Richard Peters -in the Sai Kung Country Park

The View From Afar – Why We Left Hong Kong

Hong Kong was home to us for nearly 15 years: we embraced the city, fell in love with it, lived happily with it, fell out of love with it, went through a reconciliation with it and eventually, like the torrid end of a bad love affair, finally moved out, not only to another country but another continent! 15 years is long enough for any relationship to have a deep impact and wistful thoughts, like those of a fondly remembered lover, occupy our minds daily – Captain Wong waving madly at us from the driving seat of the 97 Wong Shek Bus, the dirty mechanical smell of the Star Ferry's old engines, seeing distant Macau glisten in the evening sun from the very top of Victoria Peak...


Sipping coffees in the many wi-fi friendly cafés of our new home city in the Czech Republic, we have been able to maintain a steady review of the on-line lives of our good Hong Kong friends that we bade farewell to earlier this year. Their weekly, even yearly, routines are so familiar because they were the habits we had ourselves adopted and then found difficult to release; the kids' morning bus runs, hurried lunches with colleagues, experiencing the relief of school holidays, waiting for the release of the end of term and pouring all remaining life into desperately mad weekends. Six months on from the final completion of all of our work contracts and academic requirements we found ourselves living in the city still half-clinging to these modes, more out of habit than affection.

When reflecting on the long hours at work and the desperate weekend playtimes that emerged from such a poor and widespread work-life balance (the deleterious effects of which we continue to see in the lives of friends, colleagues and acquaintances), we came to realise that it was decision time: for to accede that if health allowed our lives would continue in the same old way until retirement was a dreadful prospect, one that would eventually prompt either of us to reach for the revolver. Getting out of Hong Kong was, therefore, not simply to change the scenery or career or to merit some other excuse – it had become a necessity.

From our breakfast terrace balcony we daily observed the hurried departure of ex-colleagues and their children for busy desks and noisy classrooms. It all seemed to become stranger and more distant from us, particularly so when for the rest of the day there remained an enjoyable, placid calm in the Sai Kung Country Park. We had already seen many attractive alternatives to the established frenetic Hong Kong lifestyle we had hitherto led, but most of these were inevitably linked, one way or another, to the pursuit of the dollar in other money-oriented places – Dubai, Saudi, Singapore, Bognor. In the end we felt that in order to make an honest and genuine change in our lives we would not only have to leave Hong Kong but also change our lifestyle.

It is not difficult to love Pearl of the Orient, the fascinating magical kingdom of glitter and gold, of filth and squalor, of daily chances that permit amazing opportunities. It is, however, an extraordinary city that exists in a bubble of its own making, where it is always safe to walk the streets at any hour of the day or night, where there is minimal interference in personal affairs from government, where the accountants are good and the taxes really low. No doubt it is possible to get as rich in other cities, but Hong Kong’s famous and somewhat nebulous quality is its Midas touch that enables those with the merest whiff of entrepreneurship the means and opportunity to create and achieve success: ‘it's all about the money’. Money talks in this town and enables a very pleasant and pleasure-dependent lifestyle. Surely, then, it would be foolish, if not crazy, to leave such a place of great opportunity? The answer is, of course, ‘yes’, yet that’s exactly what we did. Doesn’t that then make us foolish (if not crazy)?

I gave a rather convoluted works leaving speech to a receptive but somewhat puzzled bunch of fellow-teachers in which I briefly discussed this decision, one that seemed to lack good sense. I admitted that to leave a well-paid place of work with only a very vague conception of our income and future lives seemed the epitome of commonly accepted notions of folly. And yet realising all this, and with sadness in our hearts, we upped and left the magic kingdom, its opportunities and freedom, its protection and safety, its lovely people and the streets that we know so well. Why?

In recent years it became evident that the development of a teaching career and any pecuniary rewards that came with it were neither sufficient nor possible (nor desirable). Both of us were well aware  of short-sightedness and ineptitude in Education management decision-making that, coupled with work environment issues (and the rewards that such extra responsibility held), yearly soured any appetite we had for career advancement within the system. It was not that we belittled or disdained Education, nor the enjoyment of earning good money. No, it was more that we could no longer swallow the bitter pill of a life that we no longer believed in.

Actually, it was even more than this. For me, crunch time came one Friday night in Wanchai when I realized that I had been short-changed: lots of good money had been spent on travel into town and on drinks with friends in a noisy and familiar bar, but the usual pleasure promised by this investment failed to materialize. My friends were happy and we continued the revelry, as before, well into the night, but the price for my pleasure had suddenly risen and I was not sure the next time would be any better. Before me, therefore, were several options: drink more (and spend more and therefore earn more), seek yet other diversions, find an all-consuming perversion or just stop! I couldn’t continue like this forever. I wanted to get off the merry-go-round.

Of course, there are those that do not at heart believe in their religion and yet continue to go through the motions required of them; they attend services or festivals, keep up appearances and, when required, say the right things. But do we not disapprove of such people? Indeed, we are quite keen on pointing out such hypocrisy. Surely it is better to come clean, shake off the dishonesty, lay to rest all that expected doublespeak – even if doing so has a social cost. Wisdom decrees that merely conforming to other people's expectations is a lost cause; eventually conscience wins through, the tension of maintaining such a dishonest position breaks, something has to give.

In a similar way we decided to give up Hong Kong and all it had. It was easy enough to walk away from the constricting work environment and the bad air pollution, but it also meant leaving behind our good friends and the means to acquire good money. We resolved it was time to move on, even with a massive drop in salary (about 9/10ths of our combined Hong Kong income) to another country – the culture of which we knew little  and the language even less. Of course we could not have made this move without the good money already earned, but we resolved that our future lives should no longer be constrained by old worries that had brought misery. Our mantra in all this became, ‘It's not about the money’. We certainly needed a certain amount of courage to make that decision and leave all that we had grown to know, but is it possible we can say now that have what we wanted?

So far our new lives are just as rich, if not richer, than they were before, our experiences just as full and our relationship has become deeper. We’ve lost all that damaging  stress, have been able to sleep all night and have begun to effortlessly shed weight. Each morning feels like the beginning of a holiday and weekends are simply the days when the city streets are quieter. We have to pinch ourselves that we now free to do the things that we really enjoy and are no longer at the beck and call of anyone. By simply taking the chase for money out of the equation, our lives are better. Do we have what we want? The answer is an emphatic, ‘yes!’

Admittedly we really miss the long rambling walks within the beautiful Sai Kung Country Park (our poor doggies miss running off to chase the naughty monkeys – they still bark at them in their noisy dreams), but it is great to be in walking distance of anywhere in this old city. We ache for the scenic splendour of the cicada-thronged and perfumed forests on mountains that rise from the warm South China Sea, but now live in the midst of beautiful ancient buildings known to Mozart, Mahler and Dvorak. We miss our wonderful old friends, but have met some great people here –friends of the future. We fondly remember the mad evenings of merriment and mayhem in Wanchai, Mid-Levels and Lan Kwai Fong that ended in long taxi rides home, but have already had some great nights out here, at a fraction of the cost, and have been able to stumble through the cobbled streets back home to bed.

We may now have less cash in our pockets, but things are cheaper here. Our Hong Kong acquisitional lifestyle centred on lusting  after  things that are quintessentially inessential, if not damaging; aspirational luxuries, nice though they may be, are necessarily transient. I cannot deny the enjoyment of shopping in the hallowed air-conditioned malls of Central, but also recall balking at the ever-rising prices and of the glad smugness of being within such a good wage bracket –and all for consumery stuff that we didn’t really need. We are not building empires nor forging dynasties, we are not planning on retiring in a deck chair on a cruise ship or settling into another day's drinking on the same poolside bar stool. Although money may be able to buy love of sorts, it certainly can't buy happiness. So, without the stress that chasing the dollar entails we probably get even greater pleasure from our lives, seek personal growth without opening bottles of wine (nice though they are), and strive a little harder for integrity by talking more and taking a little more notice. The city of Olomouc is by no means a paradise and no-one moves here to get rich. But so far – and in so many ways – our life here has proven, if such a point ever required clarification, that not only is there life after school but there’s also life after Hong Kong. We simply chose Europe over Thailand!

Here then are the reasons we chose to subtract those ingredients in our lives that were not good so that we could instead concentrate on those that we always loved. Reducing our complete reliance and our terrifying dependence on one ingredient, that fearsome jewel of a monthly salary (the security of which we once thought would be impossible to live without and so long the major focus of our lives), has taken some adjustment. For myself, leaving Hong Kong, the city I thought I would die in, and removing to a small provincial city of the Czech Republic has been a great adventure, one that could only have been imagined if tethered to a regular job. Although it is obviously impossible to live without money, we believe that life is more, much more than mere dollars, is more than a job with a good salary or a stellar career with drive and ambition. It's high time we lived according to our beliefs.

An Epistle to Hong Kong – Chapter 2 – 'Muddling Through'

In this second of three epistles, inasmuch as a blog purports to be entertaining, I want to show that wealth acquisition is the overriding fixation of this culture which, when combined with aspirational education and a hands-off political culture, ensures focus is fixed on the self. I want to show how the city's success story is generally built on wealth acquisition and that this has only come about through hard work, good connections or education.

We settled in Hong Kong in 1998, one year on from the handover of sovereignty from the British colonial government to the Beijing authorities. This transfer of power, so feared by many of the population that had only 20 years previously escaped across the border from the terror of Red Guards and the Cultural Revolution, meant that British, Canadian, American and Australian passport holders had either already fled or had emergency plans to do so if things went tits-up! When the shiny People's Revolutionary Army tanks didn’t thunder down Nathan Road to crush the dissenting cries of the capitalist running dogs between the cracks of the blood-strewn pavements, everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. But no-one really knew what would happen once the Chinese were through the border.

In fact, it made sense for Beijing to keep things the way they were and keep their eyes firmly on other, more-lucrative-still future prizes, such as Taiwan. Besides, they had to slowly begin the process of sinicisation, the fickle Chinese population of Hong Kong being both patriotic and unpatriotic, depending on the topic of discussion: on reunification of Taiwan with China everyone agrees, on autonomy for Tibet, everyone disagrees, or is it vice versa? As with any urban population, there have been divergent views and firmly entrenched positions to defend. I like to believe that as teacher of Philosophy and Religious Studies, which I will discuss a little later, my hand was one of many on the spoon that helped stir the pot.

In the intervening years when I've confessed to living in Hong Kong some have felt compelled to ask whether the place has changed much since Beijing swapped flags – of course not! 2nd July 1997 everyone got up and went to work, got paid, ate lunch, had their babies, buried their grandmas and made money in the same old way. I can't help wonder if the British had extended the lease on the New Territories for another 100 years the end result wouldn’t have been much the same...

The simplistic view, and this thinking is still found a-plenty in newspapers of 2013, is that China is great – no, it’s really great. The glorious handover meant the enabling of the poor, downtrodden Hong Kong Chinese to cast off the maleficent hegemony of the nasty British imperialists to join in the beneficent hegemony of the ever-loving motherland.

You must remember that for the Special Administrative Region until 2047 things will, in theory, remain business as usual – a full 50 years of 'non-intervention’ from their chauffeur-driven Mercedes-owning mainland Chinese masters. By then all 426 square miles are expected to host a people as unbendingly patriotic as the rest, and by which time anyone who was involved with the handover will be long dead. Thus, the disturbing establishment of a form of democracy by that Whore of the East, the last governor Chris Patten, was seen by the Communist Party's powerful elite as a deliberate unsettling process for Chinese reintegration. Democracy has not, is not and never shall be popular in the People's Republic of China.

In truth, I thought the chippies* would take over. Over the years many companies were happy that the government would not "frustrate the operation of market forces" as the long-time financial secretary Sir Philip Haddon Cave put it and continue its policy of positive non-interventionism. Surely if a government did not intervene with the natural order of things then the market would be allowed to set the trends and to get on with generating wealth. With the return of Hong Kong to the PRC, perhaps one of the most planned economies of the planet, it was inevitable that it would seek to increase its involvement in the running of all things. Thus, when a measure was introduced to positively integrate more of its work force into the economy, supplanting the nearly 150,000 expats that departed in the years around handover, it was apparent by those doing business that setting artificial targets for the appointment of Chinese, either from Hong Kong or more frequently from mainland China, did not correspond with income generation. Businesses, operating on their strict adherence to a laissez-faire creed, simply went back to employing the right people for the right jobs, regardless of their origins. What was therefore identified by all of this was that the local population required an increase in skills for the market, clearly the responsibility of the underfunded education system and ultimately the responsibility of government. Some chippies may have got work, especially those educated overseas, but thus-far they have remained a fringe phenomena.

Some of the richest people on the planet live in this city where finances have never dipped into the red (indeed, last year many of us received cash because the government felt it needed to spend some of its vast reserves). Wealth creation, however, appears to have followed several well trodden routes. The first is the old style – hard, hard work, night and day. This has always been the bedrock of Hong Kong wealth generation. Although it is becoming harder to make ends meet by working thus, there are still a myriad of small shops that just about tick over, thousands of tired market stalls that are open all hours to ensure returning local customers get 'the usual' and unknown numbers of delivery companies, in the now-ubiquitous Toyota Hiace vans with ridiculous spoilers, that carry anything anywhere to anyone. It has always been in the Chinese psyche to carry out these mercantile tasks and without doubt they do it very well

The next route to riches is to club together: Grandma's lifetime savings combined with living at Mum & Dad's (or with in-laws) in their tiny flat with the addition of siblings putting a portion of their income into the pot helps to set up family businesses or fund property acquisition. It is a tried and tested method that has enabled families to expand their wealth opportunities in stocks, deals, property or business growth. Hong Kong families may not always be happy, but they are strong.

Another route is to be well-connected with 'older brothers' that may offer business assistance so closely akin to cronyism or nepotism as to be indistinguishable. These leg-ups need not necessarily be through legal means and they are never merely benevolent. The final route that seems to have taken hold now is really a secondary route that has only emerged as a result of combinations of any of the other means – property development at home and overseas, a topic for further discussion in the next blog.

The most interesting element to emerge from our time here is my new evangelical belief in accountancy. I used to wonder how so many local people could afford new Mercs and Beamers each year until I discovered that many of these vehicles are owned by their companies as good depreciable assets. All electronic goods are immediately written off! In fact, if we had to do it all again it would be on the back of a 'business' wherein all our assets were lumped together and through which all our income could be beautifully channeled. It's really only the salaried class (such as honest, humble teacher folk) that keep the tax system functioning; everyone else has a proxy adulterous relationship with the taxman through their accountant!

Coming to Hong Kong may have been fortuitous for us and, as mentioned in the previous post, has allowed us to have a pretty amazing time here, but this great city has allowed so many to do much better than us and to grow seemingly without limit. Wealth creation may have provided opportunities for good Hong Kong people, but it has also caused waste, destruction, corruption and, conversely, poverty. More on this in the next post.

Not having worked in any other industry here I can only really discuss Hong Kong education, and that provided by the English Schools Foundation in particular. The ESF was set up in 1967 to provide "modern liberal education" for (mostly-) British expatriates. Before that schooling was a matter of choice – either one sent one’s sproggs across the seas back to one’s native land and into a boarding school or one signed up to a local school. The most prestigious of these were well established institutions such as the catholic Grant Schools of St Paul’s (1851), of St Francis’ (1869), St Mary’s (1900) or Sacred Heart Canossian (1860), the Anglican Diocesan Schools (1869) and King George V^th School, established as the Kowloon British School in 1894. The colonial government saw the sense of supporting its English-speaking movers and shakers and provided money to support the education of these future captains of South China's commerce and industry. The ESF, now dominated by expat Chinese, still receives a direct subsidy of HK$23,659 per secondary pupil on top of the substantial fees of HK$98,000 for students in secondary and HK$102,000 for those in the 6^th Form.

These substantial sums means that the organisation receives quite a hefty sum from government and parents for the 17,000 students that pass through the doors. Much of this has been passed on to attract and retain good quality teachers in this overseas ‘hardship posting'. That parents are eager to cough up the readies so that their precious little ones can be included in this system is testament to two things – the well-publicised stellar performance of many of its top pupils and the inherent prestige that the institution has hitherto carried.

As a teacher coming into this system it was abundantly clear that busy, heads-down, studious HK classes and muddling, fidgety, English kids at a comprehensive school calling everything they didn't understand 'gay' were miles apart – perhaps even light years apart. I felt I was able to do something here, something I had great difficulty doing in the UK – teaching! In fact, any pressure generating within an ESF classroom was not because of control or improvements in discipline or upping grades, it was caused by trying to meet the incessant demands of these little academic sponges. I actually didn't quite like it to begin with!

It is an expectation of Hong Kong parents that their children work hard. This is to ensure that they gain the best grades possible, an indication of good investment and maintenance of family honour. Do not, however, confuse these amazing grades for personality or remarkable individual characteristics: that usually comes with a more worldly maturity in mid-20s, a necessarily delayed factor arrived at after University study and/or travel. A typical student's day may begin by rising before 6 a.m. to be ready for the school bus. Many do not eat before classes begin which, depending on the school, may be anytime from 7 until 8.30 . At the end of the day after-hours activities begin – sports or martial arts/music lessons or practice/cram school. Unless they are eating out with parents, these children often may not get home until early evening by which time they are expected to study again with homework. This may continue well into the wee small hours, depending on how diligent or distracted they are. And the whole process continues next day, except many children will suffer from sleep-deprivation, a self-inflicted torture. They are well-organised, highly-stressed and often overworked, a preparation for a well-organised, highly-stressful and overworked life they will inevitably lead where chasing the dollar will be the overriding objective. Existential angst be damned – few, if any, question all this because failure at any level brings shame and angry parental disappointment.

The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, the book that describes the strict disciplinarian Chinese parenting, may have been slightly ironic in tone, but it has described a crystal clear reality for a great many Hong Kong students. The uncomfortable truth is that this hard, aspirational parenting is a global phenomena by no means limited to the Chinese.

I enjoyed teaching – most of the time. Many students came into school with no preconceived ideas, others with such confirmed opinions that it was a real sweat to oil the hinges on the gates of their perception. It's not that they didn't care, it's just that for many philosophical and psychological ideas were just not important. It is easy to see how this situation has come about. I remember meeting one troubled parent who, on showing me the book we used in class, complained that there were no answers at the back, nothing to confirm that the reader was on the right path to academic success. I had to explain that this book was all about forming the right questions: as she walked away shaking her head I could almost hear her thoughts of incredulity. The right subjects to choose are Business Studies, Economics and Chinese (Maths, English and Science are mandatory), the wrong ones are Art, Drama, Music, History, Design & Technology, Physical Education, Philosophy & Religious Studies. When asked why, students repeat a parental mantra that the chosen subjects will undoubtedly help them get on in life. No amount of discussion about interests outside education, about golf handicaps or backhand strokes in tennis can shake this belief until mid-way through their studies, by which time it would be too late and they are committed: and every year it would be the same.

With such an unfortunate, blind focus on the means to wealth creation, it has seemed inevitable that many Hong Kongers appear to see no further than the basic accumulation of worldly goods, the tangible assets of work and industry, even if that means being surround by them in their living space, all stacked up to the ceiling in neat PriceRite plastic boxes. Shopping is, after all, Hong Kong's best-loved sport: whole families will go out to spend the day in gargantuan shopping malls such as Pacific Place or Festival Walk. Orderly snaking queues form down whole streets for discounts or the acquisition of free gifts. Although many are too proud to beg, pensioners will nevertheless fight each other for free rice from temples – even if their fruit money has increased! The most frequent time for banks to be robbed is in the weeks before Chinese New Year when those desperate for cash to pay for all the expenses in that season turn to even-more desperate measures. And I fear to even mention horse racing and the Jockey Club, the biggest game in town!

Throughout much of my teaching time the students' heroes were often the most financially successful, such as Bill Gates and Li Ka-shing. Wealth, even avarice, contentment through acquisition and one-upmanship is properly understood – they could almost be seen as sparkly aspects of the same golden virtue: wealth is good. Even Chinese New Year can be seen as legitimising and celebrating this in both real and symbolic forms; lai see packets full of money, the placement of decorative yuanbao gold ingots, the centrality of flower blossoms that symbolise prosperity. So if the most important yearly festival confirms these ideals, it is no wonder it has become a unquestioned tenet of life. This may be not, of course, be limited to Hong Kong society, but it certainly dominates the flavour of it.

In fairness, Chinese history has been nothing if not eventful. Natural and man-made disasters have swept countless millions away leaving those still alive to ponder the meaning of it all. Through the troubled lives of forbears who lived in interesting times a widely-held assumption has filtered down that the only one to look after number one is number one. That's not to say welfare associations have been unknown in Chinese history or that government agencies haven't done wonders over time, but pity belongs to the weak and unfortunate. A fall from financial grace brings social embarrassment – people stare.

So, to recount this fairly lengthy blog entry, Hong Kong is a politically stable and sometimes rich society with a populace that is generally left to do as it pleases – Ayn Rand would have been proud. Many people, however, have become severely stressed because culturally-inspired aspirations surrounding wealth can only be met through expensive  education and/or fortuitous connections, things beyond the means and social orbits of the vast majority of the population. Wealth, therefore, may only be realised in the next or future generations after much hardship, through a lucky break or by consenting families pulling together. The Hong Kong Chinese, however, have established what is perhaps their best weapon in dealing with life's vagueries – a fantastic sense of humour.

I love the city of Hong Kong, the people and the countryside in which we have been lucky enough to have lived. Unfortunately, in our years here things have got tighter in terms of wallets and wages, tolerance has become less of a freely-available commodity, the environment has quickly worsened and the lifestyles to which many Hong Kongers have become inexorably committed are unsustainable. These are the troublesome topics I will waffle upon in my next blog entry and where I propose a solution.

*Chippies – Chinese yuppies

From the Republic of Ireland to the Czech Republic

Well, as far as the future is concerned, one thing is about as far in the bag as one can say with certainty – we leave Hong Kong in January 2013.

We've been in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (such a politically over-cautious term full of control-driven Chinese socialist idealism) since 1988. For good or ill, back then the territory still had its distinct Anglo flavour. This has diminished through design and disfavour and risen again through style and choice. A pivotal moment came when the MTR announcements were changed from a distinctly clipped British accent to the whiny quasi-Southern Californian that it remains today. On the barricades provocative political kids wave the old colonial flag in the faces of the Beijing masters as much to score a point as to pretend they love the life that probably ended before they were out of nappies.

I will write more about Hong Kong, about working here, the people and the politics on a later occasion. But to wrap up this intro, whether I like it or not Hong Kong is in the blood and unless I'm caught buggering the Chief Executive in LEGCO I'll undoubtedly turn up back here, bad penny-like, again... and again...

What precipitated our oncoming departure is the same thing that brought us here: work. The Memsahib's, to be precise. Back in 1998 she and I travelled by wheezy old British Rail to a job interview with Hong Kong's English Schools Foundation in the Big Stink. Nervous moments passed for me as behind the panelled doors of the St James Club the muffled conversation continued into the afternoon. What I was not to know for quite some time was that the Mem was demanding that her gorgeous, sweet-smelling husband (of Newly Qualified Teacher status) should also be found favourable employ with the ESF. To this firm request they duly and correctly complied and after some brief stints of supply at certain primary schools in the region I obtained a proper job teaching music at Kowloon Junior School.

The cause of our imminent departure is to work in the Czech Republic. But the choice was not simple – Ireland also beckoned with a juicy, fat, Guinness-soaked finger. The only way to make a decision was to visit both countries and this we duly did in mid-December.

Whichever way you cut it, Ireland is a special, not to say amazing, place. There's something beguiling about being at the edge of things – the Atlantic Ocean or Europe, depending on which way you're facing at the time. It was a terrifically important part of the world for the megalithic tomb builders thousands of years ago, the sun's daily death into the western sea had obvious religious and symbolic overtones. The enlightened religious houses of the early medieval period sent many successful missions into the darkened dark age Anglorium and even further afield into Europe. Today, Irish intellectualism (not a cheap gag) is a marvellous green-tinged twinkly thing long interconnected with a host of American, British and European movements. To be connected with it through Limerick University would be exciting, dynamic and future-oriented. With enough beautiful local Guinness in the blood, who knows where it could lead!

Despite driving from Rosslare 'Europort' -such an exciting sobriquet- into the rain-sodden landscape covered in low, misty cloud and puddles nearly as deep as the sea we'd just crossed, it was with happy hearts we stopped at lovely Wexford, a comfortable place of pretty shop fronts on the high street, grey seals in the harbour and fine culinary fayre in the exclusive (not to say expensive) fine-dine restaurants. It's a great little city.

Cork is also a magnificent but much bigger town. Feeling more like a regional capital than a provincial town, its shopping crowds testify to the presence of many Euro-weighted pockets, even if the country is said to be permanently on the verge of, if not beyond, bankruptcy. Limerick is its smaller cousin, a little more modest in size and scope. Perhaps it was down to the season of goodwill, but on every corner on every intersection could be heard the jangling of buckets of change, carolling children's choirs and good causes a-plenty fearlessly promoted. The Irish truly have the tenderest of hearts.

Having visited Blarney Castle, the Mem took to her interview whilst I took to finding a suitable place to live. I have mentioned on a previous occasion how much fun it is to sit staring at the sunset and consider living right there in the holiday destination. This was always on the cards as far as this trip was concerned and down by the River Shannon the little village of Killaloe shone out of the County Clare countryside like a beautiful bright new pin – dimmed somewhat with it being the middle of winter. The deserted St Flannan's Cathedral, hitherto completely unknown to me, had an ancient and ethereal attraction matched only by the nave's astonishing acoustics. The Irish countryside is full of old buildings going to rack and ruin: barns, farmhouses and townhouses, the mind raced with fantasies of converting these damp shells into fine, warm, liveable dwellings.

One worrying element to our trip was the tendency, to our eternal shame, to slip into a stereotypical Oirish accent at any given moment, begorrah, with the accompanying Father Ted-esque 'Drink', 'Feck', 'Arse' and 'Girls'! There are times when I needed to be reminded not to shout those expletives before elevated members of the clergy – unless they did it first.

We returned back over the water and hurried to overnight in Stroud, a place we once thought we would make home. Down to the Prince Albert for lovely pints of local ale, the whiff of woodsmoke, live jazz and good company... But the flight to Prague was on the morrow.

This must have been one of the least-planned trips we've ever mounted. Assuming, like expats everywhere, that everyone speaks English, we didn't even know the price of a common-or-garden cab into town! Each capital city is the most expensive element in a country. We were, however, quite pleasantly surprised by the cost of things, being equivalent or marginally less than Hong Kong, the UK & Ireland.

The quality of Czech food also seemed tip-top. But the best was the beer – the ubiquitous Pilsner Urquell as light as spring water and as flavoursome as any tap-poured micro-brewery output can be!

One could, however, happily travel around the Czech Republic on next-to-nothing, stay at very cheap hostels and pensions and merely drink in the architectural splendour of the place. To say it is a jewel is to cheapen it. Even the new central city building work is done in sympathy with its late medieval or baroque surroundings. We were frequently, and pleasantly, open-mouthed at the richness of even the meanest streets. Of course there are whole ghettos of bleak, graffiti-covered communist-era blocks just as in any city, but far removed from any touristy site worth seeing. The low house prices outside Prague are also breathtaking: we could buy a castle with the change in our pocket (well, nearly)!

The little town of Olomouc (pop. 102,000) is somewhere you've never heard of. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the medieval centre of town is chocolaty-box-cobbledy-street loveliness, or at least it was at Christmastime without the 24,000 student population.

Palacký University has been around since 1573 and has quite a reputation in Theology and Philosophy in addition to Education, Science and Law. The Special Education Department want to become better-known within the English speaking world outside the Czech Republic and have recently printed its first English bi-annual publication. This fits in quite nicely with the Mem's plans for world domination.

Although cold, the people felt warm and friendly. Many spoke English (I suppose that's a good thing). The country feels like it has one respectful and retrospective eye on the values of the past and another, exciting and positive, very much fixed on the future. It is a culturally rich and youthful place. It's got a bit of everything!

So, the deal's done. And it's a good'n! We may be earning less in terms of what can be cleared in London or Kowloon, but koruna-for-koruna (written acronymically Kč, by the way) you can buy more giant pretzels in Moravia -or so we're led to believe.

This is possibly the last (and probably the longest!) blog of the year. If you've kept up this far then you're either a fan, a friend or a masochist! In the new year I may put this blog to bed and begin another more keenly Česká republika-focused on our new doings!

So farewell to 2012 and wherever you are and however you see it in, I wish you all a very Happy New Year for 2013.

Celeste-Fashion for normal women UK size 12-20

If life has taught me anything over the years, it is that I should have more than one string to my bow – that is, I should have more than one way to make a living. Teachers have regular incomes that, on the whole, do not vary week-in, week-out. This is a blessing when accounting for outgoings that require regular fixed payments like mortgages, but naturally acts as a disincentive to working extra-hours in the way that 'overtime' or bonus pay might support.

Many teachers seek ways to supplement their income. Some even seek to leave their jobs and start again doing something else. Their financially-focused drinking partners may typically brag about fat bonuses, but for teachers these 6-figure sums remain the elusive fairytale fantasy of the education-free netherworld.

Some of my ex-colleagues from King George Vth school dug their tunnels out of the classroom through interesting means made possible by the very exciting possibilities available in a city at the mouth of the Pearl River. Mike Jackman and the late Peter Hindes took to Midas in order to design and make t-shirts for the local market. Angus Hardern set up Angus International and took to supplying silk by the mile for wedding banquets. The most recent of these top quality ideas has been Celeste Fashion set up by my colleague Jane Angwin.

Like many women in Hong Kong, Jane was not happy with what's in the shops (or perhaps more precisely, with what's not in the shops). Catering for the larger sizes has always been a task too difficult for most high street retailers. The Memsahib remembers being in one shop and not being able to find anything that would fit – she was told to her face by the assistant, "No elephant size!"

With culturally-established stereotypes fimly fixed in the fashion industry from drawing board to outlet, larger-size women have been on a hiding to nothing if they wanted to go shopping in Hong Kong. Jane therefore decided to start from the ground-up, to learn dressmaking skills at night school, to see what worked and what didn't. Then she thought about meeting that need by selling what she knew people would want to wear. And instead of constantly braving the condescending negativity of stick insect adolescent shop assistants, she thought about setting it up on-line to offer clothes direct by mail-order: one-stop on-line shopping where a few simple clicks would enable pain-free purchasing.

And so today Celeste Fashion's wharehouse showroom opened its doors for the first time. Hong Kong fashion for normal women UK size 12-20 is now available through the website. At first sight the collection instantly strikes as a seemless range of ideas utilizing fabrics from all over the world, including some striking Korean prints. What is detected on closer inspection is the quality of manufacturing. The commonest heard complaint of poor quality certainly does not factor with these clothes: each garment is beautifully produced, largley under the auspices of their colleague Joseph Wong. Jane is also selling an exciting selection of jewellery from Indonesia.

So, now Jane really does not have all her eggs in one basket. Her young team of distributors and marketeers, including her daughter Helena (who with her husband Joe has her own business, Hell Models & Champion Entertainment) are set to establish their presence here during Hong Kong Fashion Week where they have a stall. Their next target is the Chinese mainland where it is estimated there are more plus-sized women than there are people in the ole US of A! Because of the prejudice and ineptness of the usual providers of women's clothes, it appears theirs is the Kingdom.

So bon chance, mon bon ami, and if you need someone to help the catwalk girls change in the dressing room, you've got my number...

Japan One Year Later...

The news pictures here and here that began to flash before our eyes were truly astonishing, catastrophic scenes we found hard to comprehend. Somewhat inured to Hollywood-style doomsday special effects, our eyes searched for truth in what we saw; the dirty, black water tumbling on and on across the fields engulfing farms, glasshouses, roads and cars, ports and ships, people –especially the terrified, panicky people. It was hard to believe.

It is a schoolteacher's job to educate and inform students about the world and ensure they are prepared to face the challenges of life. There is little in the job description that could help make sense of the Japanese tsunami of March 2011. There is little anyone could do to help younger people understand the gravity of such a situation and what response they might make.

Thus, largely in silence did I show students the footage available on YouTube and let them try to comprehend what was happening, the horrifying deaths, the innumerable disasters that unfolded as the waters kept rushing in. 

But it's difficult for children to understand, even with a video such as this, the true devastation of this event –that word is over-used, but it is the most appropriate. 

The exploding Fukushima nuclear reactor added to the trauma and made us all uneasy, as is evident from this article by Simon Parry. It completed the transformation of our understanding of a tsunami from Katsushika Hokusai's iconic, beautiful image of the Kanegawa Tsumani to that of the ugly, truly terrifying and unstoppable force of nature

The memorial video by OnlineSchools.org, Japan One Year Later, uses poetic and poignant visualisation projected onto whitewashed walls to bring to the eyes:

• 15,846 people dead and 3,320 still missing
• The restricted area around the Fukushima plant is larger than Los Angeles
• 25 million tons of trash now in the ocean
• Food is contaminated and people will live shorter lives as a result
• Only Hiroshima was a bigger disaster

It concludes with a last, perhaps more constructive image which transforms the devastation to something new and the words, 'The Sun is Rising'. In another time those words would be ominous –now they are perforated with hope. Japan suffered, but Japan is rebuilding –that is the message.

All the drawings are taken from images found on The Atlantic, that visibly demonstrate the transition one year can make.

Last Sunday was the commemorative anniversary. I forgot all about it –as if it had never happened. I suppose because I didn't see the waters wash away my family and my home I could be forgiven, but I did see the footage in all its horror.

It's never too late to remember.

2 Starry Days -Blush, l'Arpeggiata and Michelle Yeoh!

Well, as weeks go this one is pretty good. Pop, renaissance music and a star-bejewelled film premiere. I'll try to be brief...

Thursday 2nd February

Pop!

It's been a long time since I went to see a pop star (whatever one of those is). I don't know if Kylie the Minogue or a Madonna are real pop stars or whether the title 'King of Pop' should have ever been applied to the late Michael 'I-just-wish-I-could-understand-my-father' Jackson. For me, 'pop' denotes etherial childhood memories of such musical luminaries as the Bay City Rollers and Gary Glitter, but any search through a catalogue of such artistes talentueux now sees them listed under the headings 'Glam' or 'Pervert' (quelle est la différence?). Maybe the identification of 'pop' back in thum days lay more with bizarre titles and lyrics –can someone tell me what Suzi Quattro meant by Can the Can or the point Noddy Holder was on about when he sang the following,

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

She's a dark horse see if she can.

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

Painted up like a fancy young man.

'Pop', therefore...surely, must refer to POP-ular –meaning that someone actually likes the stuff (note my powers of deduction). The title of 'Supreme Pop Group', however, must eventually be applied to those Norsk-Dansk types who formed Aqua and famously got rich on Barbie Girl proving along the way that there's no such thing as a bad multi-platinum record!

Blush are a relatively new all-girl 'pop' outfit from this part of Asia. With eye-catching token Filippina, Chinese, Korean, Indian and Japanese, they've been wowing the crowds hither and thither and are promoted well enough to be hitting the big time supporting more established acts such as B.o.B, Far*East Movement, Black Eyed Peas and Justin Bieber –whoever they are. 

The girls and their entourage turned up in front of the un-cool educational edifice of KGV School to serenade da kids during lunchtime –no, that's wrong: to 'whoop' them into a pop-fuelled, teenage frenzy! And this they duly did judging from the numbers of rubbery day-glow wrist bangles and signed posters greedily grasped by the sweaty and impressionable 11- and 12-year olds after the show. I think the industry term for this sort of activity is, 'establishing a fan base'

No matter who you are, a KGV School audience is fickle –even Mozart himself would have to compete with Pokemon card tournaments, boys football on the field, Minecraft computer worlds and nonchalantly half-nibbled chicken legs. They got through... eventually... when the man on the mixing desk pumped up the volume.

Watching them strutting their funky stuff in the full light of day, I warmed to their act –actually, they were quite good, even if I am slightly positively-prejudiced: I taught the delightful Alisha Bushrani a few times over the years and it was really enjoyable to see her doing well (all teachers say that sort of drivel, but it's true). We had a brief chat later on that day: their recent push onto the bigger stages of the world means there's now a chance for them to do even greater things –which I am not at liberty to divulge. You heard it (that is, nothing at all) here first, folks... 

Renaissance Classical!

You might image that all that teeny-bopping perspiration was enough for one day, but I was bored during a holiday afternoon last week and bought a load of concert tickets for the 40th Hong Kong Arts Festival. I wasn't too sure about this particular concert, but it was promoted well and, after all, it's hard to go wrong with music from the renaissance. So in the evening, off me and the Memsahib did trot to the City Hall.

Music from the Renaissance this may well have been, but not like wot I has hearded before. I have listened to Monteverdi's Toccata from Orfeo oh I don't know how many times, often performed with a prim, over-inflated pomposity that would have stretched the corn of cornyness even during the renaissance, but this concert held an improvised and exciting novelty which at times made me wonder whether I was listening to completely new music. L'Arpeggiata brought the renaissance alive –not as museum-pieces, but as the excited breath of a dancer holding your hands as you both speedily twirl around the dancefloor: I could scarcely stay in my seat! The marked difference between the rather polite unflappable concertyness of most classical music performances and these Neopolitan and Italian emotion-filled expressions of life could not be more marked.

The wonderful Lucilla Galeazzi had us all eating out of her hands, such was her capacity to engage –just listen to this Youtube clip. It wasn't all jiggery-pokery and some of the more reflective pieces were mournful and truly Italianate, such as can be demonstrated here.

But you can't win 'em all, as the sleepy soul in the seat in front of us ably demonstrated, awakening only at the conclusion of each piece to join the chorus of clapping. I guess when you're tired then you're tired, but unnerving thoughts about the state of my sanity would enter my mind if I'd paid good money to sit in a room with hundreds of other people to leave two hours later with only the barest recollection about what I was doing there and why everyone around me was applauding...

Friday 3rd February

Film!

We all like being the first one to see a movie. I responded lightning-quick to an email from Amnesty International inviting me to see the Asian premiere of The Lady, Luc Besson's new film about the rise of Aung San Suu Kyi from Oxford Academic's wife to famous stateswoman promoting Burmese democracy upon the world stage. As such, we received Wonka-like Golden Tickets in the mail to the screening at the Grand Cinema in the vast, meandering Elements mall that overlooks Hong Kong harbour.

This is primarily a love story about a married couple, perhaps an unfashionable topic for some –no seedy sex, no devastating dénouements, no unfaithful connivances or earthquake-like betrayals, no Hugh Grant, just the tenderness of a marriage that is threatened and finally overwhelmed by power-hungry generals, the painful needs of a poor country and, eventually, terminal illness. I cried.

Quite simply, Michelle Yeoh is Aung San Suu Kyi, long speeches in Burmese language notwithstanding. A tough role for anybody, particularly when the actress must portray vulnerability and strength, assailability and determination, she crafted a believable character who's endearing morality is miles above that of her opponents. That Suu, as she is tenderly called, survived at all is testament to the work of many others as well as to her resilience. But survive she does receiving a Nobel Peace Prize along the way largely because her husband, played by the great David Thewlis, tirelessly fought for her submission to the Norwegian Nobel Committee.

Michelle Yeoh is perhaps best known for her nature role in martial arts epic Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and as the feisty Chinese Bond Girl in Tomorrow Never Dies. She arrived with Luc Besson and his beautiful current (and third) wife Virginie Silla –a good producer in her own right: there then took place a photographic orgasm, the flash and video lights of every camera in the room erupting to capture the moment without knowing quite what it was they were trying to capture. The usual speeches over, all Golden Ticket holders (the unbearably stylish, the duffel coated worthies and the mundane) poured past the barriers and A.I. yellow t-shirted ushers into each of the cinema houses. As we sat waiting, the same celebrated trio arrived to deliver another pep-talk. Michelle looked the most nervous and inclined the audience to go with the emotions of the film –excellent advice! Go and see this film. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Film over, the stars once again popped in to each cinema to wave and receive warm applause. Miss Yeoh knew several audience members and stopped for kisses and kind words. On our way out a nicely dressed couple stood near the exit –Luc and Virginie. With a handshake I congratulated him on the film and asked whether it was shot in Thailand. He said that the first few minutes and the forested footage and landscape were shot in Myanmar within about a week –that was all the time they were given to get essential footage. (Some of that, such as the massive, iconic, golden Schwedagon Pagoda, must have also been digitized for backgrounds.) He went on to add that most of it was filmed in Thailand. I added that I was moved by the film which he was quite glad to hear: another fan was still crying next to them.

A good end to the week hob-nobbing with the stars (sorry I wasn't brief at all). I should, of course, now conclude with a quippy sign-off such as, I suppose even stars are real people, but I just can't. The point to be made now is that this Amnesty event highlighted the plight of an entire people under brutal dictatorship (what other kind is there?). Although things may seem to be improving, there's still a question mark about what will happen next –it could all go tits-up with recent positive gains all reversed. Please take a look at the Amnesty site. Why not drop them a bob or two: Myanmar Amnesty International.

Excellent Big Lychee/Hemlock's Rant on English, the ESF and Pierce Lam (who he...?)

A frequent diversion (in proper grown-up's language) on matters Hong Kong can be found at Big Lychee, a long-established territory-centred blog. I have yet to find a poorly-worded or ill-thought comment (by the author, at least).  Each entry is bang up-to-date and well-researched. The opinions can be quite scathing, but are generally fair -after all, this city of ours is a bit of a mad, mixed-up and contradictory circus and if you hang on for five minutes someone is bound to say something crazy or do something worse!

The blog has been around for quite a while, was hitherto known as Hemlock, and has connections with the wonderful, but sadly buried, Not The South China Morning Post.

I therefore have no hesitation in endorsing this blog -particularly the review, about two-thirds of the way down, of the recent outing by a letter written to the South China Morning Post by a certain Pierce Lam (Central) on April 11th. This finely-worded rant, it appears, hails from a Chinese with big fat chips on his shoulder regarding the use of English in Hong Kong, deep-seated reserve towards anything non-Sino focused and the pointlessness of the English Schools Foundation. The Big Lychee correctly points out that these efforts may have their origins in a troubled past. More worrying, at least for me, would be the effect such an opinion might have on a government policy-maker or, if such a position properly exists, government economic planner.

Heightened attention on China, and centrally-'controlled' Chinese economics in particular, is likely in the coming weeks. I think the news will all be negative, if not downright dire. It's tempting to become a doom-monger and hail the end-of-the-world (as we know it), but from desperate times often come desperate measures. I only hope that the English-bashing rhetoric of those such as Pierce Lam will be drowned in a sea of good-old Chinese common-sense.

Talking of which, aerial pigs are expected over Hong Kong skies anytime soon.

Bloody Teachers and their holidays

Here we are, betwixt Christmas and Chinese New Year (CNY). For those of us East of Suez this is a somewhat short work period (usually about four weeks) between lovely holidays. For those in Chinese employ there is an immanent CNY break. We, in the English Schools Foundation, have but one week, those in local schools two. Ah, for teachers their holidays never seem far away...

I know, I know -those of you in real work will most likely be rolling your eyes, tutting at the prospect of lazy teachers getting yet another week's paid holiday and possibly fuming at increasing fees and decreasing standards. All I can say is, if you can stand the heat, don't mind a cap on your salaries and like the idea of some extended breaks throughout the year then teaching might be just for you.

In a recent Guardian story, "teachers in schools in England and Wales are still working "unacceptably" long hours despite a national agreement to reduce their workload." Amplify this somewhat and you get the picture of teaching here in Hong Kong. Admittedly we do not have classroom behavioural problems within ESF schools, but many colleagues will be working each evening, over the weekend and during holidays. High-achieving students bring their own demanding problems. No-one stops at the mythical 3.20 end-of-the-school-day, although work may be postponed until later. In addition, many of our working days may consist of 5 one-hour stand-up teaching lessons, sometimes before unwilling and (God-forbid unappreciative) audiences where your communication technique is as important as your subject matter. You can't stop and have a break when you flag. I have known some in other industries positively wet their pants at delivering a mumbled 15-minute PowerPoint!

So the prospect of a few perks, such as three major holidays in the year, are not simply welcomed, they're bloody well necessary! Bring it on: Phuket beckons...