and scratch my plentiful mosquito bites, even to dip into a painfully slow internet cafe for a while.

Currently hugging the Chinese border at a small mountain town taking refuge from the rain that has plagued us since we arrived from Hanoi 3 days ago. It when it rains, it really really rains. Have been completely soaked for days now, now all my clothes in my mould-gathering backpack have a wonderful wet dog aroma which isn't going down too well.

But despite the rains, it is seriously beautiful up here. We're in the middle of the mountains, and every steep slope a wonderful green colour, cut into thousands of terraces where rice grows amongst the hill tribe villages. Hundreds of rivers and waterfalls run through dense bamboo forests, but watch out for the bastard leeches that prey on unsuspecting walkers...

Of course, this isn't to mention the bloody loud motorbikes that manage to make it over the quagmires that are used for roads, plus the ubiquitous jeeps left over from the American war that insist on beeping their sodding horns just to let you know that they're right behind you/infront of you/nowhere near you.

The hill tribes are the reason most people take the 10 hour train to get here. And they're definitely worth the effort - there's about 7 minority people in this corner of Vietnam, and each has their particular culture, clothing and language. Tourists have been making a beeline for this place for years - so at times it does feel a bit like Disneyland visiting the closest villages, when you're greeted by young kids and old ladies with faultless English. They even have a smattering of Japanese, French and anything else they've managed to absorb from tourists that pass through - but to witness this from a 6 year old child, it's pretty impressive.

Their initial script is all the same though: "Where are you from?"
"England"
"Oooh. London."
"No."
"Yes."
"Erm, ok then."
"How old are you?"
"insert absolutely any age at all"
"Oh, so young."
"That is your girlfriend?"
"Yes. (indicate any female within half a mile)"
"Oh. So beautiful."
"She is Vietnamese?"
"No."
"Oh. So beautiful. Buy me blanket.." ad nauseam

They're all trained in the ancient art of Screw the tourists for as much as you can. This is serious hard-sell territory. "Buy me, buy me, buy me!" they chorus, followed by "Why you buy her, you no buy me?". Cue guilt trip - before you know it, pillowcases, blankets, jackets, bags and a whole myriad of bracelets are thrust in your general direction. Some of the things are great - but as they're made from crushed hemp, they have a tendency to bleed all over your hands, arms and anything else that comes into contact with them.

So, being the culturally-sensitive metrosexual male that I am, I picked up a bit of the lingo. I have mastered the following phrases in Vietnamese, H'mong and Dzao:

* Hello
* Goodbye
* Thank you
* No thank you, I don't want to buy from you
* I have no more money left
* Numbers 1-4 (can't remember most of the others)

Now what else could you possibly need? Impressive, huh?

Legs are still pretty knackered from walking up and down the sides of the same valley yesterday - having to turn back every now and then as we couldn't cross the rivers due the the frequent downpours making the stream into a fully fledged torrent. Staying overnight with the villagers was a real experience - although somewhat cheapened by the banana pancakes our guide cooked for us the next morning... So much for eating the traditional fare...

Off now to suck on a warm Tiger beer (the concept of cold beer still hasn't quite penetrated this far, so far as I can see) and maybe chow down one or two Korean Choco-Pies that are everywhere. Who says globalisation is all bad?

Hanoi

Currently sitting sweating my proverbials off in some cafe in Hanoi having turned an attractive shade of crimson with sunburn. Us Brits will never learn.

Haven't got long, and I daresay instalments of my intrepid adventures will be infrequent, but have one or two observations to make about Hanoi.

* It's bloody hot.

* Food is awesome.

* City is endearingly crazy. A bit like an old French town on speed.

* I feel like a millionaire - $500HK is equivalent to a MILLION Dong. Bring it on.

* Cds for $3HK, DVDs for $9. 'nuff said.

* I appear to look like I want to buy bananas from women in conical hats every two minutes. I don't.
* Most locals assume my (female) travelling companion is my hired hooker. She's not.
* The thousands of clapped out motorbikes whizzing past your ear make you pray for some semblance of pavement. There isn't one.

Just been off on a boat for a couple of days around some incredible islands in Halong Bay - like The Beach all over again, but without the shark attack. Beautiful, seriously beautiful. Am off on a night train this evening up towards the Chinese border to do a spot of trekking and no doubt be relieved of a fair amount of my Vietnamese Dong by their strong-armed sales techniques. Saw my first knife fight this afternoon in broad daylight so am assured I'm getting the truly authentic Vietnamese experience.

I know how to say Dog meat in Viet now, so scouring the small print in the menus for that just in case these jokers decide to slip in a side of Fido fries with my noodles. Apparently all the tales are true - you go out the back, choose which unfortunate mutt gets the chop, and then stand back and take photos while the poor bugger is spit-roasted. Grand.

I daresay I'll stick to chicken. Pho Ga, my man, Pho Ga.

Right, I'm out of here. Next update when I get a moment!

Rush rush rush

Off to 'Nam tomorrow so gotta lodda o' stuff to sort out before then. Worse still, when I come back I have 10 days before leaving HK altogether and in that time I still need to hit up to Beijing and find somewhere to live for next year. Sooo much to do and bugger all time to do it in. Got to figure out plans for a mad leaving do as well, plus leave ample time for friends to declare undying love for me and the like.

Upgrade to WordPress will have to wait until I'm back from Vietnam - still struggling with the basics over there so when I've got more than 2 minutes I'll sort it all out and get it looking all groovy. So bear with me.

Last time I was in SE Asia I got completely MUNCHED by the 'skeeters. Got to go and load up on Off! and all the rest of the garb. Isn't Vit B supposed to help you as well?

Shocked

It's my brother's first time in Asia. He's just been in Oz and NZ on his last batch of freedom before selling his soul to do law in the City, and popped into HK to say hi to his little brother on the way back to London. He's just a year and a bit older than me, and aside from his taste in haircuts, fairly on the ball with most things. Except at times, he is excruciatingly naive...

So anyhow, after our epic pool and sunbathing session yesterday, it was only fair to show him the sights - so straight out to Wanchai. Usual suspects - Delaney's, Devil's etc - but then decided to ditch birds in tow and cut loose for a bit - bro's together again. Lightning tour of Wanchai followed - Groovy Mule, Carnegie's (you haven't been to HK until you've danced on that bar - so I'm told), Mes Amis etc, but then pulled out the big guns and headed to Fenwicks, Laguna, and the piece de resistance, Neptune II. Class.

He found all this rather amusing, and we were doing typical brother catch-up chat - you know the type, discuss the parents, the recent death of the dog, bla bla.

Great soundbite from him, pointing towards the washed up, greasy expats hanging on the bar, hookers pawing him - "If you stay in Asia, you're not going to end up like them, are you?". Hmmmm...

Anyhow, all was going well until his haze of naivety burst, and he realised why all these Thai chicks kept coming up and wanting to talk to us.

Great soundbite no. 2: "Wow, they're really friendly here".

*Clunk* Penny drops.

"Oh my God. Get me out of here. They said I can do anything I want for $2000!". Runs off, tail in between his legs.

First time in Asia, first time in Neptunes. Says he's scarred for life...

Country Ranch

For those of us living on the island, often the very thought of crossing the harbour to the Dark side brings some of us out in a cold sweat. Clearly, we all prefer paying exorbitant rents and highly inflated living costs - but I digress, 'tis not the subject of which I speak.

Out of the blue, got an invite to join some mates up near Sai Kung for a chilled day at mate's self-named "PHAT PAD" (he's American, if that explains it). So it takes a bit of mental energy to psyche yourself up to getting on the MTR, changing a few times, getting on a minibus, then getting a taxi - but then with a reality check, realising 4 quid each in a taxi direct from home really isn't enough to induce a shit-fit.

Dude in the taxi thought I was completely crazy, asking to go to Sai Kung from Central - "Do you know where Sai Kung is?" he asked quizically. Hmmm, yes, drive on, my man.

Anyhow - what an amazing feeling it is to just get out of the city. This place has been driving me mad for faaar too long - and just to get out, breathe some fresh air and be amongst greenery without 5,000 people staring at me from their cubby-holes in the towers around me - just such a release.

I wasn't born a city guy - grew up in the West Country in England - so adapting to this urban madness has been tricky at times. But times like yesterday when you can getaway and sit in a garden, have a dip in a swimming pool etc - awesome.

I guess I was just amazed by how much a city can drag you down - sure it's fun, and you wouldn't want to live anywhere else, most of the time - but to head out to a real house, with a real kitchen, in the hills, amongst the countryside, seeing a view that isn't made of concrete and asphalt - how often do you get that?

The only real bitch is getting back though. After you've gorged yourself stupid on seafood, the last thing you want to do is trek back to your lil' cupboard on the island. Minibus, MTR and bus later, you're even more knackered than when you started...

Comments

Ok, nearly ready to go here. Managed to import all entries from Blogger to new site, as well as the archives, but I've lost all my comments! Can I import them as well, or will I have to start with none?!

Wait for it....

Finally I have shrugged off my technophobe cloak and have succeeded in downloading and configuring Word Press. Oh yes, oh yes, it's true. So all I need to do now is find out how to make it stop looking so gay and *shazam* the conversion will be complete.

Aren't you exciting? (as one of my students would say)

Mullet

My brother arrived this morning from NZ, really frikkin early and piled round to my place about 8am clamouring something about breakfast. If that wasn't bad enough, it seems on his travels he has cultivated a curly, greasy mullet and the dreaded 'traveller's beard'.

"It wasn't actually that bad until I got here, must be the humidity."

Hmmm, maybe. But this is serious Chesney Hawkes territory.

Family bonding haircut may be in order, methinks.

Ho Ho Ho

When George Bush met The Queen, he turned round and said:

"As I'm the President, I'm thinking of changing how America is referred to, and I'm thinking that it should be a Kingdom"

"I'm sorry Mr Bush," said the Queen, "but to be a Kingdom, you have to have a King in charge - and you're not a King."

After thinking for a while, George Bush said: "How about a Principality then?"

To which the Queen replied: "Again, to be a Principality you have to be a Prince - and you're not a Prince, Mr Bush".

Bush thought long and hard and came up with, "What about an Empire?"

The Queen was getting a little annoyed by now.

"Sorry again, Mr Bush, but to be an Empire you must have an Emperor in charge - and you are not an Emperor."

Before George Bush could utter another word, the Queen said:

"I think you're doing rather nicely as a Country".

Installation hassle

Don't know why it isn't working, but it ain't. Downloaded WordPress. Re-configured the wp-config.php file with Database name, Username and Password. Loaded it all up to my FTP. When it comes to running the install programme, none of the steps work - just get a load of code and all round gobbeldegook.

Web hosts DO run PHP and MySQL so shouldn't be a problem there. But something's not going down well. Frustrating.

Converting... nearly

Right then, trying to make the jump from Blogger onto Wordpress for various reasons. Accordingly, apologies for lack of anything remotely interesting here today.

Was all looking so good when I ran the installation programme to be greeted with a huge page of rubbish - no steps, as it runs through the whole thing. Then it gives me my username and no password. Can't guess my site either.

Does this mean my web hosts can support it? I've tried emailing them but no reply as yet.

Having another look at the instructions, I need to configure the wp-config.php file, but I reckon I've not done it right, as I haven't got a name for a database. So, back to the hosts - in trying to set up a database with them, I'm asked how many fields I want. Now, I have no idea how many I'll need for Word Press. Any thoughts? Or does it sound like I need to change hosts?

Geeky Weather Programme

Don't know if anyone else managed to see it, but whilst in vegetative recovery last night, I saw a programme on the BBC about the impending phenomenon of environmental refugees. Ok, it wasn't my normal type o'thing, but the facts were actually quite scary. BBC has a piece on it today here.

One of the most surprising thoughts was that the Maldives, island haven laced with coconuts, awesome beaches and vomitously loved-up couples on their honeymoons, is on the way out due to the rise in sea levels.

Since 80% of its 1,200 islands are no more than 1m above sea level, within 100 years the Maldives could become uninhabitable.

That is scary stuff - could you imagine your whole country - not just one small island/area etc - literally falling into the sea?

In an incredible display of the BBC needlessly wasting license payers' money, several correspondents had been sent out to various arseholes of the planet to comment on the apocalyptical situation pending. The guy in the Maldives had it easy - and he knew it - prancing through the waves on his way to oggle the local talent with pina colada in hand.

The poor bastard stationed in Dead Horse (real name, God knows why) in Alaska wasn't particularly amused, but he had the best story. Apparently there's a load of islands up there inhabited by Inuit communities that are literally turning to dust. For centuries they've been frozen together by the temperatures - but now it's getting a tad warmer, the whole place is disintegrating, just disappearing. Now that too, is scary shit.

By far the best part, however, was Mr and Mrs Nauseating from Manchester who, in an inexplicable moment of originality, decided to buy a holiday home in Marbella, South of Spain. Costa del Crime, innit. Leather-skinned and bottle blonde, she had lugged the two disgusting kids from Southport, unheeded by warnings that in a few years time, Marbella will be as hot as Sauda Arabia. Now that is hardcore heat. But undeterred, "The hotter the better!" she quipped, reaching for another B&H and her pint of gin before falling over.

You've got to love Brits abroad.
                                                                                                                                                                                  

Bummer

Just got an email from my brother. He's in New Zealand driving around the South Island for a while.

Except he's not now.

Turns out he just got a speeding ticket, and with their zero tolerance laws, had to surrender the hire car.  So now he's out on his arse with a huge suitcase, trying to get around now on a push bike. He's gotta be well popular with the girlfriend right now...

And your name is.....

Just a follow-up to that last post (well, the one below this one, anyhow).

When I was younger, I used to work in a hotel, as a Concierge - you know, the guy who gives you information, books you restaurants, solves ridiculous problems that can only happen to the clueless uberrich, and parks cars. (That last part was great - the look on the faces of some of these people handing me, a 17 yr old, the keys to their brand new Bentley/Jag/Merc/Beemer - just fantastic. And I'd only passed my driving test a couple of months before - what was the management thinking!?!).

Anyhow, I also used to show people to their hideously-overpriced rooms and lug their leopard skin suitcases after them, during which time I was required to indulge in a little small talk. Most of the time, it's no problem, just drag out the usual "Hello Mr. X, where have you come from today? How was the traffic?" Bla bla blah bullshit bullshit, butter-them-up-give-me-a-tip kinda language.

This was, however, a pretty posh hotel, and we used to get a lot of actors and musicians staying there - so quite often, you were meeting various C-list celebrities, and the like. However, one day, U2 were in town, and lo and behold, they stayed with us. Didn't get to meet Bono, I think he took the back entrance with his heaving amount of groupies or something, but the rest of the crew were there. So, that afternoon, I was paged by dim Austrian chick on reception, and asked to come and show a "Mr. Edge" to his room.

Mr. "Edge"? What, so his friends all call him "The"?

He'd quite clearly had it so many times and wasn't seeing the hilarity of the situation, so I played safe and stuck to the universally arse-licking 'Sir'.

But this does beg the question - what do you call these people who appear to be above the whole name thing? Does Meat Loaf sign his Xmas cards "All my love, Meat"? What about the guitar-squealing Slash himself? Or Prince? Would an official letter be addressed to Mr Diddy? On his death certificate, was it recorded as Pac, Tu?

Dad Music

There's some great Meat Loaf knowledge from Harry here. Surely one of the all time greatest cheese-fest albums. Fourth-best selling album in Australian Indie record shops last week. Good work.

For me, it's a top reminder of those tunes my Dad would play continuously years ago in the black N-reg Ford Scorpio (the model before the fcuked up the lights at the front) whilst careering down the M4 at 100 miles an hour. Bass hammed all the way up, treble at the lowest notch, enough to make the loose change on the dashboard shudder as Mr Loaf ripped into one infectious chorus after another. This was no tapping of the steering wheel stuff - it was serious headbanging as only an eleven year old could - with visions that one day, I might also grow a greasy black mullet and hang out with chicks with frighteningly bright lipstick and tight French perms.

If it wasn't Bat out of Hell on repeat, it was most likely Status Quo who stepped up next. Rockin' all over the World, Pictures of Matchstick Men - again, anthem after anthem would echo around the country lanes of North East Somerset, complete with car-adapted air guitars for increased listening pleasure.

Cream and Eric Clapton also got a good airing, so too John Lee Hooker, and any other hastily botched-together compilation gingerly crouching behind the multi-purpose title 'Blues', picked up at some God-awful service station during a frequent cross-country trip in the Scorpio.

Indeed, my Dad would acquire such an impressive variety of these all-but-identical albums (all containing at least one Blues Brothers number, RESPECT, and more often than not something that did not even remotely qualify for R&B, let alone BLUES) that they occasionally migrated into the house, until the eagle eye of my mother sifted the wheat from the chaff, as 'twere.

The Who and Canned Heat one day found themselves accompanied by new acquisition Soul Asylum, but such forays into more modern music were soon put aside as Status Quo and Meat Loaf returned to their rightful position at the pinnacle of Dads' Driving Music.

And there they remain, to this day.

And then there were three...

Right. Going out on a limb here and saying things are finally looking better. Aside from my wisdom teeth being a frikkin pain in the arse, I've dispatched strange tropical fever thing and am considering breaking the self-enforced diet of congee and soup. I hate congee anyway.

Back in the office now, to find that there's only TWO other people here. Two? Where the hell is everyone else? Sick. WTF is going on? Everyone's been dropping like flies since I've been out last week. Now the whole thing's ground to a halt - this is freaky shit.

Feng Shui, mate, it's slowly killing us all.

Naked Photos

I need this job.

"Immigration officers are having to pore over naked pictures of hundreds of exotic dancers to keep imposters out of Canada."

Might be quite amusing at first, but I'd reckon you'd then get a load of minging hein-dogs trying to get into the country by playing the 'Fetish' card - photos you'd have to sift through all day. I shudder at the thought - brings back memories from those good ol' Brazilianshemales.com marathons in college.

Whole article here.

Tabula Rasa

Ok, so I now have this new computer. And I can't get enough of it. However, knowing how easy it is to load a whole load of useless stuff onto these machines, I have declared my new baby a crap-free zone. I don't want it rife with viruses/spyware/pop-ups and needlessly slowed down by other programs I'll use maybe once in my life.

So I'm asking for advice.

At the moment, aside from the MSN Messenger I added, the computer's pretty much a tabula rasa. So if you were in the same position, what programs would you install right away, and which ones would you steer clear from? What's the best way to avoid loading up the machine with cyber-bollocks? Am going to install Microsoft Office, but aside from that, no plans as yet.

Any suggestions on what I should do, and what I'd bloody better not do are more than welcome.

Firefox?

I notice there's quite a few people who are making the move away from Internet Explorer and onto this Firefox chap. So what's that all about then? What are the benefits of doing that? Is it safer, faster, easier? All of the above?

I'm rather partial to the big homely blue E - computer's equivalent to the Golden 'M'/Golden Arches - but saying that, is Internet Explorer the 'junk food' of all web browsers? Should it best be avoided?

Loud bark, minimal bite

From today's SCMP Observer:

"For the first time since the handover, the British government's six-monthly report to parliament on Hong Kong does not claim that "One country, two systems" is working well in practice, or that the rights and freedoms promised in the Sino-British Joint Declaration and the Basic Law continue to be upheld.

...Thus, while it does not openly accuse China of having violated the Sino-British agreement, it comes close."

With the huge expansion of the Chinese economy, obviously it is in Britain's interests to be best buddies with Mr Red. However, with these criticisms, Beijing can't be best pleased. Britain has hardly minced her words this time - underlining the importance Hong Kong still holds for them.

Thing is, of course, if China does decide to just plough on ahead with its grand plan regardless, what can Britain do about it?

Absolutely nothing.

The agreement does not expire until 2047 - but with China making as much as an impact on the political panorama as it has done in the last few years in HK, I daresay Britain jumping up and down infront of a industrialised Chinese superpower will have fairly minimal impact.

Attempting Geekery

Well, decided to take a bit of a roadtrip down the hill to Pacific Coffee, pert lil' laptop sug under my arm to use through the wireless connection just because I can. Seems like I can't get it gratis though - if I try and connect through PCCW the guys want cash for it. Bit of a bitch as there's free internet here anyway, if only the chick with the impossibly large earrings would let anyone else have a go. Don't really know half of what this computer can do, but from what I can see, it is awesome. Sound is a bit lame when I want to crack out some monstah salsa choons, but it is a laptop. Might have to properly Kev it up and attach a couple of bass bins and Kenwood speakers to the back, or lower its suspension or something. Great.

In the last month, pretty much around the time I started writing this blog, I've realised just how hopelessly out of the loop I am when it comes to computers and their capabilities. What's more, I feel really, really stupid trying to do all these things I hear people talking about - as I haven't got a clue where to start.

I thought I was very much the man when I designed my own web page. My head swelled with pride when I managed to fiddle around with photos, text and other bits and pieces. I was certainly the MACDADDY when I began to fiddle with templates here and there, learnt what a 'Source' is, and juggled with acronyms like HTML and CSS. Friends began to look at me in a new light, with an added hint of reverence, of respect, of envy: here was a true pioneer of the digital age. Look at him - they would remark - with his own web page, his potential is massive. The possibilities are endless. How fortunate we are to be living in his shadow.

Truth is though, I'm hopeless, totally clueless about it all. I guess people learn all their techie garb from their friends - the token geeky mate, last choice on the football pitch, but first pick after hours - but none of my mates have got a bleedin' clue about it either. I'm clearly hanging out with all the wrong people. Trying to be clever, I try to enlist help online using appropriately bizarre pseudonyms on message boards and the like - but always always always I'm greeted with a plethora of snot-nosed kids or bald middle-aged men with beards whose answers to my questions are so bloody complicated and make no sense. It's really frustrating - like I missed the boat to this immense pool of knowledge, and now I keep taking volleys in my quest to unlock some of that expertise.

I wish I could find a way of filling in the gaping chasms in my knowledge. Perhaps it is only in surrendering to the geek inside me that I'll manage it. I shall become one. Geekdom awaits me.

So how would you feel if...

You're heading back to the UK for 2 weeks, the West Country in the summer, seeing family and friends you haven't seen in over a year - but with the caveat that you're going to spend most of the time in bed recovering from having your wisdom teeth yanked out?

Looks like this is what I have to look forward to when I go back. An operation. Nice.
Recently, friends have made a point of letting me know just how painful the wisdom teeth operation is. I've looked up the info on the net. It ain't pretty. Heard all the stories about how people suddenly come to in the operating theatre, just in time to see the dentist tugging away at your jaw, his foot on your chest, yanking away. I've heard all about the soup and ice-cream diet for days afterwards (hey, but at least I'll be used to that, after this week...). I know about the hamster cheeks. I've seen photos of post-op infections. I know, I know, I know, it's not top entertainment.

But, I guess, its either have it done back in England - or find some dude when I get up to Beijing. Just the mere thought of that scares the shit out of me...

Congee

Right, enough of this, I'm thoroughly bored of being ill now. It's like my life has been on hold for the last week while toss and turn in bed or watch DVD after DVD - ramming an obscene amount of pills down my gullet whilst I'm at it.

The old wisdom teeth have now joined in the party, so now I'm starting to feel better, I can only eat soup and congee. Frikkin brilliant. Could really do with getting stuck into a heinously large steak, roast spuds, a good cuzza, batch of chicken wings, big bowl of Phad Thai, maybe a banoffee pie to wind it up. I'm soooo hungry.... but the thought of bloody congee again is about as enticing as snacking on toothpaste.

And this is pretty much my last week in Hong Kong! I'm supposed to be 'avin' it large each and every night, drinks and chicks etc etc, but no. Just the soup.

New Toy

One thing I did manage to achieve over a very, very dull weekend in bed, was to buy this laptop. Nice, shiny, new Sony to play with. Coming at y'all live and very dangerous from it right now, can't quite get enough of it. Bring it on.

Still Home

Well, this is getting a bit much, to be honest. Pretty much my last week here in Hong Kong now, and I'm still house-bound. Bit like as a kid when you managed to wangle the day off school - when you found out that after the novelty of the lie-in wears off, being ill isn't actually all that much fun.

Certainly ain't cheap either. That's two doctors visits I've had in the last three days, I'm taking half a pharmacy's worth of pills, and now over a couple of thousand dollars worse off. I'm reduced to eating soup and congee, even chocolate mousse is too much... Have to bottom out sometime, surely?

iWant iPod

Itching to buy an Ipod. When are these new bad boys coming out then? I don't want to do a Shaky. Last I heard the mini ones' release date was pushed back for some reason, but can't decide if they're a bit girly. If you've got 1000+ songs netted, you really want something of a decent size, else you'd lose it down the back of the sofa or something.

I remember when I made the transition from brick generation mobile phones (you know, the Nokia ones that everyone had) to the impossibly small Nokia. Thought I'd lost it for the best part of a week when I found it again in my back pocket. Oh, the perils of technology.

 

Today's Tropical Disease is....

Well, I can certainly file yesterday's assessment under 'Spoke too Soon'. Here I am, back to writing from my bed, fever is back with a vengeance and with a rather spectacular throat infection just to add a little local colour. Great.

So, after my outburst against local Western medicine doctors yesterday, I was forced to gulp down an all-too generous portion of humble pie and seek an expert's opinion this morning. This was not before scaring myself shitless making a self-diagnosis by means of our dear old friend the internet. We've all tried it - and all come away wishing we hadn't...

I don't know why I always turn to Google at the suggestion that something untoward is happening to my body. A huge surplus of time on my hands, maybe. But we all know the drill - enter in all the symptoms we can think of, hit enter and..... what do you know? 45,363 hits all telling you that you have prostate cancer or a nasty strain of Legionnaire's disease. It isn't until the third time of searching and on the 12th page that there's a mild suggestion you might have an allergy, or God forbid, a cold coming on - up comes a never-ending stream of information educating you and something you swear to God you wish you never get.

But now you've seen it in glorious HTML, you're convinced you do actually have it. And you can't leave the page until you know the instructions by heart on how to cure it. Or if there is no cure, you're automatically up to date on scientists who think they are close to finding a vaccine, or can treat the terrible symptoms in any way - just in case you do have it. Which you probably do. After all, the internet said so.

So anyway, I'm currently fighting the chain of logic that concludes that I have contracted throat cancer, am having a particularly bad first outbreak of herpes, or a rather late onset of hand, food and mouth disease. All highly possible eventualities, according to Google.

What was it I said the other day about having a gun in the room when you're sick???