China executes Briton over drugs

Yet another so-called "British" citizen dragging the name of this country through the international mud. I fully agree with China on this one.

4kg of heroin equates to how much death and misery? Not just from the direct effects of the drug but also the money generated going directly to enhance criminal activity that requires even more resources to counter. This person had a mental problem.

Capital punishment is a strong unyielding message but perhaps the reluctance to send strong unyielding messages is the issue. China has shown exactly where it stands on the issue. Respect due, for that at least. The Opium Wars continue.

First two months...

First two months.

All is going more or less okay here. Were it not for the Swine flu outbreak, the administration week, the quarantine (twice!!!!) or the National Day where we have just enjoyed a week off, all would have been even better. I think I have been enjoying myself way too much. That’s not to say I’m having a bad time, I’m just looking forward to finally studying constantly without breaks. Though the proverbial ‘be careful what you wish for, as you might just get it’ is in my case, very true. I’ll now be at Uni until February without a break. I’m also teaching a lot of hours per week, teaching English and Russian. Once again, my boss thinks I’m half Russian (and she’s Russian!).
My schedule is as follows; 4 hours a day plus extra modules in marketing (I still don’t understand much of it yet if I’m honest), plus 4 hours a day at home writing, writing and writing more… Add work, add two hours at the gym everyday, and add the time for good food and that pretty much cures my insomnia (yes I took people’s advice and slept on it). Sleeping at about 11pm and getting up at 6am (thanks Steve) seems to allow me for enough time to get everything done.
Olga has moaned at me for talking to her at 2.45am and fobbing her off as I need to sleep, so I promise to not talk to you all at 2.45am Beijing time whilst inebriated. Far too many of you have found out too many interesting things about me this way!
If anyone needs a place to stay in Beijing to come up and visit, just let me know.

Beijing 60th Anniversary - Lock up your pigeons!

Beijing 60th Anniversary - Lock up your pigeons!

That is the order that has gone out from the Beijing city government, as the authorities blanket the capital with the strictest security regime imposed here for decades in the run-up to tomorrow’s military parade marking the 60th anniversary of the founding of “New China.”

No pigeon flying, nor balloons, is permitted within a 125 mile radius of Tiananmen Square until the end of the anniversary holiday on Oct. 8. Even kites, common ornaments in the Beijing sky, have been banned.

No one has been told why these measures have been put into place; perhaps the government fears a well-trained pigeon might drop something on Hu Jintao’s head. Though one thing is for sure, Hu Jintao won’t be attending the celebration. It will more likely be his double, whilst Hu watches the celebrations from the comfort of his own home with the rest of us.

In fact rumour has it that the ‘celebrations’ as it were, won’t even be live. Today is the 30th of September, and they probably already have made the film that the world will see tomorrow, having pre-recorded the parade of tanks and dances during the rehearsals earlier this week

Other officials are nervous about threats to the proceedings closer to the pavement. “Dog owners should try to cut back on dog-walking during the holidays so as to avoid any disturbance” reads one wall poster in the central Beijing district of Dongcheng. Walking your dog anywhere near the parade route is forbidden.

The Chinese government is making a very big deal indeed out of its 60th birthday. The parade will show off China’s latest military hardware, normally shrouded in the sort of secrecy that now surrounds the exact nature of the entire 60th show.
Ordinary citizens have been kept well away from night-time rehearsals of the parade. Indeed they will be kept away from the event itself, and people living in apartments overlooking the route have been warned not to watch the parade from their balconies, nor even to open their windows.

We have been told, though, that the firework display will be twice as large as last year’s Olympic spectacular, and the municipal government is trying to conjure a festive air by decorating Beijing’s avenues with red paper lanterns and brightly coloured bunting. More and more private cars are sprouting patriotic little Chinese flags.

Less convivial are the black-uniformed patrols of SWAT police, sometimes accompanied by large dogs, who can be seen at railway stations and on street corners, keeping an eye on things.

Beijing is on the highest security alert allowed outside wartime, and it shows. Postal services have been delayed, as every package arriving in the capital undergoes a special screening; subway commuters have to put up with even more of a rush-hour crush as each of their bags goes through an X-ray machine. Plain clothes and uniformed policemen guard the city’s bridges.

But, after 60 years of the People’s Republic of China, the big question is, who are the celebrations for? - If people can’t leave their houses, if people are advised not to travel or see friends, then is this merely an extraordinary display as opposed to a celebration? Perhaps yes it seems, parading tanks and fancy top-notch weapons is more a message to its own people in China’s autonomous regions and the West. Breaking the peace shall not be allowed. And no matter what, tomorrow, China shall have its perfect celebration.

Racism and job applications, Beijing.

Dear Cathy,

I saw your ad on thebeijinger.com, and I wondered whether you were still looking for teachers?

I am an enthusiastic, confident and young British student currently living in Beijing. I am studying Mandarin and Marketing at Beishida, and I plan on living here in Beijing for the next two years, and I live between Mudanyuan and Xitucheng stations.

I have had in total, 2 years of education at Moscow State Univeristy and 2 years in Manchester University (I will return to England in 2011 to finish my Masters). Whilst in Moscow, I taught English for the whole duration of my stay, so I would say I am experienced in teaching foreigners, including children. I am also good at thinking of new and interesting ways to teach English.

If you are interested, we could perhaps have a chat or I could send you any further details you require.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Yours faithfully,

Aaron Hobday






Hello, Thanks your email . Yes , I still looking for a english teacher for my school fo english . you can give your CV . But I have to tell you , becuase our school is too small , so I cant give you too high rate . 100RMB / per hour , and we dont need black man . I'm sorry

Have a good day

Cathy

First day in Quarantine.

Quarantine; a word taken by the British from the French, which initially meant a ‘fortnight’ or ‘une quarantaine’. Whereby people were detained and observed for fourteen days and fourteen nights in the times of the Black Death.

Whilst I don’t have the Black Death, I still suffered the misfortune of going to a summer course at Beijing Uni with the ghastly people who caught swine flu. Whence they caught this flu, I don’t know. The two Japanese girls in my class stopped coming on Wednesday last week, and I was too drunk to come into class on one of those days, hence not being at class for five days.

Alas, pretty much everyone has been bundled into a van, given a mask and then taken to this posh swanky hotel, decorated with beautiful ‘chinglish’ signs everywhere, including in the shower, which reads ‘be careful of landslides’ – meaning ‘don’t slip over’.

How I got quarantined I still don’t know. My Russian classmate told me about the imminent saga yesterday night; he doesn’t speak English and his Chinese isn’t great. So I play Mr Aaronski Hobdayski. So, I called the student’s office last night and with the help of my Chinese housemates, it seemed I wouldn’t have to go and be quarantined. Then this morning they called again, I even nearly managed to talk my way out of it, by getting them down to 4 days in quarantine, 2 days then at home, and then they suggested a doctor see me. In the end they said I had to stay here for a day to check on me, yet after arriving here in the scariest and seemingly fastest ambulance ride to the hotel ever (Chinese road signs are merely a ‘guide’ for road users), many other students have to stay for 7 days…

But why, if I am healthy, go to a hotel where all the other potential swine flu ‘carriers’ are free to roam the corridors? It is Chinese logic I am sure. But thanks to my losing my temper and shouting in Chinese at the Chinese doctors, suddenly something clicked in my head, and my Chinese started to flow well for the first time. It looks hopeful that I won’t be here for too much longer, that is, if I haven’t already caught swine flu from the other students in the hotel…

Second week here in Beijing.

I think I’ve been partying way too much. Over the past few nights I have been lucky to enjoy 4 hours of sleep, but had some really fun times. Foreigners here are great, they really look after you and make you feel part of their group. Even at 23 however, I need to drink less. I mean, the fake alcohol you get everywhere is terrible for the body, and playing sports at stupid-o-clock makes for a very tired Aaron in lessons. We went to an amazing club on Sat night, the music was really really good, nothing in Manchester compared. Though a few of the tracks, despite my inebriated state were plagiarised from the album god’s kitchen 2009 I am sure. I was so drunk I was clinking glasses with everyone, I swear I think I’m fluent in Chinese after a few drinks…

Lessons in fact are going great. It’s so much work, and my teachers are great, though they expect me to translate everything from Chinese back into French, Russian, Japanese and Polish, so I never really am allowed to glaze over and take a back seat. I’m already speaking much better, which is mainly thanks to my housemates who have been very patient with me…

The early starts are hard to get used to. I’m up at 6 every day, but most westerners start work at 10 and finish late, around 9pm, so by the time you hang out with people, you should already be getting ready to sleep! Argh. That’s something I’m going to have to get used to.

Would be good to hear from people back home at some point!

First day in China.

I've already written this to a mate, so I thought I'd just post it on my blog to let everyone read this.

It’s about 6 am, I can’t sleep as it’s touching 40 degrees here. Plus the fact my body clock is all messed up…

Well the flight was not so long, yet I didn’t sleep a wink. I was way too excited to sleep. That and I’d met two Australian girls in front of me, who kept the banter going, and a Chinese girl who spoke amazing English.

I got off the plane and as we walked towards passport control, there are these cameras on tripods, which are heat sensitive. Of course, me being one of the lads with a heart warmer-than-others, I got stopped and put into the quarantine area for a while to check my temperature. They checked my ears and temperature of my armpits to see whether I was a potential swine flu victim, and after a short while, they let me go. I met a really friendly American girl in the quarantine area – we decided they were picking on us just because we were white!



Passport control was so simple, and the people in Beijing Capital airport were so helpful. I got through the main gate, and met Serina (who I now have to call Jingyi as that’s her Chinese name) alone with my two new Chinese flatmates. I tried telling a joke when I arrived, which always goes down well. My jokes aren’t funny in English, but in Chinese – I’m hilarious! Oh and I’m living with a couple; a guy called Wang Zhi, who does IT and is always making jokes and very intelligent, and his girlfriend Liu Jia, a girl from Xinjiang who is great fun to talk to. You should hear her on her phone, always smiling, talking loudly to her mates and shouting at people. They’re both mathematicians but very outgoing. I’m really lucky being landed with these two.


We registered at the Police station after a journey through the Beijing Underground. It was so strange being stared at but at first, I thought nothing of it. I guess being tall, with fair hair and green eyes would get some looks initially, though it is Beijing, and there are a few foreigners here (though I’ve yet to see one!).

Being stared at was nothing compared to our trip to the supermarket. The one thing you have to remember about China is that the population density is double that of the UK, so the supermarket is rammed. Not only that, but people all stare at me. They stop in their stride and their eyes follow me across the shop gawping at me. Either that or they stare at me and crash their trolley into the stack of instant noodles, which was f*cking hilarious. I wish I had the banner ‘epic fail’ to bring out at that point. Wang and Liu think it’s great. We were walking down the street and some guy just took a photo of me. I would have posed given the chance but hey, maybe next time. Also when in restaurants, every waitress goes bright red at the sight of me, and the restaurant goes deathly silent when I speak Chinese.

Maybe it’s the area I’m living in. I’m living in Haidian, an area in which most the Universities are. But living in a block of flats with Chinese people, means that that in itself is unusual; most foreigners live in Uni accommodation or in the ‘expensive’ area of Beijing. So I guess I’m the local celebrity. I was told not to buy apples on my own, or they’ll be triple in price. However, that it good, as I did try to order apples but I had to ask three times as the old woman was mesmerised by my big English, ahem, eyes. The golden moment was when in the supermarket buying bedding, some lady was staring at me so hard she crashed into a pyramid of instant noodles!



Speaking Chinese isn’t as bad as I thought. I worked hard on the speaking over summer, but my housemates speak a bit of English, though I think my Chinese is better, yet it’s nice to just talk in English now and then when I can’t remember the odd word. I’m also quite confident to talk, I make a lot of mistakes but my housemates understand me, and we spend most of the time laughing.

We ate so much yesterday. We had some spicy dish with garlic, beef, chilli and celery. Some pumpkin buns and the biggest two plates of roast duck you could imagine. All for just under 10 quid for three people! The restaurants are crazy, everyone shouts and there’s so much happening all at once, but it’s really good fun.

Facebook is blocked, though I can get on it. I'm just using a good proxy.

Be good!

Why I hate Bear Grylls

"I was then in the swamps - these are always the toughest shows to do- and I did end up having a pretty full-on encounter with a 6ft alligator. I came out on top, just, skinned it for cordage for my camp to sleep in, rubbed the alligator fat on me for mosquito repellent and then ate it."

Could he have not gone to Boots, it's only two quid? What a load of old ****...

It ain't just cricket you know

Who do I think I am? Who do we think we are? What makes for loyalty, or a sense of what class or nationality or religion we belong to? The conviction that we are a certain sort of people. We behave in a certain way, we have certain rights, certain taboos - and certain values.

We see ourselves as British because we will insist on doing this, and are absolutely not the sort of people who ever, EVER, do that.

At least so I thought...

But now it becomes increasingly clear that if we didn't actually torture anybody ourselves, we did the next best thing in helping Americans, or at least profiting from their use of torture.

I know that we the British haven't had too good a record in the past on this - we apparently tortured Barack Obama's grandfather, and it's still a matter for debate whether the good we may have done in the way of missionaries, commerce, occasionally schools (not enough), stopping people burning their widows and so forth, does or doesn't outweigh the brutality we undoubtedly inflicted while keeping the Empire under control.

But by now we hoped that was all in the past, which people can surely put behind them. We're constantly told that nice young Germans are not Nazis, that people in this or that Pacific island don't eat each other any more (whether or not they actually ate only a few significant bits to partake of the strength of their enemies, or were simply after the healthful protein). What we're talking about is now.

The standard we aspire to, our only claim to be better than our enemies is that we are more civilised than they are; that whatever the provocation there are things that we simply do not do.

Torture is one of them. I can't remember who it was who said that it wasn't winning that was difficult, but winning without becoming too like your enemy. Torture certainly doesn't bring any tactical benefit big enough to justify the appalling loss of one's principles and integrity; an English common law ruling as long ago as 1783 said anything got by torture should not be given any credibility.

The United States has come to realise, I suppose, that however useful the information they got from Guantanamo Bay, it is puny and negligible compared to the massive and catastrophic damage it did to its reputation.

Ends and means

There is more than one view on torture, of course - the Michael Ignatieff view is that one establishes firmly that one does not, in any circumstances, sanction torture. But that if you knew you had in front of you the one man who had the plans and the means to blow up all London, and the question was whether you stuck to your principles and didn't use the thumbscrew - or did use it and saved London - you would have to do it, but would be forgiven.



Anthropologist Jeremy Swift, who has one of the most subtle minds I know, says no. If it was ever the right thing to do, the only honest thing you can say is: "In some circumstances I would." I don't know who is right on that one.

Until now, people like me - who have lived in the US, been inspired by its ideals, have close friends and a son there - have sympathised with them for having a Bush government that allowed things like Guantanamo and so let them in for the world's obloquy. Well, now it's us, who thought - hoped anyway- that such things were just not British.

So what is being British? It has nothing to do with knowing about Agincourt, the Corn Laws or the Kings and Queens of England, since half our allegedly educated young Britons born here do not. And certainly nothing whatever to do with cricket, or I'm a Bolivian.

For me, it comes down to two things: to be British you must speak English and respect the law. Note I don't say obey the law, as too many Britons obviously don't, much of the time. And of course there are differences between Scottish law and English.

But even burglars and swindlers still reckon they'll be hauled up in front of the courts, subject to one or another form of British law, with all its safeguards, achieved bit by bit over centuries.

Whatever the minor discrepancies, it's a question of what you consider to be the law - not thinking women should be stoned to death if they sleep with the wrong man; not thinking you can get away with murder if you belong to the right church; and certainly not thinking Sharia law, that would more or less negate all the rights that two centuries of British women have fought for, should supersede ours.

Which stands for being the sort of people who don't pull people's toenails out; who obey the Geneva conventions; who have at least an idea of fairness and honour.

Mother tongue

So where does speaking English come into all this? Language, too is a vital part of the interface between those who grew up here and those who didn't, the others, the outsiders - and it's another problem we share with the US.

They require those becoming citizens to learn English for very good reason - the constitution and all it implied was formed in English, and if you wanted to uphold it, benefit from it, you had to learn it. (A friend of mine had met a man who, as a child, had always thought that English was something that declined with age, like sight or hearing; because he spoke it perfectly, his mother pretty well but his grandmother - the original immigrant - was really bad at it.)

At one point the flood of Spanish-speaking immigrants in California was such that they decided children should be taught initially in their mother tongue, Spanish. After quite a few years it was the Spanish-speaking parents who asked for this kind privilege to be stopped, as they realised that the children of Oriental immigrants got ahead far faster - they weren't hampered by having to learn the national tongue as a second language.

A lot of liberally minded people would say that requiring English is restrictive, makes things hard for the less brainy or more elderly. That it's more civilised to accept that we have a lot of languages spoken here, and it's only fair to interpret for them.

I absolutely don't agree, for two reasons. The first is that if you don't understand English, you can't understand what's going on - you are second class citizens and can't effectively take part in any public debate.

You can have the news and views interpreted for you - but who by? The local mullah? The head of the household - who may be very happy to have his wife unable to know anything he doesn't tell her? It reminds one of the prosecution's remarks in the famous Lady Chatterly trial: "Would you like your wife or your servants to read this book?"

Your seven-year-old son, who has learned English at school, can interpret for you - but do you want him to be the one who tells your medical troubles to the doctor?

A few years back the winner of a prize in medical communication was a pair who went around lecturing about getting through to difficult groups - deaf people, people with learning difficulties, people who didn't speak English. They had a marvellously telling film of an Asian woman consulting the doctor about pain in intercourse, using her cousin as interpreter - who instead said she had irregular periods, because that was more seemly - so the doctor prescribed for that.

And restaurant inspectors, I'm told, have given up using the children to relay their criticisms to the owners of mucky ethnic kitchens, as the kids don't want to say anything that might upset Papa.

When showing off in one of my Russian history lectures, I wrote some swany phrase to my friend. She responded to my insolence with the following quotation by Roosevelt, which sums this subject up quite nicely with relation to the US:

“We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house; and we have room for but one soul loyalty, and that is loyalty to the American people”
Theodore Roosevelt

Melting pot

There is no going back on the single fact that tribes and races and nations are now totally intertwined. The conflicts are not about to go away.



To my mind it doesn't matter what your meal times are, what clothes you wear, whether you keep birthdays or saints days or name days, what songs you sing, whether you think the world came from outer space, was made in six days or sits on the back of an elephant.

The nation that now has chicken tikka masala as its favourite dish can absorb almost anything - but only if it hangs on to the essentials that make it what it is - our language and above all our law. It can be improved, made more enlightened. Stripped of bureaucratic inessentials. Made fairer to both sexes, adapt to changing conditions. But keep its essential premise - that all are equal before the law. Not, as George Orwell's pigs in Animal Farm had it, that some are more equal than others.

Remember the exchange in the play A Man for All Seasons? Cranmer likens the law to trees, saying he would cut down every law in England to get at the devil. And Thomas More says "And when you have cut down every law and the devil comes after you, where will you hide?"

Exactly.

We Should Acknowledge that the BNP were democratically elected

A lot of talk has been on this subject recently, and I thought I would express my feelings about this.

Several years ago, the chances of them winning anything anywhere, would have seemed like fanciful stuff. However, like it or not, the decisions taken by our MPs has created a situation where many people have voted for the BNP. Now, I don't agree with their policies and wish they hadn't been elected, however, rather than just condemning the BNP, we need to address the reasons why a great number of people chose to vote for them and understand their concerns.

There has been much written in the papers recently about ‘Yorkshire’s shame BNP elected’ but they obviously aren’t ashamed, as they voted for the BNP. It’s laughable really

I believe, that until you fix the root cause, the BNP will continue to gain support, votes and electoral legitimacy. They now have a presence in local government as well as the EU parliament, ultimately a refection of the percentage of those, who actually voted.

If you are one like me, where you are against the ideas of the BNP, try focusing your attention on the main parties who have totally failed to recognise and address the local issues that has lead to these BNP members being elected in the first place. I have no doubt that there are many more people in the country who resonate with some of the BNPs policies though they have not voted for them to date. If the main political parties don't get their act together then we may well find them represented in Westminster in the near future as well.

Furthermore, it is worth noting that they [the BNP] obtained a considerable number of votes 943,598, compared to Labour's 2,381,760. This is quite shocking to think that a main political party like Labour who are in power could only accrue around 2.5 times more votes than the BNP. Putting it another way for around every 2.5 people who voted Labour 1 voted for the BNP, and for every 4.5 who voted Tory 1, voted BNP - extraordinary.
I think politically, there is a lot of work to be done in this country. Political correctness is an obstacle we need to combat, and the best thing is to open things up to debate; transparency. If we hold televised live debated with the political parties, who knows, we could have a Frost/Nixon situation in the near future.

Some mates you have to book an appointment with. Are they worth it?

Is it just me or are people misunderstanding the values of friendship?

Exams are over and now I’m wrapped up in the world or full-time (or almost full time) work. Gym at 6am, work from 9am, home for around 6pm after a very long bike ride, food and then sports, friends, Chinese cramming. I often lose track of time. However recently a few things some friends have said to be have really echoed in my mind for a long time…

After a few things which have gone on over the past few months, I’ve decided I’m going to study at Beijing University for 2 years, instead of the original first-planned, one year long course. I’m a tad nervous, but I’ve decided to study on a 4-week extra intensive course this summer, just to give me a kick start. Plans with accommodation however fell through, Uni halls were too pricey, and so I was stuck. Until my friend, Serina made the effort to help me look for flats by posting on various internet sites, making phone calls and even planning to meet my future Chinese house mates in Beijing in order to ‘vet’ them before giving me the ‘all-clear’ to move in with them. I felt very humbled by all of this. I even felt indebted to her to some degree. Though this is what friends do, and this is why you have good friends like Serina is to me. I found it most obscure that I was mulling this over in my mind. People these days are so concerned with what they can get from each other, who they can profit and benefit from someone, that they forget how to be friends with people.

A recent conversation on the same issue made me think about this further; people don’t seem to have close friendships anymore. Not everyone, though a proportion. To some, the majority are merely drink-buddies, who call you up on a Saturday night so they don’t have to go to bars on their own. This isn’t a bad thing, as often these people are the most fun. But often people seem to have two groups of mates: the ‘drink’ mates and the ‘talk-to’ mates. If you’re making the effort to read this, think for just one second. How many friends do you have in your phonebook who you can call up and say ‘hey man, I’m feeling really pants right now, and wanted to chat?’

I think I have a handful, I’m lucky though.

I’m making more of an effort these days to keep in touch and spend more time with people, even though it is all too easy to drift apart. But there are some friends who you always have to book an appointment with. You’ll want to go to the cinema, but they’ll say they haven’t any money, yet three days later they update their facebook status with :



‘Joe Bloggs is loving the cinema with his mates’.





It makes you think why on earth bother with such people?

Olga made a very good comment to me. Blunt, but it hit the nail on the head. She said ‘Aaron, they’re your friends, and you yourself chose them’. Maybe I need to start being a little less sentimental and realise when it’s time to give up on some people.

You can have a mate a year and the friendship can be lost, yet you can have a friend a week and it be a life-long friendship.

It’s a damn shame I’m leaving for Beijing so soon. After a troublesome year, things over the past two months have gone great. I’ve never been happier, despite the occasional ups and downs. I’ve got some very good friends who have only just recently come into my life, and they’re the people who I can call for anything, the people who sort out living arrangements for me, the people who cook for me, help me move house, tell me how it really is, give a damn and the great people who actually care and make me laugh.

So Andy, Kris, Ali, Olga, Serina, Jonny, Vivian, and Gav, cheers guys. You’re all top banana (even if you do take the michael when I climb trees and pose in them) ;-)

Throwing the rattle out of the pram.

I’m in that bubble, floating down the old cold and dark gradual slope of my childhood street in Dover. People are reaching up to touch me, but they have no faces and yet in their desperation, they make no noise. The surface of the bubble ascends ever so nearer in descent towards their clasps for me but my will allows the bubble to rise back into the air, only a few inches or so from their clawing fingertips. I then wake up.

In the style of the Clockwork Orange, I’m at the perekryostok of life again. Unsure of which way to turn, which way is right or wrong, or whether there is actually a right or wrong. For reassurance I pool from the past, and turn my head and look down the path that I have crossed in order to make my next move. But with caution. I start to reflect upon the past.

I’ve come a long way in the past year, but lost or upset a few friends on the way through being myself albeit due to past events or natural related sort of stuff that has forged the way I am. I start to think that it is because I don’t try hard enough, and that it is all due to the fact that I am essentially lazy. University has gone well this year however; starting Polish from scratch and scoring 82% at an intermediate level, and also taking Chinese literature, something which I always failed and never understood, yet at University level, I scored 76%. These are the results I have so far. Surely this is progress. I aced my business exam, breezed through Russian language, but yet I feel I didn’t do myself justice in the thing that people know me best for – Chinese. I’m pretty sure I screwed that up. And it is just this example I am trying to highlight here. What I like, enjoy and all those showy-off things that I am about, ultimately brings complacency and hence failure. I can exemplify this with Chinese, with my gym progress and with my ex. All of the aforementioned could have done with a lot more effort and work, and I feel that I haven’t quite met the bar in ‘standards’. Instead I get myself so absorbed in the notion of the aforementioned activities, but yet do nothing to contribute to them further. I’d happily sit in a bath whilst talking to a friend on the phone for 30 minutes, yet I go in the bath another time, take my Chinese book, yet read one page and don’t read anymore. In addition, I recently uploaded some photos of my doing the gardening at my friend’s house (a person who is extremely kind, and is letting me stay rent free to help me actually get to China). Now two comments to these photos, and two of the most immediate comments, were; “where has your six pack gone? ;-)” – I used to be over 16 stones/98kg, I thought I had done rather well. The next “Put some weight on, you’re skinny, do more shoulder work”. I feel deflated and out of energy. There was me thinking I had done so well.

It is important to take knocks well, and believe me, I have had more than my fair share. However, I do know people who ‘go’ to the gym, or should I say, attend the gym and enjoy its array of health facilities rather than its weights. In the steam room, I’ll hear lines like “I’m not progressing, and I take all this protein”. Well that’s because they take their protein, eat well, buy men’s health magazine, talk to other lads about carbohydrates as a type of conversation initiator and read every food label for its fat content. In such cases, one needs to lok back on the week, as I am looking back at my crossroads or perekryostok, and each week, think to myself ‘what have I done to contribute to move forward?’. Often it isn’t brilliant. When faced with the what-have-I-done question concerning the gym this week, despite it being Wednesday, I find myself already making excuses. Well, I have worked full time every day so far doing manual work, clearning flats, sucking flood water out of carpets, cleaning, moving house, gardening etc. So, I guess I’m not lazy, but I need to push myself that little bit further.

The second dream I have haunting me is takes place in my gym at peak time. All the regular faces are there. Everyone is twice my size and suddenly a demon type entity appears and tries to kill everyone with a fire explosion. I run up in front of everyone hold my hand out, sort of like creating a reflective barrier, thus saving the day. – Perhaps I watch read too many Naruto comics, but there is this instinct inside me that wants to be protective, and that ultimately, craves significance.

I have always believed that philosophically, there is no such thing as a selfless act. People do everything purely for their own benefit, whether it be directly or indirectly. But ultimately as part of being a ‘lad’ I not only crave significance, but also want someone to protect and look after. It’s almost instinctual.

People seem more ephemeral than ever. The majority here in Manchester have no real substance to them, and are solely concerned with showing off and talking about themselves. Part of me is glad that I am moving away, but the other half thinks that after two years of being in the UK I should be sad to be leaving.

In short, I need to work harder. Maybe I’m beating myself up, and yes there is sometimes more to life and yes, sitting back relaxing is just as important. Yet, I think that there’s only so much I can do, but in realising that I’m frustrated. I’m ambitious, hard working, strong, and protective but if only I could turn up the volume on all of these qualities. The road seems uncomfortable ahead, but if I focus and work harder then maybe this gradual slope will turn into a smooth down-hill bike ride. And I need to deal less with those 6-foot tall people who are in fact 7-foot tall with their mouth open…

Stupid Poems

To make your egg go hard inside
Just take heed of the following guide
Make your water hot and frothy
then drop your egg in very softly
Add some salt into your pan
just in case some cracks happen
If you want your egg all hard inside
10 minutes boil should be just fine.
If you like your yolk all soft and runny
Three minutes time is on the money.

Be quiet?
Omissions may haunt you
Speak?
Admissions may damn you

Rip off the lid,
Remove sachet of sauce,
Put it to one side,
For later of course.
A half pint of water,
Bubbling and hot,
Position the jug,
Pour into the pot.
Leave for two minutes,
You can't just use haste,
Give it a stir,
Then add sauce to taste.
Sit down and enjoy,
This pot snack so crude,
And next time you shop,
BUY SOME ACTUAL FOOD!

UK: Gov't Severs Ties With Muslim Council of Britain After Leader Caught Signing Declaration of Jihad Against Royal Navy.....

This article is via the far-left Independent so they gloss over the details, here's some background info on exactly what Dr Daud Abdullah signed. (Abdullah advocates attack on foreign navies if they halt arms smuggling- Family Security Matters)

The Government has severed relations with the country's leading Muslim organisation, saying a senior member is a supporter of Hamas, the Palestinian military organisation.

A letter leaked to The Independent on Sunday shows that the Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government, Hazel Blears, wrote to the Muslim Council of Britain, calling for Dr Daud Abdullah to resign.

She alleges he was one of 90 Muslim leaders from around the world who signed a public declaration of support for Hamas, the elected government of the Gaza strip in Israel, and military action against Israel.

A spokeswoman for the department said: "We are concerned that the statement calls for direct support for acts of violence in the Middle East and beyond.We are also aware that a senior member of the MCB may have been a signatory to this statement. If it is proven that the individual concerned had been a signatory, we would expect the MCB to ask him to resign and to confirm its opposition to acts of violent extremism."

Members of the Muslim community reacted angrily to the letter at a conference in Birmingham where they met yesterday to discuss the issue.

An MCB spokesperson said: "We will make clear to the Government that as far as the MCB is concerned we utterly condemn the targeting or killing of soldiers anywhere in the world.But the MCB will not be dictated to by Hazel Blears. We do not take orders from Ms Blears. She is mistaken if she thinks the MCB will dismiss people at her say-so."

Half my mates are drug crazed idiots

But none of them, at least as far as I know, has pulled a move quite so boneheaded as BOY GEORGE, who's now been sent to prison for 15 months for himself imprisoning and attempting to torture a Norwegian rent boy.

None of us likes to make light (what am I saying? of course we do!) of someone else's troubles, especially when they're almost certainly a result of drug or alcohol abuse (Boy George's own lawyer, pleading to the court for mercy, likened his behavior to that of a "drug-crazed idiot"). If we've had our own substance abuse problems, then - our reaction is likely to be twofold: on one hand, we're tempted to get up on our high horses and make snide comments, on the other, we're overcome with a mixture of relief and gratitude that somehow we managed to dodge that particular bullet.

So I never took anyone hostage - at least not physically - nor did I, as did George in a previous adventure, call the UK police to my mate's flat and complain that someone had been stealing cocaine, though there was that time my mate called the police after being up all night on acid because some kid was skulking around the neighbourhood checking doors - including his own - to see if they were locked. Because of being on acid, of course, he had to weigh the morality of cooperating with the man in helping them arrest an oppressed member of the underclass, which took at least half an hour or what seemed like it - you know how time gets away from you when you add a couple thousand micrograms to an existential dilemma - and when he finally made his choice and the police showed up, the perp was of course long gone and he suddenly aware of his precarious situation (not only were his pupils the size of dinner plates, but there was dope of all kinds lying in plain sight around his), could only stammer a description that consisted of "He was black, wearing a black shirt, black pants, all black" to which the cop responded sardonically, "So you saw a black guy dressed all in black? Okay, we'll keep an eye out for him, and maybe you ought to think about getting some rest" (it was dawn, and the morning light was not, I suspected, being kind at all).

But the paranoia induced by acid is a minor detail compared with the mind-bending delusions cocaine has to offer. From my experience of others, it starts out pleasantly enough, in most cases, convincing you that you are the smartest, sexiest, most fascinating and most vital person in the room if not on the planet. If you've ever seen a couple cokeheads deep in "conversation" (generally consisting of an interminable recitation of banalities presented with the assumption that this is information you and the world have been waiting for all your lives), you might get a feel for the sort of person cocaine most appeals to: those with low self-esteem, the insecure and shy, whose egos, with a bit of chemical goosing, can suddenly run rampant and (especially if you're sharing your cocaine) unchallenged.

Sadly, it doesn't stay the way. The social butterfly effect soon retreats back into its cocoon. The bold self-assurance initially offered by cocaine shifts into a level of paranoia and self-consciousness that makes the thought of interacting with other people almost unbearable (especially if there's a chance they might ask you to share your drugs with them). "When I first discovered cocaine," one addict said, "it made me want to have sex with everyone in the world. But where it left me was locked alone in my room not even able to wank."

Quite apart from the social/antisocial aspects, the drug wreaks utter havoc on one's judgment, and this, I suspect, is what went wrong for the no longer quite so boyish Mr. George. It probably seemed perfectly reasonable for him to ask the police to help him find the villain who'd been stealing his cocaine, and equally reasonable to handcuff someone to the wall and subsequently chase him down the street wielding a bicycle chain.

Against all odds some people however never get arrested or endured consequences more major than wasting all my money and most of their brain cells for about ten years. When my mate was almost totally skint, broke and his life in pretty much total ruin, some vestige of common sense finally kicked in. He stopped using cocaine cold turkey, and since has have never touched it - and rarely even seen it - again. That was 12 years ago, and the drug still scares the shit out of him. Not because he thinks he'll start using it again - I'm pretty sure he won't - but because we all know with terrifying clarity exactly what would happen to me if he did.

Maybe not the precise details, but in relatively short order, it would turn one into a babbling idiot, bankrupt one, destroy all one's relationships, and kill one. That's the basic progression for anyone gets seriously involved with the drug. Not all at once, at least not for everybody; some people will go for years using it occasionally and show few visible ill effects. That's how my mate's first five years or so were; then a bad relationship breakup combined with a sudden increase in discretionary income sent him over the edge, and it's not the sort of edge you get to come back from. Once you've reached that point, you either stop or - not to be too melodramatic or anything - die.

So as sad as it is to see a once fabulously successful rock star reducing to a convict trying to beg or borrow a few thousand quid to pay his fine and court costs, going to prison may end up being the best thing ever to happen to Boy George. He'll get some breathing space, some time to experience what life can be like with a mind and body not operating at perpetual warp speed - or just plain warped. Most prisons these days offer 12-step programs and other counseling to help inmates overcome their substance abuse problems; enlightened criminologists are well aware that if it weren't for drugs and alcohol, about 75% of those inmates wouldn't be there.

So Boy George gets a chance, and here's wishing him well and hoping he takes it. It might be hard for him to believe right now, but if he does, his life is going to get a whole lot better. Or he could keep on doing what he's been doing, and it will almost certainly get worse. It won't be pretty.

GRRR

Je dois vraiment arrêter de me tirer des balles dans les pieds et avoir l'air d'un abruiti en disant au gens qui n'en ont rien à foutre de moi que je tiens à eux... grr