Richard Peters -in the Sai Kung Country Park

La Comparaison Française Passionnante de Café

'Sacred Blue' et 'Mon Dieu' all 'ta Mere est Belge' all rolled into one: What a Gallic week!

First I had my first meeting with my Morocco Atlas Adventure team: Crazy French speaking snail scoffers, one-and-all. I think I'm going to have to brush up on the old parlez a bit or this school trip will consist of me barking l'instructions en Anglais to a bunch of quizzical shrugging Gauloise-smoking non-commitals.

Perhaps I'd better explain. I have foolishly volunteered to organize a school trip in October to my niece's High Atlas homestay some distance from Marrakech, Morocco. She married a Berber, ya know! Me not being fluent in Arabic or the local ancient Berber languages, Tachelhiyt or Tamazigt, I thus thought it prudent to bring une bande de Française parlez-ing henchmen to corral the sweetest of sweet Hong Kong children there and back again and chat amicably with the locals in the ex-colonial patois. We'll see in October if my trans-marche judgement was misplaced.

I must say that research into the local Moroccan tongues has been fascinating. The Berber folk have had a separate identity that pre-dates Arab, Christian and Roman invasions and possibly even the ancient Egyptians. They have had their script since the grand old Punic times of ancient Carthage and Hannibal. Theirs is a proud culture which appears to centre around sweeping down from the hills, setting fire to things and then carrying slaves back up into thum thar hills. I've looked around, but it appears local bookshops are out of stock of Cantonese-Tamazight dictionaries, so if anyone knows how to say, "Stop kidnapping me, I'm an ESF teacher!" in any Hamito-semitic dialects, please let me know.

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Yesterday I did a foolish thing. Actually, it began a while ago when Brenda (quite rightly) complained that I had been away with the choir to concerts in Bangkok and Manila and had a jolly good time, whereas we have not been away together (without the girls) for as long as we could remember. That will, of course, change and we'll go away somewhere exciting soon. So, despite keen invites to dinners and friendly cajolings to see bands and other social events, I decided to stick with Plan A and take Bren to the pictures last night - in lieu of future outings! I turned to the Broadway Cinematheque webpages to book something. And I duly did, rushed out with Brenda from school at 5-ish, got angry being lost behind slow moving vehicles in Yau Ma Tei (not so difficult -have you tried the one-way system lately?), finally parked at the cinema and ran upstairs to quickly present my credit card -no tickets! It appears I had booked the right film at the right time, but in all my haste had booked the wrong bloody cinema. (By the way, there's a season of French Cinema coming up in June -see link below)

The choix du jour, then, was between "I Love You Phillip Morris", a humourous gay film starring Jim Carrey and Ewan McGregor or some French award-winning filme, Le Refuge. Not feeling particularly humourous (not particularly gay for that matter) I plumped for the latter. Hmmm...

I have a cool-headed admiration for French cinema. Some of the best cinematic moments I can recall have emerged from the froggies; They seem to be able to take matters very seriously indeed with not a smile in sight (a very mature attitude set quite apart from the English schoolboy sniggering when, for example, we see exposed lady parts) and also seem to be very amicable again and again (in joyous romps like Taxi, Taxi 2, Taxi 3, etc). But I digress...

The Refuge, or Le Refuge, concerns a Parisienne addict called 'Mousse' who, after her lover takes an overdose, awakens to find herself pregnant. The rest of the film concerns her trying to come to terms (or not) with this overwhelming fact whilst accompanied by her dead lover's gay adopted brother and his boyfiend who is also her housekeeper. Are you with me still?

I'm not a big sympathiser of smack-heads. I'm sure there are desperate reasons for their plight and better ones for their re-integration and re-introduction into societé, but the portrayal of this vache égoïste left me cold. I realise the point of the film was to let me in on her world, the life from death, the escape from addiction, the building of something new, etc, etc, but her self-obsession angered me. Maybe, as I'm sure the Director François Ozon would be only too keen to point out, that's the point: her life is turned around. Both Brenda and I left feeling a bit empty. We didn't much enjoy (even with les popcorn et dogs chaud) watching the protagonists shoot up. From then on it went from bad to worse. The holiday home in Normandy, on the other hand, was to die for. But that got me thinking more about me holidays than Mousse's upcoming delivery. The denoument was a bit of a disappointment, réalisme notwithstanding, and left me caring even less for her character. I know, I know, Monsieur Hulot's Holiday this certainly was not, but could he not have had a positive message, any kind of hint that it was a story worth telling and which might arouse some sort of interest. Ah well, back to my Gauloise (puff, puff...)

The Broadway has a fantastic DVD shop, unlike any other in HK. I picked up another couple of titles, including one in the second category I earlier mentioned. L'événement le plus important depuis que l'homme a marché sur la Lune, or A Slightly Pregnant Man, by Jacques Demy, is a gentle comedic outing from a simpler era. This 1973 film co-starring Catherine Deneuve concerns a Parisian driving instructor who manages to become pregnant. Following the surprise, fame and fortune beckons much to his bewilderment. It is a charming window on a France I grew up knowing was on the other side of the Channel -Renaults and tabacs, magasins et moustaches. This is no great masterpiece, but it makes you smile. C'est un film heureux!

One thing struck me. In both films the breakfasting French did not use les demitasses for their morning coffees. Instead, they used bloody great cornflake bowls! This is something I've not seen before. Tell me, please, is this a 'normal' activity over there? Do all of our Gallic cousins take their early caffeine hits thus?

A nice little saunter with Squid -up to the Fire Lookout to admire the view

A paid Monday off and weather is fine! Although it undoubtedly applies to all trades and professions, this is surely every teacher's prayer beneficently answered. Mark Twain said that it's good to be noble, and that to teach others how to be good is nobler (and less trouble), but even the best of us need a rest from doing so much good.

The Fire Lookout is a great vantage point for paid HK employees to observe the lovely views (and report any cheeky wisps of grey smoke appearing on thum thar hills). As far as I am aware, there have not been any keen government-sponsored eyes up there in the last 12 months. As a self-righteous, do-gooding citizen, I thought it proper I do my bit. Herewith is my volunteered panoramic report:

The Sai Kung East Country Park is typical example of the mixed up Hong Kong extinct volcano/flooded valley landscape. The global melt in the last period of glaciation lead to a rise in sea-levels. The result is the wonderful breathtaking scenery we observe throughout the region. Looking east, one sees Long Harbour (Tai Tan Hoi 大灘海), which ends at Wong Shek pier (黃石碼頭) and Chek Keng (赤徑). Not one flicker of flame.

North one sees the magnificent Mt Hallowes (Tam Chai Shan 柦柴山) brooding away over the bay at Hoi Ha (海下灣) and the old, sleepy, picturesque village of Pak Sha O (白沙澳). Not even a single puff of smoke in sight. Good -job well done!

I never walk alone in the Park. Most of the time I have a Squiddly with me. It used to be nice to have sweet Batty, but she passed away earlier this year. Big ole Buster used to enjoy scouting over the hills, down hidden paths and into the cool of the rivers, but he's now so old and grumpy he just about makes it to the end of the road to dip his paws in the sea. His idea of a good time is finding a three-day old fish, eyes bulging, decaying on the beach!

Squid is always up for a long walk -the longer the better. She's surely grateful to be out and about, but looks hopefully up at me if the path forks and there's a longer or less-trodden way: truly a girl after my own heart.

The Country Park is such a good place to walk -established and well-trodden paths that go to familiar places and many barely-discernible tracks that take you to who-knows-where. From time-to-time I've met many of the other inhabitants of the park: spiders and snakes, skinks and lizards, porcupines and boars and the ubiquitous bovines that have the place to themselves and have nothing to fear but inattentive drivers. There are incalculable varieties of birds, butterflies, dragonflies, moths, ants and all manner of other insects. The plant life is also incredibly varied at all times of the year, including some great looking mushrooms that emerge from the ground in the most amazing places. Brenda is sick of me restating that each time I go for a walk I see something new. But I can't help it -I'm in awe!

I'm amazed that people get lost in the park -head downhill and you find water, head uphill and you find a view (and a direction). Weather is not really a problem -if it's sunny and hot then get to some shade, if it's rainy or foggy then don't go out walking! Of course, some people never get home.

Unfortunately, in the neighbouring empty house (once the quiet abode of The Shannons) is stirring the sound of working men. They are fixing the parquet flooring and throwing out the washing machines. They've got the asphalt burner on and the place is full of smoke. I therefore amend my report: Send the Fire Brigade to 30, Ko Tong Ha Yeung.  

Right -back to work!

Looks like another Tory Dawn

I must say that, despite the hype and the hyperbole of the election campaigns and the tension and drama of election night, we're still left with the same old same old...

     

  

I'm certainly not a Tory, nor do my sympathies lie much with Labour. In many ways, I thought this election would throw up some change, some great seismic activity that would genuinely alter the way in which British politics is done. I suppose I've always been an optimist...

I suppose it's a good thing that the Greens got someone in at Brighton and that the BNP didn't get anywhere at all.

Watching the election on the BBC News website on-and-off during the day, it has become obvious that voting has been traditional and safe.

Having said that, it appears the big issues of the day have been fairly well aired. The leaders' debates were a welcome change from cosy fireside chat Parliamentary Broadcasts (although I'm sure those unashamedly continued). MPs, however, are still tarnished with the expenses scandals and Britain is still in a bit of an economic depression. Perhaps it was being suddenly faced with a choice that the voters opted for the familiar and only ticked the party names they knew. 

From outside the UK it seems Gordon Brown is an embattled, unpopular PM. He seems awkward and cumbersome, stuttering at the despatch box and barely able to fence off Cameron's boyish goads. Cameron, for that matter, appears polite and polished -the sort of well-mannered man your mum would enjoy having round for tea. Nick Clegg is always the Third Man, an apparently sensible guy who is included because he is well-liked and enjoys the multi-cultural mix of the new 21st Century United Kingdom.

Many reasons have been thrown up for the Conservative result -a reaction to thirteen years of Labour rule. Perhaps enough time has elapsed since the last Conservative government for the voters to forget quite how that felt: Thatcher and then Major keeping the blue flag flying throughout the 80s and most of the 90s. The Labour party, I suppose, has kept their majorities in many areas because they still have substantial support at grass-roots level. They were wise to keep Tony Blair away from the limelight.

And so to the Liberal Democrats. Clegg, despite having a favourable time of it in the debates and being a relatively young-ish leader of a young-ish party with what appears to be a different perspective, has not been able to break through the barrier that transcends good will into votes. And that's why they have always demanded a change from First-Past-the-Post to Proportional Representation. The trouble is, if that system was in place then the Conservatives would have an outright win of about 36% and the Libs would still trail third with only 23.

But I have another theory: it's the wives. Who would you rather have opening the door of No 10, taking your birefcase and enquiring with a smile, "Did you have a nice time in Brazzaville"?

Samantha Cameron has been the focus of much Fleet Street column inches. Sarah Brown has tried hard, but remains a bit of a Plain Jane. And Miriam González Durántez? Who she? She Nick Clegg woman!

 

There are, I am sure, as many reasons to vote as there are voters. Maybe the hung parliament will mean a jiggling political dance that thrusts newer faces to the fore. Maybe it will re-focus our political thoughts and generate meaningful debate about the direction our parties (and country) is headed. Or maybe we'll be ham-strung as in days of yore with another Lib-Lab Pact, which never worked in the past and will as likely sound the death-knell for Labour as it did after 1974.

Perhaps we should leave it to Private Eye to cut to the quick. A great front page, I think it's summed up the silly side of this Election, Leader Wives-Yes it's the Core! Vote

Saucy Sarah              Sexy Sam            The Other One

This election promised much, yet delived the same. It was so much fun, I think we've set ourselves up for another later this year.