Batgung - Just plain funny

Confessions of a Story Uncle

mrb — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 01:00:00 +0000

Occasionally I get to be the 'story uncle' at MissB's kindergarten, reading in English to the local children. As I walk along to the classroom, my mind runs ahead, painting a pretty picture of the scene that awaits - a crowd of young students, waiting eagerly to drink from the fountain of knowledge...

The teachers do their best to maintain the illusion but alas, when you're five, you tend to tell it how it is.

One of last year's K3 students leaps to mind. While I was reading, he was clearly far away in space, oblivious to the exciting plot of 'Mrs Begg's Beautiful Egg'. No problem for a professional - I gave him the blast of extra-steely eye contact that usually snaps them back to earth.

His eyes gradually came back into focus, he sat up, gave me his full attention .... only to quietly mouth out "Blah, blah, blah...".

Maybe he doesn't like eggs?

Several months later, and here we are at Christmas time. As the token paleface, I get promoted to 'story santa'. So, on with the Santa suit and back to K3, Santa's nemesis, we go. We start with a song. That goes well, so after a quick introduction to today's story about colours, I throw out an easy warm-up question: "What is santa's favourite colour?"

A forest of little hands shoot up. My heart gladdens. It's a new year, and a new K3 class. How hard can teaching English really be?

Santa: "Yes miss, you in the first row, what is santa's favourite colour?"

Miss replies: "Why are your trousers so short?"**

And she asked in Cantonese, not even in English.

Sigh.

Apart from the distracting effect of my trousers, the Santa suit brings several other challenges. First there's the bushy beard and hair which, as my pen-name suggests, are far from natural*. The challenge? Well once they're in place, you develop a bad case of tunnel-vision. It's rather like looking at the world through a fur-lined cardboard tube, which takes the edge off the laser-like eye contact mentioned earlier.

Next there's the padding, as I am rather more slender than tradition demands. I keep it simple, favouring the trusty 'cushion up the front' approach. The first year we went for cushion above the belt, as I was worried the cushion might fall out. Bad idea.

Walking out of the changing room and all was fine. Then I sat down, the cushion pushed up, and it being a pointy-cornered cushion I was transformed into a rather perky Mrs Santa. Someone could have had an eye out. Santas take note: belt across the cushion, no exceptions.

Once you're all dressed up, your next concern is the effect of the whole outfit on your customer base. Trouser length is obviously a key concern with this demographic, but you need to be prepared for other typical reactions, based on the age of the audience:

K1 - hysteria: There will always be at least one child who has been brought up to believe that Santa's sack is for carrying young children back to the North Pole, where he roasts them over a spit. As a parent, I can see the advantage of this story as a way to minimise expenses on presents at Christmas. But as a Santa it means you'll have to deliver your story across the hysterical sobbing of at least one child.

K2 - indecision: Ok, so we all know that there's not really a Santa Claus, and that's just MissB's father with a fake beard. But.... those clothes are soooo red.... you just can't be sure....
MissB is a fine example. She knew I was going to be Santa, and happily introduced me to the class as her father. But when the teachers tried to bring her over for a photo with me, she was overcome with the father christmassyness of it all. The flowing beard, the majestic red coat with real nylon fur trimming, those shiny boots... It was all too much.

K3 - worldliness: "I know who you are", "That's not a real beard", etc, etc.
Do they know how hurtful that is for Santa to hear?

And finally, there are the thermal results of all these preparations. Christmastime in Hong Kong can be as warm as an English summer's day. Add in woolly hat, facial fur, red coat, and several cushions up your front, and you're not going to be worrying about the cold. So, accept all offers of air-conditioning and leave the beard & hat off until the last moment. And while dancing the "Hokey kokey" with K3 was a lot of fun, maybe go for some simple seated activity next year.

Tomorrow is the kindergarten's Christmas party, where Santa will be kept busy. The party is outside, the weather forecast is for 20C, clear skies, and 85% humidity.

Where's Frosty when you need him?

As I sit here in my flowing beard, red hat and shiny black boots, it's the perfect time to wish you a very Merry Christmas from Batgung. Thanks for reading, and special thanks to everyone that has contributed their thoughts and photos to share with us all.

MrB

* Advice to prospective Santas: bring your own beard. I only wised up to this after my first visit. Otherwise, as the beard and moustache creep into the corners of your mouth for the umpteenth time, your focus will drift from delivering hearty ho-ho-hos to wondering just how many other people have used the beard before you. As a now seasoned Santa impersonator, I never leave home without my own hat, beard, and shiny rain boots in my back pack. Think of me as the Clark Kent of the Santa world. (Though the prevalence of mobile phones has made finding a convenient phone box a real pain.)

** Santa's short trousers seemed to be the main take-away from the lesson. Through a neighbour whose daughter is in the same class, we heard her summary of the visit: "The story was ok, but Santa has grown a lot taller than last year - his trousers were really short!"

Hong Kong's aquanauts

mrb — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 01:00:00 +0000

Mr Tall has already given us the low-down on who you can expect to find in a local gym. Allow me to extend the list to things aquatic: the typical characters you'll see at your local swimming pool.

The water baby. Whatever activity you can think of that children enjoy, Hong Kong has a tutorial class waiting to suck the life out of it. So in any swimming pool, expect to find several lanes roped off and filled with children churning back and forth. The first time that I swam next to one of these lanes, I noticed a rather disconcerting effect: each time I turned my head to breathe, it seemed the swimming costume in the next lane changed colour. Maybe the latest in swimming fabrics? No, it just means they swim twice as fast as me, so each time I turn my head a different child is overtaking me. They look to be about seven years old, and can swim twice as fast as me for however long I swim in the pool. I hate them.

The water panda. In summertime, the water babies head outdoors, to be bronzed under the summer sun. They are easily spotted by the distinctive pale rings around the eyes, where their goggles keep the UV at bay.

The SPF-sister. Female, 20s - 30s, found in outdoor pools, and easily spotted by the oily slick that follows them. Possibly a grown up water baby, she relishes the healthy figure that swimming gives. But, Bronzed? How to stop her delicate face from turning a farmhand shade of brown? Slather on that SPF 250 cream!

The poser. Yes, an amphibious breed that thrives in both pool and gym. Like their gym-bound brothers, they also raise the question "when do they actually exercise?". Because although they are certainly in good shape, time at the pool is spent lying on the edge displaying their body to best effect while perfecting the tan.

The splasher. Closely related to the gymrat Screamer, but an offshoot that has developed by Darwinian selection. (Screaming and taking large intakes of breath while underwater have obvious limitations). Heard as you approach the pool, you'll guess there must be some serious swimming going on. But as you climb out several lengths later, you see they haven't actually moved. No, that's not true - there's plenty of movement, just none of it forwards.

The moonwalker. This is a curious species, one I've only seen in Hong Kong pools. Usually an over-60s lady, and often generously buoyant, she bounds from end to end. She sinks to the bottom of the pool, pushes up and forwards to pop up and take a breath, then sinks again to repeat. Watch out if you have one or more of these in your pool - swimming over one as she's about to pop up can lead to a rather unfortunate collision.

The goldfish man. He puts the sup in "haam sup"*. After a token length or two he retreats to the shallow end. Then as each lady swimmer approaches, he dips underwater for his next voyeuristic thrill. There's nothing subtle about these guys, they stare!

The winter swimmer. Skin the colour and texture of shoe leather, they swim *every* day. Their biggest regret is that the water in Hong Kong never gets cold enough that they need to break the ice to get in. Not so likely to be seen at your pool, as they prefer to head for the sea.

The grandpa. Has been swimming twice-weekly at this pool since 1965. Coincidentally the same date he bought his one and only pair of swimming trunks. On land they are just a baggy old pair of trunks. But in the water their gossamer splendour is revealed, as they undulate in a manner not unlike the jellyfish at Ocean Park. Unfortunately the age and thinness means that once they are wet, much more is revealed, often giving goldfish man a nasty shock.

Do these sound familiar? And who have I missed?

MrB

* Haam Sup Lo, literally 'salty wet man', is local slang. The meaning is similar to 'dirty old man' or 'pervert'.

More little things in Hong Kong we could do without

Mr Tall — Wed, 19 Oct 2005 04:58:49 +0000

Having completed our 'Hong Kong loves' lists, it follows naturally that we batgung must consider the polar opposite: the things we hate about Hong Kong. Mr B did his list a while back, so it's time I got to mine.

I must preface my list, for the sake of recent expatriate arrivals, by mentioning that if you had asked me 10 years ago to name the things I hated most about Hong Kong, it would have started with August at #1, July at #2, and June at #3, with May and September figuring in there somewhere, too.

That has changed. Whether through a reconfiguration of body chemistry, or maybe a new appreciation of the way in which the Hong Kong summer defies the inevitable entropy of the universe, I don't mind the summers here nearly as much as I used to.

But there are still lots of things I don't much like:

The pollution. The harbor stinks and is essentially untouchable. Relatively frequent days with pristine air during the summers only highlight how murky the air is much of the rest of the year. The country parks are full of rubbish left on the ground by thoughtless BBQing bastards. And so on. Okay, got that one out of my system.

Umbrellas in my eyeballs. When I decided to call myself Mr Tall here on batgung.com, I wasn't engaging in wishful thinking. I'm really quite tall, and seem more so here in Hong Kong, of course. This means that on rainy days I'm liable to getting smacked about the head and neck by the umbrellas of those who are less vertically gifted (i.e., nearly everyone else). Hong Kong's overcrowded sidewalks exacerbate this problem, as does the HK penchant for keeping umbrellas open in covered walkways, pedestrian flyovers, and other confined spaces. Ironically, it's often the most well-meaning people who end up jabbing me the hardest: my head is so far above their umbrellas that when they instinctively lift them as we pass, I receive a highly dangerous, if unintended, uppercut. This umbrella complaint is in fact a cliché amongst HK expats, but cliché or not, remember it's all a joke until someone (especially me!) gets an eye poked out!

Hongklaustrophobia. This condition is characterized by the sudden onset of the uncontrollable urge to set off on a road trip across the emptiest, most God-forsaken stretch of dirt on the planet. Sometimes Hong Kong's small size, extreme population density, and closed border with the rest of China just start getting to you. Hongklaustrophobia inevitably strikes me at a point at which it's impossible to take a holiday.

The overactive government. This is a theme that's threatening to become repetitive for me, but Hong Kong is nowhere near as 'free' as it's depicted in the international press. The heavy hand of government is everywhere: the property market is rigged, there's no right to bear arms (it's virtually impossible to own a gun of any sort), freedom of speech is okay-but-iffy, public transport and utility companies are near-monopolies, and crushing taxes are levied on alcoholic beverages -- what more proof (sorry, intended) do you need?

The stench of improperly dried laundry. As I've described, most Hong Kong flats don't have space for a clothes dryer, much less a real laundry room, so people hang out their just-washed clothes wherever they can. This doesn't always work so well, in terms of actually getting them to dry out, especially in Hong Kong's humid springtime and summer months. The result is an instantly-recognizable and quite horrible stench. I've been a culprit myself. The problem is, you don't notice this smell right away; it only emerges once you're wearing the clothing in question and have body-heated it up a bit. By then you're usually on the way to work, and unwittingly engaged in making the lives of everyone in your MTR carriage a little less pleasant.

Bus window grease spots. I like riding the public buses in Hong Kong, but I have a raving phobia about the hideous smears of hair oil left behind by inadequately-washed people who fall asleep and let their filthy heads bounce and grind against the bus windows. And then it's even worse -- almost nauseating -- to see someone else come along and fall asleep right on top of one of these grease patches. I'm shivering just thinking about it!

And, speaking of public buses . . .

Cute girls never want to sit next to me. Nor do girls of any sort, really, except for the exquisite and saintly Mrs Tall. What I'm trying to say is, when I'm on a bus minus Mrs Tall, I usually am polite and take a seat next to a window so that the aisle seat is easily accessible for someone else. Yet I've noticed that this seat next to me usually stays vacant until the bus is almost full. Maybe this is due to my general hairy repulsiveness; maybe it's because I'm so large I seem to take up more than my share of space (even though I try really hard to keep squashed into just one seat). No matter the reason, I've found that there are only three kinds of people who willingly sit by me:

Old men. The most likely seatmate for Mr Tall is a 60-something man in vest. This gentleman usually eyes me sideways, just itching for the moment I vacate the window seat so he can get over there, nod off, and get to work putting up some new grease spots.
Schoolboys. I get two subtypes here. First there's the 8-year-old boy who sits down next to the giant gwailouh and just stares until he remembers he has his GameBoy with him, which he then proceeds to play at full volume. Then there's the pack of teenaged boys -- often it's the soccer team, right after practice -- who occupy all the empty seats around me, immersing me in a cloud of hormone-infused sweat odor and high-decibel, low-thought, secondary-school-boy banter . . . I start dreaming of ice picks I can ram into my ears . . . .
Insane persons. I'm not kidding about this. I have numerous experiences with obviously disturbed people -- ranging from an ancient raggedy woman to a very very very angry young man to a genial but demented codger -- all making a beeline to the seat next to me, and then proceeding to rave right into my face. At one point a few years ago, the same guy (the angry young man, specifically) got on the bus I took to work several days in a row, and found me every time. It happened so regularly it became a standing joke amongst the other regular commuters.

Fat boys. This is the flip side of Mr B's hate of over-slimming amongst Hong Kong women. One thing I also really appreciated when I first moved to Hong Kong was how normal people looked in terms of body shape and size. Traditional Cantonese cuisine provides a very healthy diet, and it showed. But now Hong Kong seems to have absorbed some of the food-and-health extremes so common in western countries. I was thinking the other day: when was the last time I saw a 10-year-old Hong Kong boy who wasn't a wobbly little butterball, fattened up like a veal calf by his overzealous mommy', and by confinement in school and in front of TV and computer?

The two tallest buildings in town. I was saddened some years ago when the crashingly banal Central Plaza in Wanchai surpassed the nasty-but-elegant Bank of China Building. And now it's been topped in turn by the nose-hair trimmer of the gods, i.e. the IFC2 tower, which is just plain nasty.

August. Okay, okay, I massaged the truth a little bit at the beginning of this article. Just ask Mrs Tall on oh, let's say, next August 19th if I've been complaining about the weather that day. Freddie predicts there's a 100% chance I will have been!

The Signs of Shame

mrb — Thu, 18 Aug 2005 05:49:48 +0000

PatriarchB and ToddlerB found this one on an expedition to the local shopping arcade this week:

Have you ever had trouble getting to sleep on a plane because the temperature was set too cold? South African Airways' latest bus adverts proudly show their solution to the problem. Toasty!

This advert appeared in the window of a local Watsons shop over the Christmas holidays.

As the American Heritage® Dictionary says, the word "sod" is "Chiefly British Vulgar Slang", and gives a definition as "A person regarded as obnoxious or contemptible." So I was surprised to see the word sod used in an advert for this family store, especially when the model in the picture looks neither obnoxious nor contemptible.

Looking more carefully at the window, it became clear this is not some random carelessness, but part of Watson's concerted "I dare to swear" campaign :

Why be content with shampoo that only promises healthy hair, when you can demand smoothy and shinely?

In my schooldays, a visit from the "nit lady" was bad news - it meant that the teacher had found some of the pupils with headlice, and we'd all need a checkup. So I was surprised to see this advert drive past today, apparently offering 200 nits with every notebook computer :

After scratching my head (sorry!) to try and understand what they meant, a quick google showed that in these days of squeaky-clean students, Nits "is the standard which LCD manufacturers rates the brightness of their panels". The next time you meet someone new, why not impress them by letting them know that one nit = 0.2919 foot -lambert (F/ L).

The message of our next sign, also spotted by Mr B: Leave your paraphernalia at home !

The people writing the covernotes for locally produced fake DVDs have their own special way of mangling the English language. Whoever wrote the cover of this disc (The Secret Society) seems to have chosen the "Yoda" option on his automatic translator program. (Click the photo for a closer look.)

If you're curious to know what the film is really about, check out the unmangled synopsis here.

The next sign of shame comes from Mr B, via -- a tube of toothpaste? Single ? Wondering - "Where have all the good White Men gone ?" In a news exclusive, we uncovered reasons for a worldwide shortage of White Men. In Mr & Mrs B's Honeymoon trip to Thailand, something gruesome was waiting in the bathroom ...

Yes, shocking but true - White Men are being forced into small blue toothpaste tubes. We're not yet sure how it is done, but White Men travelling in Thailand should be cautious of any offers from local people with brilliant white smiles.

But remember that it's not just Thailand that has its signs of shame. Hong Kong also abounds in inaccurate, amusing, and sometimes just absurd signs. Here's another contribution from Mr B. It speaks for itself:

Here's one from Mr T, on a related theme:

Isn't being opened what doors are, ummm, for?

If you've got any contributions, let the batgung know. More funny signs here...

Hong Kong English: Weird and wonderful

mrb — Sun, 28 Nov 2004 07:56:03 +0000

The standard of written English in Hong Kong varies widely. At one extreme it is hardly recognisable as English at all. T-shirt designers are common culprits - here's an example modeled by MrsB:

It's just a rough copy of an image and text, made in a T-shirt factory somewhere in Southern China. But then the wearer is not expected to be able to read it, so no problem there. English is also widely used on the covers of notebooks for students. In theory they will be able to read it, so this time the designer must go to the trouble of buying a dictionary. The two samples below show the spelling has definitely improved, but the meaning ...

Unfortunately, "good" English is often more painful to read than bad. Here's a piece of flowery marketing babble on a local handout -- take a look at the cover and see if you can guess what they are selling ...

Try the text on the inside -- does that help ?

Looks like good stuff -- is it religion ? A self-help course ? Unfortunately not, just a brochure from the same company that insists on sending me Chinese-language-only advertising through the mail ...

There are more examples of creative English here.

Hongkongness

batgung — Thu, 19 Aug 2004 05:54:04 +0000

There's stuff about Hong Kong we like, and stuff we don't, but how about all the other stuff that is just there in all its 'hongkongness'? Here are some of the highlights from the Batgung and their readers.

Mr B starts us off with ...

-- punching the lift door buttons till the door closes (and going back to your home country, getting into the lift, and thinking WHY DOESNT ANYONE PRESS THE BUTTON???)

-- middle-aged men on a warm sunny day with their vests rolled up around their middles

-- those market stalls with strings of super-extra-padded bras. (Ladies, remember the saying that you shouldn't go making a mountain out of a molehill)

-- the Star Ferry, Peak, the view of HK from the TST waterfront, and all the other touristy stuff that you remember how great it is when you've got visitors in town

-- new shops that sit empty for days, then two days before they open two dozen workers descend on it and turn it into something shiny and new

-- flowers outside even the smallest new shop on opening day

-- the paper-thin white cotton shoes that are acceptable footwear for everything from games of football to work on the construction site

-- muscular young men with a suntan, pink rubber gloves, and an apparent deathwish constructing bamboo scaffolding outside some eleventh floor apartment

-- having a group of people stand and watch you eating your dimsum, because they've decided you're the most likely group to be paying up and leaving in the next 30 minutes

-- the inability of office ladies to visit the bathroom alone... "Yat chai hoi chi soh, ho m ho?"

-- being on the train from the Shatin racetrack on a racing day, full of men with their radio plugged in one ear, staring at their papers silently until there's a collective groan as the next race finishes

-- Freddy the weatherman

-- those wierd artificial-pink coloured fish-flavoured sausages

-- Men who only need to shave once a month, and then "shave" with a couple of one-dollar coins.

-- Those big brown eagles sailing past your office window. (Where do they live? What do they eat?)

-- Schoolchildren with book-filled backpacks that are as big (and twice as heavy) as they are.

-- Men who turn lobster-pink after half a pint of beer, but who pour glasses of cognac as if they are serving tea.

-- "Copy Watch? Rolex? Cartier?"

-- "Sir, you need tailor? Make you nice suit, shirt?"

-- "Hey Mister! You take a look -- happy hour, have one beer"

-- "Oh Sir, you have a lucky face. [Pulling out blurry photo of a row of Indian men with long hair and beards...] This is me with my guru. I tell your fortune?"

(Should we run a "Name that Street" contest for the two entries above?)

-- Then there's also the "Thankyouwelcome" type of run-together English. Usually heard from a shop assistant that has learned all the common English phrases the company has taught them, but errs on the side of safety by using them all at once at all times.

-- Hair dyed jet black at Chinese New Year, but then grey roots growing ever-longer for the next 12 months

-- Someone old enough to be your Granny rifling through rubbish bins for empty drink cans, and pushing heavy carts of rubbish along the street :(

-- Ladies holding hands with ladies

-- Men walking along with a hand on each others' shoulders

-- Those Grandpas who've realised that if you take your pyjamas off in the morning you're only going to have to put them on again at night. They've since decided to avoid the hassle by wearing them all day long, whether at home or out on the street

-- The fingernail on one pinky left long for ear-inspection duties

-- Thunk ! The schoolgirl sitting in front of me on the bus last night fell off her seat with a crash after falling asleep. I thought that belonged in this thread -- how Hongkong people can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Think of the local bus services as flotation tanks for stressed-out hong-kongers. Pop them on a bus for more than ten minutes, and the reduced levels of stimulation will have those eyes closing. If it's happening to the person sitting next to you, you'll know it when you feel a growing weight against your shoulder as they slip deeper into sleep.

It's not just the buses either. Next time you're on the ferry to Macau, take a look around you about half way through the journey. The local people will be split 50-50 between snacking or sleeping, while the western visitors will almost all be reading...

-- The Paisley-fairy: When Chinese ladies get to a certain age (I'm not sure exactly when, but I'd guess around 65), the paisley fairy visits them in their dreams and sprinkles paisley dust on their pillow. They awake with a sudden realisation that there are few patterns as magical, and head off to the shops to buy a neat little two-piece paisley suit.

-- Piano Practice: if you leave your windows open, it won't be long before you'll hear children in the surrounding flats start their music practice. Piano's the favourite, but there are also a couple of scratchy violins nearby and for a bit of variety we've got a doleful french horn started up recently. It can be tough to start with while they murder the same song over and over, but in our last flat the student in the flat above got so good I looked forward to their practice time.

-- The secretary's desk that is decorated with photos of themselves (not themselves and friends.... just themselves). There's probably one in their purse too for good measure. Does it help find your desk first thing in the morning ? (Open purse, compare photo to desk photo -- durn, wrong desk again...)

-- On the photo theme there's also the V-for-victory sign that pops up in every photo. I'm curious to see how long it will be before BabyB starts doing that.

Mr T adds:

-- The smell of a Chinese temple: 50% burning joss sticks/incense, 25% dust, 20% jasmine and other flowers, and 5% sweaty temple attendant.

-- The English names! Just one example: at work I once had an email from a colleague named 'Brenther' who was handing over her duties to 'Czarina'!

-- Going out to a low-end local eating establishment that does variations on western food, i.e. a 'restaurant' in the local parlance, and always having to choose between the 'red soup' and the 'white soup' as your first course. By the way, if you're new to this eating style, ALWAYS choose the red soup. The white soup is usually just flour, water and MSG. If you're lucky, you get a couple of kernels of canned corn or maybe a shred of fake crab meat. The red soup is usually some variation of vegetable soup or borscht that is guaranteed to reacquaint you with the vintage vegetables from days gone by.

-- Is it only me, or has anyone else noticed that almost all HK bike riders (except for the really really serious ones who wear the funny tight clothes) leave their seats at the lowest possible setting, thereby increasing to the maximum the angle their legs must assume while pedaling? This is both inefficient and uncomfortable, but this practice is so common here it's even repeated in the gym, on the exercise bikes!

-- The 'where are you' mobile phone conversation:

A: "Where are you?"

B: "I'm coming out of exit B3 from the MTR station, but I'm only about a third of the way up the escalator yet; no, wait, now that I've taken the time to make that utterly inane statement, I'm at least halfway up; scratch that, my feet are now being ground to bloody shreds by the grille at the top of the escalator since I'm incapable of talking on my phone while effectively coordinating my lower appendages . . . . "

-- And speaking of mobile phones, how about those moments in certain HK clubs that ban the use of mobile phones, in which you, a lowly guest, have forgotten to turn off your phone, only of course to have it ring as the patrons, staff, and no doubt the very universe itself frown as you fumble to turn it off?

Batgung Readers add:

-- eating with your mouth open, spitting bones on the tablecloth, then daintily covering your mouth while the serious toothpick excavations go on

-- Wet markets where the local produce is killed or sliced and diced in front of you. Also, you try to hand over the exact amount in cash since the fishmonger and butcher like to return notes with a generous smattering of water or blood.

-- Minibus drivers who drive as if they took driving lessons via their Nintendo Gameboy.

-- Harbour Fireworks celebrations and 100K people saying "WAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" in unison.

-- Beauty Pagents where the MCs take the time to take the piss out of the contestants (Especially if their Cantonese isn't great). Of course, if you win you might begin a career in TV or end up a rich businessman's trophy girlfriend or wife.

-- Smelly Bean Curd...no need to explain. But thankfully, a rarity now.

-- Tabloid papers with the murder/accident pictures on the front page. I'm talking real close-ups here!

-- Best designed airport in the region.

-- RedBean doughnuts! Not JAM as I would have expected.

-- Tai Chi OAPs who can bend and stretch better than me.

-- waving goodbye by opening/closing your hand like having a handpuppet on it (hard to describe)

-- not drinking the tea in restaurants but washing your chopsticks in it

-- your waiter is smoking while serving you

-- never opening or holding doors in public places (as if they're contaminated),instead waiting until someone else holds it for you and then slipping thru

-- starting almost every sentence with 'so' or 'actually'

-- 'value added' services

-- the inability to use a tissue despite the fact they are given away

-- the deification of Hello Kitty, CK Siu, Boding Gau, et al.

-- fantastic fung Jau (chickens feet)

-- being lucky enough to have a spare seat next to you on a bus (if you are a westerner)

-- the great taxis

-- janitors, doormen and security guards who are happy, smiling and helpful

-- Mongkok

-- wearing a scarf and ear muffs when it's 20 degrees celsius

-- Arriving at Hong Kong airport and feeling like a transit tourist because you still have to travel a lot more before you reach Hong Kong!

-- Trying to enter MTR/KCR trains [subway trains] when everyone inside the compartment has decided to stand in the doorway and block your entry [despite there being ample space down the aisles]!

-- Wondering why the place is called "Asia's World City" when the stupid cabbie [Taxi driver] does not understand a word of your English instructions?!?

-- Balancing yourself in a break dance when the public transport bus driver has decided to stop or start *suddenly* [just when you are heading for the stairs (double decker) or the door].

-- Trying to enter or exit a carpark entrance where you doubt that the narrow passage way is *deliberately* designed to scratch or bump your car!

-- Focusing like a pilot while navigating your trolley [cart] through narrow and crowded super market aisles. While at the same time being careful that you do not injure the baby piled on top of the groceries in a trolley [cart] coming from the opposite direction...

-- Hailing a taxi using a really limp wrist action. Don't knock it . . . it does work!!

-- Junk trips . . . love em!

-- Dai Pai Dongs . . . the food is cheap and tasty. Though be sure you have a cast iron gut or kill the germs with plenty of beer.

-- Hong Kong Action films, especially using handguns which don't seem to run out of bullets

-- MTR sprint challenges. Go to North Point MTR and watch the people run from train to train as they interchange trains. At least you can exercise while using public transport!

One reader, Stephen Frost, sent in a particuarly thematic set of items. He noted: We're apartment hunting, so I'm obsessed with real estate and associated themes:

-- Knowing the size of your apartment to the nearest five square feet.

-- Knowing the size of everyone else's apartment to the nearest five square feet.

-- Standing on tiptoe, body bent into a right angle between the kitchen sink and fridge, to catch a glimpse of a two-inch sliver of Victoria Harbour between forty storey buildings and thinking you have 'ocean views'.

-- 940 square feet in Lam Tin for HK$2.5 million seems reasonable.

-- Real estate agents ringing you at 11.00pm.

-- Looking at the 'last transaction price' for an apartment and really getting what the Asian crash meant ($8.8 million in mid-1997 now going for $4.0 in 2003).

-- Having to add on at least $200,000 to any property price for renovation (almost mandatory). Most apartments will be gutted and refitted by new owners.

-- Serious discussions over how much space can be gained for the living room by closing in a balcony that anywhere else would house a few dead pot plants at best.

-- Thinking that anything past HKU on Pokfulam Road is the outback (when it only takes 20 minutes by mini-bus to get to Central).

-- The impossibility of securing a mortgage on a building over 20 years old for a decent repayment period. Banks expect loans for older buildings to be paid back in about two years rather than twenty.

-- Old buildings are way more efficient (if the advertisement says 1500 square feet it will probably be around 90 per cent efficient). New buildings have rooms shaped like things my daughter makes out of play dough, doors that hit the toilet seat and thus don't allow residents into the bathroom, and a single pool to cater for the population of 2,000 apartments in 12 towers. An 850 square foot apartment will probably be more like 550 of actual floor space.

-- Names like "Elite Tower" and "Tycoon Court" sound strangely appealing.

-- Rooftops with illegal structures. Every rooftop...

-- "Chinese building" means "no lift".

-- Walking from apartment to apartment with your real estate agent rather than driving, taking a taxi, or catching buses.

-- Not being surprised that the swimming pool in your building is about the size of a large bathtub and it's closed from September to May anyway because "it's too cold too swim then" (i.e. it's under 25 degrees C!) and then they close it at 8pm, so you have almost no chance to have a swim after a long day at work.

And more readers add:

-- Knowing that cheese is a strange and exotic foodstuff and you have to pay a fortune for it.

-- A place where MTR commuters extend their feet while sitting even when the train is crowded so that no one can stand in front of them.

-- A place where MSG (Mono Sodium Glutomate) is cheaper than salt, so many restaurants use it as a salt replacement.

-- [A place where people] believe a landscape of buildings erected like male organs, instead of mountains and sea, is what it takes to build a world class city that attracts tourists.

-- Cockroaches (the locals call them "little Keungs") crawling around your table and feet while you are eating in a fast food mall at night.

-- People talking on their mobile phones for at least 10-20 minutes.

-- When one phone rings on the MTR, about half the people check if it's their phone ringing.

-- Extremely silly ringtones which try to emulate a theme song, e.g. the one from Enter the Dragon.

-- Modified cars -- especially vans or those "space wagons" i.e Tarago-types vehicles which can carry more than 5 people.

-- Taxis with either yellow, blue or red mudflaps.

-- Octopus ("bat dat tong" or "doot" in cantonese)

-- Similar to the "doot" above :
"ding", to cook something in a microwave
"ding-ding", a Tram

-- Highest concentration of SevenElevens per square kilometer in the world!!! Where I lived we had four of them in the same street.

-- Evolution of napkins in the cheaper restaurants:

First, napkins were given for free along with each meal...

Then, to cut costs, napkins were no longer provided. Customers were expected to bring their own napkins or tissues...

Finally, a later generation of restaurant owners started noticing that customers would often forget to bring their tissues to the restaurant. As a great extra service to their customers, tissue packs can now be purchased directly at the restaurant!

HK business sense at its best! :D

-- Playing dodgems with real estate agents as you drive into a shopping centre to do some shopping which happens to have show flat inside.

-- Thinking that going camping requires renting a flat on an outlying island

-- Believing that any place without street lighting is unnatural

-- Thinking that a church is a more likely place to meet a boyfriend or girlfriend than any where else.

-- Lining up for 3 hours for an hour to eat yum cha on Sundays

-- People who wash their chopsticks because they're dirty and then stick their fingers up their noses whilst they're chatting with you.

-- Never being more than an hour's travel away from anybody in Hong Kong. No excuse not to catch up with family and friends!

-- Paying less than HK$3 to commute on one of the world's most famous and most scenic forms of public transport, the Star Ferry.

-- The dedicated, block-long queues outside McDonalds for people wanting to buy Happy Meals to collect the Snoopy/Disney toys.

-- The amazing crowd control that is the HK-Shenzhen immigration check-point at Lo Wu MTR. I wouldn't attempt going through this by yourself for the first time though ... it's quite a shock to see 100s of people pouring out of the trains, sprinting to be first in the queue and crammed into the confined immigration area. It felt more like a refugee escape route ...

-- Word of mouth about new restaurants/cafes/shops/bars/clubs that spread faster than in any other place.

-- Being able to use your mobile on the MTR-- what a miracle! Coming back to London for a visit, I couldn't even call my friend to let her know that I would be late as the Circle line underground train had broken down.

-- Chinese barbeques where you each get your own exceedingly long barbeque fork with which you use to cook your own food, instead of having one nominated "chef" who slaves over the grill cooking for everyone.

-- Men who slide into their MTR seats and hide behind their newspapers to pretend not to notice the tired granny/grandpa/heavily pregnant lady who is standing right next to them without a seat.

-- Young Chinese men who help to carry their girlfriend's handbags ... by wearing it on their shoulders. Yes, the Christian Dior saddlebag was quite last season, Sir.

-- Going to a restaurant/cafe and having to share a table ("daap toy") with two other couples that you don't know, who don't exchange a single word with each other during the entire meal.

-- Being able to check out the dimsum on the trollies before ordering.

-- Shouting "My stop!" on the minibuses -- and getting a practically door-to-door service.

-- Catching hypothermia in the cinema theatres. Why does the air conditioning always feel like it's on zero degrees?

-- getting your eardrums ruptured by someone "chatting" next to you.

-- the person sitting near you who decides to give everyone a 5 minute demo of all their ringtones on maximum volume.

-- people (normally young males) who slap their malboro cig packets

-- the indescribable smell wafting up from the sewers

-- lots of men reading comics

-- neighbours who play mahjong 24 hrs a day for 3 days straight.

Reader David Vesely contributes a list with a Thai twist:

“Specialist streets” which encompass the entire variety of one product – ie. Sports shoes street, fish street, flower market, bird market, building materials, computer buildings, mobile phone buildings…

Walking down a quiet street and hearing a mahjong game in the distance.

Hearing “oh you are so smart,” or “your Chinese is so good” ten times a day. You would never hear someone in your home country saying this to a foreigner!

Live fish “killed to order” at any local market.

Special prices after 9:00 in almost any local restaurant, and “bargain configurations” on top of that (8 cans of Chinese beer for $11 etc.).

In-laws who first say “lei ho fei! (you’re so fat!)” but then say “sic a sic a sic a! (eat eat eat!)” and keep piling food on your plate.

Extreme indulgence followed by extreme guilt – crispy pig skin or fish skin, shark’s fin soup with crab roe fat, soft fatty pork, extra crispy chicken…

The cheapest and fastest Internet service in the world.

Gas cooking (as opposed to electric) standard (as opposed to very rare) in all homes.

Having a bigger flat with more character at 50% less than the tiny ones in the new building next door.

Having a conversation in English, Cantonese and Mandarin at your dinner table is perfectly normal.

Having a maid who works 6 days a week, speaks excellent English and Cantonese, can make anything from curtains to children’s clothes, who stays for the exact period of the contract, who cooks amazing exotic food (Thai, Malay, Indonesian…), always has a cheerful disposition, and is entirely grateful to be paid less than a part-time babysitter back home!

Buying a second hand Jag for $20,000 and paying $400,000 for a car park spot.

Going to any major city in your home country and being annoyed that everyone is so slow.

Engaging in Cantonese conversation with other Hong Kongers when traveling abroad; feeling like you’re “back home” when you hear Cantonese as one of the languages on the flight back.

Your brain does auto-translation when the person you are talking to constantly uses the incorrect gender when referring to someone else… and in the back of your mind thinking this is perfectly fine because they mean “keui.”

Having a flat so small that visiting relatives/friends of friends/friends of your mother MUST stay in a hotel (= relief!).

All of your suits are tailor-made.

--And a few from the year I spent as an expat in Bangkok:

Taking a motorcycle taxi to speed across stopped traffic in minutes.

Going to a beautiful restaurant and paying 13 Pence (10 baht) for a main dish and 7P for a bowl of rice that goes with it.

Taking a limousine to a city 120 miles away for £ 13

Your “breakfast” has more chilies than the spiciest curry back home.

Fresh green peppercorns still on the branch, the most beautiful cuts of beef in the world (Thai-French)

Seeing your receptionist wai with a beautiful sincere smile every morning when you go to the office every morning.

Hearing all the wonderful excuses why your staff can’t make it to work (“my family’s only water buffalo just died,” six grandmothers dying six weeks in a row…).

Having to pay farang price for everything until you learn Thai.

Going to work in the morning with an industrial-strength hangover and having the taxi driver belch and fart pure raw garlic, stuck in a traffic jam, for 2 hours, with barely-working aircon, and it’s 38° and pouring rain so you can’t open the windows, and the radio is playing full blast, through the world’s cheapest speakers, with a Thai language talk show!

Seeing a 50 year old man with a belly the size of 3 watermelons holding hands with a 15 year old child; knowing that he will cruelly mistreat that him/her… and try to pay them as little as possible after, and he/she has to smile the whole time and pretend that the old bugger looks like Brad Pitt’s twin and his conversation is absolutely scintillating.

Having local friends over for dinner and finding footprints on your toilet seat. Especially after a business dinner!

The look of shock and then deep respect from Thai business guests when they realize that you are personally going to cook and serve their dinner for them.

Having a travel agent completely screw up your long awaited holiday, then tell you in complete confidence that “it’s no problem…” …knowing that showing your anger would be very “un-Thai,” and that in fact you are not allowed to bash their head in with the stapler on their desk, which just happens to be conveniently within reach.

Renting a penthouse in a beautiful and convenient location for the price of a carpark in Hong Kong.

The floods!

Knowing that major public holidays (Loy Krathong, Sonkran) last for over a fortnight.

Wondering if the young girls screaming in a winy voice “hello welcome” actually think that men find that sexy.

During your first week in Thailand, having a drag queen show up for a job interview for the receptionist position. And s/he uses “kaa” (female form) in every sentence.

After 2 months in Thailand, going to the supermarket, food court, 7-11, and being served by a drag queen, and thinking that this is a perfectly normal part of your daily life.

Feeling that it is perfectly normal for the Thai government to take 6 months to approve, after much trouble, your company registration… when you work for a NASDAQ-traded company and are about to create high-paying jobs for 25 locals.

Having a pair of hand-made dress shoes tailor-made for less than the cost of a pair of trainers back home.

The nicknames you hear when meeting clients:

“Hi, my name is Pee.”

A man whose name is Lek (this means small in Thai).

The country manager of a major IT multinational is a woman named Gogo… and she looks like a supermodel… and you are trying to negociate a huge contract with them, but you continually have to stop and give the textbook definition for simple business terminology.

The feeling of absolute relief, utter elation and joy, when you learn that you are definitely going to be moved back to civilization (Hong Kong!).

The Mr Tall Summertime Sweat Scale

Mr Tall — Tue, 15 Jun 2004 05:03:05 +0000

Although the weather so far this June has been quite temperate (for Hong Kong, that is), it's still pretty hot. The sweaty season is upon us. I was well aware of this the other day as I took a little lunchtime walk to a nearby shopping mall to investigate a new stroller for Toddler Tall.

As I walked -- the mall in question isn't in fact all that nearby, unfortunately -- I passed through a predictable descent, from a nicely-pressed young man into a sweaty mess. If, for whatever masochistic reason, you would like to accompany me on my sweat-slicked odyssey, read on!

Stage 1: Refrigerated immunity
I've noticed over my summers here that spending several hours in Hong Kong air-conditioning renders me briefly impervious to even the hottest day. By enduring all that combat-level aircon I earn a kind of grace period in which I can step smartly out, and walk at a brisk pace, without breaking a sweat at all. Typically, this lasts me about 10 minutes, which is often enough to get where I'm going, but if not, it's on to . . .

Stage 2: O! M'Lord! Your impertinence has discomfited me greatly!
At this stage, a rosy blush highlights my face, reminiscent of a heroine in a Victorian novel who's just received an improper suggestion from a rakish gentleman. There's just the lightest sheen of sweat, which is easily dabbed away with a menthol-scented tissue from one of Hong Kong's ubiquitous little packets. Unfortunately for me, I don't have a decade or so of delicate coquettishness to squander on this stage: it lasts about 30 seconds, after which I progress to . . .

Stage 3: The Dry-Shirt Dance
The next sets of sweat-glands to activate are those running along my spine. Now I have to start worrying about visible evidence of my sweat-fest: those embarrassing dark patches on my shirt. Sometimes you may spot me marching along with the posture of a Buckingham Palace guard, and then sitting down bolt upright, at least six inches from the back of my chair. This is not good breeding; it's simply a sign that I'm deep into Stage 3, the Dry Shirt Dance, which is a pathetic attempt to keep my still-pristine shirt from sticking to my sweaty torso. I may also be plucking at said garment, trying to puff it out and away from my skin. Just leave me alone while I'm doing this, would you? If I can sit quietly like this for several minutes once I'm back in air conditioning, then we need never know about all that sweat.

To avoid the Dance, some men take to wearing undershirts. I've resorted to this on occasion myself, in situations in which I really really really did not want to appear a sweaty wreck. But it's troublesome, and even hotter in the long run, of course, since you've got an extra layer of clothing, plus you need to wear a tie, as I can't quite countenance the practice of just letting your undershirt stick out there at your neckline for all to see.

Anyway, I don't very often let myself progress beyond Stage 3 (there are always taxis around) but when I do, watch out . . .

Stage 4: The all-out swamp
I'm going to spare you the details about which bits of me get the sweatiest, and what sticks to what. Suffice it to say that once I've broken a full sweat out on a summertime day in Hong Kong, I'm cooked, so to speak. I can't recover my equilibrium by standing still, or even by taking a few minutes' respite in an air-conditioned building. I need a good long stretch back indoors to regain my Stage 1 condition.

Finally, I wanted to mention a couple of 'special sweats' I've come to know (and loathe) here in Hong Kong:

The Swim-Skuller: You'd think swimming would be the one truly sweat-free form of exercise on offer in a Hong Kong summer, but no. Due perhaps to a combination of my own poor swimming form, the bathwater temperature of most Hong Kong swimming pools, and the toasty ambient air temperature, I find I break out into a uniquely awful, if highly localized, sweat on the back of my skull whenever I swim laps using the freestyle stroke. The solution? The breaststroke, or maybe I should rinse my head by learning to do those nifty somersault turns real swimmers use (not likely, that).

The Toddler Trundle: Before you're a parent, no one tells you how hot children are. Believe me: if you ever need to cradle a sleeping two-year-old on an unairconditioned Hong Kong bus in summertime, you'll know just what I mean, especially when you hear the sucking sound produced when you eventually peel her off you!

The Menus of Meaninglessness

mrb — Tue, 20 Jan 2004 06:33:03 +0000

We Batgung just keep coming at you with new features. First it was the Signs of Shame, and now it's the Menus of Meaninglessness. Mr B has again been scouring the lower tier of Hong Kong eateries. A little more of the spiced donkey, sir? These and many other delicacies await at the Beijing dumpling restaurant in Wanchai.

Here are our first two entries, spotted by Mr B. In the first, everything's going all right with the Cheegay, whatever that might be, until we reach the sixth item . . . .

And next we've got an illuminating item, right front and center!

If you've got any contributions, let the batgung know !

Gorgeous Asian babes

mrb — Mon, 01 Dec 2003 05:30:43 +0000

Gorgeous Asian Babes?

There have been some heated discussions at Batgung-central on this topic. Will pictures of good-looking young ladies bring us more traffic ? Alienate our equally good-looking lady readers ? Attract even more of the gun-toting viewers that call this site home ?

Well, the customer is always right, and the pictures of bamboo and skylines obviously haven't been hitting the spot. So, welcome to Batgung's first technicolour video presentation:

We'll be watching those traffic statistics carefully,

MrB.

Little things we could do without

mrb — Thu, 16 Oct 2003 05:12:45 +0000

We've written of the things we like, and Mr Tall notes the "gwai privilege", but you can't live here for long before thinking of a few things you wouldn't miss ...

Chau Dau Foo -- literally "smelly bean curd". It stinks ! I used to warn visiting friends that it smelled like dirty nappies (diapers). But having completed the first four weeks of life with Baby B, nappies don't even come close. The standard response to my grumbling about it is that gweilos eat cheese, and that is just as disgusting. Well, I think the smelly beancurd wins hands-down. If you eat cheese, only you and your wasitline need know about it. But with chau dau foo there's no escape -- the street vendor, his wok filled with oil that has been handed down through the generations, makes sure it is carefully placed to maximise the spread of its evil perfume. You can run, but you can't hide !

Mirrored Elevators -- I'd be happy to live in denial of my balding head (it doesn't look *that* bad from the front). Unfortunately, the mirrored walls and ceiling of the average HK lift means there's no ignoring the failing follicles. (To be accurate, they're falling, not failing -- they just seem to be migrating south to the ears, the true sign of middle-age !)

Written Chinese -- It's great to look at, but I can't see me having time to learn it -- it's frustrating to be illiterate when I normally love to read. The common message to people learning English is to read a newspaper or magazine regularly -- I remember doing that when learning French at school. Here, I get excited if I can recognise two characters next to each other.

HK Property Prices -- Our flat has lost over one million hong kong dollars in value since we bought it. If you're from out of Hong Kong, here's the sorry state of property prices, showing that soon property prices will be just 30% of their peak. And while we're on property, where else does your house start getting dangerously old and unsaleable once it reaches its fifteenth birthday ?

The Summer flora -- A public service announcement -- if you've just arrived in HK you'll want to take special attention to keeping things dry. That includes all your shoes & clothes, and you too. The humid weather combined with the local mould can make a pair of damp shoes look like fluffy slippers in just a few days. As for yourself, there's a good reason that the chinese name for "Athlete's foot" translates as "Hong kong foot". So take special care of your delicate bits, or you'll be off to the doctor before you can say "jock rot".

Sharp Elbows -- Yes, I know it's a busy, crowded town, but I still don't like getting elbowed in the ribs. Little old ladies and the MTR at rush-hour seem to be the worst combination.

Railings -- Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed this ? When I first came here, the "laissez-faire" that Hongkong is famous for extended to letting you decide where and when you wanted to step out in front of a bus (or more likely in front of a bicycle carrying a big bag of dead chickens, cycling the wrong way down the road. I digress...). Then sometime in the second half of the nineties, railings started sprouting up everywhere. Has there have been a government study that says we'll need a certain number of railings before we can truly be considered a world class city ? I see them when we're hiking too, in the oddest of places. Very strange.

Break and Burn -- This TV advert is just one of many local print & TV ads featuring already thin women talking about some magical potion that will supposedly make you slim. A little advice -- eat less, exercise more, and save your money. [Jan 06 update - the advert has been removed from their website - but there are plenty more where that came from.]

Whingeing Gweilos

Ahem, that'll be my cue to leave.