Posted 9:18 AM by Gobbler
“This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. However, it may well be the end of the beginning.” Winston Churchill, British Prime Minister, after the Battle of Britain, Summer-Autumn 1940.

You may remember the little dispute over teaching at this new school that has been going on. The one that the directors wife teaches at. Today Chris, Caroline and I started our first day there. Current agreement says that we will work there for four weeks. They’ve got me over a barrel on that one as im currently working only 14 hours and the contract says I will work 16 hours a week. Trouble is that they want us to work for at least ten weeks and Bill has only said 4 weeks as he knows that I at least have small grounds for argument.

We were picked up at 1:30 to be taxid to the school for the two lessons each that had been scheduled. That meant that I had to leave for the campus at 1:15 and taxi it. This cost me 11 yuan; I will bill the school. Arrived at the school at about 1:45 and were greeted by the school high and mighty, and then taken upstairs to the Conference Room for ‘a little chat’.

It was to be a psychological not a physical assault. Nowhere did we see big sticks and cattle prods. Those revolutionary AK-47’s had not been dusted off and brought out of the armoury. Instead we had ‘so wonderful to have you at our school’, ‘we are so honoured to have you’, ‘we hope you will stay forever’, ‘so kind of you to agree to teach at our school with your busy schedules’, ‘the students are so excited to have you teach them, they hope that they will learn very much.’… We sat around the huge conference table, capable of seating a good 30 odd persons, and chatted away. I kept quiet. Negotiations and welcomings, free oranges and bananas, lots of smiles, lashings and lashings of emotional blackmail and a good dollop of guan xi were not what I was there for. I was there to teach two classes for four weeks. Unfortunately, unsurprisingly, they don’t see it that way. Put in front of us, one copy each, was our ‘Arrangement’ (in big letters at the top of the piece of paper), ‘Every Thursday Afternoon’ (in smaller letters just below) which said which classes we would be teaching. Five high school classes and one middle school class. I took two high school classes and was informed, as promised, that the students were 17 and 18 years old.

We got a superfluous tour of the school, as if we were prospective parents, and were told how marvellous the school is. Throughout this and indeed the whole day scores of photos were taken of us looking foreign and experty for publicity, of course. Then there was more refreshment, and then, finally, we were taken to our classes.

We did the same sort of spiel that we’ve done with the other 500-odd students we’ve taught so far. Classes were only 45 mins and so there wasn’t enough time for proper introductions. The students were commendable, well behaved and the standard of english good. At least for the 15 and 16 year olds that I was teaching. Not sure what happened to the 18 year olds. I guess that’s another little confusion i.e. lie. Another bunch of flowers was added to the collection. Im considering opening a florists. I’ll have to if this sort of thing carries on. In the mean time my room looks floral, which is nice.

We said our goodbyes, the students echoed my ‘bye bye’ with an enthusiastic roar, and I was taken out the front where our car lay waiting with the high and mighty standing around waiting. Another marvellous photo opportunity. For not the first time that day we were told how, now that we had come to teach at their school, the world was saved and all was well. We drove home and I arrived at mine at 5:15. By my watch that’s four hours work. Will be putting in for overtime. I wonder, will I get it?

I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m thinking that if in four weeks time I finish teaching there without another word being said on the matter then those pink elephants I saw the other day really were there and they’ve got nothing to do with those strange looking tablets I found the other day.

Pet Rescue

Or: ‘A puppy is for life, not just for Christmas’

Or: A Nasty Story – Dostoyevsky

This ugly beauty came to me a couple of weeks ago.

The family had moved to Hong Kong a few weeks before. Dad’s work would mean that they’d probably be there for at least a year. Little Gemma was worried that she’d get bored in the big bare apartment so she asked mum and dad if they could get a puppy. Mum and Dad thought it would be alright so long as Gemma promised to look after the dog properly as they wouldn’t have time. Gemma duly promised, and that very next weekend the three of them went off in search of a pet shop.

They trawled the streets for ages; they had great trouble finding a pet shop. At the end of their search, as is often the case, they found a pet shop. It was in the most unlikely of places, in the middle of a big market which they had only looked into on the off chance. As well as dogs there were many other animals there, but Gemma especially wanted a dog and so wasn’t interested in the others.

“Oh Mum!” Gemma exclaimed.

“How ghastly!” returned Mum, and indeed it was. All the poor dogs were kept in small, cramped cages, often more than one dog to a cage. They were smelly and mum rather suspected that they had flees. That would be the first thing they would have to do - get some flee stuff, she thought. Gemma thought about how terrible it was that all the dogs were being kept in such an awful way. A broad grin housing miscellaneous teeth on the face of the pet shop owner was the very opposite of Gemma’s expression, and Mum saw that her daughter was getting upset.

“It’s terrible I know Darling, but at least we’ll be able to rescue one. You pick which one you want and we’ll take her home and clean her up.”

“Him, Mummy, its going to be a him and he’s going to be called Chestnut.”

“Yes darling, of course. I’m sorry. Go ahead and choose. What about this lovely one?”

But Gemma’s attention had been lost. There she was, skittering round the cages looking for Chestnut. There were about 40 dogs in the pet shop, and many other animals. Dad, looking around as his daughter searched for her perfect pet, spotted a couple of similar shops further down the market. Finally, he thought with relief, they had come to the right place.

Gemma took her time looking for the right dog, searching for her Chestnut. They were all small dogs, of varying sorts, and most of them were of a white or off white colour, but there were a few brown ones and chestnut coloured ones. As dogs do, and particularly small dogs, they had a way of looking at you that said ‘I’ll love you forever if you pick me. Save me.’. Of course, the look doesn’t say that if for example the dog is hanging around the kitchen at dinner time. Then the look says ‘Corr, d’you know what boss, I’m dying for that sausage on your plate. Ive not eaten for days. Can’t stand that pedigree chum crap. C’mon, gimme the sausage, plllleeeeasse. I’ll love you forever if you just give me the sausage.’ Each of the dogs was doing its best to attract Gemma’s attention. Almost as she had looked at all the dogs, one caught her eye. She stopped, and approached slowly.

There stood Chestnut. Tongue a-sticking out, tail a-wagging. I’d love to be able to tell you what sort of dog it was, but to be honest I don’t know. It was a lovely, cute, handsome, wonderful dog. “Here he is Mum.” It was Chestnut.

Mum went over to the pet shop owner and indicated the dog that they wished to purchase. The pet shop owner grinned all the more and revealed yet more miscellaneous teeth in his surprisingly large mouth. He opened the top of the cage and yanked out Chestnut and took him into the back of the shop.

“Where’s he gone Mum?” Said Gemma. “I think he’s gone to put the dog, Chestnut, into a proper cage so that we can take him home.” “But I can walk him, he’ll behave.” “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea in the market Gemma. We’ll sort it all out when we get back, Ok?” “Ok. Mum?” “Yes Gem?...” As this scintillating conversation progressed, Dad was busy checking his watch and Mum was fiddling with her wallet looking for the right money. After a couple of minutes, while Gemma was engrossed with some of the other dogs, the pet shop man reappeared with two plastic bags which he handed over to Mum with one hand and held out his other for payment. “What’s this?” said Mum. Grin. Dad, who had been idly watching the scene snapped to attention in a flash. His eyes darted about him and then he dashed over to his wife. He whispered in her ear.

“My God, Mary, I’ve just realised. This is a food market.”

“What, so what? This is a Pet… Oh God.”

“Pay the man and let’s leave. Don’t tell Gemma.”

“N-no, of course not. Oh how awful. Time to go Gemma. We’ll pick up Chestnut another time. The man says he’s got flees and we cant have him til next week.”

“Oh,” replied Gemma. “Well I want to say goodbye to him before we go. And whats in the bag mum? And why are the man’s hands red? Where is Chestnut? Mum? Dad?”

They say she cried for days. Well, you’d be upset if you’d just sentenced your dream pet to execution. Very good lightly fried though. And that’s a true story by the way. At least the basic events happened. It has been lightly dramatised for your viewing pleasure.

Moral of the story: remember kids: If you go to a meat market you might accidentally pick up a dog.

"You talkin’ to me? You Talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here. Who do you think you’re talkin’ to? Huh?" – Taxi Driver

Benty Cha: 10/2/04: Allegedly ‘Toy’ is female although she does look a bit like Chunk out of the Goonies. He’s not very evil. What the hells duck duck goose? And how the hells seoul? Cant get your blog were I am. Think you need a holiday. Come to the city of dreams. It’s the way of the future.

B.B.King: 12/2/04: Just a spoonful of dollar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down.

Mum: 11/2/04: Ah yes could murder a hot chokkie right now. Green tea isn’t the same. Much warmer here now. 20/2: thanks for the story. You don’t still have that article do you? One of my classes should be able to understand it and they’d find it quite interesting. And the student must have been good; apparently it’s considered acceptable to talk in lectures and even walk out half way through if they are boring in China. Hasn’t happened in any of ours yet. I don’t think it works quite the same way at high school and college. Oh and calendar of village loif aharr faaarm treffic would be marvellous. I presume by now you have my address.

Evil Uncle: 10/2: She had a way with words. A bit like another lady teacher of mine who told us that we werent doing enough of that 4-letter word that no-one liked to mention that began with ‘w’ and ended in ‘k’. she didn’t try word games after that. 12/2: Yeah, I heard the original lyrics were ‘I want to ride my bisexual, I want to ride my biii’ but the authorities closed in. 14/4: I don’t think I can get 6 nations here. No-ones even heard of rugby. Might be able to get it in a big hotel. When does it start? And I believe I remember Boris mentioning that he used to play for Australia. 19/2: will save that gem up for the last class, when they cant fire me. Along with all the lovely poems ive heard over the last few months…

TulsaHilton: Did you get a discount for letting the chicken feet go? And did you never chomp down a few pooches?

Laura: 18/2: steady on girl, im back in the zone now. 13/2: will check site. Probable giggle imminent.

Football Rich: 15/2: My god man, the theatre?! Are you insane? Get more beer now! And play more Lord of the Rings Risk! One player if necessary! 20/2: nasty. Don’t think ive had that but Bill did grinningly give me a cube of congealed ducks blood the other day. SKETCHY.

Kat: 21/2/4: ‘Vegetarian’ does not compute in China. Also its virtually impossible to be one here. Also, and most importantly, I reckon its worth chowing the odd chickens foot etc (oh and I had sparrow last night, will expand upon this later) for all the other nice meaty things like macdonalds and kfc that they specialise in here.

Been Jammin’: 20/2: Disturbingly that sounds quite nice. AGGHH, whats happening to me?

Rach: 25/2: Oh, didn’t I explain what happened later on in the eveing? Heh heh.

Alex: 24/2: Well hello there. Long time no see, as they say. Am pleased that, though I have not been around to guide your hand in the last few months you have not forgotten the value of doing things in the name of science. Clearly all those years of careful tuition have done something to stimulate your mind. Kind regards to H and T.

Posted 9:12 PM by Gobbler
“Wherever our comrades go, they must build good relations with the masses…” Chairman Mao Zedong, On the Chunking Negotiations, October 17, 1945.

This quote was not pulled from the pages of the Little Red Book idly. Neither was it pulled for the purposes of the next story but, as the quote was being extracted, the following tale occurred to the author.

It was a chilly mid january morning on a busy street somewhere in China. Mr and Mrs Liu were chugging along in their tractor carrying vegetables somewhere. Due to the hazardous nature of the Chinese traffic system they had to take evasive action to avoid an oncoming vehicle, maybe a tank or something, (ok it wasn’t a tank, they don’t patrol the streets; – at least not so far as I know – it was probably a truck or bus) and in the process scratched the wing mirror of a parked blacked out bmw, such as are popular with the chinese rich. Two ladies (or perhaps that should be females or Ms.’s) jumped out of the car and started having a good rant at the farmers Mr and Mrs Liu for damaging the lovely bma which the farmers of course couldn’t pay to repair. One of them then started laying into Mr Liu, planting numerous maliciously intended fisticuffs about his person. Mr Liu didn’t dare retaliate.

By now quite a crowd had gathered and before long the two ladies had had enough and jumped back in the bmw. Nothing happened for a couple of seconds, and then the engine started. Mortifyingly the car then lurched forward into the crowd, posting Mrs. Liu off to the heavens before time and injuring 12 others before hitting a tree. The woman who assaulted mr liu, killed his wife and injured 12 is married to a rich businessman with richer connections. She got 2 years.

“Hello George Mike Williams. Hello George Mike Williams. Strength Three. Strength Three.” “Hello Lucky, Hello Lucky…” - The Guns Of Navarone

Laura: 8/2/04: He would probably have said that “…All departments and organisations should shoulder their responsibilities in ideological and political work.” (Chairman Mao Zedong, On the correct handling of contradictions among the people, February 27, 1957) Back on the case now, although just this minute I have to go to class. Its my day off, but what do I know. All will be explained…

Posted 8:54 PM by Gobbler
“Look. I tell you what, I’ll chuck in a free dinner. Can’t say fairer than that.”

There is stalemate. Negotiations have failed. Dinner and a few ganbei’s have not brought breakthrough. We’ve been round the negotiating tabel twice and will probably go back to it today until the issue can be resolved.

Bill came round yesterday with a proposition. Hows about a few extra lessons for some extra yuan?, he says. Dunno Bill, we reply, what sort of lessons? 5 high school and 1 middle school. Theyre good kids, apparently, at a school for poor kids who cant afford the normal fees. Theyre keen and attentive. So, hows about it, would you like to do it? Why are you lumbering us with this now, may I ask? Well, the director’s (or was it vice director) wife works at this school and wants to get her hands on some foreign teacherage. So shes been bugging the director. The director, a man of considerable power, has leant on Mr. Liu, the office director, through whom we work. Mr. Liu has put Bill on the case, and Bill has come for us. More Guan Xi games. What happens if we say no Bill? Oh, nothing, Mr Liu might get a bit of a headache, but that’s about it. No problems at all. Well Bill, frankly im not interested. They arent kids Im supposed to be teaching. Apart from the fact that its extra hours, it’s a different school to where I am supposed to be, different age group, different skill level, and I don’t need the extra money. I’d be lying if I said I was interested. No thanks. The four of us, Chris, Caroline, Rubrick and I were in agreement at with these sentiments. The answers no Bill, sorry. Ok, no problem. Maybe you would like to talk about it… Not really Bill… … … Ok… Maybe you can think about it and we talk again tomorrow. Look Bill they arent lessons that appeal to us. Yes, I understand, its no problem… Ok you think about it. We can talk tomorrow…

Things lightened up over dinner, both of them. Started off at a korean place but the portions were very small and very expensive so we aborted after a few dishes. Still hungry we relocated to a chinese restaurant which did the job nicely. Talk of these lessons did not crop up again, but despite things looking quite concluded from our side of things Bill still wants to talk again today. Theres obviously a lot of pressure being put on the poor guy as he is extremely reluctant to let us say no. Not one of us want to put Bill in any trouble. Personally I don’t wholly object to doing extra lessons, there is time, but these ones don’t appeal. It would be a different story if it was college students on my campus with whom I can actually discuss things, as I applied for. The only thing making me think twice is getting Bill into trouble. Apart from that I’m not really that enthused about teaching at a school miles away just to please the director’s wife. The case continues…

Posted 8:54 AM by Gobbler
…In a word, while the prospects are bright, the road has twists and turns. Chairman Mao Zedong, “On the Chunking Negotiations” October 17, 1945.

It was not the best plan ever conceived and we knew it, but it was what we had resolved upon and it was what we were going to do. A weekend trip to Xuzhou to see Miss Alcock and her compadress Ms. Ellen Gordon-Bouvier, whose birthday it was. We’d agreed to go up the week before and although there was a rival do in Nanjing, just an hour and a half away, our sights were set on Xuzhou, 5 ½ hours away by bus. Through Bill and our other chinese ally Victor we got the necessary info about bus times etc and wrote down the necessary instructions on a piece of paper.

The bus left at 9:10 on Saturday morning. Although id voted for getting very early to the station to secure a ticket, victor assured us that it was not very popular journey and there would be plenty of tickets. Meeting at about 7:50 we arrived at the station by bus at a little after 8:30. We queued, said Nihau, handed over our bit of paper saying ‘2 tickets for the 9:10 bus to Xuzhou please’ and were shown our options on the screen. The first bus shown was the 1:45 to Xuzhou. Irrefutably this was not the bus we had in mind; the 9:10 must have been booked out. This stumped us a little bit as we didn’t really want to wait five hours for the next bus, but what were the options? Not wanting to miss that bus too I booked the 1:45. It wouldn’t get us into Xuzhou til 7:15. We retreated to the café to regroup over a coca-cola.

Our collective brainpower only suggested to us that we go home for a bit and email that we’d be late, and then come back at the new time. We got on the bus for home. Just as it began to pull away, jon said “I suppose we could get the train from nanjing. Fast train only takes 3 hours.” Of course! What a plan! We got off the bus at the first stop and returned to the bus station.

Safely getting a bus to nanjing we arrived at about 11:30 and then the fun really began to start. There were 4 bus stations, not including ours which didn’t appear to exist, which was going to cause turmoil should we have to come back the same way, and two train stations. Hounded by people trying to take us places in their vehicles we eventually boarded one gentleman’s taxi, and he looked very happy about it. Now that he had some waigoren on board he could make some satisfying money by driving us round and round for a bit. We said ‘train station please old boy’ and showed him the chinese characters from the guidebook. He looked none too impressed and pointed out of the window, shaking his head. He seemed to indicate that he couldn’t take us to the train station. Deciding that we weren’t in the most effective taxi in town we got and looked for another.

“Excuse me sirs, may I help you? You are looking for a taxi?” It was the hard sell by the lady in black, and we were quick to fall into line behind her as she took us to her vehicle.

Arriving at the train station, we saw a big building and several million people milling around it. Wandering about a bit we spotted a place where people seemed to be buying tickets. Approaching we saw some other foreigners of our age and asked them if we were correct in our assumption that that over there was indeed a ticket buying emporium. They confirmed that we were and then wound away from us through the throng. In hindsight we should have made better use of the foreign resource and got them to buy our tickets for us, but it all seemed so easy. I took our bit of paper and rucked through the pack of people to the kiosk window and shoved through the paper. The lady made a noise that was midway between a fire alarm and an air raid siren, pointed madly above her and to her left and shoved the piece of paper back to me. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had just asked her for ‘2 tickets for the 9:10 bus to Xuzhou please’, I don’t know, but one way or another something had gone awry.

In due course we found the ticket booths proper, what we had found before probably being some kind of pseudo quick ticket operation, and duly got our tickets. For 14:43. As we were only paying about 1 pound 50, 24 Yuan, it looked disturbingly as though we might be on the slow train, but it was the only one we were offered and argument or debate were beyond us. We strolled off to find some lunch, ending up at MacDonald’s. Enough excitement for one morning.

A big Mac and several games of Lord of the rings Top Trumps later we boarded the train. We had been designated seats 86 and 87 or something near there. Regrettably due to the number of people we couldn’t see our seats let alone reconnoitre whether they were free, and we resigned ourselves to some time standing in the foyer, or the vestibule area as Thames Trains insists on calling it. A couple of minutes later the carriage attendant motioned us to follow him, took us to our seats and evicted the naughty people who had commandeered them. Two soft seats were ours. More games of top trumps temporarily created huge interest in our end of the carriage but it wasn’t to last, and after a few minutes most of the men on train went back to their other favourite train travel pastimes of talking loudly, and spitting and smoking occasionally.

Turns out it wasn’t the three hour express but the four and a half hour scenic and sedate effort, which rolled us into Xuzhou at about a quarter past 7, about the same time as the bus would have delivered us, assuming it would have been on time. We got to heathers flat at about a quarter to 8 and left ten minutes later for dinner.

Dinner was a barbecue in a tent on some wasteland/ building site near to the campus. Sitting on folding stools we huddled around the low tables and spent the next six hours drinking beer and eating kebabs. There’s an excellent crowd of teachers up there and a very good time was had of it. The toilet arrangements were a little lax in many ways, being outside the tent. Anywhere outside the tent. One of the unique things about setting up a betented restaurant in muddy wasteland is the remarkable free range one has when selecting a place to answer natures call. We went back to extremely sound, hard-core ganbae-ing, guan xi it to the max American matey Emerson’s flat to drink more beer and eventually fall asleep on the couch. That was my story anyway.

Next day we had a spot of lunch, then went for a quick walk, then a coffee, then onto the bus. It took six hours and much of it was disturbed by a few men, especially a very vocal man near me and behind jon having a vituperative (just discovered this marvelous word, it means ‘bitter and abusive’) shouting match down the length of the bus. Quite vocal. Entirely out-decibeled the American duo on the bus to nanjing. They were sitting next to each other and were either A)largely deaf, or B)determined to allow everyone on the bus to hear their conversation, or C) (and I consider this the most likely) American’s Goddammit YAHOOOOO!!!!!!! One of the many topics of conversation that I can remember quite vividly was a debate on who was the best bond actor. I pick on this because I was party to this conversation. The loudest of the two was rooting and hooting for Sean Connery (he’s AWESOME!!!) while the quieter girl preferred Brosnan (aw man he SUCKS BIGTIME!!!). He craned his head in my direction with the dexterity and apparent neck length of a Diplodocus, so that his mouth was about two inches from my face. “Hey man, You’re Briddish!!!! What do you think?! Connery’s better than Brosnan, right?” “…Yes.” “SEE!!! He prefers Connery, and HE'S BRITISH!!!!” Eventually we got off the bus. And as for the bus back to yangzhou, we eventually got off that one too.

Arriving back at my campus at about half eleven I was pleased to find the gate still open. Not so lucky with the hotel door, however, which was chained and padlocked. It is possible to push the double-doors slightly apart, taking up the slack in the chain, and, after removing bulky garments, squeeze through the door at floor level under the chain. This is what Rubrick and I resorted to after arriving home late on Friday. This time I had just squeezed through my bag when the night guard stirred himself to open the door. I’m glad he didn’t rouse himself when I was struggling sideways through the gap in the doors. And today ive been teaching again. Wow. AWESOME!!!

Unite and take part in production and political activity to improve the economic and political status of women. Chairman Mao Zedong, Inscription for the magazine Women of New China, July 20, 1949.

Had a bit of a debate with one Ms. Ellen Gordon-Bouvier, birthday girl (although I suppose it should be birthday female as ‘birthday girl’ is assuming a certain status which I have no right to do, see below) about the calling of people ‘miss’. The ever recalcitrant Ms. H. R. Alcock decidedly sided with Ms. Gordon-Bouvier, though avoided becoming too drawn into the conversation. The above Ms.’s are of the staunch opinion that people should not address females as ‘Miss’ as this is assuming a certain marital status which they have no right to do, ones marital status being a private issue and thus should not be of relevance in the public domain. Not only that but employing the address ‘Miss’ can be taken to assume a single status and thus availability in the realms of courtship, not an issue that should be present in ones title and again not something that should be of relevance in the public domain. Thus when addressing a female (probably shouldn’t say lady as this too is assuming a certain status which I have no right to do) one should be as ambiguous as when one addresses a man. So as we have ‘Mr.’ we have ‘Ms.’ They, the abovementioned Ms.’s do seem to have an entirely correct point but I must confess to not being entirely sympathetic to their concerns. I may even have appeared argumentative. Truth is I don’t personally care either way, it never having struck me as an issue of substantial personal interest, but it appears that the times they are a changin’, and not only are women taking over the world but they’re a’goin’ to do it without letting us know whether or not we can try and woo them.