Hong Kong - Nov 17th 06

It becomes increasingly difficult to write about somewhere, the more time you spend there it seems. Though I do have the suspicion that Hong Kong will continually find ways of making me go “eh?!”.

The last few days have been very much rehearsal centric, which is great.
I really like Bonni’s way of directing. I really feel that she’s in control of what she wants to get from us, and yet is really open to other suggestions too. Magic.

I’ve even written a piece on the fiddle for when Gregor dies. At the moment it’s called “Death of a Samsa”, but we’re not sure whether to call it “Mort d’un Samsa” or what ever the German or Czech might be. Oh how I love to relish pretension… It’s an odd little tune, I think it may be in D Minor and 6/8, but I’m not really sure as understanding music theory has never been my strongest point, but I like how it sounds.

It’s a very overcast day here, although I’m not sure what is over cast cloud cover or pollution. Nice.

The trade in VCD’s (video CD’s) here is ridiculous. They’re literally everywhere you turn, and only cost a pound or two for a movie.

I indulged myself by buying Mel Brook’s “Silent Movie”, which my mate George has always lead me to believe is a classic. Apparently it features Marcel Marceau in one instant as the only speaking character in the movie. And all he says is “Non!”.

It also features the talents of that great British export, Marty Feldman. What a shame he didn’t live for longer. The guy was bloody brilliant. So funny.

The trade in DVD’s and CD’s is also rather good here. I managed to pick up a copy of the first series of Deadwood for a few quid, and also the Who’s new album for tupence halfpenny. How do they get them so cheap? I have no idea?... (Innocent, beatified look)

Well, when I got back last night the flat was in complete disarray, as a decorator had come to paint my room and the living room. Superb. Just what you need after a hard day. Grrrr.

The odd thing was that the painter wasn’t there at all when I got back, he arrived again this morning when I was in the shower. All I heard was the building supervisor, Mr Wong, saying “Hello everybody?” as he obviously opened up the door. I shouted back that I was in the shower. That though is the limit of his English. The building supervisor is great, the poor man just has to sit downstairs at the door all day long, or patrol the building for security reasons at all hours of the night. A very odd existence. I try to say hello to him every day and have a cheerful mimed conversation when possible.

My Cantonese is very poor, but I am trying.

I discovered that just by a certain vocal inflection the word for “toast” becomes “nosy”. I love these sort of random facts about life here.

Like the word for the “dog” and “nine” is the same, but if you change the tonality very slightly it becomes a swearword.

Apparently Kowloon actually means “nine dragons”. So there you go.

Last night I went for a cup of tea in a tea shop opposite the capitalist behemoth that is Times Square. Up two flights of stairs it’s called the People’s Bookstore, and it’s a communist bookstore, with a four month old kitten as part of the staff. It’s a great place.

The menus are clipped in to pages of chairman Mao’s little red book.

Oh, this silly city.