I keep thinking about...

...Spike Milligan, who ruined his daughter's wedding by wielding a pistol in every one of the official photographs.

ttfn,

M

What do the spanish do?...Part deux

This afternoon, strolling under the sun, Mark and I took in the World Hortiocultural Expo, a Eden Project type affair on the edge of town. Each nation of the world had been invited to participate by planting a garden typical of their country, complete with typical architecture and plantlife. As we wandered through, each one impressed us more than the last - Holland with a working windmill, Germany with paths lined by beer bottles (strange and apt), Britain with a walled garden and wooden summer house. Until - surprise, surprise - we stumbled over Spain's dedicated area: a concrete and corrugated plastic building, faded paint, doors secured by a bike lock, not a plant in sight and no garden.

What do the Spanish do?

Enjoy the photos, ttfn,

M & T

New friend

I've met a new friend. He's called 'Power'.

Do I need to say anything else?

Staying Alive, China Style

Last night, after a celebratory drink, Tommy and I slid home past 'Speakeasy', this city's premier hang-out. The poster at the door, full of the usual psychedelic colours and Travolta silhouettes, advertised a fancy dress 70s party. All very well for the expats, easy cultural access. But should the Chinese pitch up with straw sandals, a one-size-fits-all smock and emaciated cheeks? Pitch in.

ttfn,

Marky

For those who have been following banana prices

Check this:

Location: Kunming Recycling Quarter. Price: 0.75 Yuan. Notes: Bananas with the ultimate bananery aftertaste, a delight. We ran into this part of town, full of $2-a-dayers, on a bike ride.

Jose

True say, Tommy. Jose, my Spanish neighbour in college, spent the greatest part of the day smoking marlboro reds.

What do the spanish do?

Dear reader,

I apologise for my quiet patch. I have been otherwise preoccupied. My preoccupation is based on a complete blank in my mind: what on earth do the spanish do??? And what do they spend their doing? They're never in the news.

Please, dear reader, enlighten me...

Hasta que me cague en tu cara, mientras este comiendo los cojones de un gran toro que he matado con mis manos, despues de haber dicho que, tu, eres el producto de una relacion ilegitima entre una burra y un gerbo fallecido!

Yo no soy jillipollita,
Yo no soy tomasito;
Soy "Tomasissimo", rey del mundo!

The average spanish man...

Wakes up late, hung over. Goes to work in either a sausage or ham factory. He refuses to work, but smokes and tells jokes instead, whilst itching his balls and showing off his bravado. He returns from work at 1:30. From 2 till 4 he sleeps. On waking up he goes to the front room, where he thinks of insults and practises flamenco. The dancing falls by the wayside as insult creation reaches a fervent pitch. Armed with moves and insults he makes his way to the bull ring. After the figth and ridicule he makes his way to a tapas bar. He eats and shouts, taking care to cover the floor in food. After this he argues with his friends, unleashing his new insults about donkeys and hamsters. Then on to a bar where he shows off his new moves.

Well that was a great idea

Amongst other things, Chairman Mao banished holding hands, curling your hair and sparrows from China. But what, dear friends, did he outlaw in 1942?

(Just tried to insert a little picture of him dabbling at ping pong here, but the firewall doesn't like it - just picture the man standing flabbily behind the table, forehead as large as a ping pong bat.)

That's right, he banned irony and satire.

ttfn,

M (T is currently suffering writer's block)

What was on yesterday's country lunch menu?

Yesterday, kindly invited to a country lunch, we trekked out to a lake and were presented a feast. All this feast's ingredients could be found, we were told, within one kilometre of a country homestead. So what was on the menu?

Rabbit, pig, eel, prawns of many sizes, local vegetables with no name in English, rice. And dog?

ttfn,

M

What did the teacher tell his pupils?

What did our friend Graham, teacher at a high profile language school here in Wuhan, central China, tell his English class yesterday?

He told them with an earnest look that arson was a good way to meet women in the UK - you "simply set a womens' prison on fire and take your pick of the inmates as they come streaming out".

Shoehorn

Shoe
Think of it like this: there are 1.3 billion people in China. Roughly half of them are men. Men in China wear shoes of two styles (trainers not yet having made a breakthrough of note). 10% at most go for military green pumps. The rest go for black slip-ons. This means that there are, at the very least, 1.17 billion black, slip-on shoes in exitence and regularly on feet right here.

Horn
When, as a Chinese driver, might I reasonably peep my horn?

- Every time I overtake. Since more than half of the road traffic is bicycle based (think on: someone said there are nine million bicycles in Beijing alone), this makes for a lot of peeping.
- Every time I turn a corner out of town. Since much of the country is mountainous, many of the roads are bendy, and this makes for a lot of peeping.
- Every time I want to alert someone to my presence, and particularly when flaunting traffic regulations, which I always am. Since there are 1.3 billion people in China, many of whom live in the overcrowded cities, there are many people on the streets at all times, and this makes for a lot of peeping.
- As a taxi driver, every time I have no fare and see a likely candidate. Since there are many people in China and on the streets (see above; there is a strong chance black slip-ons will figure) many candidates appear, and this makes for a lot of peeping.

Noise pollution, that's for the next generation.

ttfn,

Marky (Tommy's out to dinner and promises words soon)

B&B

We're back and we're bad. But where have we been?

First we went to look at a giant buddha in Leshan. He rises 71 metres from the ground and looks pretty content. Then, moving from the holy man to this holy mountain we planned to climb, we were poisoned by food and Chinese drinking (fast and furious). So we laid in wait at the foot of the mountain, launching our attack on the third day. The attack became a campaign and lasted two days. At the end of the first day, growing desperate at the steep path and failing light, we were guided to a mountainside monastery, where we stayed a night in rest. The monks woke us at dawn with their morning drumming, and we set off into the upwards cloud and reached the summit after lunch (biscuits again). At 3077 metres, it was fresh. Victorious and pressed for time, we bussed back into town; and in the morning, we set off seven hours east to Chongqing, city of thirty million (it seems). The seven became eleven when our bus broke down. So we leapt without pause from bus to boat and sailed three days down the Yangze, pausing only not to buy trinkets. This too was pretty fresh. Finally, we took a long and hard look through the mist at the Three Gorges Damn, a full 2km across, before moving to Wuhan. Mr Murdoch, my old French class deskmate lives here. He has been showing us around and about with indulgence since Friday night. So we would have loved to ship you jokes and eye catchings before now, see, but we hardly had a moment before a screen. We'll make amends, I'm sure.

Ta Ta For Now and an obituary

This morning we saw the biggest Buddha in the world. It was carved into a cliff below which three rivers meet about 1400 years ago. Now, thanks to the second piece of over-and-above-the-call-of-duty kindliness we have received in only twenty four hours, we are making ready for a two day ascent of a holy mountain, Emei Shen, whose peak tips 3000m.

So long as the weather holds, we should behold views even more fabulous than the one pictured here!



--

Bad news, phone fans: today, at roughly 1:43:47 pm, I left my blue Nokia 5140 in the back of a Chinese taxi.

Go ahead and remind yourself of its feature set here: http://www.nokia.co.uk/nokia/0,,53413,00.html. Many amongst you will remember its indispensable compass, torch and thermometer functionalities; a lucky few may also recall its uniquely useful decibel counter - many times that little gadget got me out of a tight spot!. And who could forget how resolutely it brushed off a long drop from a chairlift in the mountains (well, was it pushed or did it fall?), or the many hardy flights it took to prove its hardiness.

We will remember it as a sturdy, blue Nokia with buttons in all the right places.

ttftntd - ta ta for the next 3 days,

Marky