Joanna apparently

The landlady was due to arrive at 9am this morning with the new Ayi. Instead, at 9.30am she arrived, without the Ayi, but with the interpreter, Joseph. Joseph is 78 years old, deaf as a post, and speaks very good (very formal) English. I have met him several times; she brings him with her when she has things that have to be said that are too important to mime. He is very nice, but with an unfortunate habit of loudly breaking wind at inopportune moments (much to J’s horror).

“Good Morning Madam”, said Joseph to me, taking his shoes off.
“Good Morning,” I shouted at him. “Where is the new Ayi?”
“There is problem with new Ayi,” said Joseph. “She cannot read”.

It’s hard to imagine really how much of a problem that would be. Apart from not being able to use the Phrase Book and the Chinese/English dictionary that is vital to everyone’s communication, she wouldn’t have been able to read the cookery books (to make tea) or the labels (when she was out shopping). Presumably, she would have been spraying the furniture with air freshener, and cleaning the bath with washing up liquid. She wouldn’t have been able to read the washing instructions in clothes and may have put bleach in the washing machine and scrubbed our most delicate items with her industrial scrubbing brush. In fact, exactly like the one that just got fired.

Having deposited Joseph in the living room, the landlady disappeared to fetch the new Ayi. I spent the next hour and a half making small (but loud) talk with Joseph, until finally at 11.00am, the landlady returned with the replacement new Ayi. She seemed much older than the one we should have had, not at all fresh-faced and eager. In fact, exactly like the one that just got fired. However, this new Ayi lives 20 miles away and to get here, she has to take the subway and the shuttle bus to the estate, rather than cycling round the corner on her bike. This daunting journey (2 hours each way apparently) means that she will have to start at 8am, not 7am, and will not be able to come for half a day on Sunday. In fact, again, exactly like the one that just got fired.

J had been tasked with thinking of a nice English name for the Ayi, and had chosen Katie, but on seeing the replacement whispered frantically to me that Katie didn’t suit her, and Joanna would be better. I have a feeling that she won’t be here long enough to warrant going to the trouble of actually naming her. Exactly like the one that just got fired in fact.

Chicken Licken

I decided yesterday that I might see how I get on with cooking a roast chicken. While this may not seem the greatest culinary adventure in the world, it is really surprisingly difficult in Shanghai.

I searched in Carrefour for anything vaguely resembling a chicken suitable for roasting. There are plenty of chicken bits available, feet, wings, breast fillets, but apparently no whole birds. I finally found something that looked likely, it was squashed up inside its little tray and covered in clingfilm, it did seem quite small, but I decided that it was probably half a chicken, which was good enough to experiment with. By way of accompaniment, I bought a packet of McCormick Chicken Gravy Mix (no Bisto here, no gravy granules, no gravy browning – there are Oxo Cubes but that's it).

Imagine my surprise when I unwrapped the chicken today to find its head was still attached. I checked in my Nigella How To Eat book to see if there was anything in there about How To Behead Chickens, but alas there wasn’t. I got my big meat cleaver out (I knew it would come in handy one day) and started hacking away, trying to keep my mind blank. I managed to chop its little head off and get it in the bin without really registering what I was actually doing.

You would have expected it by now to resemble the sort of chicken that we are so used to seeing in Morrisons. But it didn’t – it looked scrawnier, and emptier. I came to the conclusion that this must be a very natural chicken, without having been plumped up with water and goodness knows what else. Not having sage, or even a packet of that awful dried stuffing mix, I stuck a whole onion in it to hold its chest up, covered it in salt and pepper and butter and put it in the oven.

An hour later, I got out the Gravy Mix and made it up. It was sadly disappointing – it was white for one thing, and tasted more like soup than gravy. I would have done better just dissolving an Oxo cube in water. I put the gravy in the bin and took the chicken out the oven.

It was certainly quite a nice golden brown, but it smelt very strange. It didn’t really smell like chicken – it smelt too ‘gamey’ somehow...and when I started to cut it up, I knew for sure it wasn’t chicken. I have no idea what it was – maybe a duck (though I’m positive it wasn’t), or possibly a pheasant. One thing is for sure though - roast chicken, roast potatoes and gravy is now not only a distant memory, it will be staying that way.

Goodbyeee Ayi

I haven’t written much about our Ayi. That is because there hasn’t really been an awful lot to say. Before I came to Shanghai, I couldn’t really imagine a person arriving at 8.00am and leaving at 6.00pm (6 days a week) and spending the hours in between doing all our cleaning, cooking, gardening, washing and ironing. It was surprisingly easy to get used to not having to do any housework, but getting used to someone being constantly in the house was less easy.

We generally kept out of each other’s way, apart from when she had something important to say. This usually involved clothes, and was easily done - she simply brought me the relevant items to show me the latest damage she had caused. Our British clothes stood no chance against her washing methods. Given I have not come across one good quality Chinese-made item since I have been here, I have no idea how their own clothes don’t fall apart. She managed to shrink t-shirts and socks, turn white things pink, turn black things grey, burn holes at random, and bleach out entire patterns. Despite this, we were concerned for her welfare and her long working hours. Via a visitor who spoke Chinese and English, we told her that she could have two weeks off (paid) at Chinese New Year and could, if she had finished her work, go home before 6.00pm. By Chinese standards, this is generous beyond belief. However, she made the most of this by gradually shortening her working day to the point where she was routinely leaving at 4pm. One day, about a fortnight ago, our dragon landlady arrived at 4.30pm, and was horrified to discover the Ayi had already left. She went out to trample on the lawn to see if it had been watered (it hadn’t) and that, as far as the landlady was concerned, was that. The search for a new Ayi began, whether I liked it or not. While I felt extremely guilty (I did not really consider her washing misdemeanours to be sackable offences) I did think a new Ayi might be more suitable. According to my Shanghai Culture Shock book, the Ayi typically becomes a dear friend and part of the family, teaching us all Chinese and coming on holiday with us. I personally found that I had more of a rapport with the woman in the local bread shop, so I had to conclude that we had an Ayi that none of us were ever going to bond with.

Last week, the search ended, the landlady was satisfied, and on Sunday, we met our new Ayi. She is much younger, maybe mid-twenties, she seems very keen and very friendly, and has been working for a Chinese family for the last year. Apparently, although the salary we are to pay her is more than she currently earns, the money is not so important for her (nor apparently the working hours, as this Ayi starts at 7am, stays till 6pm and works half a day on Sunday too) – all she wants is to be treated kindly. The mind boggles.

And so today, the landlady arrived at 3pm, catching the current Ayi suitably unawares. She was ordered to hand over her bleach, scrubbing brush and keys, and was then duly escorted off the premises. Amy, our Estate Agent/Interpreter, assured me that people hired and fired Ayis all the time, it was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t, but I still hid in the study throughout.

Not according to Nigella

Opening the boxes was very exciting – after all, I hadn’t seen the contents of them for over 2 months – and everything in these boxes was supposed to be things I couldn’t possibly wait more than a week for. As I put clothes away (generally thinking when I am I ever going to wear THAT), and put books away (mostly thinking oh yes, I was supposed to be reading THAT), I was thinking about my favourite cookery books that I’d unpacked and put in the kitchen, ready to look through later. When later came, and I looked through How to Eat, and How to be a Domestic Goddess, I wondered How I was ever going to do any of those things on a cooker with only two rings (both with one flame setting – Fiery Wok Temperature) and an oven that is a law unto itself. I decided the best solution was 7 Days, so off we went.

They do a Fruit Platter there that is second to none. It is a huge plate of beautifully prepared fruit, decorated with an exotic bird or dragon or some other creature carved from a water melon. Today however, J decided to try something different and ordered a Fruit Salad instead. It arrived 10 minutes later. It was a large bowl, full of juicy chunks of melon, pineapple, bananas, apples, water melon and tomatoes. The bowl was lined with lettuce leaves, and the fruit was smothered generously with mayonnaise. We hoped it might be cream, but unfortunately it wasn’t. And just in case there wasn’t enough mayonnaise already covering the Fruit Salad, it came with an extra dollop in a little side plate. Poor J, these days she’ll try anything, and anything with Fruit in the title surely couldn’t be that bad….but sadly bananas with mayonnaise defeated her.

Make and Mend

This morning, at 9.30am on the dot, our boxes arrived. This was the air freight, which somehow ended up beating the sea freight after all. There were 6 boxes, which were unpacked and put away in less than 3 hours. I seem to remember it taking considerably longer to pack them. Amazingly (or maybe not so amazingly given how much bubble wrap I used to wrap each fragile item) there were only two breakages. One was a wine glass (and not an expensive one either), and the other was one of my Royal Doulton Images statues – Gift of Freedom – the dove’s wing had broken off. The Ayi whisked it away to carry out one of her repair jobs on it. She reappeared 15 minutes later, proudly bearing the ornament aloft. She had stuck the wing back on with sellotape.

Prada Parade

Yesterday, under the general umbrella of ‘School Trip’, J and I went to an exhibition at the Peace Hotel. The Peace Hotel (5 Stars no less) sits right in the middle of the Bund, and is probably the most well-known (and for many years, the most luxurious) hotel in Shanghai. The exhibition was a history of Prada skirts, and as we have been looking at dress designing in D&T, and as I thought it would good for J’s Shanghai project to visit such a historic landmark, it seemed an ideal trip out.

We got to the Peace Hotel about 11.00am, and made our way through all the Americans in the lobby to the lift attendant. “Prada Exhibition?” I enquired. “7th Floor madam,” she replied politely. “Do you have your invitation?” Ah…I should have known there would be a catch. I hadn’t realized it was invitation only. We made our way back through the Americans, and pausing only to pick up some tourist leaflets from a display, we headed for the doors. Next moment, the lift attendant was by my side. “Here!” She was out of breath. “Invitations for you!”

We went back through the Americans again, and in the lift up to the 7th floor. The exhibition was stunning of course, beautiful skirts (and very strange skirts of course) whirling and hanging and draping and every other form of display imaginable. All artistically arranged within the 3 suites that housed the exhibition….the Chinese Suite, the American Suite and the British Suite. I’m not sure how much it costs to stay in one of these Suites, but I doubt I’ll be going in one again….there were beautiful rooms; dining rooms, sitting rooms, huge bathrooms, walk-in wardrobes, all the walls mahogany panels, all beautifully decorated and (I read later) all carefully preserved to remain how they were in the 1930s, when the Peace Hotel represented everything of the Jazz era that was Shanghai’s heyday.

A Chinese man came over to us and asked where we were from. England, I told him, but we live in Shanghai now. He studied Design in England for 6 years, he said, at Manchester. What a coincidence, I said, we used to live only 20 miles from there. I miss the Trafford Centre so much, he said. I miss it too, I said. But I love it here in Shanghai, I said.

We left the exhibition two hours later, with our souvenirs – two Prada badges (each showing a billowing skirt), two bars of Prada soap (each wrapped in a picture of one of the skirts on display), our invitations, and our Prada ‘Waist Down’ Exhibition Guide. Apparently, after Shanghai, the exhibition moves on to Europe and the US. We however moved onto the Bund History Museum over the road. On the way, J had her portrait drawn by a street artist.

Boxes ahoy

When the boxes (all 25 of them I think) were finally packed and sealed and collected in England, I was quite confident that I would never see any of them again. At the time, the air freight was supposed to take about 6 days (therefore arriving at the end of March), while I was advised that the sea freight could take between 8 and 12 weeks, so I could expect it sometime in June. I actually got an email early in April to tell me that the sea freight had taken off (or the nautical equivalent – set sail?) and would be arriving in Shanghai on the 7th May. This took me by surprise, and prompted me to ask the shipping company where my air freight had got to. Numerous emails went backwards and forwards, they had lost the documentation, they had found it, could I confirm this, could I send that – this went on for an unbelievable four weeks, until finally last week I got an email telling me that the plane with our boxes on it would be landing shortly in Hong Kong. Goodness knows what they were doing in Hong Kong. Anyway, I have completely forgotten now what was in any of the boxes – if I could remember, I would probably be quite annoyed that the air freight took 9 weeks (and was actually beaten by the sea freight) when it was supposed to take 6 days. The only things I can recall are a couple of board games and a cake tin. I can only recall these because they're the only things we're missing. We have only one game here - Uno - and believe me, you can only play so many games of Uno.

Luckily, the relocation company has stepped in now, and is sorting it all out (for some extortionate fee). If all goes to plan (and they don’t confiscate all our DVDs – there is a limit on how many can be brought in apparently, although they don’t say what the limit is) all the boxes will be delivered to our door early next week. I’m dreading it – the thought of unpacking 25 boxes – when all I really want is my Scrabble and a tin to make Banana Bread in.

Yum yum

S is away for three days now, on a work's outing, mountain climbing somewhere in Southern China. He just sent me a text to tell me he'd had caterpillars and bees for tea. And there was me thinking it didn't get any worse than duck's tongue and chicken feet.

Its fleece was white as snow

D and J have started piano lessons. The teacher is very good, and speaks English quite well. Last night, she brought with her a couple of music books for beginners - in Chinese, but I suppose that doesn't matter, the music is the same, whatever the language. "You know this note", she said to D, opening the first book (when she says note, she means song, but luckily they've both realised that now and make suitable allowances) - "You know this note. It is Mary had a Sheep".

Relatively crowded

As part of our home-schooling experiment, J is doing a project called ‘My Life in Shanghai’. To look at some classical Chinese gardening architecture, today we went to Yuyuan Garden. Yuyuan Garden is in old Shanghai, and is very popular with tourists. It was an extremely warm day, unusual I think for May, not particularly sunny but very humid and sticky.

We had left the gardens and were walking through old Shanghai, when we passed McDonalds and decided to go and get a coke (yes, it may be old Shanghai, but if there’s a tourist, there is of course a McDonalds). While we were crowding round the counter (no such thing as a queue of course), I got talking to the American standing next to us. I asked him what he thought of Shanghai. “Well,” he said, wrinkling his nose slightly, “It’s a bit hectic, a bit crowded, and it’s a bit muggy.” I agreed that it was particularly muggy today, and that old Shanghai is very crowded, and asked him where in America he was from. “New York,” he replied.

Traffic Rules

One of the (many) strange things here in Shanghai is that nearly all the crossroads have traffic lights on them, and nearly all traffic lights also need a Traffic Policeman in charge of them to keep control. I did wonder if traffic lights are a relatively new introduction, and the policemen have been put there to break everyone in gently, just in case there are people who aren’t quite sure what to do about them. They do have that strange rule (strange for people who are only used to driving in England anyway – I think it’s common to a number of countries) that you only have to take any notice of a red light if you are either going straight on or turning left – if you’re turning right, ignore it - so it isn’t terribly straightforward to start with. It may also be that everywhere is just so busy and everyone is just in such a hurry that if everyone sat round taking notice of red lights, regardless of what direction they were going in, nobody would ever get anywhere. Whatever the reason anyway, traffic routinely ignores red lights, and there are lots of Traffic Policemen with whistles and flags trying their best to stop them doing it. What a job. If they don’t get run over, I’m sure their life expectancy must be halved due to the horrendous fumes they must be breathing in.

The poor Traffic Policemen not only have to monitor between 8 and 12 lanes of traffic, plus at least 4 cycle lanes (and remember that cycle lanes here are exactly that – they are typically not far off the same width as a car lane, and are usually packed solid with bikes and scooters in just as much a hurry as everyone else), but they also have to monitor the pedestrians as well. The pedestrians here don’t have time to hang around waiting for green men to show, they just take their lives in their hands and go for it. But again, the Traffic Policemen appear to be trying to put an end to all that. Watching the resulting fiasco always reminds me of a bizarre game of What Time Is It Mr. Wolf. The pedestrians (and there are usually at least 50 people waiting to cross any given intersection at any given time) pile up at the kerb, muttering crossly at being forced to wait. One or two may try to break free of the pack and run across the road, but the policeman will notice and blow his whistle crossly, forcing them to turn back like naughty children. But the minute his back is turned while he deals with the chaos in a different direction, the pedestrians begin to make a dash for it. The policeman turns round suddenly, catching them all half way across the road. He blows his whistle furiously and some, taking safety in numbers, daringly ignore him and keep right on going, while the last few stragglers at the back, their moment of indecision about whether to obey the law or not having cost them dearly, freeze momentarily, caught in the act, before guiltily returning to the kerb. I tried to imagine a Shanghai when everyone is completely trained – taxi drivers sit politely at red lights, and pedestrians queue patiently at crossings waiting for the safe to cross signal, and the traffic policemen are no longer required. But I decided it’s about as likely as people in England deliberately driving the wrong way round a roundabout just because it’s a bit quicker.

British measures

I suppose like any large city, the pubs, restaurants and fast food places in Shanghai serve food from around the world. As well as all the usual chains that we see in every town in England (Pizza Hut, KFC, McDonalds), there are many other chains, and of course thousands of individually-owned restaurants. In the touristy areas, and the ex-pat paradise Hongqiao, there are many that serve generic ‘Western’ food. But as far as I know, there is only one completely British pub. It is called The British Bulldog and, out of curiosity, we went there last week.

It’s hard to know anymore what constitutes a ‘typical’ British pub, nowadays it’s probably a Charlie Chalk, built 3 years ago, with ‘antique’ fittings, mahogany seats, neon lights outside and a children’s play area that’s twice the size of the bar. Pubs with sawdust on the floor and old Fred in the corner nursing half a pint of mild have largely disappeared I think. But the British Bulldog did its best anyway. It was over two floors, with small tables downstairs for eating, and more tables upstairs, with pool table, darts board and table football. There was a huge screen on one wall showing football, and a stage on which ex-pat bands perform live on a Saturday night.

It wasn’t particularly busy the night we went, but there were enough people in there to give plenty of food for thought. As I have explained, where we live means I can go literally for days without seeing another Westerner – it’s only when I go to the main Carrefour at Hongqiao, or when we go to the tourist hotspots that I see any at all. And then they tend mainly to be American or Australian. So to go deliberately to a British pub…we went out of curiosity, but I wish I knew why the other people there had chosen it. The pub itself is in Xujiahui, which is not really a particularly touristy place, so I wouldn’t have thought people on holiday would go there.

There was a man, I didn’t hear him speak, so I don’t know what nationality he was, but I assume he was English. He was on his own, eating a large plate of Toad in the Hole, drinking a pint and reading a newspaper. There was another western man, having a meal with a heavily pregnant Chinese lady. She could have been born in England, or America, or she could simply have been Shanghainese, someone he met here? There were 3 Chinese girls, sitting round a table and sharing an omelette. There was another Chinese girl, sitting at the bar on her own, smoking (very unusual to see a Chinese girl smoking) – she had a tattoo on her forearm. I don’t know whether it was a real one or not. Tattoos again – very unusual here.

We had some food – on the menu was was obviously 'typical' British food, steak and kidney pie, mashed potato, chicken and chips, and so on – I had fish and chips, and very tasty it was too. The most telling thing for me though was D – I hadn’t really thought how used to Chinese-type meals (and portions) we’d become. He ordered Shepherd’s Pie (in England, one of his favourite meals) and pronounced it delicious. But half way through, he gave up – he simply couldn’t manage such a big stodgy meal any more.

Century Park

Shanghai is divided by the Huangpu River. West of the Huangpu River is the ‘old’ Shanghai, whereas East of the River is the ‘new’ Shanghai – Pudong. This is where the majority of the skyscrapers are, where the Oriental Pearl Tower is, and the 90-odd storey Jinmao tower. Shanghai’s financial district is here, and it’s all very modern and trendy. It seems to me to be very well planned and thought-out. In Pudong is a park called Century Park – I assume this is supposed to sound like Central Park – and we went there for the first time at the weekend.

I’m not sure I have ever really been a ‘park’ person, but I was very impressed with Century Park. It was big, at least by Shanghai standards, with a lake in the middle, complete with dancing fountains, and a ‘river’ that ran around the perimeter with boats for hire. There were individual gardens, beautifully laid-out with flowers and shrubs and trees, wide promenades around the lake, secluded pathways, trees with benches under them so you can sit in the shade, and little bridges over a network of streams and waterfalls. There were all variations of bicycles for hire – tandems, ones with three seats, 2+2 ones, with and without parasols.

By chance, there was an International Music Festival on; we saw the Scottish ensemble posing for photographs by the lake, although we didn’t see them performing. After spending an hour on a boat, and an hour pedalling round on a bike, we decided to watch some of the musical performances. We stopped at one particular stage that seemed to be show-casing some Chinese children, some of them singing (some very well and some dreadfully), some of them dancing (I assume it was traditional Chinese dancing, though I’m not sure) and some playing instruments. We thought it was very sweet, none of the children could have been over 7, but the Chinese didn’t seem to be so impressed – the crowd had dwindled considerably towards the end. The final act was 5 little girls playing violins. They started surprisingly with Jingle Bells, followed that with Away in a Manger, and continued with more well-known Christmas carols. Standing in that beautiful park in the blazing sun, with the little Chinese children on a stage in front of me, the fountains on the lake as their backdrop, and the skyscrapers against the brilliant blue sky in the distance, while listening to Silent Night, was yet another surreal Shanghai moment.

A Tribute to the Carpenters

The May holidays are quite a big event here, everyone takes the week off and the flags are, quite literally, out. There is generally a carnival atmosphere, and to celebrate, the 7 Days introduced their Barbecue Menu. Yompee showed us this in great excitement when we walked in for lunch on Monday. But unfortunately someone had forgotten to translate it into English. This is obviously not good in a restaurant that prides itself on serving the Western community. Yompee promised to take it home with her that night to work it out, and we promised to return the next day,

So, in anticipation, we went back on Tuesday evening. Yompee led us to the roof, where there were 3 chefs and an electric barbecue. Nobody else was there. We sat down at a table next to the ornamental pond, and waited for the menus. Yompee had worked hard – there were a number of options, and after some discussion and consulting of her book (English Translations for the Hotel Industry), we chose beef, sheep, sausages, and tomatoes. The tomatoes turned out to be potatoes, boiled, skewered and then barbecued, and the sausages were hot dog sausages, carved into a flower shape, and then skewered and barbecued, but the beef and sheep (lamb!) were pleasant enough. We had just about finished, and as it was dark (it goes dark at 7.00pm), the evening was turning a bit chilly. We were getting ready to leave, when a waiter came staggering up the stairs with a large speaker. He was closely followed by a man in a dinner jacket with a saxophone, and another man with a guitar. The entertainment had arrived.

Obviously, as we were the only ones there, it would look have looked a bit rude to get up and walk out just as they walked in, so we settled back down and ordered more drinks. There was much plugging of things in, and then they were off. They launched initially into a rousing rendition of ‘Goodbye to Love’, followed swiftly by ‘Yesterday Once More’. This was apparently all they had rehearsed, as everything that came after it involved considerable discussion and humming of the tune before they started. I’m not sure why, as the man on the guitar played the same three notes in exactly the same order during every song, so I don’t know what difference it made to him what tune they were actually playing. I can only assume they were deciding what speed to play it at. They galloped through ‘Close to You’ at a fair old pace, and we were practically dancing to ‘Solitaire’. We applauded politely at the end of each tune, and sang along wherever possible. It was only when the waitresses had all gone downstairs and shut the door that we finally felt able to leave. I can just imagine them complaining to each other as we left. “These damn Westerners….thought we were going to be up here all night….”

Charlie

After our hasty exit from the Shanghai Stadium, I had wondered what the driver had made of it. After all, it was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity for him, and he'd had to leave after less than hour, all because of J's lost teddy. And then suffer her hysterics for a further 30 minutes in the car on the way home. But when he arrived this morning, he had brought a present for J with him - a lovely new (and very large) teddy. Even J, who has received more teddies as presents in her lifetime than I could count, was touched by this extremely thoughtful gesture. She has named the teddy Charlie, in honour of our very kind driver.

Weather news

After 5 days of temperatures in the 30s, and the nights not much cooler, Saturday saw the weather break. At about 9.00am, a storm started. I have never heard thunder so loud, nor seen so much lightning. We stood on the side porch, which is about 4 feet higher than garden level, and watched the rain. One of the common features of the houses where we live is that they have balconies, and in particular roof terraces. At about 9.25am, so much rain had fallen that next door had to start bailing their roof garden out with bowls and buckets. The drains apparently couldn’t cope. We watched the rain continue to fall. By 9.30am, the ponds and stream in our garden were overflowing. By 10.00am, the goldfish had left the ponds and stream, and were actually swimming around on the lawn, which was completely under about 4 inches of water. The road outside our house is a step below garden level – again about 4 inches – the roads were completely flooded, and the water was level with the flood in our garden. The rain still fell. The drive slopes up to the garage, and the garage is a good 6 inches below the lowest level of the house, so we knew a lot of rain had to fall before the house was in any danger, but by now the flood was half way up the drive.

At 10.30am, exactly as scheduled and to our disbelief, the driver arrived. The water on the roads was just touching the door sills of his car. The storm had stopped, the worse of the rain appeared to be over, and so we left. The security guards at the gate were sloshing around with their trousers rolled up to their knees, and the water level not far below. As we went through the gate, we realized for the first time that our estate is actually down in a dip – so although the estate looked like a bizarre Venice, the main roads weren’t flooded at all.

I don’t know what they did, but when we returned three hours later, the water on some of the estate roads were no more than puddles. By 4.00pm, the water was completely gone, our garden was back to normal, and the estate workers were brushing the debris from the roads.

I did try to ask the driver if this was typical weather, but either he didn’t understand me, or I didn’t understand his reply – he showed me his watch and seemed to be indicating an hour going by, so I’m none the wiser. By Sunday, the sun was back, the air was clearer, and we spent the morning sitting in our roof garden, furniture all the way from B&Q.

Ping Pang Chow

I’m not sure how much coverage this has received in the World media, or even the British media, but this year is the 48th World Table Tennis Championship, and it is being held in Shanghai this very week, in the extremely impressive Shanghai Stadium. What with table tennis (ping pang chow) being the Chinese national sport (I was surprised to discover – I always thought it was a Japanese thing), we felt this was something we couldn’t miss, and decided to go. We bought the driver a ticket too, which nearly moved him to tears, and in we went.

We watched the games for about half an hour, before deciding to go and get some snacks. We were wandering round the various stands and displays, when J realised she had left her teddy on the seat. We went back, but it was gone. Amid much tears and hysteria, I asked a policeman if there was a lost and found. He called for back-up, and a further two policemen arrived. By now, an interested crowd had formed – even at an international event like this, a Western family was still unusual, and one where the small girl was in hysterics, with three policemen in attendance, was too good a spectacle to miss. Of course, the crowd didn’t know that all this was over a lost teddy, no doubt they thought some major international incident was taking place before their very eyes. Sadly, there was no lost and found, no sign of any teddy and no chance of J calming down. We knew when we were beaten, and left, having hardly seen any action at all. A bit like the English Table Tennis team, in fact.

Including everything

As I have said before, shocking translations are everywhere, so much so that I think I may be getting almost immune to them now, and hardly noticing them anymore. But this particular one, on a tin of Danish-type Butter Cookies (made in Shanghai of course) took the biscuit, as it were.

This was the ingredients list:

Flour, suger, egg, milk, butter, vegetableoil, salt, nature.