ISpyShanghai

On Saturday I went to a restaurant called Trattoria Isabella. It’s a lovely little place, candles, soft music, great Italian food…and a braying American loudmouth sat a few tables away from us, with a voice that could knock over a 4 year old child.

This oaf would make a great announcer in a train station, since me and Emma could hear every single thing he said- including a four syllable word for something he likes to do in bed that nobody wants to hear as they tuck into beef carpaccio. I would’ve asked him to keep it down, but Emma’s look of shock was so funny I actually quite enjoyed the whole thing.

Met up with WoAiZhongGuo and had a couple more bottles of wine before watching some game called “Rugby” which apparently is very popular in the colonies.

England lost, no change there.

I reckon this is what your new hairstyle should look like.

Ha en bra dag!

Highlights of a poorly behaved Friday night on Tongren Lu:

• Craig AKA dingle AKA the Chuckle brothers (I assume) giving a tin of mushy peas to the waitress in Gourmet Cafe with full and specific instructions on how to serve them up with his fish’n'chips
• Seeing 10-15 Fillipino bar girls wearing sticky labels saying “HER”, because an unnamed member of the group insists on asking “Is that her?” constantly whilst looking for a girl he met a few months ago
• Jonathan AKA wiggy AKA The Godfather on a podium in Chicago using the microphone to display his wedding DJ skillz
  “Now then boys and girls, lads and lasses, I want to see everybody up on this stage- it’s YMCA!“.
• Me trying to translate “Now then boys and girls, lads and lasses, I want to see everybody up on this stage- it’s YMCA!” into Chinese into the same microphone.
• A prostitute piggyback fight

This is not in Shanghai. Sadly.

I should really start taking my camera on nights out.

I’ve just ordered delivery food from two places on the same street- Coolzey (seafood pizza, extra squid tentacles) and Thai House (hot and sour chicken soup, spring rolls, red duck curry). I called the one that’s closest second, so it’s a fair, no-holds barred, adrenaline-soaked deathrace to see who gets here first.

UPDATE- it was the Thai place.

The more time I spend working with Chinese people, the more similarities I see between their sense of humour and mine.

One of our guys sent out an email about closing the second door to the office, and another (also Chinese) guy replied by rephrasing the text and saying what a wonderful poem it made:

The second door of our office;
If it is open, then keep it open
If it close, should keep it locked.
Who close that door
Who should lock it.

[Li Jian Wei, 2007 reproduced with permission].

Which I thought was absolutely class.

When I point out Chinglish signs mates at work, they laugh at those too (my mate Jay loved this one), although I notice that the laughter is somewhat less raucous and prolonged than when I try to speak Chinese, or when someone accidentally crashes the company car into a breezeblock.

Of all the things to be frightened of..

In fact, now that I think about it minor car accidents in China are pretty much the equivalent of a custard pie in the face in England.

When packing for Suzhou, I planned to take a couple of polo shirts with me, not to play polo you understand that would be ridiculous I’m just a fan of the more casual collar.

The night before we went, I went out for a couple of drinks and, long story short, had to use the shirts to put out a stable fire. Happily, I found a shop called “Squirrel Shaped Fish” in the centre of Suzhou that had some fine shirts, and at a very reasonable price too. Imagine my surprise when I returned home to find the logo on these shirts was eerily familiar.

Perhaps I should write to the good people at Squirrel Shaped Fish to tell them some european upstart is stealing their logo.

Normally I like to use photos that are relevant to what I’m doing, or at least talking about. But two and a half months after taking this one, I still can’t work it into a conversation yet can no longer resist putting it up.

James Murphy, AKA Bart- I salute ye.

Following the success of renting a couple of bikes in Suzhou, Emma has finally been convinced that this (and not the stupid ‘bus as she has previously insisted) is the only right and proper way to get around Shanghai. Yes there are scores of roads you can’t ride down, yes you have to have a bit of brass neck to be on the bottom rung of the Shanghai traffic ladder (blue trucks driven by shirtless workmen, finishing off a 12 hour shift being at the top of the pile)- but it’s still more fun than a barrel full of wet monkeys, and the best way to get to know your neighbourhood.

People I talk to are amazed that I still haven’t had my ride stolen in, what, 7 months? So I told her what I’ll tell you know- the secret to not getting your bike stolen in Shanghai: put loads of crap in the basket.

Old popcorn, broken chopsticks, empty carrier bags- throw the lot in there, you’re aiming for a look that’s somewhere between the front lawn of a council house, and a Jackdaw’s nest.

And with that, we loaded up our bikes and headed off through the streets, ringing out a peal on our bells in the clear Autumn air.

A woman collecting boxes. Jing-An district, Sunday afternoon.

Bike, 160RMB (plus basket) from Carrefour