The Littles in China

2005-11-02
Sorry I didn't chat to you the other day. I was in the middle of a hectic
patch. We had just finished hosting a Halloween Party and I was off out to
birthday party. The next day, the new SSIS teachers' team beat the Bosch 4
- 1. They were previously undefeated and had won a local amateur league.
We were very pleased with ourselves. Look forward to seeing you in
December. Nick

2005-10-02 Latest
Dear All 2 October 2005

Monday passed without incident, or at least without an unearthed incident. The chairman and director were in Paris; maybe something happened there.

Since the school opened (or rather didn’t open) I have been an eager spectator to the insanity of our management and administration. This week, I got the opportunity to join in. Six months ago, I put the order for humanities resources; all of them intended for the start of this academic year. Wednesday was the first month anniversary of the official start to that year, and my non-arrived sources list was still in three figures. The school has a total of three administrative staff who deal with purchases: for two of them, purchases are the sum total of their job. What is more, the Chinese government only allows one wholesaler, the incomparable Shanghai Book Traders (SBT), the company that makes you work for the honour of handing them cash. Of the three SSIS admin staff it wasn’t clear who dealt with SBT and who received the orders: the responsibility rotated as the mood took them, and there was no single person in overall charge. Who should I deal with? To add to the piquancy of my dilemma, arriving resources have been sent to six different locations over the past month, distinctions inspired by the whim of the receiving administration artist. The distance from the humanities office to anyone of these rooms is a mile there and back according to Ruth’s odometer, and resources can arrive at all times.

I therefore hedged my bets in an attempt to find out when my books and CDRoms had arrived. I sent soft copies of my lists to three people they should, hopefully, affect; to make doubly sure they new about them, I invested in the half mile walk to the main office to introduce myself, have a chat and hand over the hard copy lists. I extracted promises from all involved, plus a passing librarian, that as soon as my resources came in they would tell me, and they would also start pestering SBT for an explanation as to why the books hadn’t arrived after a mere six months.

It was on Wednesday, that I finally got an SBT explanation in the form of a spreadsheet (which I alphabeticalised for myself) that gave the curious status of each order item: half of which were marked as ‘arrived’ despite their conspicuous absence on humanities’ shelves. They could not possibly arrived: not only had I been promised that their arrival would be accompanied by a note to me, and anyway I had worn more shoe leather in periodic checks to the resource rooms.

I had not counted on our administration’s vast reserves of creativity: the books had not been logged; they were just sent directly to the primary school. I found this out when I queried the SBT list with Amanda, one of the purchasing officers, “Look, SBT are trying to trick us: these books haven’t arrived.”
As reward for my revelation, I got the enigmatic, Chinese “Yes.”
I have learnt the procedure for dealing with this: I maintained eye contact, smiled and nodded.
Finally she cracked, “They have arrived.”
“Erm,” I stuttered, thrown utterly off-guard, “but I haven’t got them.”
Again, I got the non-committal syllable, technically known as stonewalling, actually expressed as, “No.”
I was now to agitated to rest content with the conventional form of eye-contact, smile and nod, I leapt straight in with, “Where are they?”
“In the primary resource room.”
The instinctive response to this is, “What the hell are they doing there?” But, I realised why they were there in the same moment the question popped into my head, and a reflex saved me from articulating it. Chinese administration is based on one simple principle, “what is the easiest thing to do at the particular time a task is foistered upon you.” In the context of customer service, this generally involves saying that a product is unavailable; or, of it is clearly available, but previously unnoticed by the customer, jabbing a mute and irritated finger in its general direction. Clearly, my books had come at the same time as a large quantity of primary resources, and Amanda wasn’t about to be checking lists in her eagerness to get the stuff out of sight, and once out of sight, then out of mind.

Now such administration is merely lazy, challenging it would make it obstructionist; so I smiled, acknowledged the extent of her workload, left my opinions unstated, and asked for help in finding my books in primary, “What, now?” “Really, that would be very good.” “But...” “Yes, I really do appreciate how busy you are?” I said, in a tone that expressed sympathy and also enough of a hint that I wasn’t going away until I got the books, and the easiest course right now was to show me the room.

The new site is such a distance that I can’t come in early or leave late: I have to take the bus at the allocated times. I have to start work at 7.45 and finish at 5.15, whatever; so now I bring sandwiches so that I can work through break and lunch and completed the thousand unnecessary tasks thrown at me. Curiously, I am beginning to enjoy it: a game; the prize being to seize some small space of educational sanity from the determined administrative chaos.

Nick


2005-09-24 Fire on the bus
Dear All 24 September 2005

While for anyone who goes out to work, Monday always has a touch of dread about it, SSIS Mondays are becoming a thing of particular horror. Our first Monday of the year never happened: the school simply was not ready; on our first real Monday, a colleague died, on the next, a typhoon hit the school; and on our latest Monday, a school bus caught fire.

Thankfully, no-one was injured; but more through the efforts of the older students, than the intervention of the school’s two paid employees on board. While the driver was struggling to put out an engine fire with a fire-extinguish that didn’t work and then his flask of tea, the bus ayi ran from the vehicle, leaving some 20 children on board. It was left to several members of my Grade 10s to unbuckle the kindergarten kids and, in one case, lift an hysterical child off.

I am certain, though, that our director did sterling work in calming parents concerns: they were thanked for expressing their concerns, their suggests noted, but reassured that school buses are regularly serviced, the fire extinguished always checked and the staff thoroughly trained. I am sure parents also overlooked the actual explanation for engine fire, extinguisher failure and carers who run from their helpless charges.

To be honest, I have had other safety concerns on my mind. Although the hole in the maths/humanities office is no longer one of them: nine days of constant pestering finally paid off, and it was grudgingly fixed. That fate still awaits the roof tiles that teeter precariously some two weeks after they were first dislodged: only a bout of unseasonably clement weather has thwarted their further progress.

In other areas, the library remains closed through lack of furniture; and while our ‘state of the art’ [sic] labs are finally open for business, students have to stand through lessons because there are no stalls. Although there are plenty of people with the opportunity to appreciate the discomfort of these locations, two of the largest and pleasantly decorated rooms are currently unused: the chairman and director are both on leadership training courses in Paris. It is only a pity they didn’t receive such training a long time before now.

It is of course far more interesting to write about what is going wrong; and despite the content of these emails, I am remarkably content in my job. I think I would feel frustrated if the surrounding management were merely bad, but it has become so awful that it is comic distraction, rather than a source irritation. I enjoy teaching my classes, and the humanities administration is going well. Even the Grade 12 economics classes I have had to teach after school have been fine, and there is now a light at the end of that particular tunnel, as a replacement teacher will come on October 10th.

And things have been pleasant at home. Last Sunday, we celebrated Moon Festival by inviting 14 kindergarten children, making moon cakes, enacting the story of Chang E, making chalk drawings of the story outside, and banging instruments around Sudu. Ruth escaped with a friend, but George loved it: he demanded another Moon Festival before the standard one next year.

At the moment, George is playing with his lego, Chloe is at a birthday party, Ruth and Katherine are at a Latin dancing lesson. Chug is having a nap, and the sky is blue.

Nick


2005-09-17 Typhoon
17 September 2005

Dear All

The week started with a typhoon, giving me a bit of joy with an unexpected day off. Last Sunday, it was being billed as the biggest thing to hit this province since the Three Tenors came to Shanghai; a government official took the decision to close down all the schools on Monday, and I got word just as Sunday’s early evening depression was beginning to settle on the pit of my stomach.

In the event, the typhoon came to very little during the night and Monday was a glorious day, perfectly designed for romps in the park. I should say, the typhoon came to very little in the properly constructed parts of town: Sudu’s total damage was one bent sapling; our state of the art new school did not escape so lightly. The roofs tiles that hadn’t been knocked straight to the floor, tittered precariously on edges waiting for young children to drop on. In the humanities/maths office, the typhoon had managed the incredible feat of punching a perfectly square hole in the ceiling, so that I can now sit at my desk looking directly at the blue skies that followed the storm. All corridors are decorated with buckets catching water from burst and damaged pipes. Perhaps in a special commemoration to the typhoon, the management committee took the decision not to deal with any of the damage whatsoever; I spent the week warning to kids avoid wet patches and the edges of buildings. Like all the other problems we encounter, it will be ‘sorted out by next week.’ The next week of what, nobody reveals.

Generally though, it is nice to be back at school ¨C more specifically the classroom. A lot of the work we have done in the Humanities department is now showing up in the external reports that have come in during the last couple of weeks. After an excellent IBO report, the students’ Grade 10 results are significantly better in humanities than any other subject area. I would like to think that the reason we didn’t appear on the chairman’s numbered priority list, which had maths and science at the top and music and PE at the bottom, is that he doesn’t need to worry about us; there is always the possibility however, he views us a painful filler between maths and science lessons.

George has started to explore life’s deep questions. “Do people love God because he has all the power?” He asked me as we walked to the park, last Monday, then spotting Sudu’s sole typhoon casualty,”Because he can blow up trees?” Clearly, he had decided to veer on the side of caution in the expression of his love, because later he told me,”Daddy, I love you and God, but you don’t have all the power, and I can’t hear God.” This is all part of his growing realisation of his own mortality, which he seems to have already worked out,”Daddy, when I die and become somebody new, you can have my fart machine.” Which of course was very touching, but I thought it best to point out the simple flaw,”Georgie, I will die first.” Now, if George went to a school that had humanities anywhere on its numbered priorities, he might have developed a proper concept of time,”You will die?” He asked, shocked, implying the near rather than distant future,”I don’t want you to die.” “I won’t die now, but I will die one day.” He let out a groan at this:”You die, Monday?” To which, I responded in the way all metaphysical discussions should end,”Let’s get an ice-cream.”

Nick


2005-09-10 Latest Message
10 Sept 2005

Dear All

Last week has been lodged with the Guinness book of Records; we know it was long , way over the standard 168 hours , but we are seeking confirmation that it may have been the longest week ever. On Wednesday morning, I switched on the internet to check it really wasn’t Friday. By Thursday, I was reminding students about lessons they had learnt in a non-existent previous school week.

The week started in the worst possible way: the sudden death of a colleague. Mike Scott, the economics teacher, was close to 60 and had a massive heart attack. On the Saturday, he had had some chest pains, but the hospital gave the all-clear after running a full range of tests. He came in with the rest of us, bright and early, Monday morning. At 8.30 I stood chatting to him in the foyer as we greeted students to the new school. He was in good spirits as we left to our homerooms ten minutes later. At 9.10 I left my homeroom to ask the secondary head, Frank Davis, if he had any maps of the school. Our conversation was interrupted to listen to the sound of sirens, but we just shrugged and continued; thinking it could be for anything. Frank had no maps, so I went to reception, who gave me a copy, and then to the photocopy room to run off enough for my class. As I climbed the stairs back to my classroom, I could see Mike on a gurney, his face purple, his heart being massaged by a paramedic; his wife holding his hand, the director, Frank and the school’s Chinese business manager standing by in mute concern. I hurried by to shoo away to of my class who were descending the stairs into the incident.

At 10 o’clock break, I went to Frank to offer my services for cover; Frank, upset, told me that Mike had died. Mike had been a large character, and an hour and a half before he had been joking with me: I didn’t feel upset - it didn’t feel real. Frank asked me to take his canteen duty so that he could make a general announcement to staff at the beginning of lunch. I was quite grateful for the distraction of the farcical chaos engendered by our latest contractor without a clue; a contractor who believed that two workers would be sufficient to serve 400 students all coming at 12.30; with me subbing as potato doler, the queue was reduced to a mere hour long.

The week has been so busy, I haven’t had too much time to reflect on Monday’s events; except that they have highlighted the essential pettiness of so much that happens. For 10 days I had been trying to get an electricity supply to the humanities rooms; I had tired on verbal requests, and was sending two notes a day, hoping to ware down the powers-that-be. The diurnal response was that the school were waiting on the electricity company who had to rewire things. I argued it was probably a blown fuse: on Wednesday, after ten days of pestering, two workers opened up the fuse cupboard, flicked a couple of switches and we were back on. I could carry on, but that event stands emblematic of my week.

Some of the Chinese staff are saying that the school has bad feng shui; that the west to east orientation of the school is a mistake, and the large open areas through the centre along the positive energy to rush through and out, while bad energy collects in the recesses of the classrooms bunched off to the north and south. The physics teacher in a show of cross-cultural support explained that negative ions do collect in corners, and quantum mechanics suggests that there can be connections between areas not physically linked. But really the Western teachers believe our early troubles to have a more mundane origin.

We have moved into a school, still under construction. Not just in the details such as unpredictable electricity supply, no gas, partial water supply, air-conditioning confined to the offices of the top managers, no curtains, no whiteboards, lifts out of action, no putty in the glass doors so that the windows fall out, no computers for the computer labs; but in substantive things as well , a theatre full of scaffolding, astro-turf and running tracks not laid, a swimming pool full of unmixed cement, tractors still moving earth, roads being laid. As teachers, we came back not to prepare for lessons and administration, but to lug furniture in the humid 90s because the removal company the school had contracted only had small vans to move more than 100 rooms, and then failed to pay their workers who promptly went on strike. Meanwhile our management skulked in their offices, the only air-conditioned part of the building avoiding all contact with us. It was a stressful week for teachers, amid the heat, the dust and the toxic fumes, and clearly it took a greater toll on some more than others.

Meanwhile, the school’s upper management have been demonstrating their skills in co-ordination, decision-making, prioritisation and sensible consultation. The science labs are still not in operation after a week’s delay to the school year. The chief engineer has supervised labs in which the electric points are behind the cupboards, the sinks are so large there is only room for four work surfaces in classes up to 25 students, the water pipes are a trip hazard across the floor, and the gas pipes take up all the storage space in the half of the labs that are actually supplied. A grown man, he has been known to run away when questioned about this. The newly appointed IT and finance co-ordinator, a Singaporean from a business not teaching background, who finds time to take priority excursions into a profession he has only just come into contact with. He is not in charge of the academic department of IT, rather the administration of the systems: an administration that forgot to order computers for the computer rooms, in fact managed to make such oversight an irrelevance by failing to ensure internet sockets and electrical sockets for them to connect to, even if we had them. The server containing all student and curriculum information is still not up, two and half weeks since the latest deadline passed causing our organisation and teaching to inspirational rather than planned. Amid this the IT director took time out to ask the head of academic IT to show him his (inaccessible) curriculum so that he could improve them. The latter, a bluff Australian, told him he had other priorities, and for the sake of future good relations left it at that.

However, it is our Singaporean chairman of the board, the top man in the comedy club that is our new school, that has really led the way in the proper ordering of priorities and processes of consultation for teaching amid a building site. At the end of last year, he announced to 150 staff that a former American education secretary had said that Singaporean maths textbooks were better than American ones; therefore the school would use Singaporean maths books. Unfortunately, he hadn’t passed this message on to his head of maths who, after careful consideration of a wide range of resources in relation to the curriculum we deliver, had just ordered 400 Australian textbooks. This week, the chairman has had to take time out of the big decisions to have meetings with the man who should have had charge of this small decision to have explained how maths is taught, and then override him anyway. The principle then took the head of maths aside to tell him to order the Singaporean books, but just not use them.

Still the canteen has two workers for 400 students, and lunch time has to be extended into teaching periods.

Anyway, I am meant to be spending this weekend boning up on economics, as I am taking one of Mike’s IB diploma classes after school until they can find a replacement. My one piece of good news was the report I got back for my submitted Grade 10 work, which congratulated me on the excellence of my sample.

Nick


2005-09-04 News
Dear All

It seems an absurd thing to be grateful for - absurd and slightly cruel; but there was no lasting harm to the person at the centre of it all, and it helped me gain an important perspective to the week’s events.

Katherine has been more than usually busy at the beginning of the school year: the massive growth in students coupled with natural turnover has led to an unprecedented number of new teachers. About 45, the usually percentage of whom need ayis and nannies. It is an opportunity for Katherine to see teachers as employers - a break from our status as moaning employees.

Interestingly, many teachers feel that our employers owe a moral obligation to us; that we should be listened to, consulted; that there is a fair wage for our work, independent of the wage we agreed to take. As employers of ayis, not all teachers care to extend these principles: this relationship is purely business, in which employers are perfectly entitled to get the best deal, and it is the ayi’s responsibility to take care of themselves.

On Tuesday, an upset ayi came to our door, wanting Katherine to clear up a mystery. She had worked for just two days for the new employer Katherine had introduced. As she turned up for work, the clearly-now-ex-employer had grabbed her keys from the ayi, flung them to the ground and shouted abuse at her, in a language she didn’t understand. Then another ayi, already inside, told her that she had been fired, and that she was her replacement.

The new teacher’s tack with Katherine was to insist that she had every
right to fire the ayi. Something Katherine agreed with, but went on to
point out that it was not her right she was questioning but her behaviour. The new teacher then said that the ayi had not done a good job, which had upset her, and that is why she had angrily dismissed the ayi. Sadly for the new teacher, Katherine had found out from the new ayi, who happens to have a language in common, that she had been engaged on Saturday, the day before Katherine’s ayi had even begun work. Katherine informed the new teacher of what she knew, adding, “You are liar, and your behaviour in shameful,’ in a matter of fact tone that floored her adversary. But not for long, “I have a right to get the best deal for myself, and if I can a cheaper ayi I will.” “You have that right, but not the right to be rude to people and lied about them. I am her best chance of getting a new job, and you have just told me she is a poor worker, which isn’t true.”

Worse, the woman initially refused to pay the two days the ayi had worked; Katherine had to go round and bang on her door. Even when she handed over the cash, she complained that she would now be short this month. Unlike the ayi she fired, I presume.

As it happened, Katherine managed to find replacement work almost immediately: but every time at school there is bus chaos, or not enough
meals ordered, or furniture isn’t moved because of striking workers, or the gas engineer turns up without the plans, or the water engineer doesn’t know where the main pipe is, the catering company forget to apply for a licence, or all school computers are finally ordered one working day before school starts with a month delivery time, or the chief engineer omits electric sockets from the IT rooms or installs sinks to the science labs that collapse when water runs into them ¨C I can remind myself that at least I will be getting my cheque at the end of the month.

Nick




2005-08-26 Latest News
Dear All

Already another week has passed in China, and England seems further and further away. After the drama of last week’s fight, this week has been busy but comfortably mundane.

While the children have an extra week, I was back to work on Monday: not at the new site as expected, but amongst unmoved boxes in a ghost school. My friend Richard, who in his capacity as head of science, has had to visit the new site often, is not full of heart warming prospects. All the furniture was stolen, and a freak rainstorm caused one of the flat roofs to partially collapse. The only sports facility that will be available until the end of October is a single dance study; so our 1100 students will become experts at patiently waiting for a waltz. The science labs are in such a state of confusion that the chief engineer has refused to answer emails and phone calls all summer; and when finally forced to meet Richard and confronted with a multitude of design faults, pretended to inspect the door, then slipped away. The absence of gas, adequate electricity sockets, or water from most labs was explained away on the grounds that ‘you won’t actually need them,’ and when shown the plans that he had signed along with Richard and the director, insouciantly admitted that they had been completely ignored, and ‘you shouldn’t worry.’ It was, apparently, a fist class denial of reality.

Secretly I am glad of Richard’s problems, as they give perspective to my own: a sudden departmental arrival, who is still working out his notice, and has not taught humanities before; a department member who refuses to join the department, and sees his room as his personal room, and the resources inside as also belonging him personally. These two problems have neatly combined to accentuate each other: Chuck, our most recent newbie caused by the unexpected influx of an additional 90 students to secondary in the last month, does not have a classroom. I have largely accommodated him in mine, causing many of my lessons to move: being a humanities teacher, I felt that their most logical home was another humanities classroom, which anyway as head of humanities I had first say over. Such is the theory. But when I told the economics teacher, that it was his classroom I would be moving to, in a conversation that started by him telling me that he wouldn’t have anything to do with the humanities department despite being technically part of it. Initially he refused, but when I made it plain that I was making a polite but enforceable statement, not a request; he changed tack to demanding that I didn’t use any of ‘his’ equipment in the room: equipment that belongs to the school. As I don’t need the equipment, and I had already got what I wanted, I left him with the satisfaction with a point over me, and good relations maintained. Fortunately, my department who want to be included are generally reasonable individuals.

There are 45 new teachers in the school, and a fair few have children. Ruth and Chloe have already made friends and I have organised a trip to Water World so that families can mix. We are becoming a very large community now.

Nick


2005-08-20 China latest
Dear All

It is now a week that I have been back, and I have so easily slipped back into life that it seems that I never left. I am formally required to return to work on Monday, but have started things already. Frank, the head of secondary, asked me on Friday to explain how things have changed and how that affects humanities. During the summer a large Korean company started operating in a town near here, bring in 100 Korean families. In secondary alone 90 additional students have enrolled over the summer. I am not quite sure how this managed to be unexpected, to out school’s higher powers: companies don’t just turn up, settling down on the road to somewhere else; but it was certainly unexpected to the people who are required to take action, rather than just the cash. At the end of last year, the secondary section had 250 students; the new academic year will begin with 400 students. Frank has to employ two new teachers at the last minute ¨C both of whom were teaching TEFL locally. I have one extra member of my department ¨C who with a name like Chuck, can’t help but be North American. I now have seven teachers I have to communicate with for humanities work, whose timetables add up to 6 full ones. I’m still not getting a pay rise.
The worst of the summer has passed, and though it is T-shirt weather even at night, it is quite possible to play outside. I have been playing piggy-in-the-middle with the children ¨C George’s favourite game, while he is not the piggy.
I witnessed a fight earlier today. Fortunately not involving a member of my brood; although Chug was, once again, responsible for my presence at a major Sudu scene; this time, though, he didn’t take part, nor cost me 100s of RMB. He had, as usual, escaped, and was evading my attempts at recapture by moving from bush to bush. I was too busy looking at Chuggy’s wagging tail to immediately notice that he had skipped a particular bush because it was already occupied by a prone man. It was the woman shrieking just beyond the bush that in fact alerted me to the whole scene ¨C which was completed by another man energetically engaged in making sure that Man No 1 remained prone by the frequent application of his shoe to the other man’s stomach. Kicking man looked angry, Screaming woman looked, as her title suggests, upset, and Prone Man was clearly drunk to the point of unresponsiveness, despite the frequent kickings.
My entrance seemed to calm matters: such beatings are a private matter, and an audience can dampen the most ardent of violent spirits. Screaming Woman and Kicking Man decided that Prone Man should be moved inside: unfortunately the ultimate cause of Prone Man’s horizontal attachment to the ground was not the shoes of Kicking Man but his own considerable alcohol consumption. His legs didn’t work, and he had to be dragged. The dragging clearly roused him; he looked up, saw Kicking Man; regained leg control; and started flailing his arms about. Kicking Man responded in kind; at which point I intervened, I put my arm lightly on his shoulder, and said, “Friend, stop it.” Which he did ¨C perhaps on the grounds that I was about a foot taller than him. The intervention didn’t do Prone Man many favours though: horizontal had become his natural state, and his inspired verticalism dramatically collapsed when Kicking Man stepped away. More unfortunately, he dramatically collapsed directly onto his forehead, without the customary intervention of outstretched hands. Blood was pretty much everywhere, and he rapidly gained a stunningly swollen lump above his eye. I asked Screaming Woman to phone a doctor ¨C she told me she was phoning the police; Kicking Man decided he was needed elsewhere.
By the time the police arrived, a crowd had gathered around Prone Man discussing historical causation: debate centering around whether drink or Screaming Woman were more responsible for the fight. Kicking Man didn’t get much of a mention. He returned, maybe with a guilty conscience, and was arrested as Prone Man was taken in a taxi to the hospital. My name and number was taken as a potential witness.
It’s good to be back
Nick


2005-08-15 A new year
Dear All

I might have more success with regularity if I cut down the length of my emails. As a return to China is the beginning my year, I will turn over a new email leaf; and start with something shorter.

Chloe and I got back without any problems. Door to door including a leisurely meal and wait at Heathrow we arrived in less than 20 hours, which is pretty good going. Both of us have recovered from our jet-lag more rapidly than earlier years; we are clearly getting used to this.

Ruth declared yesterday her wierdest birthday yet: soming to meet us at the airport and then getting a cascade of presents; but she enjoyed herself. She enjoyed ending the day with Tim's birthday present - a chapter of "The Day My Bum Went Psycho." And started today with the Monday knickers supplied by Ellen. We have high hopes of the girls indulging in a daily change of underwear.

In fact all the presents have gone down a bomb. Thanks to Josn for his passed on toys - George was very pleased. Ruth has spent the day teaching her friend Junge Fever and asking me to join in. George has taken his new frisbee for a couple of turns and has caught up on all on new episodes of Dangermouse, and I have been dragged in to observe his car lights despite being the one who actually put them up.

My new colleagues have begun to arrive. I have met the new geographer and a Canadian. They are, at the very least, not immidiately obnoxious. Work front the good news is that the new school won't be finished in time so the children have an extra weeks holiday and we have extra week to swan around pretending we are preparing.

I am being called to Jungle Fever: must go.

Nick
2005-02-16 Re:Whats up?
Tim

I think Matthew is quite right about the Manchurian Madness piece - it was very good, and you should write more. The most difficult thing over extended pieces of writing is that you have to give description and observation a narrative, which is the wind that moves the ship.

January is never a good month for anyone, and if I had my way we would skip straight to February, which contains pancake day, two birthdays and is mercifully short. I read that it has been scientifically proven that January 24th is the most depressing day of the year. Is there no end to the marvels of science? Fortunately my January managed to be too hectic - with exams, reports, Chinese New Year performances - for me to feel too bad. As you say, busy, busy, busy.

Glad to hear that you are getting back to Spanish classes. I am not surprised that you have forgotten most of it, but this time you will remember more quickly, and forget more slowly. If you ever work up the nerve (and I know it is a massive thing), there is no substitute for living in a country. My Chinese progresses unevenly, but I am in another spurt phase: I don't feel I am learning anything new, just becoming more confident in using what I have - grammatical forms that I knew in theory, but never spole in practice, a wider range of vocab. And it is because I have the chance of every day practice.

The wine tasting sounds like fun - at the very least a relaxed atmosphere to socialise. Did I mention that Chug bit me on 20th December? I had to have a number of shots, that resulted in me being banned from alcohol, coffee and ice-cream (which I think was unnecessary and a little bit nasty). Although I didn't hesitate to go out on a big drinking session on January 21st, that month was the best I felt and the best I slept in ages. And I am not a big coffee or alcohol drinker. However since then I only drink coffee before midday, and restrict beer to the weekend.

I joined a gym here a couple of years ago - trouble is that they are so boring, the football and tennis are a lot better. I am now the manager of the school football team - which has several matches next semester in Shanghai and Nanjng, culminating in a tournament in Qingdao. Fortunately I am mainly responsible for the admin side; the coach is a primary school teacher who played for England schoolboys (years ago - he is about my age) and a semi-professional side before becoming a teacher. Frankly, he is really rather good, and the only person I have ever played with that I watch carefully to see how the hell he does it.

I have attached what should be the start of my published writing career. I think I mentioned that I was asked to write an article about Suzhou for the China-Britain Trade Review. CBTW (as I affectionately refer to it) is an organ of the China-Britain Business Council, a quango that encourages Sino-British trade. My deadline was March 2nd, but I sent it in yesterday in case they wanted any modifications. Oh, I can't attach, so I have printed it below.

Keep up all the hard work

Nick

2005-02-14 What's up?
Dear Tim

How are things? I haven't heard from you in a while.

Katherine, Ruth, Chloe and George are all in Sichuan at the moment, leaving me to hold up the Little end in Suzhou and look after Chuggie the Dog. It is quite an usual experience for me to be alone; it is pretty much the first time in nearly 10 years. I am quite enjoying having my own space, although the neighbours are convinced I cannot cope - being alone is not a Chinese thing - I have been invited to lunch and dinner today. I have been able to read books and watch DVDs without interruption; just lie on my bed and think. Nevertheless I will be glad of a return to chaos next week.

Spent a couple of days in Shanghai last week - the typical Chinese experience: watched a cat documentary on the bus, and went to a Picasso exhibition in the Urban Planning Museum, (which is right next to the art gallery, which did, as it happens, have lots of photos of cityscapes). As ever, nothing makes sense.

How's things with you?

Nick
2005-01-16 Latest
Dear All

Katherine's had the most eventful of our week's here. Mr Jiang, who owns the factory that made our furniture, came to dinner yesterday. He is building a 200m squared showroom, and wants Katherine's designs to take up 20 - 40% of the space. If a customer is interested in her furniture, they will be referred to Katherine who will go through with them there exact specifications for their own custom made Katherine wardrobe (or whatever). Katherine gets about 25% of the purchase price. According to the factory manager, his main market is people kitting out their entire apartment, spending between 20 000 and 50 000 RMB.

Katherine is pleased because it uses her creativity, but it does mean that she will be considerably busier. She already has one potential customer through word of mouth and the showroom has not been built yet.

The girls are the middle of an exam week that strectches from Wednesday to Tuesday. Ruth got 90% in her Chinese reading and writing exam, which she was pleased about, and made her feel less bad about having a difficult maths exam. Chloe's exams are more low key, and George is obsessed with finding the letter G in any piece of text he comes across which might be a struggle to assess.

The girls are at a sleepover with one of Chloe's friends, and George is watching the Ultraman DVDs (he bought with Tim's Christmas money) with Eric. All of them are well despite the brisk north wind that travels merrily through our apartment.

My week has been the least eventful. I am still off coffee, alcohol and ice cream as a consequence of my injections, which means I have slept better than I have for years. Sadly another teacher was fired as a consequence of the fight in school before Christmas: one of the participants had resigned on the spot, in anticipation of the inevitable; the other had hung on to the disciplinary procedure went through its paces and clung on to January. Which was probably a mistake as a dismissal for fighting doesn't look good on a teacher's record, whereas a sudden resignation is at least ambigious. My girls think that he was swept away by the tsunami.

Hope all is well with you.

Nick
2004-12-19 From Katherine
Dear all:

Nick and the children are now on holiday. They are very happy in home. We had guests yesterday for lunch. They are Mr. Zhang's family. Mr. Zhang is the manager of the small factory, which did the furniture for our home. His wife is a very kind woman and children are two lovely boys. Mrs. Zhang is a Christian. In conversation I said that in England I was not allowed to skip train fare because Nick would say I am a thief. She looked at me very sincerely and said: "I guess you were not a Christian at that time. Is it right?" I said:" May be I was at that time." She said:" then I assume that you were still a new Christian and not feeling close to God at that time." Although she is in her forties yet she is so child-like in her faith and it is very touching. Her children one is called Noah and another Joshua. They played very well with Chloe and George. George shared his things very well. He came to us complaining that his sisters not sharing. Noah and Joshua said they would come to play again. George has made so much improvement in the last one month. He had a activity book which he previously just scribbled but several nights ago he began to do it properly and he enjoyed it very much. He finished that booklet in one go. He left this afternoon with his sisters to do rock climbing. I asked him to stay. He said:" I go with my sisters. When I come back I give you a big hug." Yesterday after uncle Matthew asked him to send some cat pictures he disappeared for quite a while. Later on I found three pieces of paper full of cats. Previously he was quite shy but recently he really surprised us. On the school bus he had a bag of sweets. He asked around who would like some sweets. A boy was quite rude. He said no in a very grumpy and angry way. George did not catch him and asked again. Then he said yes. George gave him a sweet and seeming not affected by that boy"s manner at all. Several nights ago in a restaurant he actually went to some strangers on the next table, watching them doing a drinking game. He was full of mischief and smile. Later on the cook in the restaurant came out sitting opposite us. They asked his name and he answered and they smiled at each other. Those cooks are a bunch of young man and they really liked George, because they kept smiling at him and said:" wow, he can speak Chinese very well." Actually George"s Chinese is better than English even though both do not make much coherent sense.

The school had a concert at the end of the term. Chloe was so good in her performance. She really came alive when she was on the stage. Afterwards I went to her class to say well done to her. There were two boys wanting to take picture with her. One of the boys" mum came to me and said that her boy had Chloe"s photo in his bedroom and he talks a lot about Chloe. Not only she is popular with the boys but she is also very popular among the girls. One Singaporean mum went to her and ask why she has not played with her daughter as much as before. Of course I felt very proud of Chloe. Her natural social skill and diplomacy is even superial to some adults. She is definitely better than me. Ruth was quite sad last night. She said she has no friends now. Nobody really likes her. She finds friendship quite difficult. But I found that she has improved recently. She is more helpful and gentle around the house now. I hurt my back last week and the pain has not gone away. Today it was very bad. I asked her to go to the massage place to get somebody come to me. She stopped what she was doing and sprang out to find help. Then later on she offered to help me with the cleaning since the ayi is not here in the morning. She also came to me and nick to give us hugs & gentle ones, improvement from previous jumping onto us and really rough and hard hug.

Hope you are all well. Hope you have a good Christmas and happy New Year.

Love
Katherine





2004-11-13 Latest
Dear All
The weather turned this week from a bright blue 21 degrees to a constantly pouring 10; prompting a shift in conversation from, “how long will it last? I’ve never known it so good,’ to, “well, we are set for the winter now.’
It was in this vein that I interrupted a group of Singaporeans on the morning of our temperature collapse discussing the possibility of further falls.
“The vegetable lady reckons it will drop to 2 degrees by Monday.” Glory remarked.
Sze Ying, who is more cynical about people in general and vegetable ladies in particular, shot back with, “What does she know?”
Glory stood her ground, “She is local.”
“What good is that?”
“Well she might have heard it on the news.”
I didn’t like to take sides, but I shared Sze Ying’s doubts about the vegetable lady; a small, but surprisingly loud woman who runs a stall in the local neighbourhood centre. I have had personal experience of her numerical liberalism; admittedly in her capacity as vegetable trader, rather than weather forecaster, but I think the principle might still apply. The newly opened neighbourhood centre is a five-minute walk from Sudu, and rather conveniently stocks a full range of groceries in neatly arranged stalls on two hygienic floors. Near the entrance is a small newsagent with a LCD price board on the wall behind: the government sets agricultural prices to control inflation, but with a small range to indulge the Chinese penchant for bargaining. It is this board that allowed me to expose the vegetable lady’s villainy. Fortunately my knowledge of Chinese characters, which falters on the steps of Tang poetry and Song novels, saunters through common groceries, re-enforced by my regular checking of the vegetable board. I therefore knew well that the government, in its mastering of economic minutiae, had decided that a pound of potatoes should retail at no less than 1.1 RMB (about 5p) and no more than, and perhaps only to the spendthrift, 1.4. I was therefore a little taken aback at the vegetable lady’s suggestion that I trump up 4RMB a pound for her potatoes, located just 10 metres from the government’s price board. “Ni kan dao jiaban” Look at the price board, I asked, pointing for added emphasis. She didn’t need to, so looked at the floor sheepishly, stifling a chuckle; suddenly snapping her head up, “2!”
“1.3” I replied.
“1.8.” Clearly, this was not a woman who was going to allow the government of China (Suzhou branch) to oppress her into dropping her potato price for a foreigner. It is possible that I could have forced her from her 1.8 perch onto the floor of a just price, but I was struck by the epiphany that I was haggling over 2 pence. Nevertheless, ever since that woman’s words have been tainted.
Which is all a round about way of saying that I pay too much for vegetables, talk about the weather and things have got colder and wetter. Today is therefore one of the few days that I have not gone outside to kick the football around with George and the girls, and Chuggy is getting a little jumpy through a walkless stay in the apartment. George is entertaining us with his own take on a Tang dynasty poem he learnt at school. The line, “Li li jie xing ku” cleverly changed to “Lin Lin jie xing ku.” Which, I am sure you will appreciate is a great deal more pertinent for us. [The original means, every grain of rice is the result of bitterly hard work; George’s version is, George is the result of bitterly hard work.] In English he changes the Beatles, “Love me do’ to “love me poo’ and, “All you need is love’ to “All you need is poo.’ We have high hopes for the boy.
Chloe’s Danish friend Caroline has just left after a sleepover and Ruth has returned from a sleepover and a row with Scottish Katie. They are now employing all the social skills that we have lovingly imparted to them to have a massive argument about who created what mess. Ruth has a very definite worldview. “I really liked my last art teacher Mr Morgan; he was really funny. I don’t like Ms Rodriguez at all, she is a proper art teacher & no fun at all.” And a couple of days later, she was explaining why no-one liked the music teacher, Mr Wackerman, “He makes kids do stuff in his lesson.” Chloe incurred Ruth’s wrath for being, “a boring as a scientist,’ although, to be fair, Chloe did later admit to liking science.
I missed this weekend’s party & a colleague’s birthday. I’ve decided to take a break. The rain has now stopped, and George is hassling me to kick his football.
Nick


2004-10-30 This week's events
Dear All
The children are in the kitchen at the moment cooking cakes with their friends. They have finally got to the development stage I have been waiting for, for years ¨C organising activities by themselves. They looked up the recipes on the Internet, prepared the ingredients, cooked them, and are now clearing the table, trying to prevent George scoffing the raw cake mixture. When I can get them to cook our meals and bring me breakfast in bed, I will finally think it has been all worthwhile.
To the girls¡¯ immense relief, George was away for most of the cooking process, with me at the local French supermarket. Saturday is always supermarket bedlam, and if I try to avoid shopping generally, Saturdays are a very particular aspect of that general avoidance. However, in a moment of weakness, if not complete insanity, I decided that it might be fun to go shopping with George.
George is quite an entertaining conversationalist, and it was nice to have an extended dip into the delights of his curious world. He established the terms straight away, "Dad, you are not important. Mum is important, but not you." Then he paused to consider this, looked me over and added, "Your hair is important though." Previously George¡¯s hair fascination had stopped with his own, which he lovingly combs and sprays with gel every morning; but I had a radical overhaul of my most northerly follicles this week, and it seems to have taken George aback; shifting his hair perspective on the world. He has begun to build a hair world view, proclaiming, "I don't like people with yellow hair. They are not nice." And really it is difficult to knock; my further questioning showed that George had laid cast iron tautological foundations for this one.
"Why are they not nice?"
"Because they have yellow hair."
Really, you can't argue.
Nevertheless, our chat soon moved on as our journey to the supermarket started, "You're silly a one," he accused me from the back of the bike. "Who said that?"I exclaimed, to give George a chance to lie his way out of this serious allegation. "Genus George." He replied, rather surprisingly. "Do you mean Genius George?" I asked, thinking perhaps that George had adapted the more conventional, Young Master, to a title more befitting his self-image. But George confirmed, "No, no, no. Genus George." Perhaps, I had time to consider in the gaps that open in George's halting sentences, because he is a sub-specious of the Little Family; but I was soon disabused, ¡°because I is a very clever boy." Immediately inventing his own grammar for this revelation.
The girls' chat is generally easier to cope with, although I was flummoxed at Chloe's request to explain the term, "Too gay to function." Goodness only knows where she picked that one up.
Katherine is out at the moment, involved in her little business introducing cleaners. She recently doubled her price and still people are coming. The number of foreigners in Suzhou increased from 8000 to 13000 last year, and so there is a large enough market to keep Katherine busy. It earns her more than a Chinese secondary school teacher gets, and really there is a lot of room to develop it.
Hope all is well with you.
Nick
2004-10-21 from Katherine
Hi:

How are you? It is nice to hear from you, Tim. I would like one day to visit Rome, if I ever get the money. Actually anywhere which is beautiful. Life is so short I am already middle aged and have not traveled for pleasure. I love England and every time I think of it I remember that garden some distance from Brighton which is so full of coulours last time I visited it. It seem to have a peaceful, never changing beauty about it.

Recently I watched two Chinese films. "Hero" and "house of flying daggers". They both are fantastic films. Hero's fighting scene is so beautiful.. The energy. The confidence. It is truly amazing. Especially the fight between the two women in the forest. And the scene of the lovers fighting in the desert .I watched it over and over again. Even though I do not like the story and some of the cast. The emperor lacks charisma, some scenes are over done but the overall spirit is just a pure fantasy ¨C and a likable one ,too. House of flying daggers is more mature as a commercial film. The plot can not be reckoned, but when you watch it you are simply carried away by the superb scenes. Some how it manages to be less memorable than hero.

George is a such silly boy. He came to me this morning and said " I had a dream. I went to a forest and I lost something." I asked: "what did you lose?" he said:" I lost myself." He also gets very jealous. He told me I am not allowed to cuddle daddy and his two sisters because I am only allowed to cuddle him. Chloe came to my bed this morning and asked me to sing for her. She was on my tummy. I sang. And she said in a very soft voice:" oh mummy, it is so beautiful. I really like your voice. I can only see your nostrils from here." That really made me laugh. Ruth is quite hard working right at the moment. She is doing a lot of homework and also playing hard.

Nick is doing well. He is working very hard. He truly has a gift of being loving and kind towards his pupils. One student from Preston still writes to him regularly. And the students here seem to love him. I went out several times with him seeing teenagers saying hello to him with real affection.

I am still doing the ayi introduction service. Most people are reasonable. But some are just so - how to speak- really self centered" oh, dear, I don't mind how you do these jobs but as long as they are done and I am only going to pay you for three hours "

Regardlss these jobs will take the ayis 5 hours or even more. I think people do not have an obligation to be gernerous but they do need to be reasonable. There is only so much human being can achieve in a certain amout of time. I think I will go for orientation for companies. I won't work myself to death about it. Nothing is more important than my children. If I succeed, fine, if not I am not gutted.

Hope everything goes well for you

Love

Katherine


2004-10-17 Latest
Dear All

Everyone is fine here, although the girls did have Monday off school. Both were running a fever, which a day in bed cured. Personally I think they had one too many sleepovers during the holiday the week before.

Back to school weeks always have a flat feel about them; the girls flatness was particular short however: Monday was off sick, and Friday was a training day for teachers. I am not sure that the three days in between gave them enough time to get that fed up.

The latest addition to Katherine's furniture came on Friday at 6am. You need a special licence to be on the industrial park after 7, so all her furniture has been the cause of grumpy days. There are a couple more pieces yet to come, but along with the painted walls, our apartment has been transformed. George is particularly pleased with the steering wheel that enables his bunkbed to be driven.

Chloe spent Friday with her friend Olivia, George is almost permanently with Eric, and at the moment Nora is here visiting both girls. They are not short of a social life. This year the number of foreigners in Suzhou has leapt from 8000 to 13000.

The school will move to a new site next September with an eventually capacity of 4000. Incredibly (considering the move will start in July) the plans have not been finalised, let alone the first clod unturned. It will go up in three months and start falling apart in one - if every other building round here is to go by.

George is undergoing a verbal explosion at the moment. From years of not talking he is suddenly quite chatty in two languages. It is quite a surprise.

Hope you are all well

Nick
2004-10-06 My TV Experience
Dear All

Sorry I haven't had the most communicative of months it has been really busy. I am writing a series of emails to explain what we have been up to. The first one is about something that happened a couple of weeks ago.

A lot of things have ceased to surprise me in China; it is a land that can best be imagined by looking at its roads: overcrowded, having lots of rules that nobody obeys, but with one essential principle- look out for yourself, not just left and right but over both shoulders as well; because something unusual can and will come from anywhere.

So, while I admit that having the principal interrupt a meeting at 5 pm on a Friday evening to ask me to appear on a TV game show the next day was hardly routine; the impropriety of the request did not occur to me as unusual. I rapidly acquiesced to keep the meeting moving along.

An aspect of only being given 21 hours before taking a major role in a TV show that will be beamed across the whole of the province is that there is not much time to brood on it. In England regional TV is a very small step up from CCTV; Jiangsu's 75 million people make it a very small step down from the largest country in Western Europe.

It wasn't just a lack of time that distracted me from brooding; a very busy schedule in the intervening 21 hours and a total ignorance of what I was getting myself into also helped. The school principal, Jon Lane, had delivered the request to participate, which, along with a desire not to waste meeting time and a sense of curiosity, strongly influenced my decision. He had been phoned by the TV station the day before to find, "foreigner with a Chinese partner for a game show."¯ Which was the exact amount of information I was given at the time: details are simply not a Chinese thing. Anyway, Jon took the phone number of my Chinese partner to pass on to the TV station to sort out the details

Fortunately, I had little time to consider the endless possibilities of what might happen as I first had to contend with a tennis match, dinner with colleagues, eight hours sleep and then a football tournament on the Saturday morning: which turned out only to be a distraction, and not a serious impediment to going as we managed to enjoy the good luck of crashing out to a 5-1 defeat in the first round.

In fact, I didn't really discuss the show until Katherine and I were getting ready to go to it.

"Katherine what this show actually is?"

"You know those shows where foreigners speak Chinese, and people laugh?"

"Ye-eh," I assented nervously.

"Well, it's one of those," she announced without the slightest hint of concern.

I panicked. "Oh no. How do I get out of it? I am going to make a public fool of myself."

"People won't people laughing at you; they'll just be laughing."

"And myself and my actions will be the object of that laughter: how is that not being laughed at?" I asked, the tone of my voice beginning to rise desperately.

"But it's not meant personally." Katherine explained patiently, as if trying to calm a het-up child.

"Mm, but me being the person at the centre of all this hilarity, might take it, well personally."

The TV studio is hard to miss with a rather large transmitting tower on the top. We did though manage to miss the main entrance, and ended doing a full circle of the building; which gave me time to resign myself to the fate of being made a fool of, and force myself to relax and enjoy it. There is nothing more humiliating than the frantic grasping of a straw of dignity in a sea of embarrassment: better to sink calmly with a smile on your face.

I thought our diversion around the entire perimeter of the building might have made us a little late; especially as we arrived just 10 minutes before filming was due to commence. But if we were late, then the other contestants and the audience were even later. A complete absence of forward planning beyond a vague intention that such and such an event will happen in the proximity of a particular afternoon is an occasionally endearing although mostly frustrating feature of China. 2 minutes before airtime a 150 strong audience popped out of nowhere, although I have an idea that the local shops were slightly less crowded than they might have been as a consequence of the show:

"What do you mean, we will be here for 3 hours. I only agreed to come in because I thought these shows were 30 minutes long. I haven¡¯t eaten yet."

The audience were given red shirts if they sat on the left, yellow in the middle, blue on the left. I soon discovered Reds were my lot, as one row had been entrusted with the sacred duty of holding aloft character placards that together formed the sentence: "Really good, Nick!" Another part of my section had the obligatory oversized "Jia You!" Hand (Come on!)

At the end of the crowd were my fellow contestants.

I wasn't actually told, but the arrangement of the studio gave me some clues as to what would happen. There were three desks on the right, with the names of the three foreign contestants. On each desk, an LCD scorecard, a buzzer and a microphone. Opposite were a further three desks with the names of our Chinese partners. In the middle was a lectern adorned by flowers and a microphone. The side "walls" were in fact intersecting bright yellow panels, which from my angle could be seen a jumble of leads, technicians and a penguin. The back "wall" of the studio was a mock up of an ancient Chinese building, with two large doors in the middle. I knew we were to answer questions; I just hoped weren't bunched together in a hapless team against our Chinese partners.

I was quite comforted at the sight of my colleagues in humiliation. One of them doubled as a colleague during the week: Werner Paetzold. The other was a Danish guy who had been in China for two months and did not speak a word of Chinese. Werner's Chinese is not as good as mine. If I was in for a hard time, they were in for worse.

The partners were odd collection. Not personally odd, obviously: something I wouldn't dare to suggest, as Katherine was amongst them, but odd in a partnership sense. Werner had brought his Taiwanese boyfriend, and perhaps I only thought this because I was armed with prior knowledge, but I was sure that while they did nothing to flaunt their illegal status, they did nothing to hide it either. The Danish guy had with him a recently acquired girlfriend, who during the show demonstrated a growing irritation at her side of their relationship bargain.

A little under a minute before the start a member of the production staff came to me to ask if I knew what the original purpose of the Great Wall was. Military I replied, and he seemed very satisfied, and told me that if I won I would get a musical instrument; which, given my lack of interest in all things musical, seemed little compensation for taking part.

It was about 30 minutes before I discovered the significance of that single exchange. The show has an opening sequence of two foreign children pooping out of the large doors, dry ice rising, reciting the show's unwieldy thirty-word catch phrase. Unfortunately neither had been given rehearsal time, and they repeatedly failed to get it right. After twenty-two minutes, just as I was thinking my fixed grin of mock appreciation and tenderness might become a permanent manic scar on my expressions, the two of them got the damn phrase correct, my grin relaxed into a smile, and my fifth round of applause was genuinely heart felt. The hostess moved forward to take the hands of the little ones and lead them between two of the bright and yellow panels, away to some other life. Then a terrible thing happened. A mobile phone went off. The ordinary quietness of filming turned into a leaden silence as the hostess froze. The ringing continued, brazen to the misery it was causing. It could have been co-ordinated action: the entire studio, bar one, looked down the length of their own bodies, in case the offending instrument was attached to them, then in relief turned their heads to and fro to find the offender. The actual criminal sat at a prominent position at the back, and the greater part of the audience was aware of his guilt before he himself had woken up: those closest to him first noticed him as The Origin, and this awareness rippled out through the three sections of the audience to the crew at front.

The main cameraman woke with a start, the red camera light still on. He gave his 200 strong audience a startled look, then jerked his head in a panicky way in the direction of his pocket, but fumbling out the mobile phone and stopping the noise.

As it was, the children only needed another two takes to recover from this, before we began round one. I was in pole position and every round would begin with me; which I felt to be a special privilege as we were not forewarned what would occur, and I had to work out the instructions from a fairly rapid Chinese given in presenter-speak. I knew I would be asked a question and I could ask Katherine for help if I didn't know the answer, but none of the foreigners had the Chinese for "This is not a buzzer round." Funny really: the language you learn in books, and what you actually need. The director decided against retaking the scene in which the three of us frantically pressed buzzers (although, I don't know why the Danish guy bothered). But then us misunderstanding instructions was part of the fun.

My first question was: What was the original purpose of the Great Wall? I answered confidently. Werner was also suspiciously correct on the number of strings possessed by some ancient Chinese instrument. The Danish guy scored half points, asking his not yet estranged girlfriend for help on his question.

I had points on the board; I relaxed. And then the worst of all nightmares: a singing round. Misfortune compounded misfortune, for the viewer as well myself, as it became immediately apparent that of the three foreigners required to sing only I knew the song. This is mainly because it was a traditional song from Katherine's province that I have heard her sing many times and partly because I could recognise enough of the characters on the teleprompter to make up the difference.

After I had done my bit to destroy the entertainment industry in China, I was a little resentful to find all three of us awarded the same points.

During the break, the director's assistant came over to ask me and Werner to speak more Chinese when the chance arose. I asked Katherine to see if she could find out what we were meant to do in subsequent rounds and fill us in. Like a Roman gladiator I was in competition with Werner and Danish Guy, but in reality there was a growing comradery between us: all information received was eagerly devoured and shared.

Werner and I got through the Chinese character round unscathed. There was a large magnetic board and, on a table in front, the component parts of a character. A man in penguin suit shuffled onto the set to offer each of the contestants a base part of a character, to which the components had to be added to make a new character. The penguin had not been primed to his exact role, which caused another three takes, but only I found an untrained penguin amusing - to everyone else Danish Guy putting his character upside down was their hilarious highlight.

Coming into the penultimate buzzer round (a term I now understood) Werner was ahead on points. However I scored a blinder, picking up every point available for a series of questions of Chinese culture and history.

The last round was a curious idea: an ancient Chinese writing set was wheeled centre stage, and by using the brushes, paper, ink grinder etc as props the Chinese partner was meant to demonstrate a pair of antonyms to their startled partner, who was merely required to guess correctly. For example the hair brushes could be thick and thin; long and short. The saving grace of this round was that the penguin was not involved.

I got through mine: long and short. Werner was having a tougher time with together and apart, so partly because the buzzer round had secured my win and partly because of a feeling of comradery, I whispered the answer to Werner. He bought me a couple of large drinks later. Danish Guy got his answer from a sympathetic member of the audience, and as this was far more blatant was only awarded half points.

I received my prize with an enthusiastic smile, and am now the proud possessor of a four stringed Er Hu, which according to the price tag left on, cost the TV company Y800.

Ruth and Chloe were invited back to give the introduction the next week, but that is another story.

Nick

2004-09-11
Dear Tim

Thanks for your email; I'm sorry it has taken a while to reply: I was back to work on August 24th and it has been really busy since then.

It is funny you should mention your website; I was having a look at it last month: it is really well done - simple (at point of use) but effective, like all the best ideas. However I noticed some of the links were not longer coming up. This might be because of funny screening here in China.

I happy for my writing to go up. I have know idea the chances of it being ripped off; but I guess if it was it would be quite a compliment. I don't regard my writing so far as a finished product, but essays in developing a style and voice: there are still too many structural weaknesses at the moment.

I am, at the moment, too busy to worry about such things. You might remember I became head of department last October - my first real management post. Since then I have becomer chair of two important committees: Lower School Camp and Approaches To Learning (ATL).

The former is pretty much what it says it is, except that it isn't actually a camp; more two nights in a hotel, with three days of activities. Even so there is a lot to do (most of it a story in its own right). ATL is a bit more academic. There are lots of skills that some or all subjects use - from writing a sentence or drawing a graph to giving a presentation and working in groups to thinking inductively or deductively. These skills might be the specific remit of one subject to teach or every subject to touch upon. The purpose of our committee is to link up the subjects in these skills areas so that teachers can take a consistent approach and students can explicitely see the transferability of their skills. New Labour would have called it, 'Joined Up Education.'

Much to my surprise I am enjoying my management and co-ordination roles. It has made me a lot busier - I have just completed a 60 hour week, but so far I have found it pleasantly stressful. It is early days - I have been in management for less than a year, but I think I am better at it than teaching: the department documents and structures I wrote or oversaw the writing of were commended by external asessors last June. I think after my further two years here I will look for chances to move up the ladder.

I finished Are You Dave Gorman? There are few laugh out loud books but this was definitely one of them; it had a strangely compelling plot as well. I think I will put off the Googlewhack book to darker days.

Glad to hear that you are out and about - hope to here more of your news

Nick



2004-08-14
Dear Tim

Sorry it has taken a while to reply to you email: I normally keep emails in my intray until I have replied, but because yours had a photo I saved and deleted it, thereby forgetting that I had one.

Thanks very much for having Ruth. I am glad to hear that she behaved herself and she was positive. It really sounds like she has an excellent time in England; my only hope is that she does not come back and rub it in with Chloe. I think Chloe has done a lot this summer, but it might not compare.

Yesterday we came back from a couple of days in the Yellow Mountains. It was almost exactly two full days, as we got an overnight trains there and back so we could arrive at the very beginning of the first day and leave at the very end of the second day, with a stay in the world's worst hotel in between. There is a story in it all, but I haven't got the energy right now so I will leave it. Despite a certain amount of chaos that is to be expected on a visit to a Chinese mountain we had a good time.

Katherine has taken the Chloe and George to the cinema to watch Superman 2 this evening (in Chinese).

Hope all is well.

Nick


2004-08-07
Dear Tim

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I am sorry that I didn't get round to sending this email on your birthday. Really I have no excuse for it as my days are generally quite lazy. I have been going into school to help get Katherine's business set up, and have been swimming with my remaining children every other day, but it is hardly a punishing schedule.

I realise that Wednesdays are not the best days for celebrations, corrupted as they are by their workday proquintity, but I hope you have an excellent picnic today in compensation. Will Ruth be there? She informs me that she has bought a present for you; it was only when she asked me if we had one that Katherine admitted that yours one of the presents that she omitted to pack with Ruth on the logically grounds that it was entirelly unbought. Sorry.

I have heard that some curious presents are winging your way from South London. But is there anything you would like from China? I can post over the finest set of DVDs to sail the seven seas; there is nothing more typically Chinese than that; or I could look for something a little more arty.

On the subject of arty: do you have my Chinese paintings? There is one which is set on brick red silk and is of a large water colour flower, and another of a woman kneeling. If you have them and aren't really using them could you send them back with Ruth? We are redecorating. Of course if you have them nicely displayed please feel free to hold on to them. Could you also give Ruth the Rise and Fall of Great Powers - I can't remember who wrote it but it says empires rise and fall based on military might. I fancy another crack at this year.

Nothing much happening here. I have taken more of an interest in the paper since Chuggie's appearance in it. On days when corgi wolfhounds are not attacking young children, our local rag must turn to other provinces for its source material. Fortunately the Suzhou City News has a clear sense of values: and that value is money; so the editor is constantly on the look out for the story that sells: generally these have at least one of three elements ¨C the macabre, the erotic, or the criminal. Within the category of macabre, bizarre has to head the list; and this must have been how a curious little incident from Hubei made it into its august pages.


¡°It says here a corpse fell through the roof of a woman's home.¡± Katherine read out in a remarkably even tone.

¡°Oh my God!¡± I replied with a dramatically appropriate response, ¡°How did that happen?¡±

¡°It doesn't say: just that a corpse fell into an old woman's living room, and to get it out they would have had to carry it through the kitchen. The woman refused to have a corpse in her kitchen, so they had to knock a hole in her back wall.¡±

¡°Who's ¡®they¡¯?¡±

¡°Which ¡®they¡¯?¡±

¡°The ¡®they¡¯ that did the wall knocking.¡±

¡°Just says, workers¡±

¡°Who did they work for?¡±

¡°It doesn't say: the people responsible for the corpse falling through her roof, I guess.¡±

¡°Who the hell would that be?¡± I asked incredulously, ¡°Who could possibly be responsible for corpses falling through roofs? Is there some sort of government department for it?¡±

¡°I dunno,¡¯ Katherine admitted plainly, ¡°it doesn't say. It isn't a very long report¡±



That is the beauty of the Chinese media: information is given, but never enough for it to make any sense; people are left with the vague sense of being informed, without actually knowing anything.

Chloe and I are going to the Yellow Mountains on an overnight train next week.

Nick

2004-07-24
Dear Matthew and Bridget

I have sent Tim and Ellen a copy for the photos (Hi Tim! Hi Ellen!)

Thank you for having Ruth to stay over. By the sound of her emails and weekend telephone conversations she has been having a great time in Newhaven but I am sure mum will be very grateful to have a break from my energetic daughter. Before going to England she agreed that it would be a good idea to make a positive contribution to her grandma's household, and I am sure she would like to carry on that attitude with you, although she may have to be reminded of her enthusiasm to help.

Your present to George has arrived at school; Katherine went to pick it up last week but there was nobody in the secondary section. We will have more time next week and can easily wander in to get it. Thank you. Did Bridget get her present from us?

It is very hot and humid here at the moment. I have just got back from a short walk to the park and my T-shirt is soaked in sweat; I am glad that this computer is directly under the air conditioner. We have managed to fill up the first two weeks of the holiday, and time is passing very pleasantly. Chloe has spent several nights staying over at friends' and we have had a daughter of a family friend stay with us for a week - a fifteen year old Sichuan girl. Her father hoped she would improve her English but CHloe and George insisted in speaking to her in Chinese all the time. My Chinese improved.

We bought season tickets to Waterworld (see photo) (it is only open in July and August), which is full of pools, slides, large wet bouncy bubbles and rapids. We have been going every week, and several times to local pools. Considering the weather these places have been surprisingly uncluttered.

About an hour's bus ride from here is Tian Ping Mountain. Tian Ping clearly has the title ¡®mountain¡¯ as an honorary thing, because it would have failed the height test if it were given out for technical merit. Despite being more of an optimistic hill than a mountain it is a surprising good looking place; temple buildings and animal shaped rock outcrops scattered around tree covered slopes. On top of a pleasant walk around well maintained gardens there are opportunities to spend more money on a brief horse ride (see photo), archery, a boating lake and a shooting gallery (another photo); of course there are the usual souvenir stalls, noodle counters and photographers as well. Chloe was keen to climb the mountain in the midday sun (see photo)

I heard that David won a music competition - very well done to him. Is this a talent he wants to develop? How is the football going? How are Josh and Daniel?

Must go - we have been invited to lunch by a property developer.

Nick


2004-07-24
Dear Tim

I am sorry that I have been a bit remiss with the emails this year; I have generally felt more hassled, though the last two weeks have been a great time to relax. Hopefully you got my email for Matthew and Bridget with the latest photos of Chloe and George.

The digital camera has been fantastic, and not just in being able to send photos across to people. With an old camera I would take photos cautiously aware of the cost of processing a dud. Now I just shoot them off willy nilly. The other great advantage is viewing them: instead of a big wad of photos waiting to be sorted in my bottom drawer I can view them easily on my computer, which I do regularly.

We picked up your parcel from the post office today. Thank you very much. George received the duplo cars just before we were due to go out and was consequently very reluctant to leave the apartment: he has been revisting his duplo all afternoon. He was initially confused about who had given them to him, 'Thank you dad.' he said as he took the packages from me. 'It's not from me, George, it's from your Uncle Tim.' I explained. George, not understanding the concept of a postal system let alone its mechanics, looked at me is surprise, 'Uncle Tim is here?' It took a while to explain you were still in England, yet your present was here.

Michael has corrupted George into a great Danger Mouse fan. He gave 3 DVDs while he was here and George insists on watching as many episodes every day as he thinks he can get away with. He also inflicts his rendention of the not very extensive theme song upon us at regular intervals. George's other great passions are bike riding, flinging himself manically into water and shooting people. He is not a terribly complex boy.

Thank you very much for the two books. They look like good fun, so I shall save them for when term begins and I need cheering up again. At the moment I am reading, 'Three Kingdoms,' one of the four classic Chinese novels. It is over 2000 pages and was written in the Ming dynasty, after the invention of the printing press because you really would have had a nervous breakdown if you were asked to copy out the contents. I am up to page 650 and when I have knocked this one of the head I only have Journey to the West to down and I would have completed all four. Three Kingdoms is similar to Outlaws of the Marsh: they are both set at the end of a dynasty (the Han in the former; the Song in the later) and detail the herioc efforts of a noble warriors trying to preserve the dying dynasties. They are boy's own adventures in contrast to 'Dream of Red Mansions' which was set in the mid-Qing dynasty and is a gossipy soap opera of the decline of a noble house. It is a girl's book and I have never got beyond page 1200 despite two efforts. I am sure it is a more sophisticated read than Journey to the West, on the basis that almost anything that could provide the basic material for the crazily dubbed 1970s series, 'Monkey' has got to irretrivably base and good fun. One for next Summer holiday.

I have attached four things I have written recently: three of them in the last couple of weeks as I am trying to get back to the habit of regular writing. Tell me what you think: are they any good?

Nick


2004-04-21 Hello (from Katherine)
Hi, everyone:

How was your Easter? Hope you all enjoyed some nice sunshine.

The weather in Suzhou is getting very warm and today¡¯s temperature is around 25 centigrade. Ruth had a stomachache this morning and stayed at home. She took the dog out for a walk, did a little cross-stitch. She also watched one episode of ¡®friends¡¯ and told me the funny bits in it in an excited and incoherent manner. I curbed the urge to tell her how to retell a story in a calm way, I cannot do it well either. Chloe has done very well this term. I attended the parent meeting and talked with her teacher. She is a hard worker and emotionally very mature. The teacher heard her saying to a friend:¡¯ Olivia, that¡¯s not very kind of you. You have hurt my feeling and I feel like crying.¡± And the friend did stop what she was doing. Another time in a cake shop she was playing around and chatted happily with the waitresses who were very friendly towards her. She felt happy and well liked. She has that lovely smile on her face. Suddenly she came towards me and there were tears in her eye. She was trying hard to hold back the tears. She told me that a woman who just left the shop said to her: ¡®you are very naughty and I don¡¯t like you.¡± I told her that of course some people would dislike her; it is as natural as that some people would like her. She took it well and went away, played in a quiet and subdued manner. The teacher also told me that her attitude in learning has improved. Her best friend Olivia is a Singaporean whose mum is very pushy towards her daughter¡¯s academic progress. Chloe would not want to fall behind her friend in any way. She has made a lot of progress. She is reading fluently now, of course she still struggles over some difficult words. George is a very good-natured child, always having a smile on his face. He is getting willful, too. One morning I took him to the gate waiting for the school bus. He told me that he forgot to bring his car. I told him he could not go back to fetch the car now for he is going to miss the bus. One minute later I heard the girls shouting his name. Tuning around I saw George on the stepping-stones across the little stream ten metres away from us. I shouted his name and he simply ignored me. The bus came and went. I ran back home and met him on the way, he was huffing and puffing from all the running, face red, sweat on his forehead, steaming actually. He saw me, stopped and looked at me, looked worried: ¡®mum, are you angry with me?¡¯ I took him home and told him off. He was quite, looked rather repentant. Then he looked at me, began to make funny faces. Not out of naughtiness but of wanting to amuse me. I tried hard not to laugh but failed.

Life here is all right. I have made two friends I see on regular basis. They are mums who have similar age children as my George. Julia is a mid thirty fashion lover who was educated in one of china¡¯s most prestigious university (Beijing second foreign language college) and new-south Wales University in Australia. She worked as marketing and sales manager in some big name IT companies. She always wants to learn and is currently taking English lessons from me. She is open, hard working, but never punctual. After some time with her I realize that is possibly not the worst vice as long as you take a book with you or cross-stitch which make the waiting time more constructive. Today we went to master of nets garden with Collin, a Canadian whose wife is a teacher working in the same school as Nick. We agreed to meet at 9:40, then cycle there together. She appeared 15 minutes later, meticulously dressed up. It was fun in the garden. Collin was really impressed with the garden saying how elegant the building style and how beautiful the carvings are. Julia said to me in Chinese that she couldn¡¯t believe how stupid our ancestors were. The reason: while Europeans were developing modern technologies and weapons so that they were able to become powerful and wealthy, the Chinese were busy carving those intricate and tedious patterns on wood and stones. Fair point, but I argued it is art. Maybe people did derive some pleasure from it. Julia¡¯s reply is that if our ancestors have a bit more financial brain, we would be so much richer now. We had lunch together and Julia insisted the restaurant should also give me a free cup of coffee other than the coffee provided along with her meal. she got what she wanted. A very enjoyable morning.

My father is coming to stay with us for some time. We are all excited about it other than I am worrying about my father¡¯s reaction of the two dogs. Their food bill amount to the same number as my mother¡¯s monthly retirement wage.

Any way it should be fun having him here. He is a very active man and life here will be a bit different.

All the best to you all.

Love Katherine



2004-03-11
Dear Tim

Sorry its taking a while to reply. I have been very busy recently, as you guessed, and also felt a little under the weather.

The head of humanities job is quite a challenge given that I have no extra time to do it. I am having to write a policy document with no time to do it at all. I find it quite stressful, although I like both aspects of my job - the teacher and the administration, I just wish management had arranged poroper time for it.

There also has been a lot of flu around; both girls have been unwell, and although I don't think I succumbed completely I have felt achy and drained for the past week or so - pressure of work hasn't helped.

Generally not much has happened sine you and mum returned. The children are back in a school routine. Chloe's party went well. Ruth has got a new French friend and has been socialising a lot recently. George is still a happy lump.

Hope all is well with you

Nick




2004-01-05
I am sending this to everyone partly because I cannot remember who asked me what.

I was back to school today after an incredibly hectic Christmas break - very pleasant though. We visited a few more of the local beauty spots and had some adventures along the way.

I think K has aready replied about Christmas presents. Which reminds me - send my thanks to Jean for the book, I will get round to a letter soon.

Somebody was telling me something about Freud and it struck me that I really didn't know anything about him. I don't really have the time, energy or inclination to read anything original, but a beginners guide to Freud and Jung would be appreciated. I would also like a biographies of Napolean and FDR and a general history of Russia especially the period from Peter the Great to the end of the nineteenth century. Any good popular science books, especially on biology.

Other things that would be extremely useful: baking powder; custard; glitter; gold/sliver spray; birthday ideas for Chloe include art and craft kits from Woolworth. George likes duplo (I know June is a long way away, but we can store things).

Tim or mum - is my Alexander Murray book on the History of Maths hanging around anywhere in either of your places - it might be with mum on the bookshelf outside on your bedroom. Tim - can I borrow your book onthe French Revolution?

The girls are really looking forward to seeing their grandma and uncle Tim. We have worked out a couple of schedules depending on what you feel you are up to. The weather here has been very mild but I strongly suggest that you bring warm weather clothing as we may go up a mountain. We do have heating in our apartment, contrary to popular belief, but it is not a centrally heated and not well insulated so while it is possible to keep it hot it is quite expensive to do so (expensive on an English scale) so we prefer to put a jumper on and an extra layer on in bed.

Thanks to Matthew and Bridget for the presents - George loves the duplo giraffe; and Ellen for the books. The children will be sending proper letters in due course. Did the boys get their presents from us?

Nick

2003-12-13
Dear All



Hopefully life will be slightly less hectic for the next few weeks; although that does not seem that likely with Christmas coming up. There is only a week left of term and as the students sat their exams last week the real term is already over. I have a busy weekend of marking ahead but otherwise there are not too many stresses at the moment. I have prepared lessons next week explaining the history of Christmas, for many of the children I teach they do not get days off school in their own country for Christmas and really know nothing about it.



The girls have also had exams this week, although George has thankfully been spared. That is not to say that some of the parents hadn¡¯t asked for K1 exams, one parent of a K2 child asked the head of kindergarten why her four year old wasn¡¯t getting weekly spelling tests: no prizes for guessing which country at the end of the Malay peninsular that mother was from.



Ruth seems to have done well, although it is school policy not to give averages so it is difficult to tell. It says something of the type of school it is that Ruth scored 95% in her science test and was disappointed that she got 5 wrong. I had a look at her revision sheets and they included classifying species and the technical names for parts of the plant like chlorophyll and what their functions were. Goodness only knows what will be left for her to study by the time she gets to secondary.



George has taken to roller skating around the house and we only suffered one bruised pot plant before he got the hang of it. He has a remarkably good sense of balance; I can¡¯t imagine where it is from.



We shall be having guests round soon so I should get ready.



Nick

2003-12-07
Dear Tim

I am sorry that it has taken me all week to reply - I have felt swamped recently. Next week is exam week and I have been writing the little blighters recently in addition to Libby's exams while she is on maternity leave. To sort out an exam - thinking of suitable questions, scanning in sources of evidence, formating it all, proof reading, collating the photocopies and then depositing them in the appropriate place take at least three hours per exam; I have eight to write. This is in addition to my usual teaching load, a mad dash to catch up on all marking so that students are up to date before the exams, form tutor responsibilities (including sorting out new students - two in my form in the last week), head of department stuff and a two hour meeting for the teacher rep com. And after all that I come back to the chaos of my family in the run up to Christmas.

I have thought a lot about your itenary. You wil first come while I am still working so that you can see something of Chloe before she jets off to Germany. A week in Suzhou is anyway a good idea - it is a major tourist city and frequently mentioned in Chinese literature. A representative sample of Suzhou's delights would take about three or four days. Then there are a whole bunch of things to do in Shanghai. Hangzhou - another famous old city and Wuxi, which is a beautiful place on the lake are also nearby. You can't go without without clocking up a couple of water towns, not least because I have suffered the lot, and they are worth a look. Historically Jiangsu is China's richest province and frequent residence of emperors, military rebels such as the Ming general San Guo Feng, and mad, religious rebels like the Tai Pings. Nanjing, Jiangsu's old imperial capital, would also be worth a look. K will also research a more countryside location so that you can both see something of pastroal China. So far everything is within a four hour train journey of Suzhou. I figured mum would not want anything too demanding, and this way we can make frequent returns to Base Sudu to take stock. My only other thought is that mum might want to take a look a Beijing while she is in this part of the world. It is about a two hour flight and we couldn't all go because of the expense; but she might want to have a look.

The bookshelves look great - if you have the money why not make your home into a luxury bachelor pad, expecially as you are going to pay off the mortgage soon.

Glad to hear that you are still perservering with the Spanish. When the mortgage is all paid off you will have to spend a couple of years in a Spanish speaking country to make yourself fluent. It really is the only way - get a tefl qualification and teach English: it would better than living off rent money from your flat because it will force you to interact.

Although I am tired and hassled at the moment I am using Chinese more socially and have continued with lessons. I am participating more and more in conversations and discussed life with people who would have been a brick wall. I can also make sense of children's stories and can get the gist of many newspaper stories. Unfortunately the other aspect of learning more is that I am increasingly aware of what I don't know. When K talked with her friends I used to switch off completely; now that I can pariticipate it is far more frustrating to come across sections that I don't understand.

Everyone here is fine - I'll send a general email with other news.

Nick


2003-12-07
Dear All



My weeks continue to be very busy but they are flying past and I am amazed that it is more than three months since this term began and just two weeks to this Christmas break. We haven't thought much about Christmas yet: what a big difference advertising, or its absence makes; the girls and especially George have been barely aware of Christmas's approach. In the last week they have been preparing for the school¡¯s Christmas concert and yesterday went to the expat Christmas party, but even so the demands for presents have yet to kick in. Remarkably, without consumer goods being dangled in front of them they are all quite content with what they have. Clearly the purpose of industrial production is no longer to satisfy needs but to create them.



The expat party was our first of the season. At 3 pounds a ticket for a buffet at the Sheriton, clearly a deal was made; part of which was that it started at 10.30 am. The children took part in a nativity. Ruth was one of two narrators and did a very professional job ¨C everyone else including Chloe as an angel and George as a shepherd had non-speaking parts.



On the bus on the way home, George was sitting on Katherine's lap, clutching his plastic trumpet; he gave a mournful toot before drifting off. K turned to me, sitting behind, "He still has the energy to blow his trumpet." George suddenly roused himself, "Budui mama, wo chui laba"; literarily" that's not right mum, I blew the trumpet". Clearly what was not right was Katherine speaking in English.



Chuggie has settled in and is now sleeping or at least less noisy at night. The children are putting up the Christmas tree and Chug has been put in a cage.



Nick

2003-11-29
Dear All

Things here are going well at home, but busy, busy, busy at work. The girls are very much settled, and Ruth is beginning to do a lot better at school. Her teacher last year was interesting and inspiring and Ruth loved her, just she wasn't very good at maths. This was fine for those many children with personal tutors (our school is full of them) or have lots of natural ability but Ruth was struggling. This year Ruth has a plodder for a teacher: Ruth doesn't find him interesting, but her maths has come on leaps and bounds. Last year she seemed to go backwards - forgetting the times tables she knew, now she knows them all up to 10 and can use them to solve three step problems.

Expectations are very high at the school. Ome Singaporean parent asked the head of kindergarten why the 4 years olds were not given weekly spelling tests. One delegation of nine Singaporean parents gave a Year One teacher a nine point plan to improve results in her class. They are insane. Few parents are content with the extension of the school day to 4 and provide all sorts of extra lessons for their children at the weekend and in the evening.

A colleague organised the school's first disco last month. A parent wrote into complain that teenagers were allowed to get close to each other in a darkened room; and, as we are an international school, each national group should have put on a display of their national dance (which, as one wit pointed out, is probably now disco). I jokingly said to one parent at my first parent-teacher interview that I needed to beat the child to get work out of him, and I was told I had full permission.

But then the wealth discrepencies outside our door are incredible. K's Hong Kong friend, Louis, earns US$ 8000 a month while the average worker in his factory gets US$130 a month. Asians puts a very high premium on universtiy education, far more than we do and it is difficult to become part of the elite without one.

I am having to type this with my feet up (literally, I rarely get the meataphorical chance) as Ruth's new dog, Chug is teething and finds my feet particularly inviting. I bought Chug a couple of weeks ago and I have been exhausted ever since. On his first night he whined most of the night. Chug is only two months old and someone suggested that he missed him mum; that same someone informed Ruth, probably wanting to remain anonymous from me, that we should put a clock next to him when he slept so that he would think it was his mother's heartbeat. To my surprise it worked brilliantly, right up to the time the alarm went off. Chug was frantic for about the next half hour and I really never got back to sleep.

Not many nights after this I was woken by K at 4.30. Chug had been nibbling her toes and she was concerned that he was rabid. This is despite the fact that he had displayed no other symptoms adn was bought as a puppy from a neighbour, with a conspicious absence of virilent dog viruses in her apartment. Nevertheless I was required to examine the dog and cross-reference him against the internet sites.

Chuggy's nocturnal adventures have been particularly annoying as school is becoming more and more demanding. Since I became head of humanities a couple of months ago I have been regularly doing 50 - 55 hours a week. I would still much rather be here than Lytham as my twenty hours teaching is actually a pleasure and not a fight, but there is still a lot to do.

Well soon it will be the upside of teaching - in three weeks I get two weeks for Christmas, then two weeks back at school before three weeks for Spring Festival.

Nick

2003-11-17
Dear All



I am in a rare quiet moment, and as I don¡¯t know when the next one will be I will take the chance to give a quick update. The last few weeks have been incredibly hectic, and I in a doubtless-related move, my body decided to go down with a heavy cold yesterday. It was unfortunately timed to coincide with Libby¡¯s birthday meal, which I attended anyway.



I am sure I have mentioned Libby several times before. She is my colleague in the humanities department, and her and her partner Richard are our closest friends here. Libby has just started her maternity leave, and is due to pop her sprog anytime in the next week. Like Ruth their child will be born in China, although in vastly different circumstances. Katherine¡¯s parents paid 300 RMB to a ramshackle Sichuan medical facility for Ruth¡¯s birth (about 20 pounds), and felt overcharged. Libby and Richard are forking out 30 000 RMB (about 2000 pounds) at a state of the art hospital in Shanghai.



We have done a lot less socialising in large staff groups this year. This is partly because large staff groups are just too large, and partly because many of the organising figures have now left the school. Last year we had a birthday club: for a 10 RMB monthly contribution you were guaranteed a present on your birthday and every month we would celebrate that month¡¯s birthdays. That has now lapsed, and we have split into different social groups: primary and secondary mixing less and less. The other problem has been a big increase in our workload ¨C secondary has had its day extended to 4 pm, and my teaching load has increased by 30%. On top of this I, and several others, have head of department responsibilities which are particular burdensome as they are entirely new. I am working hard to produce basic documentation that every department should have. This week I have had meetings on four out of a possible five evenings and that will be the same next week. But I am enjoying it: it feels like I am part of a proper school that is going places.



The girls are increasingly happy and settled. Chloe¡¯s Chinese has progressed enormously and she is in a mainstream Chinese class with Taiwanese children ¨C this also means that she socialises with Chinese speakers. Ruth has been far slower: a fact that Chloe is beginning to use to her advantage. I came home to an empty apartment the other day. Katherine had taken George to the park but the first I knew of the girls¡¯ whereabouts is when I answered the doorbell to a panting Ruth, waving her hand in front of her face. ¡°Need water¡± is all she managed to rasp before rushing inside. I didn¡¯t need to ask what the problem was ¨C as soon as the water had been rapidly consumed she promptly told me. ¡°You must tell Chloe off. She tricked me.¡± Chloe returned soon after with studied innocence on her face. ¡°Tell her off,¡± Ruth shouted, ¡°she told me the red stuff was a sweet.¡± ¡°What red stuff?¡± I asked. Chloe produced a pepper from her pocket. ¡°This. I thought Mrs Yang told me it was a sweet, but she must have actually said it was too spicy. I didn¡¯t eat because I don¡¯t eat sweets before dinner.¡± ¡°Liar! You knew¡± Ruth screamed and Chloe¡¯s expression was a little too innocent.



Yesterday I bought a dog, after Perdy, dog 1, also bought it. Actually Perdy died some weeks ago; I don¡¯t think he made it beyond September. Ruth had been pestering us for a dog for some time, and she is incredibly focused in her demands. She doesn¡¯t go for the scatter gun ¨C just one thing, repeated and repeated (although as we are now far removed from advertising the girls¡¯ desire for consumer goods has fallen dramatically). Our will power and resolve finally collapsed in September; but dogs here can cost thousands of yuan. We were warned not to go to the Bird and Flower market but the lure of its cheapness was irresistible. Ruth picked Perdy from litter in a chaotically, capitalist street crowded with animals for sale on the grounds that she looked healthiest. I have since learnt that such looks can be deceptive and are sometimes chemically induced.



Perdy started well in our household, and I am only glad that Ruth¡¯s depressive friend declared that no animal from the Bird and Flower market lives more than three days after liberation. When Perdy died after a week Ruth, ever literal minded, consoled herself that she got four days more with her dog than most people got with theirs.



I like to think that Perdy was not only well taken of in her short life but that she got a good sending off as well. The funeral ceremony may have appeared simple but it represented an hour¡¯s worth of digging and another hour searching for appropriate wood, buying the tools and constructing a cross. Ruth said a few poignant words, lowered Perdy in and then we all got a spade and slowly buried her. Not quite all, for George had taken the opportunity of this moving moment to slightly fade, and reappear in the kitchen; where he conducted a brief, but brutally effective raid on the refrigerator.



Chug is not a replacement for Perdy as every life has an independent value, but if you choose not to consider that, then he is. He was not purchased at the Bird and Flower market ¨C our lesson had not only be learnt, but also rubbed in by a local who told us that the animals there were injected with stimulants before they are sold so that they look perky. Chug is a local, born in Sudu at the beginning of October and kept humanely by a pet owner, not an entrepreneur: which gave him the added advantage of being cheap.



We shall see how it goes ¨C Ruth is ecstatic and George is throwing tantrums for his own dog. But last night was trouble enough. First Ruth left the front door open in her hurry to rush next door to tell Yin Lu about Chug; and on her return could not find Chug. She searched our apartment for an hour, and then spent another tearful hour outside with a torch. She bumped into Chug¡¯s erstwhile owner, who came round to explain that Chug, not being suicidal, would not have rushed outside on a night like this (about 5 degrees), and must be hiding. Sure enough, what had taken Ruth an hour took me around three minutes as I discovered Chug on a pile of towels in a wardrobe, snoozing away. Worse was to come ¨C at about one this morning Chug started whining and didn¡¯t doze off to three. I have not felt good today.



Nick

2003-10-25
Dear All

I am sorry about the late arrival of this week¡¯s epistle, . Last week was secondary camp, called so for largely historic reasons, I suppose. Secondary still go, but our three star hotel is a far removed from a camp as flowers are from oaks, which is much to its credit, as Chinese hotels do not always evolve so far from rudimentary forms of human habitation (or from flowers).

To be honest I didn¡¯t really expect to end the first day making loud pig noises behind a clump of bamboo next to a radioactive stream, although the day¡¯s early promise had dissipated quickly. The early promise itself was the sun; after three days of drizzle, fears of a washout were high. For me, however the sun was somewhat of an irritant: I had packed all more waterproofs and warm clothing, and no space for sun cream.

The genuine, un-self-inflicted troubles began about thirty minutes after I arrived at school. A parent phoned: their child had missed their bus; could we divert our party of 150 through the city centre at rush hour to pick her up. Not that it was a difficult call to make; I am glad that it was not mine. The next one was though. A school bus was caught in traffic and wouldn¡¯t arrive for 45 minutes (at least that was the message that I got). I had two areas of responsibility ¨C travel and hotel rooms; the first travel decision the head of secondary thankfully preempted with a blunt no; this one he magnanimously left to me. I decided, without too much thought, that the school should bare some responsibility for a school bus being late, and that we would hold back one of our three coaches to wait for the four students abandoned aboard. 10 minutes later they duly arrived, looking bemused at the fuss: apparently the 45 minute figure was measured from some other nominal time that had little affect on our planning. Troubles with translations would be a recurring theme.

To be honest if these were the sum of our early problems then the trip had got off to a fairly good start: what we couldn¡¯t possibly know was that some unincluded items in our baggage would explode into such trouble and stress.

Miraculously for a school trip of over 150 souls, we left just ten minutes late, all chewing gums deposited safely in bins. We made it to our camp hotel in just two hours with plenty of time for lunch. We then divided into four teams for the afternoon¡¯s activities. I was in Green team, and we Greenies spent an afternoon on the activity field; the field may have been active, in grass growing I presume, but frequently we weren¡¯t. In two groups of 16 we tackled the assembled tasks. The first of which was 20-foot trapeze, which required one giant leap across the abyss, or at least 20-foot drop to our active field below, which frequently constituted an abyss to those marooned upon it. No doubt such a jump would have done the moral fibre of our pampered children no end of good if it had been left to such simple terms, and we had lost a few I am sure the parents would have understood their sacrifice for a hardy youth. But do-gooders will intervene and safety harnesses were fitted: as it happens we would only have lost a few of the smaller ones; I made it.

Next were the stairs to heaven, not literally as happens, as safety harnesses were again attached. The stairs were more of an oversized bamboo rope ladder with four feet between each step. Remarkably little Takatomo, who was barely taller than each step, managed the record time.

None of these activities were bad; it is just that we had to wait far too long for each one. The final two didn¡¯t require too much of a wait, but then they were just bad. First we had to tackle two, increasingly divergent poles. Pairs were required to walk along the poles leaning against each other. As they progressed, the amount they leaned increased, and of course the trust they placed in each other. The message was meant to be: the most you trust your partner the further you will progress. After the failure of a number of shorties, our six foot instructor asked for my help in demonstrating how this task should be completed. We duly completed it ¨C reinforcing the message that if you are taller, you will go further.

At least that activity was merely naff; it wasn¡¯t actually dangerous, the poles being a mere foot from the ground. I really don¡¯t know what the organisers were thinking of with the next one. There was a sheer wall, about ten foot high and our group were required to scale it, the punch being ¨C in the form of a human period. I did point out, with increasing vigour, that the whole thing was likely to collapse, and children get hurt, but the instructor assured me that he was a professional and knew what he was doing. Five minutes later the pyramid had collapsed and children were hurt.

We trudged back to the hotel rubbing sore limbs, just in time for our little surprise: three squad cars, full of police. Reports of a rogue school flaunting green card regulations had come in and they were taking no chances. First they wanted our green cards (residence permits). We didn¡¯t have them ¨C the hotel had told us that we didn¡¯t need them. The police insisted, we assured them we really didn¡¯t have them: we had reached one of those curious Chinese impasses. Give us your identity numbers from the green cards. We don¡¯t have those. Get them or you will have to leave. OK we¡¯ll ask the children to phone home and get the numbers, but I would surprised if we got all them (in fact we would have been surprised to get more than half). This conversation at least bought us time ¨C the police would come back the next day for the numbers. The first in our evening game schedule was ¡®hunt the green card number¡¯. It started with an unnecessarily complex and bizarrely translated form and then a set of instructions in three languages, followed by a mad rush to rooms to telephone home. I guess the next stage was inevitable: of the 124 children about 70 emerged from their rooms, having phoned home, asking ¨C so what did we need to know? Before returning to get correct information. All in all this cut about two hours into our evening activity, and just about half the children returned with correct green card information.

As we had a night¡¯s grace before the prospect of eviction we decided to continue with some kind of nighttime activity. Hence the pig noises.

Kevin, the new English teacher, had devised a game whereby students hunted for clues, and when they had got seven clues put them together to solve a riddle. The winning team being the one which first comes with the solution. The twist was that the teams hunted for the clues in an unknown garden, in the dark, and they located those clues by following the sounds of teachers making bizarre noises in unlikely locations. I had to alternate my own call of the pig with a call home to get my green card number, as everyone had been out earlier. Just wait a second, I have to call out like pig. Oink, oink!! Right, my green card is in the cupboard by my bed. Oink!

The police weren¡¯t happy with our seventy completed forms, but were curiously unwilling to just evict us from the hotel which their regulations apparently required them to do, so we could stay if we could find another thirty. So two teachers had a morning dominated by finding extra forms. Richard spent most of his day form sorting. And then at the end, a big gun in the government¡¯s development office turned up, asked the police what the hell they thought they were doing, frightening off the tourist trade, that clearly these regulations were meant primarily to control migrant workers, and not foreign schools; apologized to us, and assured us of his impeccable connections with the governor¡¯s office. The 87 hard won and carefully collated forms in Richard¡¯s hands wilted. So you will you need these then? The official, perhaps caught Richard¡¯s plaintive tone; erm yes, I can take them. And our eviction scare was all over.

Last week I was in Beijing, but I don¡¯t think the children will accept me spending any more time at the computer.

Nick

2003-10-04
Dear All

It is always sad to reach the end of a week off, however frequent they may be in teaching. I have managed to pack in just enough rest to prepare for the next few weeks. On Wednesday I go on secondary camp. Already this has involved a lot of work and the camp itself will prove exhausting. In theory the camp preparation should involve no work on our part: the whole effort given over to the professionals. Unfortunately the professional camp organizers are, in this instance comically bad.

Richard is in overall charge of the camp, and the man in the unfortunate position of liaising with the camp (dis)organisers. The plan Richard put to them was fairly simple. Activities are based around four separate sites, and as they are 120 children in our party we would break into four groups and rotate around the activities based on each site. Yes, they agreed, that¡¯s fine; we will come back next time with the plan of how that will all work out in practice. I was witness to the next meeting. It was scheduled for an hour: it actually took two hours. The activities were indeed divided into four blocks, but it gradually became apparent that those four blocks didn¡¯t actually correspond to the sites; so that students would have to travel between sites (some several kilometres apart) for individual activities. More bizarrely they had unilaterally abandoned Richard¡¯s idea that we break into smaller groups. We would have 120 children in one big block queuing up for activities that, in the case of abseiling, would take 5 minutes per person. The person at the back of that queue would only have to sit around for some ten hours. Richard stunned me with his patience, as I was on the verge of shouting, ¡®what kind of idiots are you?¡¯ And it wasn¡¯t even my baby. It took over an hour to untangle the mess they had created and get it back to Richard¡¯s original plan. And that was just the beginning.

I have been sorting the numbers for the coach and hotel. It takes a surprising amount of logistical detail ¨C none of which was interesting at the time and certainly would not be interesting in the retelling.

Otherwise this week has been taken up with generally idleness. We went swimming three times. The temperature dipped below 25 at the beginning of the week, so the children¡¯s pool was closed and the adult¡¯s pool is nearly deserted. On Thursday there was only one other person in the pool. We still managed to bump into them. Last Sunday we cycled to Lu Zhi, a canal town about 25 kilometres from here. Ruth Chloe managed both ways ¨C four hours of cycling in total.

Ruth is practicing her piano at the moment and I have my Chinese lesson soon


Nick

2003-09-30
Dear Tim

Coming for longer would be great. My holiday is the dates that I gave you: just a thought - uyou could come a few days earlier, perhaps the Wednesday, while I am still at work so that you could see Chloe who will be off to Germany during the Spring Festival. It would also give you and mum a chance to see a small slice of our ordinary life. Anyway it soesn't really matter and if the ball is rolling on the first dates then I can quite understand if it is too late.

Well, I am enjoying the best part of the teaching profession with a week off. It is Chinese national day on Wednesday so we have an early break. Obviously I am not complaining although I wasn't in great need of it. We cycled two hours to a local canal town on Sunday and two hours back. Ruth and Chloe were stars they cycled all the way and barely complained. The town was pleasant enough. We went with three Queenslanders - one a new colleague and two who are only holidaying in China. It was great to be with people who were so enthusiastic. The children, as ever, were celebraties and had there picture taken several times. In fact there was a bank of magazine photgraphers who made every appearance of following us around.

We have been swimming a couple of times - George loves it. He has an inflatable jacket that keeps his head above water and he propels himself around. He also likes to be chucked - he is a torpedo baby. We are going into town today.

Nick

2003-09-26
Dear All



I am sorry that I have not been able to keep up with emailing recently. I am far busier this year than last, and now I am head of humanities as well. Of course it is nice to busy and I am finding my job more fulfilling than last year, but it is also more tiring. I have little time to read, and it took me three nights this week to complete watching U571 on DVD. Nevertheless the nice side of teaching kicks in today as I begin a week¡¯s holiday.



The head of humanities post did not come as much of a shock. Jon Lane, the principal had intended to create head of department posts last March but delayed so that the new staff would have equal opportunity to apply. Of the three people in my department I am the only one in much of a position to apply ¨C Libby will give birth in the very near future and obviously has other priorities, and Louise teaches more ESL than humanities. In the event I was indeed the only person to apply. Not that there was a rush in any of the departments: the terms of the posts were not enthusiastically received, and there was a week of politics and intrigue before any applications were submitted.



Jon Lane is the type of principal that views leadership in military terms. He may have a small group that he consults with, but as for the wider mass decisions are announced preemptively. We are then left in no position accept to obey or revolt: the fact that the decision has been formally announced leaves no middle ground. With this method comes a style that might generously be described as assertive and decisive or less generously as aggressive and sometimes downright bullying.



Of course Jon Lane doesn¡¯t grab teachers¡¯ crisps and empty the packets into a puddle, or push them hard in the back of the head, although I have no doubt there was a time that his peers were subjected to such things. His aggression is more subtly expressed. In a meeting he announces that the structure of the school year and the school day will change: this will increase teachers workload in the short term in re-organising work for this; and in the long term by administrating the change. Jon Lane¡¯s intention is to inform us of his decision and to receive questions so that he can clarify it. Our intention is to debate. Jon Lane does not do debates. The first question is: how will your change affect the present structure of exams? Perfectly reasonable. He replies: I don¡¯t understand your implication. Question repeated. Explain what you mean, he demands. Question repeated in more detail. ¡°Well, that is a small matter that you will have to organise with your colleagues. Are there any relevant questions?¡± And all the time in the same brusque tone.



Some it came as some surprise last year when Jon Lane created the Teachers Representation Committee. It appeared to be a unionised voice for teachers, a significant rival power base for a man who clearly enjoyed the exercise of power. Of course it would be no such thing, or at least he did not intend it to be.



When Jon Lane came to the school a year and half ago there were 280 pupils and a staff proportionate to that number. Now there are 550 pupils and a far larger staff equally proportionate to it. Six years ago there were 20 pupils and two staff. In those days if a teacher had a problem they would take it to the principal, which generally happened as they chatted over break. And such a tradition lasted until Jon Lane¡¯s arrival. Unfortunately with rising staff numbers the chat over break extended into his office time and threatened his routine of going home at 5pm promptly. The TRC was his solution: representatives use their time to gather and summarise problems and complaints. These are brusquely dealt with in one go at a monthly meeting, and the reps must return empty handed with the task of explaining the stoney reception to individual complainants. Jon Lane has lost no power and gained lots of time. To emphasise the point he has designed a constitution which specifically precludes the TRC from any part of the decision making progress, including even a prior consultation.



I was elected one of the mugs to the TRC buffer zone. Generally I have found the experience an almighty waste of my time; although, it, of course, gives me a warm glow to think that I am saving Jon Lane¡¯s. The head of department issue was a time I could make a difference, albeit slight.



The memo advertising the job came out Monday morning on what later became known as a ¡®scrappy piece of paper¡¯, although it was really standard issue A4 entirely uncrumpled. It stated that we were all welcome to apply for the head of department positions, there would be a $50 pay rise and we should get our applications in by Friday. For further details of what the job entailed we should consult the job description in the staff handbook. I, amongst others, consulted it, and found a list of duties that made the HoD job comparable to the two co-ordinator positions: both of which received an extra $250 and were on two-thirds timetables. I asked Frank Davis the new head of secondary, if we could have a meeting with him and Jon Lane to discuss what exactly the job would entail. ¡°No¡± he was quite firm, although less brusque than the single syllable suggests, Frank¡¯s style is far more collegiate. I made it clear in my meeting with Frank that I was acting in my TRC capacity although I had no formal authority to do this. In the next few days I gauged the feeling amongst staff in preparation for raising the issue at the next staff meeting on the Thursday.



Fortunately Frank¡¯s meetings don¡¯t drag on. He is a good manager ¨C his proposals are positive and well thought out so that we don¡¯t waste time debating theories. At the end I raised my hand at the call for any other business. I suggested that we agree a common front about HoD applications and press for a meeting. Points were raised, a short debate ensured and I asked for a vote on whether to ask for a delay on the next day¡¯s deadline so that we could have a meeting the next week. 16 voted with me; none against; four abstentions: I asked Frank, who is a maths teacher to count the votes. Some people said that was rubbing in the point.



The next day we got a note from Jon Lane saying that the deadline for applications would be delayed and that there would be a meeting to discuss the posts on Monday. Some kind of victory.



I applied and had my interview soon afterwards. Although I was the only candidate Frank made it clear that the post might be left open. Perhaps it was his way of getting back at me, but I don¡¯t think he is the type. Strangely though Jon Lane praised me for the action I took ¨C or as near to praise as he is ever likely to get.



Anyway I am now $600 a year richer ¨C just as the dollar is collapsing, and far busier.



Love to all



Nick




2003-09-06
Dear Mum and Tim



Just a few quick thoughts on a trip to China at Spring Festival. My holiday starts on Saturday 17th Jan and goes through to Sunday 8th Feb, which is a three week period. Tim, you mentioned coming for two weeks, although, of course you would be welcome for longer.



My plan is that we spend about a week in this area (although not necessarily in one block): there is a lot to see in this area. Suzhou has famous gardens, at least a couple of which should be viewed, and there are canal towns locally, and Shanghai of course. Slightly further afield are the Yellow Mountains and the West Lake, both acknowledged beauty spots. The Yellow Mountain trip might depend on exactly how much time we have



We would then spend a week in Sichuan, based in Chengdu, the province capital where Katherine and I were married. Chengdu, being a city of more than 10 million is not short of things to do, but in the area are Zhou Sai Gou ¨C a famous beauty spot and a couple of mountains, one of which, Le Shan, is carved into the world¡¯s largest budda.



This itinerary has the advantages that many of things have not already been seen by any of us, and Tim can see more of the mid east and mid west that he has so far bypassed.



Nick

2003-08-20 Back
Dear All

I am sorry it has taken a while to send an email. My computer seems to be on the blink: I can't get on to hotmail; at the moment I am using a school computer. Ruth was particularly disappointed as she has written an email to grandma and can't send it.

Mum: thanks for letting us stay at your new house. The girls had a great time, and Ruth in particular was very sorry to leave. We had quite a few tears. But they have both settled back into life here - it is no longer the unknown for them. So far I have had to endure two games of monopoly each one lasting at least two hours. But I have yet to find the right batteries for Operation. We also borrowed Uno (thanks Ellen - I din't realise it was yours until I opened the box), which the girls enjoy a lot.

George was very excited to see us - apparently he had been asking about us for days. He seems to have spent a large part of the last five days haring about the house in wild delirium with his sisters. When he is not doing that he is playing with his new Playstation steering wheel. No-one else is allowed to touch it.

Chloe managed six hours sleep on the flight over; Ruth only two, but I din't sleep at all. By the time I went to bed I hadn't slept at all; this didn't stop me getting up in the middle of the night. I slept throough last night for the first time. I am just not cut out for the jet-setting life style. Chloe had no problems getting back into a routine.

The principle and vice-principle are back, but none of my old colleagues. However the new staff arrived yesterday: there are 19 of them. Katherine has met our new neighbours and I saw a further two at school today. A high turnover of acquaintances is a definite aspect of this job.

Love to you all

Nick

2003-07-04
Dear All



This won¡¯t be a long email as I am feeling quite tired at the moment. I have had a very busy few weeks and the humidity is quit energy sapping. I mistakenly extended my football season one more match yesterday. I only played for half an hour and I have since drunk a couple dozen cups of water and I still don¡¯t need to go to the toilet.



The weight of final administration has fallen particularly hard on me because I teach so many classes and am a form tutor. I have written something like 110 reports in the last week and proof read even more. I also have to collate all my form¡¯s marks. On top of that I am expected to correct the printer¡¯s mistakes on the Year 8 page for the Year Book.



I haven¡¯t really much else to write as so much of my time has been dominated by work and irritating admin tasks. George has finished nursery, and K is enjoying spending a lot more time with him. This morning George was up at the crack of dawn, as usual, so he could ride around on his motorbike. The girls are winding down, and there aren¡¯t many lessons going on at the moment.



Nick
2003-06-22
Dear Ellen



Tim phoned me this morning and mentioned that you had not received my email that I sent a few days ago in response to yours about meeting us at the airport. Are you sure you didn’t get it: it began with ‘thanks for your thanks’ and contained a little anecdote about George at nursery? It wasn’t sent back to me here so I assumed that it got through. Unfortunately I did not take my usual precaution of typing the damned thing in Word first of all, so I don’t have a copy. Anyway I remember the main points and as the girls are at piano practice, George is out riding his motorbike and our cleaner is doing all the household chores I have a moment or two to write it all out again.



First, thanks very much for your offer of meeting us at the airport; I am very grateful. Our plane leaves Shanghai at 12.30 pm local time on July 20th; I believe that it arrives at Heathrow at 4.30pm London time. I will ring up the airline (Virgin) closer to the time to get a confirmation on these details and others such as which terminal we land at.



I am glad you liked the photos: my favourite is the girls on the roller coaster. I now have it on my desktop, replacing the girls and George drinking coke; when George looks at it he asks: “Lin Lin zar nar?” – where is George?



He is speaking more and more Chinese; he certainly speaks it as much as English. He is also very good at deciding whom to address in which language: white faces get English; yellow faces get Chinese. If a request is turned down in one language it is repeated in the other.



His nursery gave him a Chinese test last week. A test which led to George occupying star position in the nursery’s anecdote board. Miss Hu told him to imagine three animals in a line: a horse in front; a goose in the middle; a fox behind. “What,” she asked, “is in front of the goose?” Quick as a flash George responded: “Ta du zi.” (his stomach). Let no-one be in doubt where George’s attention is fixed.



Nick

2003-05-31
Dear All



Another week has passed as rapidly as the rest, and now we are only six weeks away from the end of the school year. England seems so distant now, George does not remember it all, and the girls no longer look to the idea of England to solve whatever emotional crisis they are presently suffering.



I am very busy at the moment, as several events are coinciding . Next week is Arts Week and I stupidly agreed to edit the Arts Week newspaper, which is a daily chronicle of arty events. I have to pick and organise the journalists, OK with colleagues their forays into arty activities, supervise their writing and then finally edit it. It would be easier to do it all myself than to organise around twenty student volunteers into creating something sensible. I am going in this afternoon to complete the first edition. Fortunately my two sub-editors, Dong Hyun and Jae Ryeong (both Korean) are a whiz with computers so the paper looks good even if the content is slightly dodgy.



My other misfortune is to have landed up as a teacher representative on the newly created teacher representation committee, which I have a strong feeling will be the bane of my life. I am not sure where the idea came from, but it was in fact created on the initiative of the principle, Jon Lane. Five or six teachers will meet with him and the school’s business manager, Lisa Liu from time to time to discuss school issues that press on teacher’s lives. For him, we are a useful tool. He can find out the general areas of concern among staff in a non-confrontational atmosphere, and before any resentments build up, and the representatives will end up as the carriers and explainers of unwanted truths. It has already sucked away hours of my time this week, and as I become an increasingly high profile lightening rod for people’s problems, it sure to increase.



And I have exams to write.



But mostly thing are good here: a full blown Summer arrived 4pm on Thursday evening; it had been a Spring-like mild all day and then, just 15 minutes before our weekly football game, the weather decided to get all hot and humid. I rapidly decided to exchange my usual free role in midfield (the headless chicken position) to an anchoring role at the back (shouting at fellow defenders to cover such and such striker and then abusing them when we let in yet another one). Even with not much movement below my mouth, I was still drenched in sweat long before the game was over.



The nice side about this weather is that you can sit outside of an evening. Not that there are two many places to do so. Katherine and I went out last night with John and Marie, two colleagues from England, looking for just such a point of external consumption, but we ended up encased in a Brazilian restaurant before rounding of the evening in a Sicilian bar.



Ruth’s piano is coming on very well indeed: her piano teacher says that she has a good sense of rhythm, so clearly she doesn’t have too many of my genes. Chloe also started on Friday, so we will be able to set them up for piano duels.

Nick

2003-05-17 Present Life
Dear All



Things are definitely back into routine this week – the second week back from the holiday, and only eight more weeks to the next – that is the great thing about teaching, the never ending countdown to the next break.



Not that are present hard-worn routines are entirely back to routine – we ourselves cancelled the girls swimming lessons, and their dance was cancelled by the teacher: not, I hasten to add, in response to some crime of Ruth and Chloe, but to the looming threat of Sars. Many of the town centre bars are also lying low for the duration. But Ruth still had piano this morning and their art club is still brazening out the crisis. More irritating to us on a daily basis than the shutting of clubs and activities is the shutting of Sudu’s east gate; ostensibly to control the spread of Sars, but more likely to stop the spread of rumours that nobody is doing anything about it. The reason given for the east gate’s metamorphosis into a flower front is that it controls the relentless onslaught of Sars; the missing link in this explanation is of course the how. It would appear in fact to facilitate the spread of all sorts of nasty things (including as it happens fights with guards – although not with me involved I assure you) as at 8 o’clock every morning there is now a bottleneck of residents and workers at the highly inconvenient north gate.



Sars is a presence in everything we do – Sports Day and International Children’s Day have been cancelled; everyone entering the school (including staff and children on a daily basis) is required to have their temperature checked. There is even a sink by the main gate so that visitors can clean their hands before coming into any kind of contact with the school. Nobody, however, has asked the guards to stop spitting. I have started eating my sandwiches in my classroom, tired of the endless Sars conversations: the latest revolves around rumours that the dreaded lurgy has hit the Industrial Park – it is doubtless queuing up this very minute outside our north gate, and will be refused admission by the guards.



The good news as far as the school’s finances are concerned (we have lost several Sars fearing pupils already) is that Taipei is on the UN danger list – we can at least guarantee the continued presence of the school’s vast Taiwanese body. Not that it is that easy to leave Suzhou at the moment; Shanghai has road blocks all around and it can take hours to get through, although the roads were fairly clear yesterday following the rumour that Shanghai had cut itself off entirely.



Other than this there is not much to report – the weather has been quite wet this week, and our temperatures are probably little different to yours, which is very nice as I am dreading the onset of the hot and humid weather. This morning was a little dryer so I took Chloe and George to the sand park while Ruth was at piano. George is playing on one of his toy cars at the moment and the girls are romping around Sudu with the New Zealand boys (Coree 8, Dillon 7, Elliot 5).



Nick

2003-05-10
Dear Tim

Thanks for sending on the takeaway article. I wasn't able to open it however. Html can be quite dodgy - China blocks geocities, and is narrowing all bandwidth to restrict info, other sites like the BBC go on and off. Could you cut and paste it onto an email?

Thanks for the account of the wedding. K laughed at your role in affairs. You should carry on with the writing - your two stories from the States were good. I don't get time to be reflective or to go back and restructure (structure is my major problem), but I figure if i get enough down now, one day I will be free of my three little distractions and I can go back and do something with the raw material that I have accumulated.

I didn' thtink that the best man would read out my email in full. I really wrote it so that Matt could steal bits he thought were relevant and pass on the rest to Ellen directly. Did it go down OK? To be honest, I feel embarrased that it was read out entirely.

I don't think there is much hope that others will give me an account of the day - you will have to pad out your own.

I have written to mum about what's going on here and i can't be bothered to repeat myself so i have copied it

Everything is fine here - back to school this week Ruth stayed over at a friend's apartment last night: Madison who is Canadian. Chloe has two friends here at the moment, playing barbies in her bedroom: Maddison (note the extra d) from Australia and Caroline who is Danish. This morning Chloe made a clay pot in the art and craft club that Gutrund and Katherine organised (the member are Ruth and Chloe, Nora (from Germany), Madison with the one d, and Adam, an American boy). Ruth didn't go this morning because it happened to co-incide with her piano lesson. We went to the Gloria hotel for lunch with Glory and Sze Ying, two Singaporean colleagues/friends.

Sars is becoming more and more of an issue around the place. I read in the Guardian Online that Nanjing had quarantined 10 000 people; Nanjing is in our province. Shanghai is almost impossible to get into at the moment because of stringent road blocks checking the temperature of everyone and where they originally came from. Rumours are rife that Shanghai is attempting a Beijing-style cover up to maintain business confidence. I personally am less worried about the disease itself than its non-medical effects. Already Shanghai is inaccessible - our main port of call in an emergency; there is an eery quietness around the streets here as well, and all kinds of rumours are circulating. CNN goes off air everytime it mentions Sars. The number of children who have left school with no intention of returning is creeping up to 5%: and this is before Shanghai and Jiangsu have been listed as affected areas.

Nick


2003-05-03
Dear Tim

I have sent an e-mail to Ellen directly and to Mathew. There is not a big card insustry over here, and what there is quite ludicrous; anyway I thought e-mails with your own words have more of a personal touch. Nobody has mentioned what is being done about presents so I will just send over some money.

I have played Ellen's nuptials very low key over here as Ruth was very tearful when she heard that she would not be at the wedding and of course Chloe joins in. For the sake of all our sanity I haven't mentioned. It has helped that there has been so much to do over the past few weeks, and we have kept busy this week: dinosaur park on Monday and Tuesday; park on Wednesday; West Lake on a pleasure boat on Thursday and a fun fair yesterday. Sars fears have meant that all these usually packed destinations have been nearly deserted. It's beeen great.

Have a great day today - my thoughts are with you all

Nick




2003-05-02 Wedding Email
MATTHEW, I DON'T KNOW IF YOU WILL HAVE TIME TO READ OUT MY APOLOGIES OR YOU WOULD PREFER TO GIVE THE EDITED HIGHLIGHTS. I HAVE SENT COPIES TO MUM AND TIM JUST IN CASE YOU DO NOT CHECK YOUR EMAIL IN TIME.



Dear Matthew



Please could you pass on our apologies at not being present for Ellen’s wedding: the reasons are many and tedious, but Sars is the most recent to add to our list; everyone in cars, buses, trains and planes out of Shanghai this week had their temperature checked, and George was a little warm on Monday night – I am not sure we would have made it through. Anyway the thought of the thermometer in that many mouths was enough stop us trying.



But our thoughts will be with Ellen and Gary. They often are, as we have two daughters with very fond recollections of their aunt, and a two year old boy whose few words of English include the phrase, Auntie Ellen and Gary, which is recited whenever the phone rings. The girls have a bit more to say. Chloe, who enjoys the embarrassment of adults, loves to repeat the story of how she ate so many sweets with Auntie Ellen she was sick. Chloe’s stories about Katherine and me are far, far worse – and not e-mail material. But Ruth is the kind of girl who sticks the knife in your front, and so is fiercely loyal behind your back: I have lost count of the times she has proudly told me that she will grow up to be like her Auntie Ellen; and that Jean said she was just like Ellen at that age, and that people think she looks like Ellen.



And Ruth has every reason to be proud of the comparison. Ellen is intelligent, practical and humane; three qualities that rarely exist together in the same person – look at her hapless brothers. Gary clearly sees these qualities; I would not be sending this e-mail, and they would be not be celebrating today, if he did not; but how could Gary not see them? About the only person who has failed to see Ellen’s true worth is Ellen. For the many of us who have followed Ellen’s progress in her nurses’ diploma, the only thing that has surprised us about her success is her surprise at it.



Of course Ellen had a natural talent for the academic side of things. Her first essay, written with much trepidation, seventeen years after leaving school, was about the standard of my essays after seventeen years of school and university: she has long since left me standing.



But Ellen has arrived at the caring side of nursing through a succession of trials and errors. Many of the animals that were so instrumental in Ellen’s learning process have sadly passed away. Some of them quite suddenly.



I remember Ellen’s budgie when she was a teenager, although its name has long since slipped my mind. From an early age Ellen, not only thought of a creature’s physical welfare but its state of mind as well. So Budgie was fed and watered every day, and on Saturdays was allowed out of the cage for a taste of a real bird’s life, just round the bedroom of course: I think it kept Budgie sane. Until one fateful Saturday, when Budgie didn’t return to the cage, Ellen looked everywhere in her room, and Budgie’s disappearance became quite a mystery: Ellen’s windows were always closed on flight days and visitors sharply turned away before they could enter. Ellen herself was quite disturbed, and probably remained so for the few weeks after that Budgie’s disappearance remained a mystery. But not as disturbed as she would be when the mystery was finally solved. It was particularly unfortunate that it was Ellen that solved it, in light of her sensitive and loving nature; but it probably steeled her for the harrowing scenes she would later witness as a nurse. Three Saturdays later, Ellen lying on her bed, bored now that budgie was gone, decided that she would read a book. She reached for a fine looking spine on the shelf, pulled it out, and who should drop down, but a very flat budgie. A very dead budgie. Goodness knows how it got there.



I am not exactly sure what lesson Ellen received from this incident. My own was this: if ever one of my children goes missing in Ellen’s care, I’ll check her bookshelves first.



Certainly, if Ellen felt nervous about allowing pets out of cages after the budgie incident, she showed remarkable fortitude in overcoming it. Memory plays tricks with time and the sequence of events, but it seems to me, more than two decades later, that Budgie’s replacement, Tabitha the hamster, was out of her cage and scampering round the lounge within a few weeks of Budgie’s demise. At least the lounge didn’t have bookshelves. Unfortunately it did have Tinker, the carnivore cat.



And then there was our tortoise: although Ellen was never directly connected with its disappearance.



Ellen has made more luck with living things in recent years, as her patients and Gary would be very glad to know. I left my cat, Podge, with her twelve years ago, when I went off to university. Podge is still with her, safe from bookshelves, larger predators and mysterious disappearances. So far…



I wish Ellen all the best in her marriage. My fingers are crossed for Gary.



Much, much love



Nick, Katherine, Ruth, Chloe and George.

2003-05-01
Dear Tim

This is the second attempt at your email as I just had my first one blipped out. I usually type first in word, but took a risk this time and paid the price. the lcoal server is not greatly reliable. This new one will have a greater share of typos than usual.

I am the only person free of a cold here at the moment. George has been very clingy while the girls are coughing. We spent a couple of days in Changzhou, which is not far from here, at the beginning of the week. It has a large and modern dinosar park, but what with train and Sars the hotel was nearly empoty and the park - whch could hold thousands had less than a dozen people. Many of the rides were therefore closed - but there was enough going on for a very ful day, even if I did have to carry a very sorry George round most of the day. He is now just two pounds short of Chloe Mei, who is still a lot taller. George and Chloe's chinese is coming on very well, but I noticed at the park Ruth is going in the opposite direction and communicating with people by using English but shouting slowly. The gulf between hers and chloe's chinese is enormous.

We went to the park yesterday and built a large motte and bailey castle in the sand pit. we had 30 people watching this, discussing our progress.

I hadn't thought of a telegram; I didn' tthink that they were still possible. With three children it is very difficult to find time to do things that are not directly related to them, but I shall look into it.

How was the holiday in Scotland? Did you get the photos?

Nick




2003-04-12
Dear Tim

I don't think that that seasons will affect our footballing very much, except that the humid weather will aid the students. There is very little organised sport here so I cannot imagine switching to another sport. There isn't much enthusiasm for anything else.

Charlie is still hobbling around - it was a very bad break with complications to his ankle; the leg went straight down from his knee to his foot with no bulge at the ankle, but it is getting better. Maybe he will play again before the end of the school year.

Your life is sounding full. My life also centres around my work unit to a worrying degree. I work with, live near and socialise with the same people, which is sometimes far too intense, especially when, in addition to all the above, I teach their children or they teach mine. But things have improved massively with the upturn in the weather. We are off to a garden this afternoon with Richard and Libby.

Nick

PS Bad luck about the snow


2003-04-08
Dear All



All of a sudden the weather has changed, and for the last two weeks there has been days directly shipped from a typical English Summer: 20C with a light breeze, or 12C and misty rain. Fortunately the former have been mostly at the weekends, so we have been out and about a lot more. Unfortunately the soil round here drains very slowly, so any rainfall during the week stays very much in place at the weekend.



I took George to the central park recently; the sun was warm with a light southerly breeze. Central Park is about three times the size of the Fort Road recreation ground, but unlike Fort Road it is surrounded by a grid of wide but little used roads, beyond which are dozens of 12 story apartment buildings, none more than a decade old, some still shooting up wit in a green netting wrap. Sudu Gardens is on the south side; to the west is the area’s sole busy road leading to the town centre, at the entrance to this road is the imposing neo-Gothic customs building, topped by a large clock, whose doleful tones can be heard 1km away at the international school. It is perhaps the only structure on the industrial park, commissioned by people intending to use it themselves, not to sell it on: it is therefore the only properly built structure on the park. Next to it is the ill fated Gui Cheng shopping centre, increasingly deserted and rapidly losing money: the locals say that shoppers are scared off by the inauspicious name; in Mandarin Gui Cheng means ‘expensive city’, in the local dialect it means ‘ghost city’; we rarely go because of the more conveniently located Xin Cheng (New City) shopping centre on the northern edge of central park. In the central reservation of the main road, is a three by three metre flat, centreless, post modernist iron square with an iron cloak symbolically blowing through it.



Central Park itself contains several distinct areas. The most bizarre is a large open air, unused amphitheatre with, on what should be the stage, differently coloured tiles organized to resemble a world map: it looks like something Albert Speer would have designed for Hitler’s rallies; we play Hom Pom Home amid the Doric columns. Immediately to the west of this, at the front of the park, is a semi-circle of poles flying the flags of investor nations. Just south of our Hom Pom Home amphitheatre, the flags of investor nations, and passed a large poster of Deng Xiao Ping meeting the then President of Singapore with mutually admiring quotes, is the place George most appreciates: the play area. The two wooden seesaws are placed so close together that you have to mount them sideways; even now, after the dragon head seats nailed to the main springless beam are long gone. The wooden castle with slide is better placed, except for the sea of mud it sits atop; firmer ground is beneath the rope pyramid that eager children precariously climb. On the far side is a little used pulley, which at least has the option of use: in the middle is a set of swings, the seats over a metre from the ground, denying all but teenagers access. All this represents the best, and perhaps only public play facility in Suzhou.



George likes climbing the castle most of all, and then pinging down its three metre slide. At the bottom of this slide the mud is at its sloppiest, and George is not the most cautious of two and half years olds – not that is much of a benchmark for caution. It was therefore not long before he flipped off the slide face down into the mud: I grant that this was a comic image; especially the slow rise of George’s head as he heaved is upper body from the mire it had fallen into, his lower lip deliberately protruding, his brows knitting together his face reddening for the inevitable wail: but hilarity might have been restrained, or at least disguised. Every parent in the immediate vicinity laughed, one mother’s body shook one hand over her widening mouth, the other extending a convulsing finger in George’s direction. George stopped wailing for a moment in a mute astonishment at this reaction to his crisis, took a deep breath and screamed.



Not that the Chinese are a heartless people. On the whole I think the reverse is true. At the park both mothers and fathers play with their children; in English parks there would be a parental mafia lurking and sulking at the side ignoring the bad tempered squabbles of their offspring on the equipment. Restaurants welcome children, waiting staff are happy to accommodate them. But if no harm is done the Chinese are less likely to restrain their enjoyment of the ridiculous or their sense of curiosity. George is mostly oblivious, but it something that Ruth and Chloe must learn to cope with because, as mixed race children, they are very much the object of curiosity.



I also have been enjoying a more intimate relationship with mud recently. On Thursday we have a boys v staff football match and over the last few weeks the staff have been playing local company teams on a Saturday. Last Saturday we had our third game and our third victory. This one was at least deserved; the week before it was a case of physical presence over footballing skill. The Samsung workers arrived about 10 minutes before the SSIS team, and were on the pitch passing the ball around, dribbling, practicing their tackles. They were clearly younger and fitter than us: I was quite confident that they would slaughter us. We agree on positions before a match, but never have a game plan. I took defensive midfield, alongside their attacking midfield player: it turned out to be a bad choice. This was a man who could receive the ball with his back to goal with instant control, drop his left shoulder and spin right or drop right shoulder and spin left; and in case I saw a pattern emerging he would drop his right shoulder and spin right. Generally I was left on my backside watching him advance to the goal. We soon developed our sole tactic – keep hassling them, and gradually their goal keeper began to lose the plot: he would throw it to a defender a few metres out, who would have a player on him, so he passed back, the ball would get stuck in the mud; one of us scored. In the true amateur tradition the final score was 11-6, with a frequently mentioned hat trick by me (both the scoring and mentioning of it).



Things are going well here – we are all keeping busy, although we have cancelled the girls’ swimming lessons until SARS clears up. It is difficult to know what the true situation in this area because the government lies so much, rumours are the most reliable source of information.



Nick

2003-03-26
Dear All



We have been on the verge of it all week, but today it finally happened: A warm sunny day. It seems incredible that last week I was complaining that it had been cold and wet since the dawn of time, or certainly felt that way; and then, “Ping!” it’s nice. Certainly not the weather to be in front of the computer: 25 degrees; blue sky; gentle southerly breeze. In England it would be the best that July would have to offer.



But unfortunately it won’t last; rain is forecast before the end of the week and temperatures are set to plummet again. When they do return we already have intimations of the problems that will come with them. Chloe came into our room last night: “I can’t sleep, a mosquito bit me.” A hundred miles in every direction is flat, sea level land, made up of impervious clay soil: great for holding water: great for rice, and great for mosquitoes.



A slightly lower temperature will suit me for the weekend. Ron, the science teacher, has arranged a football match with a local company. We’ve done this once before and it was very good fun. Ron is incredible. He is 57 and is still able to run up and down the wing most weeks. Mind you he only gave up triathlons in the last decade.



With any luck temperatures will start moving back up before the weekend is over, as we have a BBQ on Sunday to celebrate April birthdays. We started the year having a meal for everyone, but we were feasting most nights so now we have monthly parties. K and I haven’t been to one of these since November. Winter is antisocial time.



Katherine, however, is making her best to make up for it now. She was very difficult to rouse this morning, and I myself was none to grateful for the alarm. Katherine had gone to her final pottery meeting with Gutrund before the children start actually potting next week. I had stayed up to 11.30 to see her in safely, but as she wasn’t back by then, I decided that if she had been killed she would be no less dead in the morning and I should get to sleep. In the morning however she was beside me but when they had happened I have no idea.



Both girls are enjoying the fact that they can do their homework on the veranda. Werner bought garden furniture and so we had old table and chairs. I think I might have mentioned Werner before. A South African English teacher with a German passport he is a single man in his mid-thirties with no other investments but lavish furnishings and the memories of exotic holidays. As a married thirty year old with three children I am the grateful recipient of his cast offs. His old stuff is looking nice in our little garden. We started work on it this Sunday. The school gardener came round to help us prepare the soil and plant some seeds. He had a hoe; the five us came with trowels. But before we got to use these, our first job was to pick up the litter. Not ours, but the accumulation of our higher storied neighbours, who think little of providing us with the unsolicited benefit of their used takeaway cartons.



We were all very grateful for the gardener’s careful advice, but occasionally comments were pitched at such a level I wondered exactly what he thought of us. We were aerating the soil (turning it over, to the non-gardeners among you) when K discovered a worm a worm. We are not a family with frequent contact with worms so K let out a little squeal, more of an appreciative squeal than a nervous squeal: the gardener took it for a hungry squeal. “Oh no,” he said pausing from his hoe and looking up, “you can’t eat that.” He held his gaze at K long enough to make sure those words had sunk in, and returned to his hoe. About minute latter he stopped hoeing again, fixed K with a concerned glare and announced, “Roosters eat worms, people don't eat them.” Clearly he had since enough of our affinity with the soil to believe that it was not a regular occurrence.



Anyway the bell has gone and I must go.



Nick





2003-03-25 Next part of Journal
Dear All

Here is the next part of my journal.

Nick

Mr Zhang’s factory


China's rate of economic growth in the last twenty years is unparalleled; it is twice the rate of US growth in the nineteenth century, when that nation moved from agricultural afterthought to world superpower. Average income increased by 25% in the four years to 2001. But there is still an amazing lack of urgency about the most basic unit of this rise to prosperity – the individual Chinese. Many of Chinese economic improvements are a consequence of a greater employment of capital (eg machines) and this has improved productivity at the expense of labour. Of course what should happen is that labour happily trots from its old, unproductive workplaces, to new industries and services. Unfortunately this requires a leap of imagination and a bridging of skills that takes a great deal more than twenty years to achieve.



Governments are left with two, far more easily attainable, alternatives: one, large-scale unemployment; two, over-employment. China’s ruling party, the Communists, built their legitimacy on Marxism, an ideology that is quite explicitly opposed to capitalism. Yes OK, China’s brand of Marxist-Leninist-Mao Ze Dong-Deng Xiao Ping thought is now much diluted: but every government requires a fig leaf to prevent too great an embarrassment at the brute reality of its power. And to a Marxist the inherent dignity of labour matters, so while unemployment in China is still a sad fact, the government does everything it can to ameliorate it. Or at least it does everything in its power to require others to ameliorate it. What is this in reality? Where one person is needed to do a job, employ two or three or four.



My greatest contact with this has been in the service sector. Sadly it is where most foreigners here have most contact with Chinese society full stop. Chinese goods and services are not about the end-user, not really; producers do not have the clear single objective of profit, because the main producer of goods and services has been the Chinese state.



The state has national aims: regional dominance and global significance built on economic power. Political aims: maintaining party power by diverting political ambitions into economic ones. Social aims: improving the material prosperity of the Chinese people. Of course every nation has this confusion of goals but few nations have a government holding them all and so willing and able to interfere in the economy to impose them.



Here are some small examples of what this means on a day-to-day level. I was with Yuan Qiu in a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant in central Suzhou; there were six customers, three people cleaning the clean tables and one very bored security guard. No wonder he was bored: you couldn’t even shoplift paper napkins; they are given with your meal, the dispensers kept safely behind the counter; even the tables and chairs are fixed to the floor. About the only thing you could grab with ease were the straws. Plastic ones, not gold. Nor does China have the kind of participatory culture that leads to fights as entertainment among teenagers in Britain. It was not immediately clear what this man’s economic function was in the larger make-up of things. I soon found out though, as he wandered up to chat with us.



He had been in a factory worker in a state owned enterprise. The factory had closed down: for this to happen, it can’t merely have been unprofitable, it must have been a considerable drain on resources. Losing your job is far more bitter experience in China than in the West. It is not merely that there are no welfare payments; there is no welfare state at all. Health care is organized through work units; no work - no work unit – no health care. You have only your family to rely on. And that is true for shelter, for food. Clearly the unemployed are a potentially destablising force: so in the case of this man and his colleagues, the local government required all the restaurants and shops over a certain size to hire a security guard from their own particular labour pool.



Generally government does not need to be so crass. It still has direct control over much of the retail economy – especially large department stores. Our trip to a Shanghai department store was typical. We wanted shoes for Ruth. There were five assistants in the children’s shoe department and two women at the ticket desk and one woman at the cash till: so eight workers for a product display that could be put into a classroom. While we were there they had a total of one customer to attend to: our very own Ruthie Little. But this intensive attendance did little to benefit Ruth: not one of the assistants had anyway of measuring Ruth’s foot. In fact Katherine had to take over the task of fitting Ruth’s shoes, as the assistants were keener in telling Ruth that an uncomfortable shoe or a ridiculous style was really her thing than in finding what she wanted. Mostly they discussed foreigners in a huddle and occasionally giggled at the children. George is too young to notice but Ruth and Chloe were extremely uncomfortable and being part of a show; Katherine had to ask the assistants to leave. And when we had chosen shoes we then had to pay for them. Buying shoes, or anything else in a department store, is not simply a matter of handing over cash. I had to hunt down one of the dismissed assistants from a backroom. She then wrote me a ticket which I took to the ticket collector, who was also chatting with a colleague and required me to wait until she finished her conversation. She wrote a receipt which I took to the cash desk. The cashier was counting money and again I was required to wait in a deserted shop. She stamped my receipt, which I brought back to the assistant who finally handed over the product.



Because I am married to a Chinese I had the opportunity to see behind the vast but shrinking state owned economy at the upcoming private enterprise. the particular form of thrusting private enterprise that I encountered was M. Zhang. I first met him seven and half years ago. He is a wiry man of 5’5”, who underlines his wiriness with a wiry little moustache. Even when he is still, you can feel his energy. His eyes in particular struck me: here is a hardheaded businessman (as I was to find out) and here he had these curious and playful eyes.



He must be about 45 now, with 6 – 7 million RMB in liquid assets and several million more tied in capital, but he is as restless now as he was when I first met him. At that time his role in my life was as best man in my wedding. He was also one of its chief facilitators. Weddings, like all other events in China, are subject to the most time consuming bureaucracy. They therefore have to be conducted in several stages. First I had the banns issued at the British embassy in Beijing; and then, after two days on a train I registered with the police in Da Zhu, Yuan Qiu’s hometown. The final signing of registers had to completed in Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province. Da Zhu to Chengdu is 11 hours. At the time Mr Zhang was Da Zhu’s sole car owner; fortunately for us he also possessed a sense of indebtedness to Yuan Qiu’s father that caused him to put the car to our use.



In 1995 Mr Zhang was fairly new into the factory owning business. Previously he had been a humble engineer in my father-in-law’s factory: that is, the factory Mr Yuan managed – the state owned it. Mr Yuan is a straightforward man; he recognized Mr Zhang’s talents and promoted him: Mr Zhang’s lack of connections meant nothing to him. Mr Yuan is an engineer, first and last – politics met nothing to him. Politics is not the kind of country where it is wise to think nothing of politics. I don’t mean in a grand ideological sense; the Chinese have long since tired of that, but in the petty maneuverings of local power. Mr Yuan was leader and designer of Da Zhu’s principle and state owned factory (now no longer existing). All profits were meant to be sent to Beijing. And because Mr Yuan is a straight forward man if he is meant to send money then he actual does said the money. The county leaders had a different perspective on the money sending issue: they wanted a chunk of it to remain in Da Zhu, and more specifically with them. If Mr Yuan arranged this it would not have gone unrecognized; as evidence of this the county leaders sent him 10 packets of cigarettes. Because Mr Yuan doesn’t smoke he didn’t immediately realize the true generosity of this. Only when a friend came and Mr Yuan opened a pack to offer him one did he discover it. Inside each pack, neatly bunched were bundles of 100 RMB notes. He sent them back forthwith, and was dismissed soon afterwards. But from this wreckage remained the powerful thanks of Mr Zhang.



People who owned cars in 1995 China were also rich enough not to drive them. But Mr Zhang had a curious relationship with his driver that epitomized the rough democracy of Chinese society. Mr Zhang sat in the front seat alongside his driver and passed fairly constant comment; five hours into our journey and not long after our first flat tire the criticisms were still flowing. But they weren’t the words of a stern employer but of an overenthusiastic amateur; and the driver scorned them in that vein. But after five hours he had had enough. He had been sullen for a few minutes, and then without further word he stopped the car, got out, slammed the door, strode round the front to Mr Zhang’s passenger seat, opened his door, made a few terse comments and waited. Mr Zhang may be an excitable man, but he also has an instinct for power: he waited impassively for a minute, not alarmed and not speaking; slowly and deliberately he maneuvered himself out of the car, and walked round to the driver’s side.



Mr Zhang’s first action in his position was to stall the car directly after starting it; his second action was to repeat the first. The driver sat cross-armed and silent beside him. Mr Zhang then spat a few words at his driver, who replied in torrents of what I assumed to be abuse. Mr Zhang managed to bunny hop forward a few yards during all this before finally giving up. They changed back and the remaining six hours were accompanied by the silent sound of sullenness.



It didn’t surprise me when I returned to Sichuan seven and half years later that the driver was no longer in Mr Zhang’s employment. Mr Zhang himself had not changed, and nor had his driving skills. Our factory tour was at his insistence.



Yuan Qiu and I started the tour in Mr Zhang’s office: his new driver, who was in fact his chief accountant, had picked us up at home and brought us straight in. Mr Zhang is a rich man by anyone’s standard, but his office is not evidence of this. The floor has the same rough tiling that supermarkets use; the walls are whitewashed concrete; their sole decoration pictures of sports cars crudely cut from magazines. The furniture was good: leather sofas; two teak desks and a computer; but the sparseness around and the Spartan coldness obscured their expense. Mr Zhang sprang from his seat as we entered bestowing vigorous handshakes and jovial arm-slaps. Yuan Qiu and I sat on the leather sofas as invited. But Mr Zhang is not a sitter; he is a pacer, a gesticulator. Normally I switched off for such conversations: as far as I was aware Yuan Qiu was the only person in Da Zhu to be fluent in English and Chinese. In fact she was the only person above eighteen I had spoken any English to at all. And my stumbling Mandarin had been so routinely met with indifference - given monosyllabic answers, shrugged away – that I had given up. People didn’t even want to talk to me through Yuan Qiu: foreigners, like monkeys, are a curiosity to be gazed at, not engaged with. But Mr Zhang has an insatiable desire for omniscience, or at least financial omniscience: what was my wage? How does it compare to England? How do I spend it? What do cars cost in England? What are the taxes? And so on and so on. No point was debated or explored before we were whisked on to his next thought.



Mr Zhang was charming because he had energy, generosity, curiosity; but my personal favourite among his virtues was indiscretion: it gave added spice to his tour anyway.



Mr Zhang’s factory is in the middle of Da Zhu, which is six hours drive from Chongqing, one of Sichuan’s two main cities. Sichuan is a predominately agricultural province, a thousand miles along a direct line of latitude from the sea at Shanghai. Tibet and Xin Jiang are perhaps the only two Chinese provinces that contain remoter towns than Da Zhu.



Of course nowhere is so remote that it doesn’t consume industrial goods, and remoteness works two ways: it is difficult to get goods out; but it is also difficult to get them in. Local industries have their own natural trade barriers. What is surprising about Mr Zhang’s factory is not that it exists – Da Zhu’s million people provide a large enough market without reference to the outside world – but that its product is mainly for export.



Despite a detailed tour by the owner himself, I was never quite sure what Mr Zhang’s product was: the name of it, that is. Mr Zhang called it rimy, and insisted that this was the English word; but then this was also the man who pronounced ‘pretty’ as ‘plassy’ despite several enthusiastically enunciated corrections from my five year old daughter. But having seen, felt, smelt the product I have no idea what else to call it, so I shall stick with ‘rimy’.



Rimy begins life as an innocent plant in the Sichuan countryside. The finest of its parts will grace the top pockets of Japanese businessmen in the form of US$ 50 handkerchiefs; its coarser brethren will be shipped to South Korea to make cloth. The runts of the rimy litter will be left for the local market. It is, in its finer form, a cotton substitute; in its finest form it is more valuable than gold, gram for gram: but only if you know the niche in the Japanese market.



Before taking their part in $50 handkerchiefs any particular batch of rimy will have passed through up to a thousand pairs of hands. Mr Zhang’s factory contained about 600 of those pairs. Rimy is apparently now in such demand, the profits so high and the local regulations so little enforced that Mr Zhang requires his factory to operate 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. He has erected a sign at the entrance to the factory floor: ‘Work hard today, or don’t come in tomorrow.’ Mr Zhang was very proud of this sign; I was forewarned of its existence and it was distinctly pointed out as its existence hoved into my view.



And the enormous industrial energy of the place was indeed something to be proud of.



I never thought it would happen to me, but by its absence I had grown to appreciate the protestant work ethic. So Mr Zhang’s factory of fully occupied workers was quite a sight. But his is not a family concern or a state owned enterprise: he doesn’t do it for love; he does it for money. And he sells to markets in Japan and South Korea where there are plenty of alternatives to his little factory.



Rimy doesn’t come to Mr Zhang straight from the field. It has already been semi-processed in rural factory. This process requires a lot of water; fresh water that loses its freshness through its involvement with rimy processing. China’s industrialization is putting enormous strain on its supply of fresh water; quite wisely therefore, the government charges users of semi-processed rimy 600RMB for every 1000 kg. That is what they charge; though, through a piece of financial magic Mr Zhang actually pays 20 RMB. Making the right sort of connections is something Mr Zhang does well, and his friends in the local environment protection agency are not people he just happened upon in the pub one night. Although these men would not be hurt to learn that they enjoy the benefit of Mr Zhang’s charm because of their employer rather than their good looks or great personalities. Mr Zhang laughs off his destruction of local nature: ‘The Japanese once again rape our land: if they did not buy my product, I would not pollute the land.” And with a wink and backslap I am suddenly willingly complicit in his assassination of nature.



Some of his regulation avoidance has a more immediate impact. Mr Zhang’s factory assails the senses: the ceilings are low; all lighting is artificial, even so large dust particles float conspicuously to the floor, constantly regenerated by machinery furiously humming competing with dozens of others. And the heat: in a cold early February we soon regretted out many layers when we stepped inside. In less than four months the temperature outside will rise by 35 degrees centigrade; inside no fans were fitted. “What temperature does it reach in here during the summer?”

“The regulations say no more than 30 degrees.” Mr Zhang told me, with a now familiar half-smile, a twinkle in his eyes. “But what temperature does it actually reach?” Mr Zhang shrugged, “ A lot higher”, he replied, turned his head and moved on: the question was of little interest.



Semi-processed, rimy arrives looking like great bundles of white horse hair. It is left at a dept in the back with no windows, just a very large cavity where a back wall should be. Security is not an issue because the factory never closes, even for Spring Festival. A team of 10 workers were roughly sorting the piles as they came in: obviously discoloured material was left by the entrance, while the better stuff was allowed into the factory. More workers fed the approved rimy into machines that softened it – specifically, crushed it and added a little oil. Apparently, even inanimate objects find this a traumatic experience, so afterwards it rests for three weeks in a dark room. There more hard work for it when it again emerges: straight to another windowless room, although this one is lit by florescent lights for the benefit of the dozen workers who using large single tooth combs to take the largest tangles out. If any impurities survived the depot they are weeded out here. In a smaller adjacent room they carefully folded in piles. They are then passed to combing machines: the rimy is divided into finer strands and any surviving impurities are picked off. Quite incredibly these strands are then examined individually in a dark room on luminous desks: only the purest of the pure are allowed to be spun. Spinning takes place in to large halls packed full of machines, and takes place in three stages so that the thread is nearly perfect. Although not quite: for that it would have to be sent to Japan for a further refinement. This isn’t necessary for the $50 handkerchiefs, but would make the rimy more valuable than gold.



This whole process is a laborious as it sounds. That is why this stage of the handkerchief production is located in China. The majority of Mr Zhang’s workers are paid 300 RMB a month (that is about $35); a minority of skilled workers handling the finest of the threading machines are paid 600 RMB. At the top of Mr Zhang’s hierarchy is the factory manager, who earns 2000 RMB ($250). Even a minimum wage Japanese picking out individuals threads on a luminous desk would shoot rimy’s price beyond gold and closer to a Van Gogh original. And Mr Zhang tells me that there is nothing that a Japanese likes more than individually handled thread on his handkerchief, but not at any price.



The factory must have contained 100 machines; the scale was impressive for a man who started less than a decade ago. On his own with no other investors and no bank loans.

“How did you manage it?” I asked.

“Well of course it wasn’t like this straight away, I had to build it up bit by bit.”

“But how did you even start?” I knew what engineers were paid – Yuan Qiu’s father was the highest rank, and they grew up with little spare cash, just money to put aside for a university education for his three children: but no travel, no shop-bought clothes, no toys and meat as treat on weekends.



Mr Zhang took great pride in telling me the origin of his funds. While still working for the state owned rimy factory he had scoured the countryside looking for rimy suppliers, entirely on his initiative. These suppliers were poor peasants with little understanding of the value of this coarse reed like plant that they would have uprooted for a more edible alternative if it were not for Mr Zhang’s intervention. He paid them just over the price that would have made it worth their while to uproot and plant potatoes; he then sold it to the factory at its value to them. All this was undeclared.



Even before competition arrived the state owned factory was in a poor way. Mr Yuan had been replaced by a stooge who was running the place into the ground. Even a willing stooge could not offer up profits, which were no longer there. The local leaders were only too happy to listen to Ms Zhang’s offer to rent premises and some machines from them; especially as he seemed to represent the best of both worlds – Mr Yuan’s abilities with the stooge’s malleability. Mr Zhang didn’t mind whose bank account he paid into. And so Mr Zhang started; in fact his abilities exceeded Mr Yuan’s. Mr Yuan had been old-style, concentrating on production first and last; but Mr Zhang sought new markets, found Japanese to buy, South Koreans; asked what they wanted, listened and worked hard to provide it. 1998 was not good a year as Asian markets retrenched, but mostly he had had continuous growth. More and more his ratio of owned to rented machines improved in his favour; now he was on the verge of completed his usurpation of the state: not just capitalist but landlord as well. He would buy the factory.



Curiously Mr Zhang’s economic successes did not give him immediate access to political power. Perhaps he is too indiscrete – he refuses to pay virtue the compliment of hypocrisy. He is liked, but not given weight. Mr Yuan, who has neither economic nor political power, is now respected; years have elapsed since his misguided honesty, and no-one has anything to fear from his clarity of purpose. There is no cost to leaders in regarding him highly. It therefore seemed quite natural for Mr Zhang to ask his former mentor to recommend him for a position in the county leadership. But no, Mr Yuan could not shake his integrity, and for the same disinterested reasons he had promoted him in the first place, he refused to endorse him now.


2003-03-22
Dear Tim

I have just finished Casino Royale - I didn't think that it would take me long. It's a very good read - Bond is not quite the same as in the films: in the films he is more of a superhuman, who never lets his guard slip and never suffers from self-doubt. Bond is a far less pleasant character in the book - where his misogyny is far more overtly expressed.

Unfortunately I can't start the other book you sent me as Katherine has grabbed it. I will send back reports when she has finished.

You can get stickers here, but the girls love receiveing them anyway - they are quite expensive in proportion to their pocket money. George has since recovered from a sibling having a good time in front of his own eyes.

It's interesting that Turkey have invaded Iraq - the fact that they allowed US airstrikes from the north but not a ground assault and then they launch their own could look like a cynical land grab. We shall see. I wonder if they have played a very clever game. What will be interesting to see is if a new world order emerges. Clinton never used the UN security council for his military actions, but there was always an appearance of international consensus; even before September 11 it was clear that the Bush administration had no intention of being bound by consensual arrangements (eg Koyoto). Maybe this administration will be a blip, maybe it is the first clear sign that the post WW2 world order has utterly ended.

Nick



2003-03-20
Dear Tim

Just a quick note to say thanks for the parcel - K picked it up from the post office yesterday. Chloe was very excited. She loved the stickers and teddies and is looking forward to playing with the balloons. George was devastated - Georgie get a present, was all he could say. Thanks also for the books - Chloe was bemused at first at thought of reading all those words, until I remembered your previous email. I have started the BOnd already - it is really gripping; it shall be finished by the end of the week.

I have just heard that US and British forces have entered the demilitarised zone. Bizarrely the Shanghai American school is thinking of closing while the war is on. Here we go.

Nick


2003-03-18
Dear Tim

I am glad to hear that work is going well. It has to be stressful enough to keep you motivated otherwise you will fall asleep at the desk. I am finding that as my job no longer dominates my life that I need to find other focuses. I don't mean family - whom I have always made time for, but the creative energies, which used to be consumed with teaching. I am definitely doing more writing which is nice, and I am finding more time for Chinese than I would have done in the UK. K even says my tones are 'not bad' now, which is vast improvement. But I am realising fluency in a language is such a long haul: still I can't a word of TV, for example, and conversations that K has with her brother I phase in and out of. But I figure, if I do al ittle bit every day, even five minutes, I will get there eventually. And I don't want George overtaking me - his times are perfect, and his vocab is getting better and better. He had a little conversation with K last week which I couldn't keep up with. Chloe is also improving fast. R refuses to say a word, but she understands K's instructions and comments all write - even when they are phrased in the passive tense.

Glad to hear of your scrabble success - I haven't even thought of it since coming here so I will be ripe for the plucking when we next meet. Hopefully mum's PC will allow more video conferencing - I must try soon.

We got our summons to the post office for Chloe's parcel on Monday but K hasn't picked it up yet.

Strange time over Iraq - I feel oddly detached being here, although I have been giving lessons on the geography of Iraq today so that the children will know something about current affairs. I keep regularly updated with the Guardian: Cook and Hunt have resigned, 150 MPs might rebel - it looks like the Labour Party is falling apart.

Anyway must get on

Nick




2003-03-18
Dear All



I am sorry I have been lax recently in writing. I really don’t have an excuse; I just haven’t quite got round to it.



The weather is still awful: not that cold anymore (my thermals have been packed away), but not warm either and very wet. It has now drizzled for a week. The soil round here is thick and clayey; water takes a long time to drain. Our triangular football pitch is in a terrible state, only the most tenacious grass clings on, and it is becoming increasingly clear why there are so many lakes in this area. Even when temperatures were well south of zero we got as many as 11 a side playing. Last Thursday we were down to a four-a-side. I am fitter than I was, but not that fit.



Mostly we don’t go out to play and inside is gloomy. But the girls have been far busier recently. They go to swimming lesson two or three times a week, Ruth has piano, both girls are now dancing and Chloe has special flexibility classes on a Wednesday night. She is quite determined to a ballerina. In the near future they should be starting a pottery class.



Chloe’s friend Nora, who is German, came over earlier today. Nora is a year younger than Chloe but very fond of her; whereas Chloe seems to play easily with many different children, Nora has attached herself to Chloe. Nora was here on her own request. I feel self-conscious about stereotyping a five year old but she does have a Teutonic will: it doesn’t make for long lasting relationships with other five year olds. But Chloe is very good with people; when Ruth has a clash of interest she argues and separates; Chloe is able to find a way round – offering alternatives, making things palatable, giving compromises.



Katherine has become good friends with Nora’s mother, Gutrund, and suggested that Nora share Chloe’s private ballet lesson. Gutrund offered her large house as premises for the lessons. It seemed such a good idea, the only problem being, as it turned out, Nora. Nora wanted to dance, but not to learn to dance: the two activities being utterly distinct in her mind. Katherine had spent a lot of time in picking a good dance teacher – someone who knew her stuff and could relate to young children. Nevertheless Miss Chung holds in common with all Chinese teachers the view that parents send their parents to lessons to improve and to be good as something. Entertainment is not an issue.



Miss Chung had had some experience of Western children before and knew that she could not count on parental severity to inspire her class so she brought some special aids: a dance DVD and costumes. Gutrund works as an HR manager in a multinational and wasn’t home for the class; her ai yi (cleaner) acted as host instead. The ai yi perhaps imagined that this position gave her more discretion than was actually the case, so she acceded without much thought to Miss Chung’s request to play the DVD. In normal circumstances such a request would not be unreasonable, but Gutrund is not a normal circumstance – she is a woman of stern principles; and one of them is that DVDs are not for children. Her DVD player is therefore kept in her bedroom very much away Nora. Besides which Gutrund’s bedroom is her private space; so ingrained is such an idea in the Western psyche, explaining seems superfluous. But, unfortunately, it was not actually superfluous because the ai yi did not consider it at all; nor did she lend much weight to Gutrund’s DVD principles: in educational matters, the teacher, not the parent, is sovereign. So they all ended up in Gutrund’s bedroom watching a DVD. A crime twice over.



But it had the desired affect: Nora didn’t passively watch; she got up and danced. Miss Chung offered Nora the costume and Nora was even more pleased. Chloe dressed and danced, but she doesn’t need such props to inspire her. It was going so well right up to the moment that Miss Chung tried to do what she was paid for and introduce some actual instruction. Nora is not keen on actual instruction; Miss Chung is paid to teach, and doesn’t regard herself as an entertainer: the costume and DVD had been a concession to foreign ways, not a surrender to them. An impasse was reached; such moments are never quietly passed, and it was just then that Gutrund returned.



She returned and saw: Katherine, Chloe and Miss Chung in her bedroom, her private space; a DVD on; her child red faced and shouting.

“Who let you in here? You shouldn’t be in here.”

Miss Chung doesn’t understand English but the tone was unmistakable.

“The ai yi let us in.” Katherine explained.

“The ai yi had no right. This is my room. There is plenty of room downstairs for dancing. Why would she think to show you in here?”

Miss Chung was, by now, quite upset, and was packing while Katherine continued to explain. “Miss Chung hoped to get Nora’s interest by playing a DVD.”

“DVD. DVD? Katherine, the ai yi knows that Nora must not watch DVDs; she never watches DVDs. Why would she think it OK? And was Miss Chung thinking of? I asked her to teach dance not dress up my child and play her DVDs.”

There was a hint of reprimand for Katherine in Gutrund’s furrowed brow, the hard voice and the directness of her glare. But if Katherine noticed it she didn’t let it show. “Miss Chung knows that Western children are not like Chinese, she thought that the DVD and costume would inspire her.”

Clearly no more would come of such a conversation, and they made their way downstairs with a subdued Chloe. Chloe is a great sensor of atmospheres, and was hard at fading into the background. Nora had retreated sulkily to her bedroom.



Miss Chung was not downstairs; on the dining table, untouched, was the money Gutrund had put aside for the lesson. From such instinct Katherine opened the front door; there, outside, was Miss Chung crying. Through her tears she made several things clear: she would never again work for a foreigner; she felt humiliated; she could not begin to understand Gutrund’s anger; Nora was unmanageable child. And she would not accept a penny of the fierce German lady’s money. Katherine comforted her, arranged Chloe’s next lesson and Miss Chung left. Katherine returned to Gutrund, who was holding a glass of wine. She didn’t offer one to Katherine.

“Miss Chung will not accept money for the lesson.”

“I will not pay her.” Gutrund replied curtly.

You might expect that Katherine left chastened or resentful. But she was neither. She has managed to continue ballet lessons for Chloe with Miss Chung, and remained on excellent terms with Gutrund: although not at the same time. Katherine likes Gutrund’s honesty, energy and certainty, and is willing and able to pay the price for being near such qualities. Katherine is lucky and rare. She has experienced up close both Eastern and Eastern cultures: for many the silent assumptions on which are interactions rest are a treacherous ground.



Nick


2003-03-07
Dear Tim

Thanks in advance for the presents. I wouldn't be so sure about Chloe and Wodehouse - she is a girl of sophisticated tastes. I think that I shall hold my novel abstinance until the wodehouse arrives - it will be suitably light and cheery.

I haven't much to report this week - it has been wet and cold and therefore miserable. Ruth and Chloe started swimming lessons on Thursday, which adds to their music and dance. We are just looking to add an art class and the narrow focus on the academic in school should be sitably counterbalanced.

Our football pitch has pour drainage, and therefore doubles as a paddling pool in wet weeks. The boys were keen to continue playing nevertheless so we played five a side in the gym. It was a far more fast and furious game. I was knackered at the end: it took me four hours in the bar to recover.

I am off to Shanghai tomorrow indoor skiing. It's a research trip for the school and so it's free. You can't say fairer than that. I've never been skiing before.

Nick

2003-03-02 Latest
Dear All

This week has been mundane, and I have been glad of it. Chloe's birthday party at the end of last week went off well despite a wobbly beginning. We brought Chloe's friends back from school by taxi; Ruth and Chloe themselves caught the bus as usual, as a consequence they were a little late. By the time they arrived the food was on the table, a big pile of presents by the door, balloons on the wall and a group of friends in the living room. Chloe entered, stopped and her face fell: "But when I am going to have time to do my homework?" The only way we could get her to start the party was by promising to do her homework first thing on Saturday morning.

We had sixteen little girls + George. It was the opposite of English parties: the job of adults is not to calm children down but to get them going. There were also eight nationalities and no common language. But it was the smoothest of parties we've had.

School is unremarkable at the moment: my timetable is slightly lighter than last semester and I am getting used to teaching IB. Katherine and I are making a more concerted effort to compensate for school's narrowly academic curriculum. The girls have regular swimming lessons and Chloe is back in ballet. Ruth started piano class today, and hopefully it won't be long before they start art class.

Katherine is finding her new unemployment frustrating. Biao Gu is not longer with us, preferring to stay in Sichuan. K's brother, Jian Ping helps out more; K needs a proper focus to her energies. I have been back to the gym on a regular basis and playing football. Yesterday I had a go at badminton for the first time since our Falmer days. I was thrashed.

On Friday K and I managed to ditch the children briefly and get out for the belated staff New Year meal. The intention of such events is to bring everyone together; in fact every table sat in well-established friendship groups. K and I were with Werner, Libby and Richard, Mark and Michaela, Jo and a couple of others: very much the people I chat to during the week. But it was nice to chat to them with free food and wine. Libby, however, was uncertain about how much of the free food she would enjoy because of a startling early incident. The Chinese like their meat fresh; and, such is the low reputation of the food trade in this country, they like evidence of it. The most expensive dishes are always served first: vegetables and rice are served last. So in came a giant lobster, in two neat halves on either extreme of the dish, and in the middle its intestines. Nothing, our experienced lobster eaters had not seen before, but the claws and antennae were still moving.
"My God, its still alive!" exclaimed Libby.
"Not its not." assured Richard"
"Yes it is, I can see it moving."
"No it's just the effect of the steam." Richard is a science teacher; no-one thought to argue. In fact it was Richard's attempt to reassure himself that exposed his idea. He reached out and touched the lobster. "My God it is alive - they haven't cooked it yet."

It was, shortly afterwards, taken away and cooked. I have never had a strong position on the sole of lobsters, or their level of self-awareness. And it is perhaps flagrant double standards that I would have been upset at a half a cow winking at me still while its innards slipped onto a plate waiting my consumption but I was unmoved at the lobster's plight. In fact I was more bemused at the reaction of my colleagues. Richard had once asked Katherine if her view of the way Chinese treated animals had changed while she was in England. "Yes," she replied, "the Chinese, unlike Westerners, are not hypocrites."

Nick


2003-02-18 Travel to Sichuan
Dear All

This is the first part of my account to Sichuan

Nick

Travel in China


Late January is a time for the largest nation on earth to move. More than 150 million migrate workers take this once a year opportunity to travel back to their hometown, and spend a brief time enjoying their families in the Chinese festive season before returning to their jobs hundreds of miles away. On just one day in this period there will be 3 million people on trains, and 260 000 in the air: few of whom are commuters. This year we left our apartment in Suzhou to join these vast criss-crossing exoduses to see Katherine’s family in Da Zhu.



Suzhou to Da Zhu is 1000 miles; the first 900 of which present no particular problem. Just the routine hassles of travelling with three children under eight: squeezing into taxis, lugging heavy bags and a reluctant toddler; motivating a kindergarten child; reining in her seven year old sister; the chaos of scrumming for tickets to Shanghai, one of the world’s most populous cities, and at Spring Festival, one of the world’s most popular times for travelling home. And then an hour standing on a train, clutching a miserable two year old while clouds of smoke waft over the no smoking signs; the scramble for the taxi to the airport amid the thongs pouring from the station, all wanting to get home before the celebrations begin, to get out of the cold as soon as possible.



That is the first 60 miles of the ‘little hassle’ part of our journey: our apartment in Suzhou to the airport in Shanghai. We had intended to go by train all the way to Da Zhu, which would have meant that at this stage of our journey we would be facing 44 hours in a confined space with our exuberant offspring. I am now grateful for the near impossibility of buying long distance train tickets in China at Spring Festival. Instead the vast majority of this distance would be covered by the relative painless procedure of two and half hours in a plane: although my children conspired to extend that qualification of painless.



George put in the best performance: he wanted a drink; he wanted it on his tray; he wanted it on the right hand side of the tray – furthest from me in my grubby travel trousers, nearest to a smartly suited businessman. A once smartly suited businessman, as he was soon to become, as George’s drink took its inevitable tumble. One of China’s greatest cultural assets, however, is its tolerance of childish disorder; I am sure that it is no coincidence that Chinese children lack the aggression of their Western counterparts. Much to my relief the coke sodden businessman took his new state in genuine good grace, and we chatted about our jobs and children until touchdown.



The girls were passive on the actual plane, but then they had already done their bit in the security queues at the airport: tickling each other, bundling on top of each other, laughing uproarsly. In England I would be ashamed to admit to the loud joyfulness of their waiting; but the Chinese have no expectation of order and calm and do not issue significant tuts and viscous glares to demand it of others. But then they have no intention of providing it for you.



But a noisier line and a damper businessman don’t really make for a stressful journey; not when your perspective has been so badly damaged by frequent travel with young children. It was what happened afterwards. And that would have been a great deal worse if we hadn’t been met at Chongqin airport by Katherine’s sister, Feng Hua. Da Zhu is in Sichuan, a province of 110 million people, three times the size of England. The capital is Chengdu, in the north part of the province; Chongqin, in the east, is Sichuan’s other major city, 10 million people calling it home. In fact it has become so large it now has independent administration and is technically not Sichuan. Katherine regards Chongqin as near her home. While 100 miles is not what the English would call close China is a country of 9.6 million km squared, with 18 000 km of coastline and 20 000 km of land borders. But Katherine’s assertion of proximity was still inaccurate: while it was a hundred miles on the map in real life it was a six hour drive. We did an average of eighteen miles an hour; our top speed was a hair-raising forty miles an hour.



Sichuan is a mountain province that borders Tibet; the name literally translates as 4 ways: in the past there were just four routes into it. Even as late as the 1940s it was considered inaccessible enough for the Nationalist government to make Chongqin China’s capital when the Japanese had overrun the politically and financially significant east coast cities. Indeed the Japanese were far too busy thundering down the east coast to the strategic and resource honey pot of Southeast Asia to worry about remote western provinces, and the Nationalists remained largely undisturbed by anything but their own incompetence and corruption.



Sichuan’s inaccessibility from the rest of China has lessened considerably since the introduction of regular air services; the problems of travel are now inside the province. I am very grateful for Feng Hua’s generosity in picking us up, and in particular the driver whom we had never before and we didn’t meet again. But when we got into their jeep-like vehicle I didn’t realize quite how grateful I should have been; in fact I was feeling distinctly uneasy about the whole set up. It was raining when left the airport – a kind of misty drizzle that is quite common to Sichuan; as a consequence the open back of the jeep was unusable: our luggage, luggage for five, had to be accommodated on the seats. Unfortunately so did a fair number of people. Feng Hua and the driver weren’t our sole reception; in an act of genial enthusiasm over detailed planning that occurs so frequently here that it can considered a cultural trait, Katherine’s school friends, Mr Zhu and Ms Zhang were also there. Jeeps are wide vehicles; nevertheless nine people, three suitcases and four backpacks are an optimistic proposition. The driver, quite properly and most practically, occupied the driver’s seat, alone and unencumbered. Next to him sat Feng Hua with both girls. I reclined awkwardly on the bags, Katherine, with George on top, sat sideways toward me to reduce her seat space, leaving just enough room for Ms Zhang on top of Mr Zhu. This whole arrangement was only possible because the latter two are married, and could safely join together in seat space.



At this time I was very much under the impression that we were heading off to Da Zhu together, so I asked the driver how long it would take:

“Five hours.” He replied.

Brevity, of course, is the sole of wit; and there is such a terseness to Chinese, it must be the world’s wittiest language; however, it is frequently difficult to discern the humour. My illusions of the worst part of our journey being over when we stepped off the plane at Chongqin and met Feng Hua had already been disturbed by the presence of two extra bodies to travel with, and then further disturbed by the lack of trunk space; but I had counted on getting the whole thing over with in a maximum of two hours. I had managed the 300 miles between Preston and the south coast of England in five hours: all I had to do was divide both numbers by three, and add a bit for eventualities, to estimate how long this trip would take. Incorrectly. Five hours – I couldn’t believe it, we hadn’t left the car park and all 6’2” of me was beginning to ache.



Fortunately our first stop was a restaurant: no activity in China is ever far from one; people are not properly met until they have shared several dishes: whatever the time; whatever the circumstances. We had already spent a day traveling, and it was getting late, but there was no question of ordering simple dishes and wolfing them down. Mr Zhu, Ms Zhang and Feng Hua debated the relative merits of items on the menu, while George dozed off on my knee. We savored the food and chatted amicably, as Ruth’s head slumped onto the table.



The sudden and immediate restaurant stop had surprised me. So I didn’t consider too much Mr Zhu and Ms Zhang’s equally sudden decision to stay in the restaurant and not accompany us back to Da Zhu. It did have good food. I was relieved. The jeep was still crowded, but now it was merely uncomfortable, and not a device to extract confessions.



As we drove out of Chongqin it was not immediately apparent why these 100 miles would take us an hour more than the driver’s startling estimate of five hours. The roads were good; the jeep worked; the driver was comfortable at the wheel. George snuggled into me and I relaxed. In the front the girls chatted excitedly with their auntie (despite her lack of English). Katherine exchanged notes with the driver on the state of English roads. I should have taken this as ominous, but I didn’t consider it.



Not long out of Chongqin the road narrowed and began a more determined upward climb. The corners became shaper and the penalty for misjudging them more sheer. As the land rose, cornering became a more and more significant issue to me, as did our proximity to an increasingly large drop. I was certainly less relaxed. My breathing shallowed; my heart thumped. Our driver in common with many Chinese had a curious method in overcoming the problem of sharp corners. In England I would have stayed in my own lane, slowing down to achieve this if necessary. The Chinese on the other hand, once they have achieved a rate of travel, are very unwilling to concede it. Corners are therefore always taken in the outside lane whether your vehicle is the rightful occupant or not. This maneuver’s sole safety precaution is the driver leaning on his horn. We were travelling at night when the traffic is reduced, but lorries never cease.



This would have been bad enough, but the further we got from Chongqin, the worse the roads became. First we lost the top layer of smooth tarmac to rutted concrete. The road was more potholed, and soon our driver had to navigate between these and piles of gravel, large rocks and random detritus strewn across the road. These multiple hazards did slow his speed: first from slow, then to quite slow. We weren’t yet at very slow.



It was getting very late; the girls’ chatter had stopped. It was dark and still drizzling. We had traveled for three hours round rocks and cautiously over potholes, the driver had long since given up avoiding, as they grew greater than the roads. Still, he assured us with curious enthusiasm the roads would get worse.



That wasn’t quite true. The roads didn’t worsen; they simply ceased for long sections, briefly resumed on rutted concrete, and then ceased again. This all started as the driver was speeding up along a more satisfactory piece of rutted concrete. If it had been daytime he would have slowed down a lot less dramatically at the sudden and unexplained end of road. As it was we all lurched violently forward, and the slumberers awoke with howls. Whatever the imperfections of our previous journey at least there had been a road. Here space was cleared for a road and the ground compacted. Along the way were large piles of grit and stones – ready for the underlay. But no actual road. Despite the constant pounding of heavy traffic the drizzle had softened the ground, so in some places the mud had been churned up into foot or two foot high ruts. It was in one such place that we met our first traffic jam.



It involved five vehicles: our jeep and three lorries. When this section rises above mud track and achieves the status of a road two lines will pass each other by without the merest thought. While were there it was a twenty-five minute operation requiring considerable concentration and some ingenuity. We had been travelling on the right, just where we should be, when it became absolutely clear that the mud in our half would prevent us from doing as the law required. As had been demonstrated at frequent corners our driver has few qualms about switching to the left, and he did seem, for once, entirely justified. I did wonder why only one side of the road should be ploughed up so badly; but not for long, as after a couple of hundred yards we met a mini-convoy of trucks. Clearly they weren’t going to reverse: apart from practical considerations they had the moral upper hand, of being on their designated side. But nor was reversing so easy for us, given the conditions. There was some small space on the right just ten yards back; it looked a hopeful spot. We nestled in. The first lorry edged forward: it’s front inside wheel a few inches from us; the outside wheels a few inches from10 foot drop that constituted the side of the road. George wanted a wee and he wanted it now. I stepped out as our driver and the lorry driver began negotiations on the viability of passing. My foot sank ankle deep into the mud. George wet his trousers. The driver told us to get back in as the lorry couldn’t pass and he would have to re-maneuver. We drove and reversed in again at a sharper angle; the lorry, which had moved back to allow this, edged forward once more. Once more it couldn’t pass. More negotiations. I drew pictures with George on the window’s condensation. There could be only one conclusion to the drivers’ talk: we were as close to the quagmire that was our roadside, and the lorry was driving as close to the sheer drop that was his; and still it couldn’t pass. We reversed, slowly and with many stops, back the way we came. All the way.



Fortunately we were second time lucky with the part of the road. Nevertheless 100 miles took us six hours, and we arrived at Katherine’s parents with three bewildered children at 1.30 in the morning.



There was enough that was chaotic and uncomfortable and unnecessary about that journey to Sichuan to draw obvious and disparaging conclusions about China and the Chinese. Ex-patriots can’t help making them, repeating them and writing about them. And there is no denying them. Shanghai airport, for example, is host to the best queuing you will find in China; it is place populated by young cosmopolitan professionals. But still there is one line of the ordered, and several sub-lines of those trying to push in. There are no queuing systems to encouraging snaking; instead the lines go straight out to the door, preventing any other thoroughfare in the airport building. In other places it is far worse. You have to be prepared to fight to get onto a train, and most especially off it, as every one focuses for the one portal with little consideration of anything or anyone around them. And there are always so many people.



But on the other hand people can be far more patient and tolerant than Westerners. When we were coming back from Shanghai, the train was thirty minutes late, then an hour, then an hour and half. Not one person changed their posture, not one person complained; it was still safe to be a railway employee and move down the line. A young couple gave up their seats for Ruth and Chloe, and offered them chocolates. On the train a timid old man tolerated George’s enthusiastic attention, while onlookers smiled at Ruth and Chloe’s loudness. The heart of Chinese disorder is a lack of interest in petty rules; but China isn’t a jungle because the people, on the whole, are not as aggressive as Westerners. They don’t behave (in a social rather than a personal setting), but they don’t ask you to behave. If no real harm is done, things are left to lie.



This is an even more dramatic truth on the roads. There is no concept of right of way – just a desire to keep the vehicle moving at all costs. Traffic at junctions merges together, and no-one is upset at having to slow down when a taxi has nipped into their spot without right. There are no stopping distances. If you hail a taxi on the other of the street, it will cross to you directly, other road-users beware. One taxi traveled 70 metres on the wrong side of the road for no apparent reason but his own fancy. Even on that crowded street there were no manically gesticulating pedestrians keen to correct his folly.



Clearly confident and experienced drivers can lack basic skills. A company driver picked us up after a walk in the mountains. The road wasn’t wide, but nor was it narrow. As he had met us on the way he had to turn. We loaded the children and our bags, but before I had a chance to leap in myself Katherine shut the door and the driver left us.



“Where the hell is he going?” I asked, nonplussed at the sight of my children disappearing over a ridge.



“To the next town.”



“Why the hell is he doing that?



“There is a crossroads he can turn at.”



We were on a straight stretch of empty road; a three-point turn would not have been difficult.



When going down the mountain, the driver put the engine into neutral and switched it off. Yes, he glided down very well indeed, but he didn’t leave himself much room for error either.



Our short trip to the mountains in Da Zhu spoke as much about the Chinese attitude to travel as our long trip to Sichuan in the first place. Seeing mountains was very much my idea: this is not because Katherine’s family is blasé about local scenery. But generally the Chinese travel for work or to see people: they don’t travel to see things. When Katherine’s parents traveled to England four years ago, they came to see the girls, to see how we were getting on, to see if I were responsible husband and father. They were happy to wander around the local shops, but that was the extent of their further travel. They didn’t want to see local castles, local beauty spots. They didn’t want to go to London. For three weeks they spent most their time in our pokey apartment or going to the park with Katherine and the girls. And they never considered that I would expect anything different in Sichuan. But I did, and as the mountains weren’t far, we went.



Although February, it was very mild day: by the time we got to the mountains it would be T-shirt weather. Katherine and I had discussed the trip together, and I thought our party would consist of myself, Katherine, Ruth, Chloe and George. Taxis are remarkably cheap so I thought we would be traveling by one. Indeed we started off traveling by one; but it didn’t deposit us at the foot of mountain; but at the side of a street.



“What are we doing here?”



“Waiting for Ms Liu.” Katherine replied distractedly. This was clear enough in her mind for her to assume that it was common knowledge. I had only met Ms Liu once before and on that occasion she arrived an hour and half late with the excuse that her five year old nephew had not wanted her to leave. Waiting for Ms Liu in a dirty Da Zhu street, gray concrete buildings on every side, a little crowd gathering to watch the foreigners, was the not the day I had in mind.



“Why are we waiting for Ms Liu?”



“Oh last night, she overheard us talking about our trip to the mountains, and she decided to come along with her family.”



In fact it wasn’t just Ms Liu’s family that would tag along but an assortment of friends as well. This could not be a mere sightseeing trip; it had also to be a social occasion. 11 others joined and we traipsed to the bus station together some time later.



Our actual time in the mountains is another story. The travel aspect resumed at the bus stop. All sixteen of us waited at the bus stop. We were mostly silent: it had been a long day; and for a large part of it I had been carrying George. But we might have talked; there was nothing to stop us. There was nothing to stop words being said as Katherine, myself and the girls trooped onto the bus. In fact words were eventually said as we were all settled. And those words were:



“Don’t catch the bus, we have ordered a car to fetch us.”



There was no point questioning this, no point debating it. It was clearly a plan that had been lain in our best interests – an act of unself-interested generosity. But nobody thought to tell us, or think through some of the finer practical: 15 of us fitting into the one vehicle was the most obviously troubling of these finer practical details.



“Look Katherine, I don’t mean to offend anyone and I know they have organised this with the best of intentions but I am not getting off this bus.”



This was relayed to the relevant parties. The reply was animated:



“They say that it’s a long car.”



“Katherine, we wouldn’t all fit a stretch limo – and I don’t think they’ve even got that. I’m not moving.”



Next thing, all the remaining 11 had boarded the bus to join us. Not a single one left to explain to the long car the disappearance of the others. Another spontaneous decision.



In fact our family did travel in the Lius company car in the end. We had been on the bus about 30 minutes when one of the Lius spotted their driver coming the other way. China’s spontaneity can be as convenient as it is irrational: we were at no particular stopping place, but the bus driver was asked to stop. So he stopped, right there in the middle of the road. No complaints from the other passengers, no significant stares; we discussed what would happen, gathered our things and left the bus. Not all 15 of us this time: that point had been taken. But in typical Chinese generosity we were given priority – well the car could take us to our door, the bus wouldn’t.



Stopping in the middle of the road isn’t such a rare occurrence, and not just on mountain roads with little other traffic. In central Suzhou in rush hour two cars will prang, and insurance details are swapped right there, mounting queues be damned. But the startling thing is not so much that the simplicity of moving to the side of the road is overlooked, but that other users accepts this unnecessary delay without emotion. Yes, horns are sounded, but horns are always sounded. They have to be: pedestrians never look when they are crossing, treating the road as a pavement extension; cars turn into new roads with the same sang froid they would have for a continuation of the old.



China has a disregard for petty rules, a patience, a thoughtlessness, a generosity, a lack of planning, an acceptance of imperfection. Mostly it’s not the West; for all the emerging technology and economic growth it’s not First World: that is not always a bad thing.

2003-02-18
Dear Tim

I am aiming for an unexciting time myself over the next few weeks: the last couple of months have been very hectic.

You should have got the first section on my Sichuan journal earlier today. I would be grateful for feedback before I embark on other sections. I have decided to stop book reading for a bit - Ill keep up with the news but that is it. I felt that my freetime was dominated by reading, and that I should give more time over to thinking and doing. In particular I want to do more writing.

I am starting a routine of activities with the children. Monday was roller skating night. Wednesday will be swimming and there are various other things like dance, cooking and gardening which will be slotted in between.

I re-read Lord of the Rings two or three years ago and got as much pleasure from it as I did first time round as a teenagers. It's a fairy tale but with the inner life of characters also considered. I have finished the first two volumes of Dream of Red Mansions, but the next 1200 pages will have to wait. I liked the Vicar of Wakefield - light and funny; surprisingly accesable for an eighteenth century novel, which are in fact more readable than their nineteenth century counterparts.

How is Mike? I haven't heard from him in a while. Last thing I got said he was busy and hassled in his job.

I'll ask around about accommodation - there should be cheap stuff.

Nick


2003-01-21
Dear Tim

Thanks for the email. I haven't been writing much myself recently - things have been a great deal busier. We have had exam week and then reports; it has meant that I have been working flat out. I think months like these are sent to remind me what it was like in England all the time, to stop me becoming complacent. Well it's the last day now, and then three weeks off.

We should be flying to Sichuan on Sunday if K collects the tickets OK today. Originally we intended to go by train because it is considerably cheaper. The tickets can only be bought three days in advance from the mainline station to Da Xien (K's hometown's nearest station). This meant K had to travel into Shanghai to buy the tickets: 4 hours door to exactly designated train station door. Then she queued for four and half hours for the privilege of being fourth in line fo Da Xien tickets for Saturday the 24th when they first went on sale at midnight of the 21st. K was 4th in line at the sole port of sale at the exact moment of their first sale; there were three people in front of her, who, by regulation could buy a maximum of three tickets each; trains to Da Xien on the 24th had 2000 sleepers and 4000 seats. By some miracle of modern mathematics and organisation by the time K got to the front of the line there were just 4 seat tickets left. 44 hours on a train is unpleasant; with three under 8s it is a nightmare; with 3 under 8s and no bed it is unthinkable. I have no doubt to the legitimacy of this situation; although it is curious that as K was asking for confirmation of the ticket situation the teller was stuffing bundles of tickets under the counter. It is probably an unrelated curiousity that Sichuan is a province of over 100 million, a proportion of whom are migrant workers in the Shanghai region who are eager to return home for Spring festival on the sole train line. There is no extra rolling stock at this time and official pricing does not change. Market economics may well exert its power on the most straightforward of tellers.

At least she had the teller had the decency to operate her own part of the market economy away from her seat of official bureaucracy. But it did mean that K was unable to discover the other options: so we are gong by plane, where the market economy parades, not skulks.

The girls were excited to have talked to you. I was at the hospital visited Charlie. Charlie is my unusual American colleague: he is thoughtful; quiet; and has a wide perspective on world affairs. Until last week he crowned this unconventionality by being a keen footballer. But our school has a brutal way of reasserting norms, and Americans are just not meant to like football.

As you know Thursday is our football night. Boys and staff. For the first time in weeks it was perfect football weather: the bitter north wind was spent, and pleasant westerly caressed our curiously triangular pitch. For once Shanghai's industrial reminder had kept itself discreet and the sky was blue. The temperature had settled itself into a comfortable ten degrees - not too high for running, and not too low for our usually dormant goalies. We started quickly, as we always do: it is the one opportunity the staff have to rack up a few goals before we run out of puff and the boys superior stamina starts to even matters. The evening never came.

Charlie always plays with the boys to give them some kind of organisational structure to their youthful and very individual efforts. About fifteen minutes in, Mr Kim, our finance director, was bearing down on Charlie in central defence. Kim is useless: with the ball he is a good as any of us; but once he has the ball he never wants to part with it; even if he gets past half the opposition the other half have plenty of time to calmly organise themselves into relieving him of the ball. On the pitch his teammates discretely point out this fault in the kind of language that potentially watching mothers would not be offended by, but to no avail.

I tell you the rest later - got to go.

Nick


2003-01-17
Dear Tim

Glad to hear that you had a great skiing break (so to speak) - having spent several months working for a skiing company I guess that it is about time that I tried it, but it would mean bringing George along, sticking him on a pair of planks and pointing him downwards at the wrong end of a very sharp slope; and I have grown kind of fond of him.

George, by the way, has suddenly started speaking full sentences - some Chinese, mostly English. He is still a happy go lucky lad - his special nursery talent is being happy (according to his teachers, who also bemoan his inability to pull up his own trousers). Ruth is learning keyboard having got one for Christmas. she isdoing rather well.

Anyway - 10 to 9 must go

Nick




2002-12-31
Dear Mum and Tim

This is a joint email because the Internet is on a go-slow at the moment and we are going out soon to a New Year party.

Tim: thanks for the email. I can't remember which books I finally ordered; I mucked about with a few titles. Could you remind me. I am sure that they were titles I intend to borrow when I next see you. K was well pleased with the book you got her - there is no decent equivilient sold here; certainly not in Chinese.

Mum: shortly after I last emailed you your three packages for the children arrived. They have been received and partly devoured with much joy. Chloe has penned a card and is hoping for one in return from you. she is quite jealous of Ruth's e-card.

Happy New Year!

Nick
2002-11-18
Dear Tim

Thanks for the email: I haven't been hearing much from people recently - I guess it is that time of year. I myself feel to busy or tired for long emails. Not that I am stressed - although work is requiring more of me at the moment; it is just that I have the opportunity to do so much more. I decided to give gym a miss tonight so that I could catch up on some long standing work - ordering stuff for the geogrpahy department: a boring admin task that I have had hanging over me for a while.

Life is more challenging here because there is more to do; so it is more fulfilling as well. Ruth has earnt a lot of deserved praise from her teacher for the improvements in her work. She still sometimes complains, but the work is a lot more part of her routine and expectations now. And she really is improving. She feels the change more harshy than the other two, and sometimes cries for her grandma: it was expecially hard the other day when I put our family photo up. But she has lots of friends to compensate - she is with Ju Yi Ja at the moment, and probably with the New Zealand boys the next; or at one of my colleagues trying to scrounge biscuits. Chloe doesn't like to leave the apartment without an adult and is watching the Sound of Music at the moment. Chloe has seen children begging, some of them mutilated, and is frightened at the thought of losing contact with us.

I think it is impossible to keep up the same rate of work in a language: the effort is so enormous for such incremental gains. I think it is great that you have managed to keep your Spanish going at all; I didn't bother with Chinese while I was in England. As I said last time, I feel my Chinese has plateaued. I am learning more characters, but I don't feel there is any great change in my comprehension of things. I can now read most of the characters in a story book for 5-6 year olds; it is now the combinations that baffle me. For example 'fa' means to issue, 'da' to arrive: any guesses at the meaningof fada? That's right: how could it fail to be anything other than 'developed' (in the sense of countries). They are not all as unlikely as that, but than there are always the four line phrases to contend with, such as yi bu yi jiao yin: 1 pace 1 foot print. I guess the translation, one step at a time, is not too unlikely, but it still requires a leap of imagination. The trouble is Chinese values succinctness over immediate clarity: the reader is expected to be cultured enough to grasp the illusions. mai feng dao neng hang literarally means, buy place to farm business; it actually means if you want a mortgage go to the Agricultural Bank of China. The admirable clarity of the latter swamps the pithiness of the former so is not used in the written language. And this is advert, you can only imagine what anything literary reads like. Its like basic level English written by Ezra Pound where every statement is an illusion to something else.

The Oxfam forum sounds interesting. Poverty here is less obvious than last time, but it is disturbing to see children begging. There is no point giving then cash; they are often kidnapped by ruthless gangs who use them because they are more likely to earn cash begging. Sometimes these gangs mutilate the children. It really is shocking.

Generally I go to the gym by myself - Katherine likes the classes while I do circuit training; and if we go at different times we can get maximum time with the children. K is out tonight with a friend she made in a bookshop. K is also well in with the expatriot community. She is also enjoying the change of diet.

Probably the thing that katherine likes the most is the increase in our disposanble income: although I am rarely quick enough to dispose of much of it. Last week K went into town to by some decorations to brighten up our rather institutional apartment. In the antique market a couple of peasants sidled up to her wanting to know if she would like to look at something interesting. I heard this story shortly after looking at 16 vases and learning that we were 3000 RMB lighter. We don't even have anywhere to put the bloody pots, let alone worry about their fragility in the face of George's enthuastic uncoordination.

I wouldn't mind a treasure hunt myself for 2 peasants and my former 3000.

I am glad to hear that you are all well. Haven't heard from anyone else in a while although Ruth did get snail mail from grandma and I got one from Jean

Nick


2002-11-18
Dear Tim

This willbe a quick one: partly because it is bedtinme; partly because Katherine is hitting me, demanding to know what I said about her spending. Nothing, as it happens, that oisn't entirely true. I will leave it to your discretion to edit my emails.

I don't have a multi-area DVD as a colleague found out. Considering that DVDs are far cheaper here (even legit ones) it would be better to transfer some money and for me to buy them. Even in Shanghai it is difficult to get English language books - especially reference books; I mentioned a possible list to mum. K can organise presents on your behapf for the children.



Mum is sending wekly emails, but they are mainly a paragraph about my post. My comment was more of an observation than a complaint.

We shall all be back in the Summer, although at the rate that K is spending cash we might not make it as far as Shanghai.

Nick

2002-11-13
Deat Tim

This will have to be a quick reply as we have an apartment full of children at the moment - 7 of them to be exact; there are four adults as well. So you can imagine the intense feeling of calm, that is failing to descend.

We did get your postcard - thanks very much. Ruth's class has 7 or 8 different nationalities, but Spanish isn't amongst them; so it is one more country that she is aware of. Do you feel that your Spanish has improved? My Chinese has been getting on verywell, but I feel that i am beginning to plateau; I need to start reading properly to progress further.

I am glad that Ellen had a good time in London: it is good to get away and have a break . It wouldn't be a bad thing for Ellen to get bad marks that still pass her - sometimes it is important to aim for pass rather than perfection: survival is the first rule.

I am keeping very well to the personal exercise programme that the gym wrote for me: I am going three times a week after work. I have sprouted my first abdominal muscles. Generally though I am not aiming to be more muscular; I am just amazed at the feeling of fitness I now have - how much more energy I possess. I am still going to football regularly and while I am no more skillful than before, i can run around aimlessly for longer periods: it is nice feeling.

I guess from the fact that you are moving into HSBC's new building that you have not been made redundant: which is great news or a blow, depending on your point of view. The business proposal sounds interesting - keep me filled in.

Life here continues to be good. Ruth is far more settled in school and meeting the new, higher expectations. K saw R's teacher this week and he said that she has adapted very well now. She still finds it hard work though. C loves hard work. G is singing chinese songs and is generally progressing his merry way. I am doing fine.

Must go: the chaos is increasing.

Nick


2002-10-24
Dear Tim

Thanks for the reply from Seville: we are really taking advantage of worldwideness of the World Wide Web.

The field trip wasn't specifically geography, although it could have been; it was just three days of outdoor adventure. It was a great success, but as I am writing this from school (our internet connection is down), I won't go into details here.

Life is incredibly busy at the moment: this week I have been doing table tennis, volley ball, football and gym this week. we have also taken the girls swimming and to roller skating. It is a big change in my life not to have the time to watch TV or read books.

Skiing sounds like fun; I've only replied to complaint letters as a consequence of it. I hope Seville brightens up; the weather here has turned distinctly cooler.

Nick


2002-10-21
Dear Tim

Sorry about the delay in replying - i have been away at camp and my own internet connection is down so i am having to rush this out from school. i probably would be happy with the geocities site if i could log on to it; unfortunately geocities is considered too subversive and the chinese governement bans it.
very true about the hyspocracy of white demands for integration - generally it is a demand for other cultures to accept their subservient status. my own aim for a children's book is a little less ambituous than harry potter - more jack and jill.

katherine and i joined a gym yesterday and we had our own hi-tech medical. apparently i am a perfect weight for my height - i am blessed with a higher metabolic rate than most; which of course means that i would be the first die in a famine. but they are designing a programme to tone my muscles, which are embarrasment to the nation - i could do about three sit-ups before pegging out.

tong li is good - but there are a lot of places like it round here, and by tong li i was becoing blase. the best time is christmas (the very best) or end of jan, beginning of feb.

nick
2002-10-06
Dear Mike



How’s it going? Enjoying a post-Emma workplace? Tim emailed me and said that he enjoyed your birthday enormously. Does the Star Trek game work OK on your PC? Ordering from Amazon is a complete shot in the dark.



The industrial park, where we live, is like a bubble within China: not quite First World but remarkably similar to it. For example, there are cash machines. These cash machines accept all sorts of cards, and are so pleased with some of them that they are never returned. Fortunately, I was warned in the nick of time that Suzhou cash machines do not accept foreign credit cards despite an invitation; you have to travel to Shanghai if you want cash that way. Even if you have the correct card, actual hard currency is only intermittently available. It is wise not to rely on getting cash from these machines: although the scrum at the bank is unpleasant the results are more certain



Although I managed not to fall foul of the cash machines I was victim of the casual unreliability of the school’s finance office. On the one hand they can be remarkably flexible and helpful. By mid September I had most definitely run out of cash, and was beginning to regret the prospect of two weeks of a solely rice diet. However the school came to my immediate rescue, forwarding me US$ 400 the very same day. Which we promptly spent; so that, by the time my actual salary was due, I was particularly keen on the cash. Our foreign currency is paid directly into my foreign bank account, this month with numerous deductions for the girls’ school fees, and the rest to be swallowed by my direct debits. The part of my salary that I was interested in was my local currency allowance of 5000 RMB. This is paid into a local bank account, accessible only through a local bank card, activated, not unreasonably in this dishonest age, by your own personal number. The cards and number were personally issued by the head of finance, a lugubrious woman named Lisa Liu. At the time this issuance seemed perfectly innocent.



Nevertheless I failed to get money from the cash machine, my card being spat back at me. I assumed, because I had already been warned of such things that this was due to a general lack of cash in the machine. The local supermarket, Auchaung, part of a French chain (you would know whether this is actually true or not), accepts swipe card payments. These payments, like everything else at the checkout are accepted very slowly, but they are accepted nevertheless. Except in my case. Maybe the literacy rates are not sufficient in China to trust people to sign for their goods; instead you punch your personal number into a keyboard attached to the cash register. A perfectly adequate system if you have a legitimate number. Unfortunately I possessed only the latter part of that vital equation, as I discovered rather poignantly when it came to pay. By the time customers get to the checkout they are well trained in the art of queuing, and the muted fights where the vegetables are weighed or at the meat have settled into something more orderly by the time actual money changes hands. Nevertheless the Chinese are too fiercely individualistic for queues to remain stable commodities for any length of time, and my failure to pay was beginning to cause disquiet.



It is best to bring snacks and a drink for the wait to pay. Having the endured the wait myself I wasn’t going to leave without something to leave without something to show for it, so I went nuclear and produced my credit card. Auchang is one of the few places that accepts credit cards, but it doesn’t do so lightly. A mere checkout assistant isn’t empowered to do so. They have to attract the attention of a supervisor: the first stage of this process is the anxious glance around; then tentative waving; this rapidly progresses to more desperate waving; and finally, prompted by angry rumblings from the queue, frantic waving accompanied by leaping. The supervisor then arrives and takes the credit card to the cigarette counter where it goes through a series of tests, taking about five minutes. At last a receipt is printed for me to sign for; we are then free to grab our shopping and make a rapid getaway on our heavily laden bikes.



Lisa’s lugibriousness remained entirely intact, even faced with the enormity of her complicity in our humiliation. “Yes”, she replied blandly, in the unruffled surroundings of the school’s admin office, “I got your numbers wrong. You will have to wait for new ones.” And that was that, entirely matter of fact: her incompetence an accepted and inevitable part of the process of our being paid.



It took two days but I did eventually get access to my money the day before our three day break, but not before I caused another group of Chinese customers a great deal of irritation at the bank. I made to earn my money in many ways.



While I am typing this Ruth is playing on her birthday present, a new Play Station 1 that took us a month and half to get. Initially through lack of funds, but after my pay day due to the difficulty of finding a supplier. Unsurprisingly Sony are not keen on selling their goods in China; we eventually tracked down a Play Station smuggler, who would only sell us the damn machine after Katherine managed to convince him she was not an undercover police officer. It was definitely one of those situations that came under the category of ‘only in China.’ Somebody else sold us 20 Play Station games for less than eight pounds. I have every confidence that they are legit, and I have absolutely no reason to believe otherwise



All the best



Nick
2002-09-29
Dear Tim


Generally all three girls are doing well, and anyway I prefer to be upbeat. However, it goes without saying that this is in the context of being uprooted to another continent, and going to a school where very children have English as a mother tongue. Ruth has gone from a very easy going school that emphasised community values to one which sets homework every night, and keeps her in at break if her writing is not neat enough. She frequently cries tears of frustration at these new expectations, at tangental times. She needs a lot of investment of positive emotion and reassurance that she is great. Chloe is also getting homework for the first time, but she enjoys doing it: Ruth is not an indoors girl; she is not a careful girl.

Katherine's brother is staying with us at the moment.

Nick
2002-09-26
Dear All



I have just come back from a parents meeting. The teachers were there to sell the International Baccholoriate to them. I was there to represent geography; in fact I am the school’s sole geographer – not a state I ever imagined that I would find myself in. The evening itself was utterly boring; quite frankly, an unco-ordinated shambles. The school does management on the cheap, which in technical terms means a flat management structure: so no one is responsible for anything but their own discrete areas and no-one co-ordinates. So parents have to sit through seven or eight teachers saying the same kinds of things for the occasional nugget of something unique to a subject. Then there was the maths teacher insisting that everyone knew what a bell curve was but if incredibly there was someone who didn’t could they publicly humiliate themselves by raising their hands. The head saved the situation by raising his. Although this particular teacher continued her curious relationship with parents by informing them that we at SSIS were trying to make the children into intelligent and compassionate tinkers. I can’t imagine that parents pay US$1000 a month for their children to become tinkers, even intelligent and compassionate ones.



But such meetings are part of the justification for my wage so I should not complain. And mostly my evenings are free. I took Chloe roller skating Monday night. Ruth stayed home completing the homework she had neglected to do earlier. I think there may have been someone on the far side of the compound with a hearing problem who did not hear the full text of Ruth’s plea for exemption. After roller skating Chloe bungee bounced: you are harnessed to two bungee ropes, which are attached to twenty foot poles; you stand on an inflatable disc while an assistant pulls you down, forcing the bungee ropes to spring you 30 feet in the air. I did it myself, and was frankly very concerned: not so much at the going up, which I took in my stride; more at the point of going down. Chloe was apprehensive, but in fact had to be wrenched from it at the end, and then insisted she would return. Ruth did it at the weekend, and had no desire to repeat the experience (although she did not have the opportunity).



Last night it was Chloe’s turn to get into trouble over homework. For some reason, probably Chloe’s enthusiasm, she gets Chinese homework and Ruth doesn’t. Chloe is very keen to learn, although is under the illusion that she does not have far to go. She was showing her mum the character for woman; unfortunately Katherine somehow got the idea that Chloe was wrong. Obviously Chloe has never been wrong and tried to point out her mum’s mistake. Katherine began by gently pointing out that she was a little more experienced in the writing of Chinese than Chloe and has numerous qualifications to prove it. Chloe is not one to be deflected by such irrelevancies: she is Chloe Mei. I managed to escape just before the point that this exchange of academic views became a screaming row. Chloe now does her Chinese homework with me. I have learnt over hundred characters and still cannot read the simplest of children’s books; I’m going to need a few more years. Unlike Chloe who is due to be fluent any day now.



Next week we get three days off in honour of China’s national day. Unfortunately these three days are not attached to any weekend, and just float in the middle of the week, so it is difficult to go away anywhere. Katherine’s brother arrived today, and will stay for a while, so we can use this time to do activities with him. Katherine’s parents will come to stay soon as well. We will be quite a houseful.



Everyone is happy. George was wandering around with Spice Girls CD saying Ellen CD, Ellen CD: so don’t worry Ellen we won’t forget whom we should be returning it to. Ruth is in training to be a teenager, and Chloe is as proper as ever. She has been invited to a party on Saturday.



I very much appreciate the Internet revolution: not only is it easier to stay in touch with you, but I can also read the Guardian every morning before school. When I ride in with Charlie, an American colleague, we discuss world affairs. He gets the Herald and Tribune every weekend. Katherine is establishing a social network, and goes to aerobics on Thursday. George’s new best friend is a Norwegian girl called Maria. Ruth’s friends are Korean and Chloe’s are from Taiwan and Singapore.



Must go, it’s nearly bed time.



Nick

2002-09-24
Dear Tim

Thanks for the email. We don't actually have a cook; a lasy comes in for three hours a day to do our cleaning. It is amazing to think that we generate that much work, but some other ex-pats employ people full time. Katherine wants to invite her cousin to come and stay with us and pay her to look after the house and do general babysitting duties so that she can concentrate on her training. George is getting to an awkward age and it is difficult to balance his needs with those of the girls: he is always interfering with their homework for example.

Bertrand Russell would claim that the overvaluing of analyists is part of the pernicious legacy of Socrates, Plato and Aristotal. Analysis is essentially uncreative, that is why so much of it can be done by computers; analysists themselves are surely technicians rather than professionals. And I should get a cut of their overinflated wages.

It is good to hear that your Spanish is coming on apace; having a native speaker to talk to is a very good idea - language is not academic exercise, but a living thing. Actual communication should be the goal of a language, not technical precision. My Chinese vocab is improving all the time and I am gaining more confidence when I speak. It is nice to be able to have conversations with people who cannot speak English: I am beginning to explore an unkown world. But I also realise how far I am from fluency; whole sections of conversations are closed to me still.

I have not read Pickwick Papers: never had the interest to be honest. I find Dickens hit and miss - sometimes the density of it can draw you into another world (Oliver Twist, Hard Times, Great Expectations); other times his prose is too densly packed and you just bounce back of again (Nicholas Nicklby). Generally his books are a big investment. I finished The Glass Palace by Ghosh - its very good, I recommed it. I am now working slowly through a rather worthy history of China. It's dull but there is not much else out there.

I have taken photos but I haven't got round to sorting them out.

Nick




2002-09-18
Dear All

This week we passed the one month mark for time spent in China; it many ways it feels we have been here a lot longer. We are now into a fully established routine, and have found a diet that suits all of us. The girls are both asserting their personalities but there are fewer complaints about the general state of things and England is less often conjured up as an expression of perfection. Ruth even announced that she was Chinese, 'because I was born in China.' "But what do you feel? Do you feel Chinese or do you feel English?" "Chinese" "So if England played China in a football match who would you support?" "China - because I always support England and it would be nice to have a change." So the spirit of rampant nationalism lives on in our family.

In fact both girls are playing with local children. Our next door neighbour has a girl who is about 9: Chloe is very fond of playing with her; they exchange sweets, although Min Lu's mint quickly exchanged her mouth for a bin. But they got on well. Both girls are picking up Chinese. Ruth can count to 30; in fact has to be restrained from doing so; both can express love for the members of their family, exchange courtesies and express their inability to understand. George mixes and matches both languages to suit his mood.

The temperature dropped to about 15 over the weekend and it rained. Katherine and Chloe went to ballet and Chloe took two lessons and danced all Sunday afternoon. The picnic that I had scheduled with Ruth and George had to be taken inside and we wiled away the afternoon. It was a miserable day. The weather has picked up in the last couple of days.

Katherine is going to computer classes every morning while George is at nursery; in the afternoon they go out Cecillia and Maria - Cecillia is Norwegian and Maria is here two year old. She and George get on very well, although did topple over during one embrace; their hugging is now retricted to the grass.

I have just completed my first supervision of table tennis club, in which, of course, half the children were better than me. I did find my level with a twelve year old.

I am being kicked out of the computer room. Must go

Nick
2002-09-15
Dear Tim

Thanks for the email - it is nice to receive a more substantial one every now and again. George is in his element: he is quiet, but, surprisingly, the most outgoing of my children. Ruth starts piano tomorrow and Chloe has been at dance classes most of today. They work them hard in China and children her age can do some remarkably flexible things; Chloe is very keen to catch them up.

It is interesting to see that Patrick has changed his perspective now that his gamekeeper: I am sure that he is the ideal man for the job, and I bet he is more handsomely rewarded in his present role than he was previously.

I log on to the Guardian daily so I am aware of what is going on with Iraq. I discuss the situation with an American colleague, who is very thoughtful and, having spent a good chunk of his adult life working abroad, has a far wider perspective than most Americans. However, because ours is a foreign, uncomprehending island in an inwardly focused land Iraq seems a very distant prospect that few here are even aware of.

I sometimes think that I should have formal Chinese lessons, as I am continuing to learn the language in a haphazard way. My vocab is making good progress and i am more confident in sentence construction; but the characters are slow and painful process. There is a logic to character formation, but it is not consistent, so basically you are reduced to memorisation.

Good luck with the reduncacy situation: although I am not sure what good luck would consist of at the moment. I am suddenly aware that the comfort of my present situation comes at the cost of the cast iron security of a public sector job. But there are a lot of British teachers here: not one regrets leaving teaching in the UK; not one intends teaching there again. The more I teach here the more the unutterably awfulness of UK teaching dawns on me.

Nick




2002-09-11
Dear Mum, Tim, Ellen, Gary, Matthew and Bridget



It is nearly four weeks since we left England. When I think of this it amazes me: on the one hand we are now so settled that it is difficult to believe that we were living an utterly different life just one month ago, and are present routine was unimagined; but I also feel that time has swept by and we have only been here an instant. I don’t know how people manage to visit a country in a couple of weeks; we have seen just a small part of Suzhou; we haven’t considered venturing further afield to Shanghai or Hangzhou.



Ruth is signed up for piano lessons at school and Katherine has found a ballet teacher for Chloe Mei. The girls will also start school clubs next week and we have found an Olympic size swimming pool a few streets away. Of course, being Olympic sized it was hardly discreet. Getting in was more of a hassle: buying a ticket was only the beginning. We then had to have a medical; this consisted of an old man poking our eyes and sticking a finger in our ears. Maybe this was a way of keeping the more infectious diseases from floating around the pool, but as he didn’t have a wash basin for his hands I think the pool had just devised a more efficient way of passing on communal diseases. We then had our photo cards made, which did have some blurry resemblance to a human being, but made us indistinguishable from most of the other 6 billion. This completed we headed confidently in the direction of the pool only to be turned back in the direction of the counter selling swimming caps. After that we were allowed to present our tickets and photo ID to get locker keys. Our final swim didn’t take as long.



The queue for eggs later in the day did though; and after we queued for eggs we had to queue to have our vegetables weighed; finally we queued to pay for it all. The children were kept entertained, as this particular supermarket catered for a clientele that like their meat fresh and there is nothing fresher than alive. Obviously concessions had to be made for the larger animals; but still there were terrapins, frogs, eels and all kinds of fish. Eels have little imagination and don’t mind being crammed into a glass box half filled with water and lie their uninspiring, not even bothering to slither; the frogs take their predicament with admirable stoicism passing the occasional phlegmatic aside to the world in general, catching no-one’s eye: it was the terrapins that were the most active, much to my surprise; anxiously crawling over each other, though never escaping. George was transfixed; Chloe disapproved of the smell.



The supermarkets are nothing to the bustle of a street market, where the only concession to larger animals is that they are tied up: although to be fair I only saw the one pig. It was on display with dogs, cats and budgerigars: I am not sure whether the pig was intended as a pet or whether the other animals were destined for the table. We had to wrench Ruth away from a Dalmatian puppy; I might have been more indulgent toward her urgent desire to purchase it if she had intended it for culinary purposes. If she wants a little companion she can play with George. One of my colleagues/neighbours has invited Ruth to share her dog, taking it for walks and carrying the plastic bags in case of accidents: Ruth has so far declined.



George has rapidly become the most famous member of our family, merely for performing the unremarkable feat of waving and shouting Ni hao indiscriminately to passerbys. A remarkably high percentage of the compound will blank me but stop to exchange ni haos with my youngest. They all know his name.



In nursery George has learnt to say: mama shi zhonguoren (mum is Chinese); zhao mama (look for mummy) and SuDu Hua Yuan (our address). He has only been there a week and one departing teacher gave him a gift. The cook gives him extra large portions, but then he is already known as a boy who appreciates his portions.



Ruth had awful ear ache last night and we had to rush her to a clinic she was in such pain. They extracted a large globule of ear wax; Ruth’s speech has been far gentler today, although she does complain that her voice doesn’t sound like her voice anymore. I think the earwax may have been the root cause of a number of Ruth’s characteristics. She is fine now though.



Must go.



Nick

2002-09-07 Re: Life in London
Dear Tim

Hopefully my email finally go thtrough to you: the internet is immensly popular here but can be erractic. Google is banned at the moment because it was found to have a thousand times more references to Zhand zi Ming than Yahoo. i can get the Guardian but not the BBC.

I havaen't read Atonement: who is it by? I finished the Flashman on the plane - a very entertaining read. I have since read Z for Zaccharia as I am having to teach it ( a good read - especially for teenagers, who are the target audience). At the moment I am reading a very different book: Ghosh's The Glass Palace; it is like Birdsong in the sensous density of the writing and a narrative pull entirely created from the intrinsic interest of the characters and their situations. It begins with the fall of the last Burmese king in 1885 and follows the densities of various families caught up the last years of the British empire. A very vivid read: so far I recommend it.

I am glad to hear that you are keeping busy; we have more of a social like than before: it definetly helps that our level of disposable income has gone through the roof: we have gone to a restaurant as a family three times this week; and that is while we are budgeting after our humungous splurge when we first got here.

We are discovering more and more ways we can live a full life: we went to the Olympic size swimming pool today; about ten minutes ride away. There is also a roller skate park nearby. We have also bought a toaster, much to the delight of the girls, who feel we can now have a proper tea: Chloe now only has to compromise with Chinese food once a day (we have porridge oats for breakfast). Life is utterly different to my experience 8 years ago. Thank goodness.

We are trying to avoid chores such as tidying up and have employed a maid. We can afford a full time maid without much of a dent to our finances. The thing that amazes me is that some ex-pat teachers find cause to whinge on: I doin't believe they can ever have worked in the UK. But I am sure that I will get used to all this before long, and start assuming that it is my right.

Do come and visit; suzhou has many pretty spots and there are several tourist attractitions not many hours from here. There are however a dearth of Spanish speakers. We shall be back in the UK next year.

See ya

Nick




2002-09-06
Dear Tim



Thanks for the prompt reply to Mike’s email. I have had the opposite sort of week to you: full of incident. Great for finding things to write about; not so great for finding time to write them. I hadn’t written Mike in a while so I decided to send him a longer missive.



It was a harder week for us all because the school gave us three days off, which meant three days of entertaining the children. Added to this we had a couple of Canadians descend upon us. I should explain that this is not some freak weather of this area, but the unforeseen product of a casual phone conversation Katherine had with Sonya last month. Sonya mentioned that two colleagues of Daniel’s might be in the area and maybe they would call in on us. Katherine said fine, and promptly forgot the conversation until we received a phone call last week asking if we could put them up for a couple of days. Fortunately they were nice people and were careful not to stay for too long, which is not that difficult I guess when in proximity to my children.



Ruth has had a stressful after dreading the return to school. She is far more aggressive than she is ever was in England. She is also more independent. Three New Zealand boys moved in next door last week: they are 6,7 and 8. Ruth plays with them a lot. I am in two minds about the boys. On the one hand they seem pleasant and polite, on the other they drop litter in our apartment and hit old ladies who ruffle their hair.



The boys have a very poor reputation among the local Chinese: Katherine has been asked to act as a translator for angry delegation. Embarrassingly their parents are new colleagues (the school is growing fast enough to employ new teachers during the term). At least Ruth has her new Play Station to occupy her if they are rendered asunder.



I am using the digital camera a lot. I am sorry I haven’t sent any photos: I have been using it to provide illustrations for commentaries on the places we visit, and the documents have too much memory to send by email. I am intending to buy a CD writer, and then I will send you CDs.



It might be a while before I can afford one though. We are running through cash at quite a rate at the moment. Although things are cheaper there is a lot to buy, and anyway we have raised our expectations: we go out to eat, go on trips etc, etc. Katherine’s mum’s cousin will arrive this week to look after the apartment and the children full time so that Katherine can go out to work. Until Katherine actually finds a job and after that is paid that is one more expense.



Nevertheless this expenditure is maintainable and the result of our lifestyle going through the roof.



I have numerous legitimate reasons to finish this letter now, but ultimately I want to play on Ruth’s Play Station



Nick




2002-09-05 3rd time lucky
Dear Mum, Ellen, Tim, Matthew and Bridget.



I am finally connected to the Internet at home: communication will now be far easier. The school has been very generous: apart from this computer, our apartment has all the mod cons, including air conditioning and an oven. The latter surprised me more than the former, as I didn’t see an oven the last time I was in China.



In fact this experience of China is very different to my last; something for which I am very grateful. There is a French hypermarket nearby, which is opposite a B&Q. You can’t get everything that we would have in England, and some things, such as Cornflakes are prohibitively expensive, but we can buy milk, porridge, cheese, margarine, kethup. Inevitably Suzhou has several KFCs and a MacDonalds. It helps that I am paid a far better wage than last time. Many of the teachers lead entirely ex-patriot lives, learning little Chinese and not interacting with the local community. We are making a conscious effort not to do that: it would make our time in China pointless. As always the children give us instant access into the community; all three are popular, greeting everyone they pass. George repeats anything told him, in English or Chinese, which is particularly endearing.



George completed his second day of nursery today, with a great deal more success than yesterday. Yesterday he wailed and ate biscuits. Today he told anyone who would listen that he was mum was a Chinese (in Chinese) and ate dumplings. He amuses the teachers. The girls are enjoying schools: Chloe has an Irish teacher, and Ruth an Englishman. They both approve of the lunch menu, which has a choice of Western food and is served with fruit juice.



Teaching is fine: in England my main task is to calm down classes; here they need to be wound up. They are all polite and do as they told, but with little enthusiasm. The children come from all over the world, but the three largest groups are Korean, Taiwanese and Singaporean; I also teach Danish, Finnish, Indonesian, British, Canadian and French children. The local Americans commute on masse to the American school in Shanghai 96km away.



The last three weeks have been incredibly hectic, and subtly draining, but I am sure that we will be happy here. We live in a compound on an industrial park out of central Suzhou: it is peaceful and unpolluted here (the smog hits you when you cycle into the centre). Our compound (Suzhou gardens) has about 700 people, including most of the teaching staff, so it had a friendly village atmosphere. Inside there are guards and no traffic, so it is quite safe for the girls to go to the park or the shop by themselves.



I have taken photos on the digital camera and as soon I am organised I will send them. Mum and Ellen you should have received my letter by now. Has Jean received hers?



Nick