The Kindness of Strangers

So it's been a while - this whole "diary" thing is not really my bag (baby), but I really should make more of an effort. I feel particularly guilty about being remiss when I read my friend Jade's wonderful entries on her blog - not only is she managing to update regularly, she's updating about the interesting, exciting, Earth-saving life she's living! Puts me to shame, I assure you.

So, even though I don't have anything particular to post about, I'm a-gonna.

In a big city like Hong Kong, it's rare to make a connection with someone you don't know. I've lived in my flat for six or seven weeks now. I've seen my next-door neighbour (the adult female member of the household) once - yesterday - and we issued a mutually muttery "Morning" before sharing the lift in silence down 37 floors. I haven't seen any of the other members of the household - although I think I caught sight of a male arm closing a window the other night. There are another seven flats on my floor, and I have seen neither hair nor hide of any of the inhabitants.

Such is city life. I lived in my last flat for six years. I spoke to the French chef maybe three times and his HK wife maybe five. When they left, I saw and said hello to my HK female neighbour maybe 10 times in two years. On the day I moved out, I had a 20-minute conversation in broken English/non-existent Cantonese about house prices and whether my soon-to-be-former landlords would be interested in selling to my soon-to-be-former neighbours. While I know it's partly my fault for a) not learning to speak Cantonese in my 13+ years here and b) just the HK way, sometimes I miss the small talk enjoyed in smaller towns by neighbours.

Mind you, I'm not a particular fan of strangers. I never strike up conversations to my neighbour on the bus. Should I find myself needing to share a table in a coffee shop, I always have a convenient book to avoid the need for comment. If someone deigns to talk to me in a bar when I'm waiting for friends, my well-rehearsed withering glare sends them cowering back to the corner.

Friendly, right?

But there are times when I'm just so agreeably surprised by the unexpected pleasantries of a stranger, I realise there is truth in the notion that "there is no such thing as a stranger; it's just a friend you haven't made yet".

Take, for example, this morning. I read on the way to work - the 15-minute train ride and 7-minute walk is a great way to get through my library. I'm currently reading the last installment of Alexander McCall Smith's von Igelfeld Trilogy. Sometimes you need a little light reading. I was just off the train, and a man walked past, clocked the cover and said "They're great, aren't they? Which one is that? Have you read the Number One Ladies' Detective Agency series?" A mini-conversation that had me smiling all the way to work. Naturally I had very little to say, but just randomly exchanging words with someone I didn't know in the middle of the train station - and knowing that's all there was to it - really made my morning.

Another time, a couple of months back, I was killing time wandering around the streets near the bar I was due to meet friends (I don't know why I went through a phase of being early for everything!). Lost in my book - it could have been the brilliant Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - a dog-walking woman approached me and asked if I was in a book club. We had a very pleasant 5-minute chat about books, reading, buying books in Hong Kong, and then we went off on our separate ways, not changed in any way, not really learning anything about ourselves or each other, but having just enjoyed an unexpected conversation that made life a little brighter.

These little exchanges remind me that, as the saying goes, no man is an island.

One further reminiscence before the off. A couple of years ago, I was on the MTR - and just a reminder, the MTR is the transport system that should exist in every major city, it's clean, fast, frequent, efficient, brightly-lit and safe - standing reading. One minute I was standing up, the next minute I was on my back, having apparently passed out. The reaction was astonishing: far from the usual and expected disinterest, three people helped me up while another couple gave up their seats amd helped me sit.

At the end of the day, while you may not become best friends with your next-door neighbour or strike up conversation with and eventually marry that random stranger you occasionally bump into at Starbucks, we're all here, we're all people, we all need conversation. And giving a little smile or comment or compliment never hurt anyone.

In fact, you might just make someone's day.

So much for the new leaf

The unpacking continues. To say it continues apace would be an outright lie, but I emptied another couple of bags/boxes over the weekend. Granted I emptied one bag of clothes straight onto the side of the bed I don't sleep on and the pile is still lying there (another reason to add to my "Why Be Single" list), but the point is, I could put away another box!

I took a little break from the slog on Saturday and headed to that bastion of self-assembly, Ikea, for some bits and pieces as the quest for a vaguely grown-up pad continues. I had in mind some beautiful, perhaps oak, pieces (why I thought Ikea was a good idea, I'm not sure - maybe it was getting up so early on a Saturday morning for the gasman that did me in), but ended up, predictably, with stuff that I will end up either dumping or giving to Crossroads when/if I leave the Fragrant Harbour.

So, purchases ("home improvements" are not on the list of forbidden buys during my August of monetary restraint) comprise thus: one 6-foot bookshelf (cheap, cheap thing), one chest of (or "chester" as I insisted it was spelled until I was eight) drawers (ditto) and then hardier kind-of bookshelf that can go upright or, as I THINK I'll do, on its side, forming a low unit, which, in theory, will go by the sitting room windowsill.

After lugging home the cheap shelf (I hate waiting for deliveries, and I had to wait for the other two items until this week anyway), I was bruised, tired, and in no mood to deal with anything requiring a screwdriver that didn't involve vodka.

But Sunday was the day I wielded tools and put together my bookshelf. And loaded it up. Boy, I have a lot of literature. And nonsense printed and bound and calling themselves books. I already had one 6-foot bookshelf and had already filled it. I read a lot, I'll admit, but looking at my shelves makes me question my shopping habits. Since the discovery, a year or so ago, of a book warehouse in the next building to my office, I've bought about 100 books. It's fabulous - I can buy all these brand-new books for next-to-nothing and read to my heart's content. And if it's rubbish, it only cost me $10 or $20. But it does mean, even with the number I've lent or given away, I still have STACKS of books.

I know there are a number of second-hand bookstores in town, and I know there are charities that are always eager to receive stocks - but the sad truth is, I like to have books. Old, new, it doesn't matter. There's something really satisfying about a full bookshelf that no other possessions can match. Something about all the knowledge, laughter, opinions, tears, frustration, history sitting on my shelf gives me a buzz. And revisiting old favourites makes me happy - the number of times I've read Pride & Prejudice, The Wonderful Adventures of Henry Sugar and Bridget Jones' Diary is possibly embarrassing, but you've got to do what makes you happy sometimes. As long as it doesn't hurt or inconvenience others.

So I've decided, apart from the utter trash, or somewhat depressing tomes, or pointless novels, I'm hanging onto the lot. I'll happily lend or give people stuff - it's all about sharing the joy of reading – but I don't want to get bogged down in owning too much stuff - but only when it comes to books!

Besides, if I'm ever going to open my bakery-cum-cafe-cum-seocondhand-bookshop, I'll need some stocks to start it going...

Three fat ladies, 888

Today is a really lucky day over China way, the Olympics officially open tonight (at 8pm on 08.08.08) and it's my friend's 30th and she's off in Chiang Mai with UK friends hopefully getting drunk by now. Because I still have to wait 10 minutes before I leave work (so may as well watch the opening ceremony here...), I thought I'd just officially mark the existence of the day.

Even though I don't feel remotely excited about the Olympics being over the border and interrupting my TV viewing schedule.

At least the swimmers and sprinters are hot. I'll load up on Thorpedo and Asafa Powell, thanks.

Happy 888. Good luck and lots of money to all. That's what it's all about, after all.

Matters of size; or Size matters

When I get off the excellent MTR in the morning on my way to work, I take one short escalator up, then walk along a corridor for approximately 90 seconds before another couple of escalator rides to the surface.

It is during that 90-second stroll that I frequently get infuriated at the state of the city. The MTR is obviously a great place to advertise products, shops and shows - I often find out about concerts and performances there - but unfortunately much of the advertising space goes to slimming products. During my minute-and-a-half morning walk between levels, I currently pass no fewer than a dozen posters - yes, 12 - advertising slimming treatments. They are primarily for two companies: one which is the "official slimming centre" for the Miss Hong Kong pageant, and the other which features a model-slash-actress-slash-singer who put on LOTS of weight for a role and then lost it all again.

But 12 in the space of maybe 200 metres?

Hong Kong is a city obsessed with appearance, it's true. If you're not in the right label/bar/car, you're not really worth anyone's time. OK, I'm projecting my bitterness (following my rejection from M1NT on Saturday for wearing Havaianas, and not Prada pumps), but Hong Kong women do have a very unhealthy attitude towards body image. They are, for the most part, of small build. But so many of them think they're "fat" and want to lose yet more weight. And yes, when you're not carrying excess poundage, you do feel good about yourself, and you don't mind those bikini shots being posted on Flickr or Facebook - I admit that I wish I had a little less podge so the odds of being offered a seat on the train were reduced.

But if you feel you could drop a couple of pounds, the answer is not to sign up for a service that promises miracles by massaging your belly and attaching electrodes to the flab. The way forward is to slightly reduce the amount you eat and slightly increase the amount you move. Bear in mind that I am the greatest opponent of sport. I hate it. But I do know that, if I want abs of steel, there is no magic formula. Bummer, maybe, but let's be realistic.

What bugs me most, though, is that stick-thin is the order of the day. Anyone with a millimetre of flesh on them is seen as unattractive by so many women - they just want to be skin and bones. But that's a) unhealthy and b) really quite disgusting to see!

It makes me wonder how these women give birth, honestly.

In other news, two days after Alicia, I went to see Travis, same venue, but standing tickets. How very different a concert this was. Everyone in the audience was up for a good time, singing and dancing along, cheering at the top of their voices - some had even brought umbrellas for the inevitable encore choice of Why Does It Always Rain On Me? So much more enjoyable an overall experience, even if I knew only five songs of the 90 minute set as opposed to all-bar-one of Ms Keys'.

The quarter-pint of beer I gulped from my friend's cup may have helped matters, I suppose.

Musical moaning

Last night, I attended Alicia Key's fantastic second Hong Kong performance. I saw her in London and Hong Kong two - or even three? good grief - years ago, and simply had to go again following the release of the frankly brilliant As I Am last autumn. A friend sorted the tickets for four of us, and I was lucky enough to get a press ticket, so another friend joined us. I took the press ticket and went to sit alone, before we decided that I could get a friend to meet me with someone else's ticket and I could just sit with everyone else - it wasn't exactly packed.

I can't give enough praise for Ms Keys' musical talent - she has an incredibly voice and is an amazing musician, hopping around from the piano to keyboard and directing her band. She'd also clearly taken dance lessons since the last time, when she was rather awkward and white-person on her feet. This time, she'd toned down the moves, but what she did was simple and slick. She may have the voice of a diva, but she clearly doesn't act like one - there was one five-minute break in the nearly-two-hour show, but when she reappeared, she hadn’t changed. Clearly just had a bit of a sit-down and maybe a cuppa. Kudos, because she's a belter, and a very pretty girl who could have had multiple wardrobe changes, many more rest breaks and not really made such an effort (cf poor Whitney Houston who I saw in 2003; it was tragic the number of times she had to go backstage and she couldn't really sing more than two songs without a rest, so sad).

It was a fabulous performance.

Unfortunately, however, it was not a great concert. Hong Kong is fairly rubbish when it comes to hosting international stars. There is a good venue now, the AsiaWorld-Expo, but unfortunately it's "all the way" (in HK terms, 25 minutes on a high-speed train from the CBD is miles) near the airport. And they haven't really worked out a very good transport system - everyone crowds onto the train at the same time and there just ain't room.

But these are minor problems you can accept as part of big city life.

What's really, really irksome is the attitude of both audience members and venue staff. Venue staff will NOT, under any circumstances, let you possibly entertain the idea of rising above your station and moving to an empty seat in a row closer to the stage. Heaven forbid you consider standing in the aisles so that you can dance to the funktastic beats. And standing on chairs? Good lord, what do you think this is, a concert or something? They like to keep different ticket-price payers in very clearly delineated zones. We were in the back section, but had a friend further up who we went to join for a while. We were dancing in the seats, having a good time, when one of the poxy little guards came and asked to see tickets. It seems we were in someone's seats, but this was 9.20pm - the show was scheduled to start at 8. (Granted Alicia didn't appear until 8.40, but that's hardly the point.) If you can't get there on time, you don't deserve a good seat!

So we made our way back to our area, but stood at the front - by this time, they'd erected some metal barriers, just to remind us of our place in society. I haven't felt so much like a caged beast for a little while, so it was good to have the experience repeated.

The second incredibly frustrating aspect of the evening was that, despite their superior geographical position, nobody in the front two sections of the hall really seemed to be getting into the music. They all SAT there, even through incredibly dancy numbers like Wreckless Love, How Come You Don't Call Me and My Boo. If you're not going to a concert for the performer, the music and the vibe, why bother? Why not stay at home on the sofa. There was a lot of cheering, but come on. If you want live music you sit down to, go to the opera.

Last time I saw Alicia in Hong Kong, I stood up to dance to one of her many great tracks, and the girl behind me asked me to sit down. I offered her my seat, but explained that I was there to enjoy myself, and under no circumstances was I going to sit miserably through one of my favourite artists.

Being in the cattle pen worked out well - there were several other people willing to actually enjoy themselves, so a group of 50 (or maybe more, we were near the front) pushed up as far as we comfortably could to the barrier and sang and cheered and boogied the night away.

I'm hoping, at tomorrow's Travis concert, that people will be a bit more up for fun. At Backstreet Boys (yes, my musical taste is occasionally mocked) in February, we were a mass of cheering, screaming, boogying bodies. That was fun. And at John Legend (HOT) last year, the HK security tried to send the excited crowds back to their seats, but the great man's big bouncers were having none of it. Nearly the entire audience got up and raced to the front. I spent two hours six-people's-depth away from him. Now THAT was a great concert.

Green depression

I'm all for green living. I recycle everything I can (you can't recycle glass in Hong Kong - go figure), I take public transport as often as possible (although when it's 4am on Sunday morning and I have an early start, I admit I'll take a cab home rather than wait for the night bus), I avoid using carrier bags whenever possible, carrying the cool Twiggy M&S bag my friend brought me back from the UK or an equally durable canvas bag from the local Japanese store Citysuper, I switch off lights, unplug phone/camera/ipod chargers, try to be sparing with water when showering and brushing teeth, try to eat veggie a couple days a week, make my own lunches at least a couple times a week, and when I buy, I rinse and recycle/clean and reuse the tubs.

Reading the statistics on how endangered our planet is should be enough to spur all of us into doing something, no matter how little, to reduce our negative impact on the Earth. Some people are able to take big steps, refitting their homes with solar panels, growing their own vegetables and grain, and selling or swapping any extras, giving up anything that isn't proven to be eco/sustainable/ethical and generally living as paragons of virtue. Some take a slightly less extreme path, such as my good friend Jade who writes the fabulous Jungle Fever blog - she is doing small things in the big city to try to live a greener life and encourage her readers to follow suit. And then there are people like me who do try, blame their surroundings when they don't do more, and then get scared when they read how soon the polar caps might melt.

Two green things depressed me this week. The first was reading last month's Marie Claire. The magazine has recently shifted its focus onto being green and glamorous, featuring designers that use ethical production methods and eco-friendly fabrics, all-natural beauty products, environmentally friendly holiday destinations and celebs who are making a difference to the way they live in order to help the planet. All well and good. In fact, very commendable, given how popular a magazine it is.

But I have several problems. The first being that, as much as I love them, magazines are not very green. They're 200+ pages of glossy former trees. Even if you pass them around to friends then recycle them, and even if they're from sustainable forests or recycled paper, they're STILL paper. And this one comes out every month.

Another issue I had is the price of some of the suggested alternatives for makeup/clothing/holidays-without-travel. I just can't afford to pay or justify paying £50 for face wash. I don't think it's being cheap - I would just rather go and watch the ballet or restock my bookshelves or fill up my freezer (more energy efficient than leaving it empty). And paying several hundred pounds for a pair of jeans, as addicted to them as I am is criminal - I'd much rather give it away. Or, more sensibly, sponsor a child or save an acre of rainforest.

Something else that riled me was the placement of adverts. I understand that a publication like Marie Claire cannot, overnight, change from high-end fashion glossy to hemp-wearing handout. But it seems rather ironic to have a feature on how beautiful "green" clothes brands are (no cardigans or Jesus sandals here), and how we should spend large sums on one quality piece that we're assured was made by real grown-ups, not eight-year-olds, and on the following page to have an advert for an underwear set (bra and pants) from Matalan for only a fiver! Or how about the reams of adverts and mini-articles on taking holidays in Britain, taking the train to get there and either going posh camping or staying in a manor house (including one in my oh-so-boring West Country hometown) or on a farm, and then doing exotic photoshoots for the fashion photo story in Nevis, in the Caribbean. Don't try to tell me that the Caucasian model, the stylists, photographers, wardrobe assistants just "happened" to live there.

It's all very well to encourage people to be greener and make more of an effort. But this issue came across as a rather depressing sermon - it not only highlighted how much trouble the world is in (good), it was very patronising to all of us who can't afford to install our own windmills in the back garden, or who don't have the space to grown oats and beans and barley. Bad show, Marie Claire. Find a balance.

The second depressing green happening is more controllable. My walk-in wardrobe (sorting of spare bedroom) continues apace. I decided on Saturday to go to Ikea and check out storage options. I had been going to buy a second wardrobe, but decided last minute for the time being AT LEAST to make do with a clothes rail. I've actually decided I prefer it - with the acres of space in my flat (note sarcasm), it works better. And it adds to the illusion of wardrobe walk-inibility. Decided to hang up all my dresses on the not-insubstantially-sized rack. And filled it. I also filled the spaces I'd created for tops. And I still have clothes to put away. I was utterly disgusted by the amount of clothes I own. I already packed up and gave away three huge amah bags of stuff. And I still have so much more.

I've tried going through it again, and it's not the case that I have a lot of stuff I don't wear and am just hanging onto - despite my hoarding tendencies. Apart from a couple of more formal dresses, I wear everything on a regular basis - being media, we don't have a real dress code, so work gear tends to be jeans and a tank or a summer skirt and t-shirt. But here's the question: do I ditch (well, donate) half of my clothes, even if I regularly wear them? And just make do with having fewer items, and work on ways to mix it up? Or do I just accept that I've bought the clothes, and not shop anymore. I mean, avoid the shops - and the amazing Hong Kong sales - for a year?

This will be tough. I've already told myself I'm not going shopping for all of August (clothes/belongings shopping, that is!). I'm hopefully going to NYC in September, so I will look at The Gap and browse the stores, but I'm determined not to get carried away. I can't afford to, not in terms of cash, but in terms of my impact on the world and my wardrobe rails. It's going to be tough. But honestly, I think if I keep going into that room and reminding myself of how much I own, I won't be racing to the shops. I disgust myself!

And as for my shoes...

Well, here's to a month of avoiding Hong Kong's national sport. Wish me luck. I might have to do something like, shock, horror, read a book instead.

Hair today, gone tomorrow...

I'm getting slightly - only slightly - concerned about the amount of hair I lose every time I wash, or even wet, it. During my five-time-a-week soak and slap (get hair really wet then slap on a load of conditioner before my curl-enhancing product), I seem to lose about a golf ball-sized mass of curls. During my bi-weekly wash (dry, curly hair does not need to and should not be washed much more than that, it just makes it drier), I seem to lose another nectarine's worth. Is this normal? Is this OK? Am I going bald? Can I prevent it? And if so, how?

Questions and worries that require a lot more research than I've had time for. I suspect there's something I can eat to help matters, and I desperately hope that it involves avocados. That would make life very, very enjoyable.

In my new, not-going-out-due-to-house-moving-skintness life (get paid early next week, hurrah!), I've been spending a lot of time on my makeshift sofa (the actual sofa is under piles of amah bags and I can't move it alone, so I've got my emergency friend-staying-over mattresses folded and set up, I'm such a student) watching TV. Oh, and reading recipes, that's right, whole point. And speaking of avocados, I read a deliciously simple recipe in The Notting Hill Cookbook for "Mexican soup", or something (will have to verify). Basically you make up a batch of chicken broth (from a roast chicken carcass, couple carrots, an onion, some woody herbs like bay and thyme, optional stock cube), boil it all up, strain, cool, freeze some for later use), heat up a bowl per person, then chuck in finely sliced red onion, chunks of avocado, plenty of fresh coriander, a squeeze of lime and chilli if you like it spicy. What could be simpler yet more appealing when you get home late from a concert, can't face a big meal, or simply want something to whet your appetite for bigger things.

The avocado used to get a lot of stick for being "fattening" and "calorific". But too much of anything is bad, so why this nutrient-packed snack got a bad rap is beyond me. They contain only monounsaturated fat - the good type, that may help reduce the risk of heart disease and cancer. They're also loaded with protein, beta-carotene (which converts to Vitamin A) and Vitamin E, making them super-healthy. I'm lucky that my West Indian mum introduced me to them at a very young age - a half on a plate with French dressing and sliced cucumber was a common starter for me as soon as I could hold a spoon - and I haven't looked back. I love when she visits the West Indies and comes back with a football-sized specimen - it lasts a good couple of meals, although I think if I were left alone with one, I'd finish it off in one sitting.

And probably be violently ill afterwards, but sometimes you have to make the sacrifice.

My favourite way to eat this powerfruit is with a little salt, just scooped straight from the shell, or a la Mama, with a sharp salad dressing. Mexican guacamole is a great way to serve them (mush it up with lime juice, a bit of chili and coriander), and they also taste divine with various seafoods (garlicky prawns. griddled tuna), chicken (slice up some grilled chicken and toss with chopped tomatoes and avocado and a good squeeze of lemon juice then shove in a pitta), melted cheddar, feta cheese, coriander... there's very little that can't be improved by a side serving of avo!

It also makes a great mask for dry skin (with or without the addition of some honey and/or yoghurt) and dry hair - mush it up and slap it on, wrap your head in cling film (OH, how my university housemates laughed the first time I did this) and wander round for 30 minutes before shampooing it all out.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since I've done a natural hair mask. Maybe this will be the answer to my problem. Maybe I'll try one this week - either avocado or banana-based - and report back...