- I had one of my first chances to be a tourist a couple of days ago, and hot-footed it up to one of the principle market areas. Specifically, the Flower Market, the Goldfish Market, the Bird Market, and the somewhat dubiously named Ladies Market. The goldfish market is a surreal world of endless racks of orange fishes swimming around in their individual plastic bags of water that must, surely, be boiling them alive as the sun heats it up. By the by, the Ladies Market is not as you male readers might be eagerly anticipating, rather a plethora of fake designer goods, with a gentle sprinkling of predictable Chinese Tack: paper fans with gaudy designs; plastic Buddhas beaming plumply back at you; the bright coloured dresses that everyone buys then nobody wears...
- A slightly strange thought here, but one that was wandering around my mind nonetheless. It was a particularly toasty day when I went up to the markets, and even the Chinese were breaking out their skirts (in general, they tend to view this time of year as Cold. Strange creatures). This meant I got, whether I wanted it or not, an unrivalled view of the female Chinese leg. Now, the leg of the average English female is puckered and blotchy, riddled with cellulite, lollopping around independent of the owner. The Chinese leg, however, is smooth as marble, white as alabaster - still with a tendency to move around with a life of its own, but in a blubbery rather than bulky sort of manner. At this point, I'll remind you that these observations are highly generalised, thank God for my own leg specimens which thankfully fall into neither category, and move swiftly on.
- My students are wholly incapable of having opinions. On anything. I swear I could turn up dressed as a clown one day and not one of them would bat an eyelid: if the teacher says something is so, it is so, certainly not to be questioned. I'm almost tempted to tell a couple of them something which obviously must be utter rubbish and see if they buy it, dare to confront me on the point. Obviously, I'm one of the more opinionated buggers on the face of the earth and take great delight in foisting my thoughts on anybody who is unfortunate enough to be in my immediate vicinity, so I find it very hard to understand the concept of NOT having opinions. Furthermore, I'm finding it well nigh impossible to create a method of getting these wretched children to learn the art of thinking for themselves - if they don't, they will undoubtedly do badly in their literature exams, which doesn't bode well for the future of my job contract. Suggestions on this front required and appreciated.
- How do people survive working in stores over the Christmas period? I have friends who are currently suffering this particular hell, and I bow down to you. Seriously. I am not here questioning their ability to deal with difficult and inevitably stressed and rude customers, nor doubting that they can serve and package and move on as fast as a whirling dervish. What I want to know is, how do they cope with the ghastly Christmas music that is inflicted on them for hours on end? The shopping malls and stores here are, quite honestly, driving me to the brink of insanity; as a general rule I already have one leg parked over the edge of that particular overhang, and 'rocked up versions' or 'extra tinkly versions' or 'unusual interpretations' of Christmas classics such as Jingle blasted Bells are threatening to push me firmly over that increasingly appealing brink. The only solution is to walk around with my iPod constantly plugged into me, an option not available to those working in the stores. Customer Assistants, I salute you.
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