ISpyShanghai

Work has been, quite figuratively, insane these past few weeks. On Sunday I worked a shift from 10am until past midnight, with just occasional break for crying and thumping the desk.

It’s not all weeping and wishing we were dead at the office however, another colleague just arrived from the UK this morning bearing gifts of Jaffa Cakes and Advent Calendars.

A Chinese envoy was dispatched to meet David at the airport, and even though we provided photos from David’s recent 30th birthday party, they still didn’t find it all that easy to meet up. Odd.

Daniel (on your left) and David finally meet up

Brace yourselves for some rather unpleasant news, I was pickpocketed at the weekend. Now I enjoyed “Oliver Twist” as much as the next man, but in real life the whole thing isn’t half as much fun. Picture the scene, you’re a handsome gentleman in his mid to late 20s (alright then, 29) and you’re having trouble getting a taxi on the mean streets of Shanghai. It’s always like this when it rains, and the area I was in (between Huaihai Lu and People’s Square) is a blackspot for picking up a cab.

Racing through crowds, fighting other potential passengers, when suddenly you notice an unbearable lightness about your person. And that was that, no sign of a fast-footed street urchin, no shifty men lurking in corners- it was there, and then it wasn’t- wallet and phone both gone.

The silver lining in this tragedy is that I’ve gotten lots of great advice off people ever since it happened: apparently the pocket (outer, jacket) I was carrying my stuff in was all wrong, the exact spot (overpass next to Nanjing Road, suspiciously close to where WoAi works…) where I was robbed is a terrible den of thieves, this time of year (just before the new year when migrant workers want to go home) is particularly dangerous and nobody should carry over 1,000RMB in cash on them (because, well, just because).

All very valuable information, and just what I wanted to hear.

I believe the Chinese at the end of this clip says:
“If someone tickles your goolies on the subway, take it as a compliment!“

Last night I had to meet my landlord- the lanky, miserable cretin.

For some reason this joker insists that I pay rent every single month, and if that wasn’t enough- he wants it on time.
When I’m three or four days late because I have important drinking binges I can’t get out of, or just can’t be arsed, he throws a hissy fit.

Yesterday I had to ask one of the guys from work to call and explain why, despite my repeated promises, I would not be transferring the cash directly to his account today, or any other day. Well it all went off, and the two of them had a huge shouting match over the phone.

Little landlord Fauntelroy was threatening to evict me, take money out of my deposit (no doubt to pay for another pair of his horrible white trainers), and have all of my chopsticks snapped in half or whatever. Obviously I didn’t stand for any of that nonsense:
“Tell him I’m not here!”
I said, forcefully.

When we actually met up, of course, he didn’t say a word- either because I’m very much the Stephen Seagull / Vin Diesel type, or because he doesn’t know any english. I handed over the cash in a stern, yet fair manner, and I think we both left knowing who held the moral high ground.

Is there a better TV drama than The Sopranos?

Hang on, don’t answer, I’m still thinking.

No.
No there isn’t.

Bobby’s son what wets the bed

I bought a box set of the whole season a while ago now and have been steadily ploughing through it over a period of a few months. I love it so much that when I finally watch the last episode, I’m thinking about starting again from the beginning. In much the same way as I haven’t read “Ulysses” over and over again.

Last night, for legal reasons that I can’t get into, I watched it with the sound turned off. Imagine my horror when I found out that the English subtitles on the disk I faithfully took to be a legitimate copy, were less than accurate.

 
she looks good for her age what what?

“What the crivens!” I shouted
“I paid 15 pounds for this thirty disk set!”

Tony, a Soprano

Those crooks at HBO shall be hearing from my attorneys-at-law.

This is what I ate at the weekend- steamed hairy crab. One of the guys from work had been telling me all week about how this was the perfect time to eat this particular dish. In fact he was particularly specific: the last 2 weeks were the best time to eat female hairy crabs, but the ship has sailed on that now and we’re into male crab season for the next fortnight.

Let me tell you anyway, they were probably the best thing I’ve eaten in Shanghai. In fact I’ll be more specific, since that seems to be all the rage these days- the top 5 Chinesey things I’ve eaten in Shanghai currently stands like this:

1. Steamed Hairy Crab @ 1221 (1221 Yanan-Xi Lu) in fact most of the stuff in there is good.

2. Xiao Long Bao @ the dumpling place in Yu Yuan gardens where you literally have to queue for 90 minutes to get served. It’s not worth it, because how can it be worth 90 minutes for a few dumplings? They taste like pork chops though.

3. Yu Xiang Qie Zi @ [it's really very hard to pick one place but...] @ the Sichuan restaurant on Wuding Lu / Yanping Lu (you’ll know the one because it’s got big blue jars outside) even though it almost made me go toilet all over the inside of a taxi the following day

4. Spring rolls @ 650 YuYuan Lu. I would prefer if they weren’t so hot you could roast Chestnuts on them, but them’s the breaks

5. Crispy Pork @ Shanghai Uncle, Xu Jia Hui. Although it basically just tastes like English style roast pork so that one might be cheating.

Here’s what the inside looked like- crab anatomy seems to be 50% shell, 13% meat, 37% weird delicious yellow gunk. No wonder they walk funny.

Hello! Shopboy here with your Friday fashion tips.

There’s been a lot of talk in the last few years about the pros and cons of a man carrying a small bag: on the plus side no more bulky pockets weighing you down, but on the other hand, it makes you look like a Thai male prostitute.

In this modern world however, with an i-pod, Blackberry, wallet and bottle of water to lug around the city, many young urbanites find a small ‘man bag’ to be an essential, and masculine, piece of kit.

On Line 2, Shanghai subway.

Others just borrow their Mum’s holdall.

Long time readers (hi Mum!) will realise that not only have I used that joke before, but that I’ve also written about my landlord’s appalling english before.

Well he’s at it again. Apparently now he’d prefer me to go into him- but I’m going to try and insist on a straight cash sum.